New parts in Faux France

I woke up to discover that the part in my hair had changed sides during the night. How did this happen? What mysterious forces are at play?

Actually, I like my part on this new side - it's like a whole new Mel. Hooray! Not that I disliked the old one, but it's too bad that I can't wake up with a new firm neck. Maybe if I slept with my feet over my head that would work because I've tried every other position with failure. Sigh. I don't know how I managed this hair trick.

I am wondering if this sneaky hair shift is due to the movement of the North Pole - yes, it's a thing. Seriously, it's moving, which is totally off-putting. I can't count on the north being north? Canada has always promoted itself as True North, so now we are Off-kilter North? Faux North? Fact are not facts anymore?!! Nothing new there, I guess. Sigh.

Now, obviously, I have to check my hair whorl to see if it has also switched direction. Given that water swirls down the drain counter-clockwise in the Southern Hemisphere and clockwise in the Northern, it would be logical that hair whorls everywhere are also shifting madly with the movement of the Poles in a whorly-whirly-gig event.

My whorl goes clockwise - or is it counterclockwise? Gaaa, I've forgotten! Why don't we have bracelets with this vital information? Now I'll have to go digging through old photos to check, but I can't do that because I'll lose my appetite and it's almost time for nibblies.

Or maybe my part reversed because of all those earthquakes on the West Coast and the geographical shifting that happened. Sherry, Petite Over 40, of Seattle has said she's inching toward Vancouver. Whoa, free transportation! Again, hooray: reliable and inexpensive transport is vital for a thriving economy, I always say. And it will be great having Sherry as a neighbour for when I need to borrow baking supplies. ??!!

(Note to self: Check out border real estate to cash in on this phenomenon; not sure how shrinking land mass will work to my benefit yet though.)

I took these photos in Faux France, where everyone is attractive and happy and stylish and I speak fluent French, yet with a touch of an English accent to make me exotic and alluring - although I'm not sure it works that way. Speaking English with a French accent sounds so awesome to my ear but the other way...?

I stay at the Hotel George X (double better than the George V), where everything is fun and free. This morning, for example, I had breakfast with Javier Bardem and Colin Firth. Wow! Croissants with butter and blueberry jam, and avocados on the side, and wine of course. And there were loads and loads of flowers on the table, so many I couldn't even be sure if that was Javier and Colin over there; I just took an educated guess. I'm clever like that. Not a genius though, I admit.

Some people might mistake this location for Vancouver Art Gallery, the steps to nowhere because the doors at the top are permanently sealed. It is also malodorous there. I ask you: Why would I go there when I can skip through the streets of Faux France?

No matter what, the reality is the wind in my hair and this faboo outfit, all old, thrifted, energizing - man shoes, black jeans, an oversized top. The amazing neckpiece is from Anja, Curly Traveller, from a few years back. I love it!!

And that, my friends, is my day. I'll be hopping on the Concorde (the good kind that exists and doesn't malfunction) for New York in a few hours. Maybe we can have lunch at the Met? Wear a gown. Toodle-loo. Heh.

Hope you're all having a stellar time being your fabulous selves.

I'll link up to Patti and Catherine at Not Dead Yet Style and Not Dressed as Lamb for Visible Monday and #iwillwearwhatilike.  Yup.

Me, Turniphead, and Rock-on Retrospective

It's possible you saw these little Turnipheads in a post I recently updated which came to your email in-box. I didn't know it would notify you. Auck. You may recognize some of Turniphead's outfits; she wears what I wear and usually hangs out with Kitty.

And I made another compilation video of some of my outfits from October 2016 to now-ish, Part 2 after Part 1, October '15 to '16. I uploaded a version, took it down, and then replaced it with this one. It's all so complex!

Have a look if you have a minute. Seriously, it's exactly 1 minute long.

Don't forget that I'm doing Style Boost Coaching now if you'd like help building up the courage to wear what makes you happy and live with attitude. See HERE.

Now, getting serious with playtime below.

This may look suspiciously like Vancouver Art Gallery, but really I'm in Italy! Yes, definitely, kind of! I stopped to whip around my dress and lean on marble columns on my way to a little trattorria, where I shall dine on pasta and drink red wine and wreck my dress, but I won't mind because, hey, I'm in friggin' Italy. 

Perhaps I shall need to rinse my dress in Trevi Fountain. The thought of laundry has never be so romantic. I should have brought all my dirty clothes with me!

Meet me at the Piazza di Spagna. See how great that sounds? Look for the woman with eyes like spinning saucers - that will be me, amazed that I am in friggin' ITALY!! 

I like the novels of Patricia Highsmith and loved the movie adaptation of The Talented Mr. Ripley with Gwyneth Paltrow, Cate Blanchett, Jude Law, and Matt Damon. In particular, I loved seeing Italy of the late '50s through director Minghella's eye. The clothes - sigh. Below, a montage of scenes with the characters Meredith Logue and Tom Ripley.

Okay, so I haven't been to Italy - YET. But the Art Gallery's plaza is just several million steps removed. And the light was amazing that day, very, uh, Italian. 

I'm wearing my light corduroy strapless dress with my Calvin & Hobbs suspenders from Bella, Citizen Rosebud, and black tights and my man shoes, which I often wear to toughen up a feminine piece.

Mavis did a spectacular job! My remote control used to be named Dick, but Mavis is so much better. She works twice as hard for twice the pay. She always anticipates my needs.

Below, a closeup of the cool suspenders. I have them on backwards which is rightwards for me, a bit like a halter top. The white "blouse" is a light, soft cotton nightgown, thigh length, with all the pretty eyelet lace trim removed. It's not only long but also very oversized and bunchy, which poufs out the skirt quite satisfactorily. And it spills out the top aided by my heaving cleavage. Heh.

I couldn't have done a better job at sports photography if I had tried. 

I am going to link up with Patti at Not Dead Yet Style, Visible Monday, and Catherine at Not Dressed as Lamb, #iwillwearwhatilike. 

Have your clothes transported you anywhere this week? Do tell!! Any romantic laundry happenings you care to share? Okay, maybe don't answer that...

Exploring Femininity with Attitude

When I was a kid, I thought ballerinas were the epitome of grace and femininity. If I hurt myself, I would try to imagine ballerinas to take my mind off the pain - it never worked. I still like the image of ballerinas, such feather-light flitters, but at heart, as you know, I am more of the Martha Graham school. And ballerina-ing is a brutal sport/artform.

Below, some photos I took when I got home from wearing my tutu for photos downtown. There was no way I was going to wrestle that tutu back into its itsy-bitsy space bag in a public restroom. You can see the lurex threads next to the fuzzy yarn stripes. And the men's shoes.

One of the most moving ballet performances I have ever seen was by Editta Sherman, a photographer and dancer who lived in Carnegie Hall in New York, in a clip included in the Bill Cunningham documentary. She danced with the moon in her home studio.

I can't give you details offhand, except to say that I remember how wonderful I felt watching her. There is a silent version of her dancing posted on YouTube. A true artist, she sadly passed in November 2013.

Trying out my tough version of an off-duty non-ballerina.

Below, does this tutu make my ass look big?

Have you got a tulle skirt? Dress? A tutu? I always wanted a tutu and finally found this one at My Sister's Closet, not $5, but still a good deal. What was most fun about this tutu was the feeling that I don't have to be graceful when I'm wearing it with my man shoes and man coat and man shirt. Plus, people don't squish you out of your seat in the coffee shop when you're wearing a tutu. Heh.

Have a great week!

Exploring Elegance

Below is my Vegas jumpsuit, vintage, crepe wool, rear zip, which has been featured several times on Bag'n'B, worn with my super puffed-sleeved silk blouse bought retail in Shimokitazawa in Tokyo a vintage-age ago.

I call it this because it's always ready for a night of brat-packing, martinis, bubblegum cigarettes with sugar-puff smoke, and jackpotting, or faffing about downtown. Or for gardening, below, for the post, "What to wear for gardening," in March 2017. This photo is called "The Rake's Progress - In a Good Way," named after the opera, which ended badly for the rake.

And below, a photo taken by Vancouver Barbara at the Little Black Dress Gala in Vancouver in May 2017. See this post, "Trotting to a gala like a little pony." You know that if I'm instructed to wear black, I must include a colour breakout somewhere. Note the glitter black platform booties. Those floors are definitely marble.

I also styled it in December 2013 in my post, "I wore this for Mis Papelicos," who was having a linkup party. Below is an ultra-short video of the outfit. I still have the cape, which I still adore. Fake ermine, dahlings. Or some other speckled animal. And platform booties again.

Finally, I made a mini-me cutout with this jumpsuit on and put it in a cardboard box for my post "Thinking in the forest in the box," also December 2013. Check the link for a look.

The Man Robe, also in action

When I wear this outfit featuring The Man Robe I live in several states of dimension at once, this one and another one in 1920s Hollywood. "A physicist" has proven that there are seven dimensions - I'm still looking for the last three but I'm sure this robe will help me find them without the assistance of a slide rule or a huge brain.

My garments:

• The Man Robe, thrifted, worn many times
• new thrifted granny shoes in sensible brown with Louis-the-something heels, aka The Most Unflattering Shoes in the Universe (T-MUSU), they make me feel dreamy and tough
• bamboo tights, off white with a very slight pinkish tinge, retail sale, their perpetual ankle sag goes stunningly with the granny shoes - someone catch me as I swoon with delight at this vexatious combination
• silky dress with pink Asian flower motif, belt hung around neck as scarf, retail sale, first worn here (that's not even me in that photo anymore)
• magic loupe O made me
• tool box handbag from O's studio

With the crunching leaves under foot, the tool box in hand, sensible shoes, saggy tights, and The Man Robe, I thought I would poof into thin air. And it truly was thin air. The weather forecast today said "Mist." I find that odd. "Today's weather is Mist." "Watch out for Mist." What happened to fog and foggy? I suppose most people would rather frolic in mist than fog; mist certainly sounds more romantic. Then again, maybe the forecast simply depends on whether the meteorologist prefers Stephen King's The Mist or John Carpenter's The Fog (original,1980), both nightmares. And it doesn't really matter: I'm living in a daydream anyway, kinda foggy, kinda misty.

Again, you can see this outfit in action. I hope you watch - the music is great, which means I didn't make it, and it's royalty-free. I'm hooked on video.

And...
Sandra has posted a great video she made about Vancouver Art Gallery (Sept. 13). It really sums up how much our central art institution really cares about its work and artists; or maybe it's simply the result of clouded vision caused by the persistent fog (haze) generated by the pot advocates who hang around the gallery...

Ed. Update: I just researched the difference between fog and mist. Apparently, it's a matter of degrees of visibility. I still think it's about preference of horror movie.