When good compliments go bad

The DIY text on this dress was inspired by a comment on this blog by Sue of You Can Call Me Sue and lyrics by hip hop group N.W.A. in "Gangsta Gangsta": "Do I look like a mutha feckin' role model?" 

This is the first of two tank maxis I farked with the Ted Baker London, Vancouver, store pre-opening media event in mind (2nd one here). I wore neither, but this one really got me thinking about role models, so-named for their character, not really looks, which is what makes this line so interesting.

In Vancouver, I am constantly on the look-out for style icons, and if I see people who dress in a cool way, I want to tell them so. That's how my street style blog, now dormant - at least until the blogger meetup in July - was born. But I've had a few cases where my good compliments have gone bad, real bad.

ME: Excuse me, can I just say I think you look fantastic! I love your [dress/pants/top]!

PERSON: I don't need your validation of my looks! Who do you think you are to judge me like that? 

ME: Oh. Um, I just like your style. I like your shoes too. But, uh, I'll just be on my way. Have a nice day. Oops, that was wrong, to prejudge you as a person capable of having a nice day. Sorry.

This exact dialogue never happened, but the thought bubbles were easy to read. Have we become so politically correct that I can't even compliment someone on their style without causing offense!? Most of us have probably been raised to think compliments are a good thing. Greetje, on her blog No Fear of Fashion, put it well here:

Compliments make people happy. Therefore… you should pay people lots of compliments. Sincere ones. They will not only lighten up that person's day but will also give you a happy feeling.

Sometimes I have coffee here. Other times I rush by. 

Maybe you also know the saying, "If you can't say anything nice about someone, don't say anything at all." So now what? If you can't say anything, don't say anything? Puh.

I am not going to stop telling people I'm wild about their style. That would be like telling me I can't, say, dance anymore (even though it would be a kindness to humanity). And since I can't prejudge who is going to be a prick about a compliment - I can never tell - I'm going to keep on dropping compliments like f-bombs all over the city. Be forewarned.

Wearing:

• DIY text, tank maxi dress, painted with acrylics
• thrifted long-sleeve boat neck top
• black jeggings, sample sale
• geta-style sandals, discount Topshop 
• magic loupe, gift from O
• vintage sunglasses, $2 at vintage store closing sale years ago

I took the second two photos when I got home from my inspiration walk, when my hair had become horned.

Have you ever had a person snap at you for giving them a compliment or is this just a Vancouver thing? I'd be relieved if it were the latter. (Please contact Miz Bagg for Sour Biatch Cafe franchise opportunities.)

Camera cliques and rumbling stomachs

I was invited about a month ago to an exclusive media pre-opening of a new Ted Baker store in Vancouver's premier downtown shopping mall, Pacific Centre. Ted who? I googled: highish-end women's and men's wear with an outdoorsy store decor, founded in London. Hm. Expensive clothes? Me? This might be interesting. I'm a woman of passion and curiosity after all. 

What to wear, what to wear!? I farked some clothing special. This is one of the pieces.

A black maxi tank dress. Turnip Head surrenders to the universe. Me too. My sole too, on my right shoe, which was held on with clear packing tape. See what I mean? Chaos.

But at the last minute, I decided to wear something more colourful - you'll see it below - although I did wear these shoes after fixing them with Gorilla Glue.

And here it is. Ta-dah! The Ted Baker store, which opened today, Jun. 17. My best shot of it: the change rooms at the back.

I'm invited to all kinds of things from blogging, usually taking place in Los Angeles or New York or Toronto. I don't give them a thought, but this event was local and what clinched the deal was it promised...

Free Private Breakfast! 

It's my favourite meal of the day!! Ah, but I am so naive. How could I not know that sophisticates never put food in their mouth at public events, let alone admit to eating? At least in Vancouver.

The "breakfast" consisted of a couple of pieces of sad fruit stuck on a limp stick. And some people were wandering around with mason jars filled with reddish liquid with a piece of soft bacon stuck on the rim - maybe bacon, not sure, meat-like-looking substance. No idea really. I didn't get close enough to see because the servers were going for the women in pleats and stiff fabrics and the men with facial hair. I could have tackled one, servers, not the pleated women or the hairy men, although I was in a pissy mood because I hadn't even had my breakfast coffee yet!

So I fixed my sole for this?! View from the change room area to the store entrance.

Never has the silent clique clique clique of snapping cellphone cameras been so deafening. The only thing that saved my ass big time was the champagne in my orange juice, which I didn't even know was in there until I started feeling more relaxed about the shite-situation I had stepped into.

Let me say again: I had been excited about the free private breakfast for weeks, WEEKS!, and told as many people as I could about it. Suzanne of her blog HERE guessed they would serve truffles and cocaine; O thought maybe expired olives on soggy crackers. Me? I envisioned waffles, syrup, fresh berries, whipped cream, toast, eggs, marmalade. It's a hearty outdoor theme after all. Nyunh. I reasoned, if they gave us bad food, wouldn't they worry about bad reviews? Heh.

Aside from the food, I knew I was in trouble at reception when I complimented the woman on her blue lipstick. She looked at me and said, it's part of the event, as in "are you such an idiot you think I would put this on for real?" And a 20-something woman checking in around the same time, when asked if we were together, replied with slight alarm, No!, and scurried away to create a safe distance. Why would I put myself in this kind of situation?

Despite being a two-hour affair, I fled after less than 15 minutes. All those weeks of anticipation wasted.

The left photos are from the cafe afterwards, where I had - guess what? Breakfast! And coffee. Left, top to bottom: fake laughing, ready for the bucket, and showing you that, yes, I am an idiot for going there with such high expectations.The right photo is me in the concrete box after I got home.

The Ted Baker clothes? They were okay. Nice. Hundreds-of-dollars nice, whatever that's worth. They had some bold, beautiful, colourful patterns - on the hangers of course, nothing like that on real people. Good gawd, no! Other stores opening were Kate Spade, Hugo Boss (with their glued-together suits), B2 shoes... Having said all this, I know some cool blogging women who do wear Ted Baker with wonderful aplomb, thrifted and new. And the store was attractive and clean, as you can see.

So, so much for my dream of becoming an overnight top-flight, world-class fashion critic. Not. happening. Clearly. But I thank the Ted Baker team for inviting me to this out-of-body experience.

Inspired by a woman I saw at a coffee shop a couple of months ago

In the end, sometimes the free breakfast is the most expensive one. Gorging on nothing then feeling sick.

And to Ana of the The Panties Project, whom I met on the way home when I was feeling like a freak and a pariah, Thank you! She compared me to Iris Apfel, whom I adore. Ana is a filmmaker and artist with real passion. It was perfect timing to be reminded that such people exist. Kind of like how Patti ran into Judith in New York. And when I got home there was a card in the post from my friend King Richard, who lives not far from me, which said, "Keep calm, you are simply fabulous."

My work is under control again. All systems go. Time to catch up with you!