I get knocked down, but I get up again

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Last week I was running to catch the train. It was just starting to snow, and I was hoping to get home before things really picked up. The doors were closing and a man stuck his hand out to hold them open for me—how nice of him.

Two steps to go before I would be safely inside and I slipped in the kind of way you see cartoon animals slip on banana peels. I slipped and fell hard on my back. I lay for what felt like two minutes but was probably closer to two seconds before realizing my right arm and leg was between the subway car and the platform, a dangerous place for which new New Yorkers are warned to stay away. I quickly, dizzily rolled my way over to the platform and slowly sat up.

“I think I hit my head,” I said to what I thought would be a crowd of strangers hurrying to lend a hand.

But no one seemed to notice except for the subway conductor who gave me a thumbs up before closing the doors for good. It scared me more than it hurt me, at least until the next day when my whole body ached from what I presume was a combination of whiplash and landing flat on the corner of the subway platform. But not one single person asked me if I was ok, not even when I was sobbing on the stairs for 22 minutes while I waited for the next Q train. Yeah, now you know why I was running to catch the previous one.

Here's my theory... because I refuse to believe everyone in this city is horrible. Maybe no one thought to comfort me  because I was wearing my black leather jacket. Girls in black leather jackets don’t usually look like they need help. Girls in black leather jackets always look cool and independent and effortless and they also probably don’t fall in public places. At least, that’s what I tell myself when I’m wearing my leather jacket.

I have always wanted a real leather jacket to keep forever and hopefully pass down to my future daughter. And I think this one is pretty perfect. I imagine it camouflaging all of my a-line dresses and and delicate blouses, just so everyone knows I mean business and don’t need your help. Except when I fall.

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[jacket-uo (similar), top-free people, jeans-zara, shoes-doc marten, necklace-madewell]

I think I may be falling for you

My boyfriend accuses me of being too gloomy on here. I prefer "real," and real life is sometimes gloomy. But In honor of this perfect weather/my favorite season/almost Thanksgiving/this mustard turtleneck that is giving me life right now, I'll hit some high points. Note: it in fact does take at least one year to feel on top of New York. 1. I scored the above mint green coat from Banana Republic. I bought a petite medium in case you're wondering. When they say oversized they mean it.

2. I don't think I've ever experienced such beautiful fall weather in my life. The highs have been in the 60s!

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3. I got a job at The Wall Street Journal.

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4. I turned 24 since that last time I was here. That was cool I guess.

5. I am going home TWICE in the month of December. I can't wait to see my mom's new chickens. (and my mom)

6. My soul sista is getting married and I will complete my maid of honor trifecta. Y'all sure do know how to make a girl feel appreciated

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7. My beau is staying in New York on Thanksgiving to make just me dinner when I get home at midnight. I'm a lucky lady.

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8. I still live here.

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[coat-banana republic, sweater-loft (similar), boots-gap, bag-aldo]

photos by the lovely Alex Wood.

affordable athleisure

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Full disclosure: this mural is in front of a prison, but the colors were calling my name. I just felt like I was being dishonest being all cheery and such with my donut bag, so I needed to tell someone.

This weekend I celebrated the first long sleeved shirt of the season. And to celebrate the goosebumps acquired on my bagel run, I'm taking this blog for  back-to-the-basics fashion post. Forgive me if I'm rusty.

I'm all about the athleisure trend,  but I'm not about to spend an arm on a leg on pieces I know I won't wear past these fleeting trendy times. The last time I bought tennis shoes was two years ago, as documented in this post. The last time I bought running clothes, I wore them once for yoga. And the last time I wore a hoodie was high school. Thisuniform-inspired sweatshirt from Old Navyis my kind of affordable way to salute the Chanel sneaker and Givenchy leggings.

This weekend was spent searching for good food in the neighborhood, which we found in the form of Dough donuts and Rosé sangria at a street fair. Gosh I love this place. Remember when I said the first year in New York is hard/the worst? Well July 3 was my one year with this place and since then everything has been looking up. I won't go into too many details just yet. But stay tuned!

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[sweater: old navy, jeans: uo, shoes: sam edelman, necklace: h&m]

hey good-lookin'

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New York is sexy. Women hint at their form with loose, gauzy T-shirts and unbinding bralettes, not suffocating tanks and pushup lingerie. Sundresses graze calves instead of thighs and slips are forsaken in exchange for comfort. When commuting comfortably is a priority and workwear often becomes nightwear style can not be a burden. It's an effortless sexy,  a too cool for the male gaze sexy—something I can get behind. When you put down another person's definition of sexy, clothing options expand and things get interesting.

I gave up cleavage-baring tanks and cheek-grazing shorts when I decided confidence was my decision and was not contingent on the compliments of others. I think this decision came shortly after I traded in my long locks for a boyish cut. Coincidentally the boys found their own "do" unappealing on the opposite sex. It may have whittled down the number of free drinks I got, but it certainly expanded my wardrobe choices and increased the number of compliments I got in public restrooms. Without a motivation to inspire desire I found a new look, an effortlessly "cool" look, a buttoned-up, sometimes androgynous, figure-swallowing look.

There is nothing more commanding than an outfit stolen from the guys. Every woman needs an oversized white button-up and slouchy trousers to mix and match with leather leggings and a cropped sweater respectively. I paired my relaxed button-up with sleek black jeans and a bold lip—my kind of sexy. I resisted the urge to button up all the way to my throat in order to show off my dainty flea market necklace find.

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[shirt-madewell, jeans-uo, shoes-similar, sunglasses-madewell, necklace]

ponyboy/girl

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Confession. I am not keeping up with runway shows and designer duds anymore. Not forever, but that sure explains my mostly neutral closet and drawers full of boring basics. Sure I still appreciate the artistic process behind each collection and their gowns still appear in my Instagram feed, but it's kind of just not on my radar these days.

These days I'm really into dressing "trend-free." I can honestly say everything I put on my body is a conscious blend of comfort and function. Does this mean I'm an adult? Probably not. Probably just lazy.  I've ditched all my high heels for sleek tennies and strappy flats because blisters are not friends of my city-stomping feet. I wear most tops buttoned up to my neck because cleavage makes me feel too self-aware. And I haven't washed my black skinnies in a month or so because they're the closest thing to black leggings I can wear to work.

With comfort at the top of my sartorial priorities, I've slowly sunk into a sort of boyish look that's kind of fun and new for me. Shapeless jumpsuits, crew-neck T-shirts, sloppy shoes and maybe a kimono for a splash of drama. I like it. New York has stripped me of my love of A-line dresses because you can't sit Indian-style at your dresk in those. My beautiful strappy black heels are in my "can't fit in my closet" suitcase under my bed. But it's OK. My style's never been one to sit in one place for too long. I'm excited for what spring will bring. Maybe I'll be inspired by one of Oscar's polka-dot numbers and dress like a '50s housewife for the month of May. But for now it's all curb-stomping street-wear.

In the 7th grade my English teacher made the class read the Outsiders. It was probably the first book in school I enjoyed and we celebrated the end of the lesson by watching the '80s flick with Ralph Macchio, Tom Cruise, Matt Dillon, etc. I fell head over heels for Ralph Macchio's portrayal of Johnny and every now and again feel a shared bond between the character's kind, meek side—but even more so his dark locks, Converse sneakers, and muscle shirts. Many days I find myself subconsciously likening my outfit to the Greasers, but of course adding a bold lip for girlish flair. Ponyboy, Johnny, Sodapop.... you are my sartorial sprit animal. But my wardrobe is a lot like Robert Frost's poem and the last line of The Outsiders "Nothing gold can stay." Next season it will be on to the next character Abbey wants to play. Cheers, Pony.

Side note: This was the longest winter I've experienced to date. My dream city made me long for sweltering Southern summers. And seasonal depression is real friends. A girl can only take so many grey sweater, grey weather days in a row. Thank goodness the sun has decided to show his elusive self these past couple of weekends. New York spring is beautiful.

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[shirt, jeans-UO, sunnies-madewell, backpack-rebecca minkoff]

east village uniform

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You couldn't rip these $20, Forever21 jeans away from me if your life depended on it. They're perfect and comfortable and I don't  have to unbutton the top button after a large meal. Boyfriend jeans are a way of life, one that says "I know my backside is unflatteringly flat and it looks like I have cankles, but those are the kinds of things I can forgo when I want to look slouchy-chic and don't want seam lines embedded in my skin when I take them off." Boyfriend jeans don't care if you don't have a boyfriend and you bought them at a teen wholesale store. They're the IDGAF of jeans, they're the pair-me-with-sexy-sandals-to-create-an-ironic-dichotomy-jeans and they're here to stay for every season. I just decided.

Halfway through this post I realized I already wrote an ode to these jeans, but I guess I'll keep going to show you I'm not a quitter. Here is my summer interpretation in which I add a breezy button-down and sleek sandals to up the down-town chic factor, but I also wear them with muscle tees and Birkenstocks; so don't be fooled.

New York's still beautiful, if you were wondering. I've been spending a lot of my time in the East Village with my soon-to-be roommates and I can't help but take fashion inspiration from the silent fashionistas that seem to always have their nose in their phones. This trait helps me to look a few seconds longer without feeling intrusive. This down-town chic is a mix of neutral cropped sweaters and frayed denim, platform sandals and textures hair-dos. I'd be lying if I told you my hair wasn't an attempt at the perfectly undone look the ladies of downtown sport.

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Thanks, Mazie for the photos.