I always overpack. ALWAYS. Three day trip to Nashville? Six dresses. Week-long trip to Chicago? Eight pairs of jeans. Weekend at the beach? Three pairs of boots. It’s a problem. And for someone who loves planning so much, you would think that I would do a better job of it when it comes to packing. I think what it is for me, though, is that my propensity for planning is far outweighed by my crippling fear of not having enough options, so I throw everything I can possibly fit into the suitcase… juuuuuust in case. This is stupid for many reasons, the main one being that once I get back home I have to then unpack all this shit that I didn’t even/was never going to wear, and unpacking is the piiiiiiiitts.
Shopping smart is a skill. And it’s one that Taylor and I have only just recently begun to perfect. In college we would go to the mall and buy mountains of Forever 21 clothes that ended up never getting worn and ultimately being re-sold to Plato’s Closet and Rag-O-Rama so we’d have money to buy cigs and Chipotle.
Normally, I’d start this post talking about how much I hate summer and how hot I am and how terrible and boring summer clothes are–actually, I stand by that last one, getting dressed this time of year is the worst–but it’s been pretty nice here in Atlanta lately. Temps have stayed mostly in the 80s, and we’re being blessed with cool breezes and lots of thunderstorms, which leaves me praying for death way less frequently than I did last August. In fact, I drove home from work last night with the damn windows down like it was still April! #miracles (#magnets #howdotheywork) Read More
Once upon a time, Taylor did not care so much about her hair. She used to let me cut it in our disgusting college apartment bathroom after multiple gin and tonics, with the same scissors I used to open packages of batteries for my Discman and cut the tags off my new Forever 21 gear. The atrocities I carried out on her head as a result of this were many, so much so that I even apologized to her for it during my maid of honor speech at her wedding many years later.
Game of Thrones’ final season premiered Sunday night (duh, everyone knows this), and before we talk about the fashion, which should be the most important thing, can we address what’s really on everyone’s mind? Namely, WHAT THE FUCK IS ED SHEERAN DOING HERE.
This is an insult and an outrage, and I love Maisie Williams, but I hope she one day knows enough about life to be embarrassed about the fact that she stanned so hard for this dummy that the showrunners let him ruin five minutes of a great show for her sake. His face is terrible, his music is terrible, and THIS CAMEO WAS TERRIBLE. But Twitter already did a great job of dragging this whole thing, so I’ll move on, because: you guys, the lewks this season are FIRE. (Warning: spoilers ahead. Obviously.)
Happy Wednesday, dudes! We still can’t get it tf together, but a late post is an improvement over no post at all, right?
So let’s talk about how the 90s are fully back. Lindsey and I are at that age where we get to experience the return of trends we were alive to see the first time, and I don’t know about her, but I’m having flashbacks of my mom telling me that one day I’d know what it was like to see younguns rocking the same styles that I cringe remembering myself in as an adolescent. What my mom didn’t predict is that I’d be HERE FOR IT. Read More
Hello, lovelies! Well, it’s been a nice long holiday weekend, and you know what that means… Lifetime crushing it with the original movie premiers, obvs. I got together with the fam on Sunday night to watch the premier of LMN’s most recent psychological thriller, The Wrong Crush, and boy was it not even remotely psychological or a thriller! And that’s exactly why we loved it. Read on for the full recap of this idiocy in all its glory…
Hellooooooo everybody! We’re back! Sorry we’ve been so spotty with the posts recently. There’s a lot of big shit happening personally for both of us, but hopefully there won’t be any more interruptions for awhile. Thanks for hanging in there with your girls.
Since we last wrote, summer has officially arrived. It’s been surprisingly mild here in Georgia this June, but the heat is ramping up, and it’s not gonna break until October. Say goodbye to dry skin and brittle hair and hello to a constant sweat-mask and chlorine wrecking your dye job! Read More
Hey, lovelies! We’re glad you’re here. Sorry we didn’t post last week. We’re shit, we blew it.
But moving on: One of my irrational pet peeves is when a TV show about “normal people” puts characters in entirely new outfits in every scene and you never see a person wear anything more than once. Sure, TV is designed to sell us stuff, and real life can be kind of depressing so we don’t want total verisimilitude–but come on, even if I was rich, I like to think I’d get some repeat usage out of my hot designer shit. Besides, one of the best parts about getting dressed is being creative, and what’s more creative than finding multiple uses for a single thing?
In one of my earliest memories, I’m four or five years old. My mom and I are in the living room of the house I grew up in, and I’m wearing the same dress I insisted upon wearing every day: long and red, with little white flowers all over it, and a ruffle at the hem that just brushed the tops of my feet. I had other dresses, but this was my favorite, and in this memory my mother is trying to convince me to relinquish it for washing, and I am staunchly refusing. “I’ll wash it right now,” my mother is saying. “You can have it back in an hour.”
“But then I won’t have anything to wear while you’re washing it.”
“You have a drawer full of clean pants upstairs. You can wear pants for one hour. It won’t kill you. Besides, wouldn’t that more comfortable to play in?” At this point she’s getting exasperated, because I’m being an unreasonable dick, as children are wont to be. Read More