Something from the (Beauty) Bar: Hair of the Haute Dog

 Friday Night Bites Barrette

Dress: Modcloth

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Belt: B Fabulous

Scarf: Wet Seal

Ribbons: Craft supply box

Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's

Sherbet Shapes Barrettes

Dress: Mocloth

Tank: Worthington, JCPenney

Shoes: Modcloth

Bag: Call it Spring, JCPenney

Scarf: Gifted

Ribbons: Craft supply box

Sweet Strawberry Bow Barrettes

Tee: JCPenney

Tank: Boscov's

Skirt: Decree, JCPenney

Shoes: Charles Albert, Alloy

Bag: H&M

Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's

Scarf: A.C. Moore

 A double agent of utility and fantasy, bars come in a whole bunch of flavors.  Although soap, chocolate, and gold are among the most universal (chocolate being everyone's favorite; for those of you who said gold, you can give up the ghost, and I'll promise not to tell Rumplestiltskin), I've long been entranced by the less basic but bewitching barrette.  When I was a kid, I had one of those books that taught you how to embellish French clips with gumballs, shoelaces, balloons, and all sorts of other everyday items, and I was hooked.  Which is why at the ripe old age of 34 the barrette still spellbinds me.  Delicate, feminine, and undeniably French, its accent murmurs of an inner chicness, establishing it as the polar opposite of its big brother, the barbel.  (Because there's nothing graceful about those old-timey, striped leotard-wearing weightlifters grunting and sweating as they struggle to hoist ever heavier hunks of metal over their heads.)  

Yep, hair ornaments add an extra something to what's otherwise a boring old head of indiscriminate fluff, and as such are the old school bubble lights of the tress tree.  (Note to self: hair trees could be the next big thing in hipster holiday decorations.  Can't you just see a family of faux snow-dusted cardinals dangling from a pair of French braids, or a ring of holly-sprigged wrens nestled in a bun's hollow?).  Ah, bubble lights.  Extreme and exotic yet strangely familiar, like a palm tree in Maine in October or a lady who lunches wearing Love's Baby Soft.  So keyed up am I about coiffure couture that I couldn't help but make a brand new batch of crazy clips and scribble this:   

Put a pair in your hair 

For fierce ultimate flair
With whatever you wear
And just watch how they stare
'Cause you can't be a square
Or sink into despair
When you're singing and striving
And laughing and thriving
In your blingged-out big, bad, bold barrettes.

I feel like this is the sort of thing that should be set to music and piped over the loudspeaker in Claire's Boutique or Micheal's, destined to become an earworm burrowing into the brains of tired moms and jaded teens and other assorted groups of disgruntled women until they're inspired to quash their cares with whimsical, ready-to-wear clips and/or bits of DIY doodads.  Such is the secret, I firmly believe, to subtle but sound world domination.