Fashion is my drug. It’s the one thing in life that gives me the option of being someone different every single day. A single pair of shoes can take me to places I never knew possible.
If I want to indulge in my femininity I can throw on that flowy champagne pink dress, sparkle up my ears with diamonds, and finish the look with a hot pink flower in my hair.
On my “yeee – haaa” cowboy days, I’ll rock the plaid shirt, I’ll hike up my skirt or rip my jeans, and click together my heels in my dazzling black cowboy boots.
And on those dark days when I want to tell the world to bite my ass, I’ll go grunge. And by grunge style I mean, an oversized dark plaid shirt overtop of a casual tight black dress, black boots, brown leather wrist cuff, and a look on my face that says, “Back off.”
If I want to be relaxed bohemian, I can get some light-wash flair jeans from Free People, a white floral embroidered blouse, my green and blue lensed Ray Bans, throw my hair in a side braid, and drink my orange juice out of the carton.
Braids always seem to be on the brink of making a comeback. The only thing holding them back is the fact that they’ll never be able to compare to long hair cascading down unhindered. This trend is positive only because it gives me more opportunities to wear my new Swarovski hair jewelry.
And when I’ve had a few too many glasses of wine, and I’m feeling risqué, I’ll go sexy, showing way too much cleavage in my plunging V-neck little black dress, rocking some stilettos, and flipping my hair in the wind as if I’m cruising down the freeway in a convertible.
Every day’s a fashion show. Every sidewalk is my runway. And my home is in Bloomingdales.