Jacket: Mossimo, Target
Skirt: XOXO, Macy's
Shoes: Worthington, 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.