Outfit Post: Cocktails in stores - yay or nay?

I have a little Wednesday night ritual. I change out of my clothes into an ancient pair of Anthropologie pajama pants and a Michael Stars tank, pour a double shot of Makers Mark whiskey, and cocoon into a fluffy throw blanket on the couch. Then I turn on the teevee, turn off the lights, and watch Modern Family, Cougar Town and In The Middle while cackling with delight. Then I'll flick to TBS and catch my super secret husband Timothy Olyphant on Justified.  Occasionally, when these shows are repeats, I bring my shot of whiskey over to my laptop and engage in a little online window shopping. By ten p.m I feel relaxed, slightly sedated, and ready for a good night's sleep.

I was never much of a drinker. In high school and college I avoided alcohol like the plague, and waited until my twenty-first birthday to have my first drink (yes, really.) I was exceedingly proud of my ability to abstain at parties while my friends got inebriated. I suppose I was afraid of losing control. And throwing up. But now that I'm older, and more mature, I enjoy a shot of whiskey every now and then. And there's something to be said for the simple pleasure of sipping on a beer while sitting on a restaurant patio during a warm spring night.

Last week, the NY Times ran an article about a new trend developing in New York City stores. A collection of independent men's boutiques have started serving alcohol to shoppers, often tying in the type of drink served to the apparel being sold. Traditional men's lifestyle brands have long offered customers a glass of scotch while being fitted for a suit, a rite of passage for men stepping up into the business world. “It feels like a social experience, very James Bond or 1960s Playboy, but I guess it’s also kind of like Vegas — the more you drink you more you spend,” said Joey Rubenstein, an Internet entrepreneur, as he waited for the clerk to bring out his Hugo Boss sport coat. 

In hip New York City neighborhoods, several men’s wear stores are now lubricating the shopping experience with everything from microbrews to specially made cocktails. While few stores advertise the perk, some shoppers are now stopping in to stores for a drink before continuing on with evening activities, with shopping as an afterthought. And often, the store employees drink with the customers. “We’re not trying to get them drunk, we’ll have one with them,” said Karim Manuel Fresno, general manager at Groupe Seize sur Vingt. “We’re not just selling the clothes, we’re selling the experience. We promote the lifestyle.” 

Reading this article got me thinking about how my shopping experience would change if I was offered a drink while browsing the racks. There's no doubt that sipping on a cocktail puts customers at ease. At high-end stores that cater to women, customers have long been served champagne to reinforce the note of luxury which high-end merchandise symbolizes. Being served a drink encourages customers to remain in the store for an extended period of time, increasing the likelihood that they'd make a purchase. I can certainly see how shopping while tipsy would lead to more money spent, and possible buyer's remorse when the buzz wears off. And bonding with a store employee over a cocktail might encourage a more intimate shopping experience. 

How do you feel about being served while shopping? Would in-store cocktails encourage you to visit, and make a purchase, at a store? Have you ever sipped on a drink while browsing? Or do you believe this trend is going a bit too far? 

Market Publique vintage blazer; Anthropologie ruffled top; Gap cami; Citizens of Humanity jeans; vintage Coach satchel; Mia clogs;  Forever 21 bracelet; Forever 21 rhinestone earrings

Outfit Post: Favorite lipstick, rest in peace

I need to ask for a moment of silence.






It appears that at some point during last weekend's Texas Style Council Conference, while tweeting and eating Tex-Mex and drinking and getting hit on by lonely hobo hipsters and singing karaoke and blogging, I lost my most favorite lipstick. I have done the things most of us do when realizing we've misplaced something: Freaked out, emptied my purses, tore apart my suitcase, had a panic attack, checked all my pockets, cleaned out my SUV, freaked out some more, and, eventually, stoically and tearfully accepted that the lipstick was gone (sniff sniff.)

The lipstick in question was MAC's Viva Glam. It was the perfect almost-red color - glossy, creamy, and not too bright. No matter what I was wearing, this lipstick made me feel gorgeous. (I should also add that this lipstick was my introduction into the wonderful world of MAC cosmetics, my obsession on which has become a bit of a Problem. I used a capital P, to emphasize the serious nature of this situation.) Viva Glam reminded me of my early childhood, when I'd perch on the corner of my bathroom sink and watch my mom apply her make-up. My mother was an intense hoarder of cosmetics. Eyeshadows spilled from Zip-Loc bags. Blushes were crammed into shoe boxes. Nail polishes, in a rainbow of colors, lined our medicine cabinet. Every morning my mom and I would crowd into our teeny tiny NYC apartment bathroom and I'd watch, enthralled, as she powdered and plucked and painted herself into an eighties glamazon. A final spritz of Dior's Poison capped off her opulent, somewhat embalmed look. I was smitten.

MAC's Viva Glam had a similar effect. It transformed me from a harried suburban mom into a chic gamine Aubrey Hepburn-type, the kind of woman who wears kitten heels and smokes unfiltered French cigarettes and drinks red wine at 1 pm while listening to Edith Pilaf records. This woman also has a collection of Hermes Birkin bags, drives a vintage Jaguar XKE convertible, and owns a flat in Buenos Aires. She and her sultry Latin boyfriend spend afternoons wandering through art galleries, eating tapas, and making love on an antique mahogany bed draped in filmy linen. They serve cocktails in vintage barware, vacation in Budapest, and spend their free time collecting feminist art with which to decorate their Moroccan-inspired, zebra-carpeted, Rococo chandelier-ed home.

I want to be this woman.

In my MAC Viva Glam, I believed I was one step closer. Without it I'm, well, me. Cheapskate, half-hearted cook, insomniac, thrifter, slow typist, and procrastinator of most household chores. And unfortunate object-loser. (Editor's Note: Yesterday I also lost my favorite ring. THANK GOD NOT MY ENGAGEMENT RING, or I'd have serious issues.) My life is about as scintillating as a shampoo commercial.

Do you have a favorite lipstick? Are you loyal to a certain brand? Care give a recommendation? Because I could certainly use a pick-me-up.

Here I am, sans awesomesauce lipstick and sultry Latin boyfriend.

Forever 21 linen shirt; Forever 21 floral top; Citizens of Humanity jeans; vintage thrifted Coach bag; Gap sandals; Forever 21 rhinestone bracelets; Forever 21 feather earrings

Outfit Post: If snow were a person, I would punch it in the face.

This is what I wore when I woke up to over six inches of snow. This is what I wore when I unleashed a spew of profanity at Mother Nature, meteorologists, cold toes, frosted windowpanes and soggy mittens and gloves. This is what I wore when the power went out in our home and my family and I huddled around our gas fireplace, desperately absorbing the little heat it cranked out. This is what I wore during my fourth day trapped inside the house with three restless, antsy, hyperactive children - three children who begged for a continuous stream of Tom and Jerry, Fruit Loops, and permission to clothe themselves in only their underwear (it was like Lord of the Flies around here, people.) 

This is what I wore when I wondered why in the hell I left Iowa when the weather here is almost as God-awful as it is there. Maybe worse, because here in Dallas we get crippling ice storms while Iowa is softly covered under gentle fluffy layers of snow.

Iowans are a hardy folk. When faced with winter weather, they merely shrug their shoulders and matter-of-factly break out their down coats and snow blowers and shovels. No one freaks out. No one gets cranky. No one becomes hostile. This is probably why I only lasted a year as an Iowan. I become monumentally bitchy and annoyed when it snows. I pity those who are forced to be with me (wave to my husband) because I am an absolute beast to be around. I just can't help it. I am a sunshiney kind of girl. I need blue skies and mild temperatures and the slight glow of a tan. I need green grass and flowers in bloom and long afternoons soaking up the sun at the Dallas Arboretum. I need to drink coffee on a restaurant patio and drive with the windows down and GOD DAMM IT, I CANNOT TAKE THIS ANYMORE AAAUUUUGGGGHHHH.


You have betrayed me, Dallas. Hard. I thought you loved me. I thought we made promises between each other. You promised to always be warm and sunny and I swore to always love you. But now there's a crack in our relationship, Dallas. And I'm not sure I can get over it. But I'll admit today's sunny yellow cardigan helped.


So...how did you handle this week's crappy weather?

Vintage thrifted Pendelton cardigan; Forever 21 button-down, Gap white tee; Forever 21 belt; thrifted Citizens Of Humanity jeans; Michael Korrs boots