A while ago, I decided that I needed to start a fashion blog. More of a fashion diary, really. I wanted to take a picture of myself each day and then share how exceedingly charming I looked every week. I started last Monday with good intentions, but I ran into several issues. Firstly, I am not a morning person and oftentimes don’t have time to get myself together with all the care I’d like. Secondly, my wardrobe is not extensive, so even though I wear a wild variety of gorgeous ensembles, there are many pieces that are frequently repeated. Thirdly, I lost my tripod. I’m pretty sure it’s in an apartment on the rue Saint-Paul deep in the Marais in Paris. I can’t think of a chicer resting place for it, but it’s not doing me a lot of good on the other side off the world. Without it, I find it very difficult to take pictures of myself. I want to give you the entire look, not just waist up or waist down. I’ll have to invest in a new one, I suppose.

One thing I’m very excited for is to be famous. I’m not exactly sure how this is going to come about, but “I can feel it in me waters.” It’ll happen and I’ll have a marvelous time. A particular aspect of celebrity that I’m exceptionally enthused about is the free designer clothes. They just ship them to you and hope you get photographed in them, isn’t that wonderful? Yes, I will take the Armani suit and the Lanvin tie and Calvin Klein shoes, and yes I will be the face of Chanel’s perfume for men and yes you can send me an entire case of Bleu de Chanel. Have you sampled it, yet? It’s a gorgeous fragrance. So, once I’m famous and Donatella is regularly keeping me styled with the latest in Versace, I might finally be happy with life. Then, I’ll go out with the socialites and young celebrities. We will do a myriad assortment of gossip magazine worthy things and then call the paparazzi ourselves. I think Lindsay and Amanda would be great fun to go out with, as long as they’re not driving. Don’t want to ruin the money maker, you know.

Anyway, I didn’t take pictures of myself every day like I anticipated, some days weren’t fashion and other days, I just forgot. In the future, I think I will post individual outfits whenever I’m feeling particularly chic, like today. (Custom fitted Tommy Hilfiger, if you were wondering.)

MONDAY:

Today I was unwillingly embracing the arrival of autumn. I effing hate the cold, but I like wearing sweaters. These pants are my new obsession. I found them at Target and have since bought four different pairs. I’m buying more soon.

TUESDAY:

I was browsing through my favorite magazine, Martha Stewart Living, and came across an article Martha wrote about incorporating denim into her wardrobe. I love Martha and basically wish I were her, so I decided to dress like her.

Unfortunately, I don’t have red jeans, which I understand is a fundamental sin against fashion. I do have mustard yellow jeans, so I went for the former outfit.

This is probably the worst picture of me ever taken, but I didn’t realize how bad it was until just now. It was the only non blurry one, but I didn’t realize that my jaw was loose and I appear to be thrusting out my pelvis. Whatever, I liked how I looked. I’ll be emulating Martha regularly.

THURSDAY:

I love everything old. I decided that I wanted to dress up in something retro today, so inspired by a terrible movie I had seen the night before, I decided to dress like an English architect from the 60s.

This was easily my favorite ensemble of the week. I felt so elegant. The glasses were provided by my amigos at Warby Parker. I think I finally found the perfect pair for my face. The wrist tattoos are temporary from Chanel.

SATURDAY:

I’ll be posting a whole blog on this weekend soon. I stayed at a lovely hotel designed by Frank Lloyd Wright (architecture-gasm) and then on Sunday, I went to the International Food Festival in Des Moines. So many cultural events. It’s exhausting to be so busy. But here’s how I looked on Saturday.

I’m upset that I forgot to take a picture of today’s look, I felt extra nice. But, the second I get home, I strip down to the essentials. So, by the time I recalled, I wasn’t fit to be photographed. Oh well.