Out Here, You're a Whacko if you Wear it.

Burberry, Prada, all headliners in the Fashion world, and will treasured by women (and men) until the earth explodes in a firey doomsday that is the Rapture.(Oh wait that already happened.)

Yeah, not here.

I decided, though blistering hot, (I guess 108 Degrees isn't THAT bad...if you're the Devil...) that I would be inside a cool, air conditioned salon and would be immune to the sweat and humidity inside and could wear one of my favorite fashion trends (from a few seasons ago, so sue me.)

The slouchy, ribbed sock with open-toed platforms trend that Burberry sent their Models down the runway in during the Summer '10 season.

I love it. Love Love Love. At first, I thought "Oh Noooo. What do they think we are, a bunch of foreign tourists? Some old men from Nebraska?!"

But the more I actually WORE the trend, the more it grew on me. It ended up turning into one of my favorite fall/winter fashion ensembles.

Of course, you have to do it right.

I paired my slate colored, slouchy ribbed stockings with some camel platform sandals, and of course, a pair of high waisted and cuffed, ribbon belted, slate colored mid-thigh shorts and an adorable camel pullover sweater with black detail to the collar and sleeve cuff area (It didn't actually have cuffs or a collar, but whatever) a black belt (We have to have some black on while working in the salon.)
My hair was straight but slightly tousseled, and my makeup was minimal with a touch of blush and some gold on the eyelids and eyes lined with a slate pencil.
Lips nude of course.

I was feeling very trendy, and confidently walked into work.

"....Are you wearing socks with heels?"
"Yeah, It's inspired by Burberry's 2010 collection."
...Blank stare...
"Oh thats cute!"

I don't think they really thought it was "cute."

After a whole day of strange looks, and literally every customer staring at my feet instead of my face, I realized... People here in this town sure do wear this trend (old men and some lazier ladies) and no one really notices, but dress it up and make it fashionable, and all of a sudden you are a total eccentric looney bird style-wise.

As one of my co-workers so eloquently (and maybe a bit agressively) put it-
"Keely, we are in _____. People here don't look at your shoes and KNOW it's Prada, or Burberry, or whatever. People here don't even know who those designers ARE. They just know you are wearing socks with sandals, not that you are being 'Fashionable.'"

Wait... isn't a point of fashion not for you to project a certain designer, but to wear the trend, and in that manner, SET the trend?

I don't see this trend catching on in my town anytime soon, well, because I would have to be wearing the newest from Abercrombie & Fitch (I used to work there, sadly, and pathetically admit that I do like a few things from the store and still own merchandise from A&F... but their Button-Down white blouses are pretty versatile, and their jeans are the only ones I can find that are long enough for my legs, while not falling off my waist. And I wear my jeans LONG, because I own a TON of wedges. That's my excuse.), or have to hang out around a bunch of downtown hipsters. (guilty)

I'm going to keep taking a crack at the local trends though, because if getting weird looks and comments gets a trend noticed, I don't care if it catches on or not.

I'm exposing them to some Culture and Fashion. One sock at a time.

Don't Forget Your Roots

Even though I do complain about this city, about it's drivers, lack of fashion, and tendancy to act like one big group of gossipy highschoolers, It's still my home. That's something I never forget, and It does have a place in my heart and it's who I am.

What bothers me, is when people get out of here to do this or that, and come back acting like they are worth so much more than the people who have made lives here, or who haven't had the chance to "escape."

We have had a few ladies (and men) in particular, who have had the chance to leave the Midwest, to pursue a decently (even better than decent in some cases) lucrative career in the Modeling industry. My modeling career bordered more on the former, but I had the opportunity to experience something that not many people will have the chance to experience, but still kept my wits about me when it came to the fact that, well, I'm no better than anyone else. I just moved up in a career field, which many have done before. My reasons for leaving before getting to become one of the bright new faces in Fashion are my own, but I don't regret that decision.

There is one young woman from my town who has become one of the most in-demand models out there. Walking for all the major designers, booking all of the big print and editorial jobs, and, well, she's Fashion's Sweetheart.
And you know, She really used to be a sweetheart.
I remember doing her first fashion show with her, It was a benefit show for a charity, put on by a super trendy Vintage store in the bohemian/Hipster part of town.
She sweetly and enthusiastically told the other girls about pursuing a modeling career: "My mom and I have kind of been talking about it, I think it would be fun!"
She talked about "I ate a hamburger before I came here, I was so hungry!"
Whilst the rest of us girls tried to maintain the pre-pubescent figure that she naturally enjoyed. (Don't you miss being 13?)
We chatted for a while about modeling, and I disclosed to her that I was with an Agency and she inquired about what it took to become involved with an International agency. After the information was passed to an inquiring young mind from an older (18 is getting up there for a model) and slightly less naiive mind, we proceeded to walk in the show. She was a hit with the crowd and photographers.


We parted after the show, and I hadn't heard anything of or from her since. Well, about a year or so passed, I was reading an article in the local paper and who's face do you think popped up? None other than that girl from the fashion show. And apprently, she had made it big. I mean REALLY BIG. She had joined a local agency here in town (Which for the most part is a huge scam, anyone can join as long as they pay upwards of $3,000 for modeling classes, with no guarantee of work afterwards- no Agency with any pull to their name would ever make their models pay.) and had a semi-successful run in a modeling scout show, but was just at the right place at the right time, and happened to be picked up by a scout from a well-known agency. They booked her, she was turned down quite a bit, but was picked up by an even bigger agency, and the rest is history.

About 2 years later,I was recently at one of my favorite cafes in that Hipster/Bohemian neighborhood, when none other than supermodel herself walked in. She was eating (barely) lunch with a friend. I had run into a couple of other times, but never approached her, because our one meeting a few years ago I would assume was far gome from her memory.
My sister looked at me and said "Isn't that girl the one from the fashion show awhile ago?"
Then we heard it.


The most arrogant 15 minutes I have ever sat through quietly in my life. Usually I would just punch someone, but I really like this place.
She sat there and bragged about how much more wonderful the food was overseas (TO THE COOK who is one of the sweetest people I know) turned her nose anytime he tried to relate cooking-wise to the conversation, and proceeded to brag very loudly about her escapades as a top model. To add to this lovely display of a humble young woman, she proceeded to act like she owned the place, and yell across the table to her guest (so that all 4 diners and the kitchen staff) could hear about the special treatment she recieves all over town when she returns home after fashion week and so forth. (She made sure to emphasize that her meals at very high end restauraunts here were USUALLY free...after insulting the cook's meal.)

My sister stopped me from doing something incredibly stupid, like saying something just as catty, but I controlled myself, and instead, walked out like a lady, tipping the man who cooked for us well over 30%.

Because I know where I come from, no matter where i go or what I become, it's tha values of where I grew up that kept me grounded while trying to still keep my teenage innocence about me in a world that could forxe you to grow up, devour you, spit you out and leave you Jaded.

Besides, even the smallest bit of encouragement from each person here helped me real my goal, and without it, I may have never experienced something so special.


People here still can't fuckin drive though.



(Photo Source, Kim Noorda by Laurie Bartley for Harper's Bazaar UK June 10 "On the Road" via )
*The model in question is obviously not Kim Noorda.

Pretty Pretty Pretty....Just Not Yet.

THIS BLOG IS UNDER CONSTRUCTION!

I promise, my lovelies, that this blog will soon look as fashionable and beautiful as your pretty little selves (dressed in Hermes, of course.)


I am working on it when I am not actually...well, working.


Love & Louboutins

Keely

"Maxim Hometown Hottie" Does Not a Model Make

So there you are, in all of your model-esque glory. Long, stringy locks,extensions so new you can smell the polyester. Spray tan shimmering dirtily under the aluminum stage light (makeshift of course...for ambiance). Caked amounts of MAC on your (only slightly) dehydrated skin from the celebratory drinking the night before. You applied the eyeliner just so, getting that perfect "racoon sweating off their makeup" look. And what kind of model would you be without those brand new tits being shown off in all of their glory?! (visible push up bra included). These new calf high stripper heels & booty shorts were very expensive, you know. You my dear, are
now a model. And anyone who disputes this is probably just jealous of the pouty, half (can't give it ALL away, I mean your Playboy debut would be ruined!) slutty faces & posing you had spent years perfecting in the mirror. Don't mind the fact you're a tad bit short and when you look at your fierce self, you are just as skinny as those fashion models, only hotter because damn girl, you've got curves!( "Kate Moss was 5'7, who's to say 5'4 is any different. I am rockin' my 26 year old, size 10 self. Haters gonna hate")
That guy with the camera starts his magic, and you my sweet, sweet girl, are destined for fame.
It would be a crime (I mean literally a JAILABLE offense!) If you didn't introduce yourself to.every single guy at the club & all of your friend's friends as a model. And if you are an entrepreneur, my plastic goddess, all of your patrons at that college just-barely-off-campus bar you work at will have seen your ModelMayhem portfolio (thats THE place to get discovered, bro.) And have heard about your world travels, shooting for Gucci, Maxim and Ed Hardy. (okay, you had stretched the truth a little, but they will never know. Plus, you were a video girl in that local rapper's music video on youtube. If that doesn't prove your fame *or the bumper sticker on your car that boldly states "local celeb"* then damnit you don't know what will.)

So, my princess, as you walk down the local hair school runway to the latest "Sasha Fierce" hip hop tune, big hair,
and skimpy clothes, know that everyone in your hometown that voted you "Maxim Hometown Hottie" would love so much...


If you would choke on a dick & die.


Oh the price of fame.

Let's Get the Formalities off of my Brain

"Sweatpant nation..bible belt...auuuugh"
I am going to start off by clarifying something, more for my ease of mind than anyone else's. Notice my clever little Title Pun: "Confessions of an IcT Girl", which basically is a play off of the term "It Girl" and..well, the somewhat confusing abbreviation of the Sweatpant-infested city that I currently reside. (As used by our airport and local "rap stars.")
I will also swallow my pride (though I am pretty shameless, I will admit to that) and tell you I didn't even think up the title. My much more clever Twin sister with a B.A. in English Literature suggested I start a Blog, and my ADHD brain took the general concept and applied it here.
OH the formalities.
She will probably proofreed the Catlady out of herself over this blog as well.

I wanted to start a blog about living in a "Large" midwestern city, that is just large enough to hold a few Reputable stores and should have the collective brain for fashion, but just small enough to, well, not have the collective brain for anything fashion, couture, or likewise.

Now before I get hunted down in the streets and strangled by a mass of women in oversized Winnie-The-Pooh tshirts and others decked out in the latest styles from DEB, I will say there are a few city-dwellers here that will suffer (And I do mean suffer) for fashion. Suffer as far as the looks, the ridicule & general misunderstanding of their outfit of choice. I like to consider myself part of the latter.

I should probably save this and leave before my boss walks up behind me and wonders why I am not stocking the vast shelves of Hair Product and Makeup Retail.
(I already replaced all of the outdated issues of Vogue and W (U.S. issues of course,) next to the stylist's stations for chrissakes.

Sigh.

Rant Later?

Love & Louboutins

Keely