Tag Archives: fashion

last gasp

29 Oct

This morning, we decided to go to Burlington to try to find some papel picado. I was surprised when our local Mexican grocer not only didn’t have them but didn’t know what I was talking about when I asked after them. I’ve never lived any place where papel picado was not readily available. It kind of punctuates the total lack of multiculturalism in Bellingham, which has been bumming me out lately. On the bright side, however, the local Mexican grocer DID have a rad piñata for $8, perfect for George’s birthday party, and a pack of loteria cards with which I plan to torture our Halloween guests (planned games — sorry, gang). Last night I finally hemmed a Goodwill dress I got a few weeks ago. It was calf-length and, intact, really enhanced my 1970s high school guidance counselor look, but in trying to look presentable and not costumed, I needed to shorten it up a bit.

Pardon my vague disgust.

What happened once we arrived in Burlington was a little bit magical. We discovered that the first Mexican grocer on our list shared a parking lot with a Value Village and a Humane Society charity shop. George fell asleep, and I generously offered to jump out of the car and pop into the thrift stores while Nathan drove the sleeping babe around. I admired the adoptable kitties, found a book of folk songs, a 1970s approximation of Hooked on Phonics but way, way cuter and a red knit turban I imagine was worn by — yes, you guessed it — a high school guidance counselor circa 1972. The boys turned up, as George had roused, and I made my way to the register where there were, behind the counter, not one but TWO packages of pristine papel picado. For a dollar each. !!! I told the checkout lady that we’d come for papel picado and had just decided to look around before we went to the Mexican store. “They’ve never carried these!” She said. So we bought them, called it a day and got some lunch.

As for the outfits, neither mine nor George’s is terribly flattering. George got cold so we had to double layer hoodies, giving him an even fluffier than usual appearance. I have no excuse other than this: I always try to wear belts, because I feel like I should, and I wind up looking like I’m wearing a wench costume. Big boobs, man. They’re a heartbreaker sometimes.

On me:
dress – vintage, Goodwill
tights – Hue, Nordstrom
sweater – American Eagle but from TJ Max, I think
booties – Mi shoes
belt – vintage, thrifted
bag – LAMB

on George:
tights – gap
shorts – Macy’s (in Texas)
visible sweatshirt – Yo Gabba Gabba!
hat – gift from our amazingly talented friend, Nell

the best costume for the day

23 Oct

Today we went to the pumpkin patch. I had never been to a pumpkin patch, at least not one that I remembered. This one kind of blew my mind: apple pull-aparts with caramel and ice cream, photo-ops a plenty, a rocking horse corral, chickens(!) and a contraption that lead a goat through a path into the air where it stopped to take a nap and your child could ring a bell furiously from a seemingly related station on the ground. What? I know!

The farm was huge and beautiful, with an apple orchard where you could choose an apple and eat it straight from the tree for a mere 25 cents, which is a markup of about ten percent from the grocery store down the street from my house that sells exactly the same apples. If you care about those things. But I don’t! So we did that.

I dearly love dressing George for these sorts of outings. Wondering which jacket, romper, hat or t-shirt will become one of his signature pieces — the kind you look back on in photos and remember wearing — is such great fun. This was no exception, and since I knew we’d be taking lots of pictures of him, his little baby BFFs and us as a family, I made sure his outfit was representative of what he normally wears but still festive. I tried to do the same for myself, but there’s just no competing with a vintage Izod hooded, argyle sweater. Without further ado, here we are, as style-y as we get with any regularity:



I simply can’t bring myself to take a straight-on, posed photo of myself, you guys. Those who do this monthly or weekly, my hat is off to you.

On me:
t-shirt: art in the age of mechanical reproduction
cords: old navy
jacket: Ralph Lauren, from Macy’s
sneakers (almost dead, alas): Jack Purcell, from (I think) Famous Footwear, like 3 years ago
sunglasses: F21

On George:
sweater: vintage IZOD, Value Village
pants: Target
onesie: Carter’s, but probably from Value Village
legwarmers: mama-made, from some ladies’ cashmere socks
shoes: Robeez, hand-me-downs

the imaginarium of stefanie lejeunesse

31 Aug

So, I may have mentioned that there was a time in the not-too-distant past that I actually made an effort at looking halfway decent. Most (okay, half? Um, alright, 30%) of me takes major issue with consumerism and spending lots of money on clothes when there are children starving in _____. Because there ARE, I know, and it’s kind of moot anyhow because spending two grand on a YSL dress to sport to a ballet performance we can’t even really afford to attend is so out of the realm of possibility it’s laughable. Hysterically laughable. Laugh until you cry-able. Cry into your closet full of eight-seasons ago cocktail dresses-able. I know, I know. Boo hoo.
But the fact remains that I love nice clothes. My excuse is that I appreciate fine workmanship, as a seamstress and all (hardy har), but it’s really a feeble excuse.
Fall is especially heartbreaking for me because I love Fall clothes so much. Summer came and went and my now too-big jeans and fast fashion tanktops were passable for those months but as soon as the drizzle starts I want fairisle and supple leather and other things babies might enjoy dotting with food, already digested or otherwise. It’s also a bummer this year because my body is starting to feel like mine again, despite the fact that my chest is still co-owned. My wardrobe is no longer at the mercy of a baby who might need inside my shirt at any second; George is pretty predictable these days, I’m more confident in my ability to nurse discreetly and frankly, I don’t care if you see my boob or stretch-marked belly.
So, dear friends, if any of you is secretly really rich, you know… my birthday is coming up. Here’s my dream Fall wardrobe which incidentally goes along with my dream Fall body fuck that shit.
ED: that’s right; Converse Allstars and Wayfarers. I’m gettin’ back to me. Me at sixteen.

Yves Saint Laurent Wool-blend dress, $1,625
Stella McCartney Cashmere and silk-blend cardigan, $845
Edun Sequin-embellished cotton tank, $400
Slash Neck Sailor Tee, $145
Blues Bow Tee, $124
Knitted Fairisle Cardigan, $110
francesca feather skirt$330, $330
Hayden-Harnett DENMARE Trousers, Black, $318
Blue Gwenevere Highwaisted Skinny Jean by 7 For All Mankind, 175 GBP
Cable Knit Shorts, $153
Falke Ribbed Tights., $50
50 Den Mustard Opaque Tights, $12
objects in mirror suede/leather flat knee high riding boot w/buckles…, 585 CAD
MISSONI Platform pumps – Item 44255003, $294
feather and stone ring, 255 GBP
Louis Mariette Caesar gold leaf hairband, $405
Ray-Ban Original Wayfarer | Official Ray-Ban Site, $145
Women’s Italian leather driving gloves | Womens italian nappa lambskin…, 66 EUR
NANA’ – FEATHER ELASTIC HEADBAND, 54 EUR
Mink Lace Scarf, 12 GBP
ASOS Square Buckle Skinny Boyfriend Belt
converse all star slim – Google-søgning
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