Knitting is the New Black

Just a quick post today, inspired by my recent window-shopping at Net-a-Porter.
So, as many of you may (or may not) know, I can knit.
I know, right, bring out the banners and cupcakes, girl can knit.
I'm not that good, but I do find it therapeutic, so I pull the sticks and yarn out every now and again just to calm down.
So, when I ran across Wool and the Gang on Net-A-Porter, I was kind of excited.
Not reallyreally excited, mind you, because knitting was cool long before Net-A-Porter was, but, you know, excited nonetheless. I mean, a company selling Knitting kits to fashionistas could only be good, right? There was a fuzzy vision of seeing Sartorialist shots of seeing Giovanna Battaglia sitting on a park bench purling away, or Aygness Deyn walking in Soho with brightly colored wool spilling out of her Balenciaga bag.
So, yeah, I was looking forward to it.
And, okay, I still am.
There's only one problem.
...
The kits?



Yeah... they start at $85.
Now, I'll be the first to tell you: knitting can get expensive. I mean, really expensive.
But $85? For a scarf? Holy crap.
And, okay, lots of fashionistas who shop Net-a-Porter (including the two ladies mentioned above) probably spend more than that on lunch. However, aren't we in a recession? Lots of us lowly plebians can't afford to spend $85 on a fall wardrobe, much less the materials to make one measly scarf.



Now, I'm not knocking Wool and the Gang. I mean, if they can make a living selling overpriced Hobby Lobby fare to the hip and trendy, more power to them. Hell, I'm jealous.
However, if you're like me and scoff at such unrecessionistas, I have a tip: skip Net-A-Porter. Joann's is your friend.

Anthro-holic

So... It's come to this. You might have noticed from the last post that I happen to have teensy affection for Anthropologie.
...
Okay, more like I want to have its babies.
Well, I've decided that hiding it will only be harmful to myself, so here it is: the Anthro post.
Things I reallyreallyreally want to eat... I mean, buy.
(But I won't, obviously. Because as lovely as Anthro is, I would much rather spend $50 on books than a headband.)

Scarf-Tied Oxfords


Pickford Cloche



Quizzical Sweater (why is it quizzical, exactly? It's a sweater not a math problem.)


Daily Dose Foldover Bag


I'm so ready for Fall :)

A Place of One's Own...

I'm moving into a dorm soon (I think I may have mentioned it... oh... a billion times.)
and I'm really excited about decorating. However, this is pretty much limited to picking twin-size bedding (I'm making a duvet cover, to avoid Target comforters), and posters (although I do have one real painting by my brother-in-law that I love and I hope will fit...)
I just can't wait until I have an apartment.
I know, that's strange I guess. I mean, I'm not really looking forward to paying for it (my scholarship covers my room at college), but I just want to buy a couch of my own, you know?
Anyways, until that happens I will amuse myself by finding things to fill my (imaginary) place. :) I think my style is sort of vintage romantic with a bit of oddity thrown in, for spice:
This bed is so lovely it hurts.


This gorgeous cabinet, via my the always-covetable Anthro


Cute little magazine holder, via Etsy shop Paperdollwoodshop


Brass mouse paper spike (these things always scare me a little, in a good way) via Etsy shop ImSoVintage


And finally, this amazing sofa via Anthro (again! I'm like their loveslave)

Living the Life Aerobic

Alright, I'll admit it: I am sedentary. I know- it's shameful. And slightly pathetic. See, I have taken dance (real, hardcore, ballet-taught-by-professional-ballerinas dance) for sixteen years. SIXTEEN. Yes, that would make it since I was two. And yet, instead of being svelte and ballerina-y I am... well, the opposite. That's because I don't really do anything. I mean, dance is over. (Just like high school). I might pick up classes again in the fall, (doubtful), but during the summer? Yep, I'm pretty much just chilling in front of my computer.


Sad? yes. Irreversible? no. I'm starting school in the fall, (erm... in about a month, actually.) And do you know what my school has?
A gym.
Yes, that most dreaded of places that can't make a chair-potato like myself seem ridiculously out-of-place and have me begging for the internet in a matter of minutes. It's sterile, it's hot, it's full of hard-bodied people I just know are giggling at my inability to figure out a lat press.
It's also where I'll be spending an hour every day when school starts.
I know. I KNOW. Everyone says they will be in the gym once a day. It's right up there with cleaning out my closet and learning how to cook French cuisine on the stuff-i-should-do-that-will-never-get-done. But here's the thing:
I have to. I have to be there an hour a day. One hour every day in the place that makes me nervy just thinking about it. Why?
My roommate.
Yes, that most annoying of all college traditions. The roommate. Of course, my roommate is a total doll and I love her to death.
But she likes the gym.
And she's declared me her gym buddy.
And, okay, I think I may have agreed sometime that this is a great idea.
But I was clearly deranged at the time.
It doesn't matter, though, because I am now accountable. I promised. And I now have to venture into the treadmill-infested waters of the gym.
So you, dear readers, are now subject to my gym-adventures. Of course, don't expect them regularly because I am nothing if not flaky. But I will be there, I assure you.
A promise is a tricksome bitch.

Crush

I have an absolute all-encompassing head-over-heels crush on Jonathan Reid Sevigny.
It would probably be even worse if I actually met him.












See what I mean?
More personal updates later, promisepromise.
-Comfits