Typing like my life depended on it in my new local coffee-shop/work-space in the lovely, historic Echo Park district of Los Angeles--when a lady (encompassing the true sense of the word) waltzed into the space. She was wearing a floor length floral-flowing-dress (the kind that moves with a grace all of its own), paired with one of those awesomely intimidating fashion-harness-belts that clashed brilliantly with a classic crimson lippy and sparkly, shoulder-dusting earrings. Her oversized briefcase was a worn (astronomical) patent leather louis vuitton, that carelessly swung from her arm (in that recklessly-chic this old thing kind of way exclusive to a select/enviable breed who boast an entire wardrobe occupied by designer labels). I suddenly became self-consciously aware of my current getup: tortious shell nerd glasses, ratty unkempt hair (split ends for days), NO LIPSTICK, a super unflattering baby-doll dress (think Courtney Love on a bad day) paired with a Mr Rogers sweater. It hit like a fist: Ive lost my glamorous edge somewhere between San Miguel and Silverlake. Time to step up my glam game, and get back at it.
Posted on: Thu, 14 Aug 2014 19:01:32 +0000