Happy Haunt Jaunt: Jackets and Jack-o-Lanterns

Halloween means spooky times, tons of treats, and a chill in the air.  It's the chill that brings the thrill, of course -- the thrill of breaking out jazzy jackets!  Um, don't you mean costumes, oh esteemed Tote Trove lady?  No.  I mean jackets.  Because a jacket is a lot like a costume -- colorful, fun, and cape-able of turning anyone into anything.  Here's the cream of my top layer crop.  Two are oldies but goodies; one is as fresh as roadkill.   

This first jacket is a Wild Fable favorite.  Sure, it's more Saved by the Bell than Satan's ball.  But I'm willing to let that slide because of my hair horns. 

And here's the new kid on the blog, decked out in day-glo.  Sorry, Joseph A. Banks, but Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat has claimed this happening hoodie.  It's from Dolls Kill by way of Delia's.  Which, if you ask me, is pretty Halloweeny.  Most Dolls merch is mucho edgy.  To give you an idea, it comes packaged in black bags emblazoned with a knife-wielding Kewpie.  It's a sight that never fails to unnerve me.

And finally, faux fur fires up stormy denim.  Black is a fitting shade for this day of undead and its feathered friend -- or perhaps I should say feathered Poe.  Nevermore, That's So Raven, said some Nickelodeon exec at some point one day.  Mr. Foe (for I've made my decision; this foul fowl is not to be trusted) is the only frightening thing in this picture.  Unless you count my closed-eye smirk of a creepy doll impression.  Watch out, Kewp, I'm coming for you.

You could probably tell by my tongue-in-cheek tone, but I like Halloween only a little.  And even then, it has to be playful as opposed to spine tingling.  Observe the quirky cute cover of this murder mystery in which a mean woman dies in a way that's not at all gory.  

The husband, on the other hand, likes Halloween a lot, and the darker and more macabre the better.  (Who do you think bought that raven?)  This is his beloved reproduction of a Van Gogh self-portrait that haunts our hallway every October. 

The husband and I agree that Vinnie was a sad, misunderstood man who died way too young.  Even if he did want to marry to his cousin.  

Speaking of which . . . whoa.  It's a Poe-Van Gogh crossover.  Two dark dudes and artistic geniuses who had the hots for their uncles' offspring.  Who would win in a weird, tortured, incestuous-even-though-it-was-olden-times, dead guy contest?

My money's on Vinnie.  People who cut off their own ears mean business.

My Fair Ladies: From Headgear to Hat Head

Fabulous Felt Brooch Beauties

Jacket: Mossimo, Target

Skirt: XOXO, Macy's

Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Bag: Nordstrom

Sunglasses: JCPenney

I'm not saying that these felt fashionistas were sporting orthodontic metal messes before I thoughtfully bequeathed them with elegant hats.  That would be silly.  Because they were being at one with my felt pile, an amorphous beast so big that I sometimes wonder if other, smaller beasts make their home in its considerable and cozy folds (I'm talking to you, garter snake).  I'm just saying that it's inspiring when someone or something goes from being icky to it-girl, especially when the it-girl side isn't too cool to reveal a little icky.  Teen nightmare-slash-Eliza-Doolittle-comparisons aside, there's something proper and polished about these pretties, even the tie-dyed hippie grandmas with their you-don't-own-me,-establishment silver tresses.  But as usual, I strive to tone down the pretentious.  Which is why I chucked this post's working title -- My Fair Ladies: A Milliner's Muse.  

I'm excited to finally unveil these brooches, partly because they took so long to finish.  In the spirit of speed (and sanity, photography sometimes being the opposite of therapeutic), I refrained from snapping twenty-seven outfit shots, instead settling on just this one: Tammy and her Amazing Technicolor Meme Coat (the meme being that both fur and felt have a face.  Drop in next week to see what I do with a 1940s muskrat stole!  Not to mention assorted other critters.  That felt pile beast may get its big break yet. . . ).  Making these brooches was truly a pleasure.  I loved mixing colors and patterns, tying everything together with glam cat's eye sunglasses and pouty red lips.  I also got a kick out of naming each lady, choosing just the right two-syllable moniker to portray the kind of flesh-and-blood woman she might represent.  I imagine that shoe company copywriters feel the same when they call pumps and sandals things like Kendall and Kelsey and Kendra.  Laugh if you must, but I've always thought that giving shoes such feminine names is a genius sales technique.  How many orthotic-clad Myrtles have warily picked up a pair of strappy stilettos only to glance at the side of the box and think, "Roxanne, huh?  Screw the ladies' auxiliary banquet, I'm wearing these babies to church!"    

Yes, we salute you, hats, coats, and other assorted outerwear.  As the mercury plummets this winter, we'll need you more than ever.  Not just your toasty if itchy wool, but the panache that you so cleverly ooze even as you camouflage our well-thought-out outfits.  Because if there's anything a clotheshorse hates more than frostbite, it's facing the world bundled up like Aunt Myrtle.