Friday, 19 November 2010

Farewell Blogspot.

This is my last blog post here, fare thee well blogspot. Perhaps we shall meet again, but I sincerely doubt it. In the meantime, check out my blog and copywriting portfolio at:

Friday, 12 November 2010

Whenever I think of "The Factory Store" child laborers immediately come to mind.

I've officially done it. Through the scholarly trials and tribulations of my hangover paired with arguing with my little brother via his facebook status, I have done the impossible.

It's taken me years, nay lifetimes in the metaphorical sense, but I have achieved what I was put on G-d's green Earth to do.

The official definition for "Living The Dream" is as follows:

Doing whatever the fuck you want with a pretentious attitude and disregard of long term consequences. Pair with a fabulous vocabulary and wardrobe for best results.

I'd like my Peace Prize mailed to me, I would accept it in person but haven't a thing to wear.

This term has been going well thus far, for my print advertising final I'm doing an Emily Post-esque etiquette and style book as a mailer for J Crew Wedding. Needless to say I'm a little excited, but disappointed that it has to be on-brand. Read: minimal sarcasm.

I just checked out the online J Crew Factory Store, and I feel like I was let down. Those bastards threw last seasons clothes on there for a slight discount and put "Factory" at the beginning of each discriminately named piece of clothing. I never understood why they would name it "The Annalise Shawl Collar Cardigan" or some utter nonesense like that. I picture this Annalise to be very thin, blonde, and desperately trying to pop her shawl collar. Yet it's all in vain.

I would love to be the person to name said articles of clothing. I think it would be a great marketing ploy to bluntly name each item. For example, The I got some useless English degree from a well regarded liberal arts school but my tits are what landed me this job cocktail dress or the I may be a horrible person but at least I'm not wearing jorts seersucker trousers and finally the I'm making up for my ridiculously undersized junk with this conceited attitude blazer.

Unfortunately this is the stuff of what my dreams are made of. Aim high kids.

Saturday, 6 November 2010

Uncle Gary: this is an intervention.

I have a sick and twisted beige fetish. I don't understand it either, it's a terribly boring color but it goes extremely well with black and the majority of my wardrobe. (insert terribly trite soul and/or heart joke here)

The color itself exudes a shitload of class. When I think of beige, brands like Burberry or icons like Jackie O. come to mind. No wonder it can even make sluts and the homeless look somewhat sophisticated.

However, with all prior reasoning aside, I was extremely disappointed with GAP's spring 2011 ready to wear collection. There's only so much beige one person can handle before they begin to question their own sanity and go on a seafood and gin binge. (I'm looking at you Uncle Gary)

The only piece that really stood out to me was this white shift dress, which looks like it could have been ripped off the BCBG spring runway show.
What truly blew my mind was Talbots spring collection. I had previously thought that store was purely for the menopausal or those who had forsaken their grandchildren for a horde of belligerent cats all named after British royalty. Apparently the store is doing a complete re-branding and style make-over to try and win over a younger set.

For example, this coral dress is adorable and simply to die for. It even has a high enough neckline so people will acknowledge me by name.
This skirt makes me really happy, and allows me to look forward to the day when I can do yuppie things instead of degenerate college student things. However I feel like not much will change. Maybe my funneling skills will improve.

I can't get over the color of this skirt paired with the belt and the shoes. It makes me want to ride a bike along the Seine with fresh cut flowers, a baguette, and wine in the little bike basket. Needless to say there would be streamers attached to said bike, along with a horn and possibly training wheels. In case you couldn't infer, I haven't touched a bike since single digits.

The shrunken cardigan paired with the contrasting heels and hangover sunglasses is tres chic. I could see myself bumming around West Philly in something like this with flats so I don't look like the Jolly Jew giant. This is the perfect dress. You could be a complete walking train wreck with a Four Loko in each hand and still be forgiven because you look so damn classy. I own a long sleeved version of this but haven't been given an opportunity to wear it. I'm waiting for the day when I truly fuck up and desperately need forgiveness. I'm assuming it will be video-chatting my parents at some point, explaining why I haven't been allowed to graduate with only a few months left to go.

"Tell us why you refused to take your women's studies requirement again?"

"Because I already know how to make a damn sandwich."

G-d bless America.

Friday, 5 November 2010

Even after all my bitching I stil listen to the song.

I don't know how I feel about Rihanna's and Eminem's second installment to Love the Way You Lie. It was in poor taste for Rihanna to agree to the first song after the whole Chris Brown fiasco, but I realize the flashing dollar sign is more of an incentive than fleeting morality. However, to do a second one is fucked up, especially from the subservient and masochistic girlfriends point of view.

One line stuck with me in particular:

but you’ll always be my hero/ even though you’ve lost your mind.

I am in no way, shape, or form a feminist, but didn't he talk about tying you to a bed and setting the house on fire? That's not romantic- that's called settling.

Whether she likes it or not, Rihanna is a twisted role model for some poor schmuck out there in an abusive relationship. And that schmuck is probably making this song her anthem, and latching onto some clandestine excuse as to why she should stay in her fucked up misery. Because now it can be poetically associated with martyrdom thanks to a white rapper and some chick wearing hot pants. A million thank you's.

I wonder if they'll bring back Megan Fox and Domenic Monaghan back for the second video, although I was puzzled as to why she would be taking abuse from a hobbit. She has dealt with far, far worse. (Autobots anyone?)

At least I have Adam Lambert for a role model. If you haven't been so blessed to see the "If I Had You" video you must you tube it right now. It's gay Twilight on speed.

Sunday, 31 October 2010

Happy Things.

Because there's no better way to nurse a hangover than wasting precious time on Tumblr you will never get back, I thought I'd share some of my digital "happy places."

Emerson Made

Clothes and accessories for the life you wish you could lead as the fabulous looking local drunk who bums around her quaint New England town. Kind of like Gilmore Girls without the fast talking and early pregnancies. I'm positively in love with this clutch, I think it
would not only bump my wardrobe up a couple of points, but make me into a better person as well.

J Crew

It's Disneyworld for the preppy. I haven't seen them screw up yet, and I don't think they can. Even these super Republican necklaces are adorable. Those crafty conservatives...attempting to take away our rights, yet accessorizing so well while they do it. Speaking of super adorable, Jon Stewart's and Steven Colbert's Rally for Sanity and/or Fear was yesterday. I was supposed to go, but Halloween trumps all. I honestly wasn't that impressed with it, but the amount of people that cared enough to show up was simply amazing.

Cast TV

This is only on here because it's the site where I watch Madmen. How melodramatic is this season four promo shot of Betty Draper? They managed to capture her solitude and self-loathing so eloquently. I know we're supposed to hate her, but I think she's by far the most interesting character on the show. I may have also been the only one who was rooting for the secretary that ultimately ended up marrying Don. She's young, she's hot, and she knows what she's doing. You go girl!

This has no purpose, it just amused me. Happy Halloween!

Friday, 29 October 2010

Sometimes I regret sucking at design.

My largest problem with Graphic Design is the craft and precision of it. I am naturally a messy person, and my cutting boards, tools, and gluing skills are a reflection of that. To add to the futility of it, my worst trait is how I'm arguably inclined to not care about something if I don't naturally excel at it. This has been exemplified through years of failing at gymnastics, ballet, tennis, sailing, or even just working on my weak wrists and ankles. (In my defense, I am part British)

While I am not jealous of the mind-numbing amount of hours I have seen my roommate and classmates work on their paper sculptures and packaging projects, I am envious of their end results. To put it simply their projects are fucking beautiful and I wish I could even attempt such a feat. However, because I chose to take glorious advertising and writing courses I get to bastardize some of my favorite brands in its stead. And as we all know, the creative process is best stimulated through cheap alcohol and living in your own delusions of grandeur. Two things I've got totally under control.

I just get a little sad whenever I see the epic work of Rob Ryan, or the Etsy shop of Mr. Yen. Paperwork is beautiful and I can only aspire to have a cut-out masterpiece of my own someday. My tawdry and collegiate whitewashed walls only currently contain my assholish-photoshop renderings I either made for class or for fun while intoxicated.

But Sarah, why did you put a hamster on an Absolut Ad?
Because it's fucking adorable.

Yes I get that, but why did you have to put it in your portfolio?

...Because it was either that or Abe Lincoln talking about railing bar wenches. Oh wait, that's in there too. Thank G-d I know I'm not working in design after that mythical day they call "graduation."

Just to prove I'm not screwing around all the time, here's a bit of my (yet to be approved) thesis I wrote today. I'm essentially going to design a book I'm currently writing, on top of the mountain of classes I plan on taking, and writing the scripts for Drexel's talk show. Luckily I always have my secret weapon...insomnia.

This is a short excerpt from my food chapter, discussing yours and my favorite pastime: snacking.

You can’t get through your day on a three paltry meals, hopes, dreams, and barbituates alone. You’re probably going to want some fruit salad as well.

Snacking has always been a dangerous pastime, like freefalling or day drinking. You just don’t know how or when to stop. One chip turns into five, then half the bag, then you’re hysterically scrubbing the orange cheesy dye off your hands like you just committed a murder. You’re not Lady Macbeth, and washing away the evidence still won’t help the size of your thighs.

If you need your chip and dip fix, don’t be afraid to waste dishes and set aside pre-measured portions. Keep in mind the portions should be considerably smaller than a feeding trough. Living the dream isn’t funneling onion dip into your mouth: it’s fitting into the clothes that make people hate you.

Don’t eat in front of the TV, the glowing box will distract you from the quantity or quality of calories being shoveled into one of your less discriminating orifices. A self-satisfying and somewhat innocent snack is toasted whole grain pita or cucumbers with hummus. You can stock up and blow some cash on some of the gourmet hummus options, or make your own. All you really need are some chick peas, a food processor, and the will to blend something other than margaritas.

Saturday, 23 October 2010

The rationalization behind cutting all of my hair off.

I've always aspired to look like Natalie Portman in Hotel Chevalier. There is a certain elegance in the way she bitchily commands the room in a trench coat and androgynous haircut. The same goes for Edie Sedgwick, and those random anorexic fashion majors running around campus.

I have always admired their confidence in the ability to pull off a masculine hair cut. It's easy enough to hide behind long pretty locks if you have a pimple or serious bags under your eyes. People will be distracted and not as focused on your face. There is also unfortunately the issue of what guys will think. We're brought up in a society where long hair for girls is considered the status quo, and straying from it makes you highly resemble Hilary Swank from Boys Don't Cry.

However, last night when I was pounding peppermint patty shots with Natalie (Whipped cream, peppermint schnapps, and chocolate sauce all in your mouth. Follow with serious gym time) I had an epiphany. I needed to make a serious lifestyle change. The apathy towards my major had reached epic heights, and my decision making skills have been poor of late. I needed a fresh start, preferably one that didn't include retail therapy.

After several more drinks, an ill-conceived frat party, an allergic reaction to said drinks (damn you red dye B5) and one of the worst texts I have ever received, my gut reaction was to call the salon as soon as I woke up this morning. Farewell curly Jew fro, hello pixie cut.

I don't know if it's because I've grown more confident over the years, or if I just stopped caring what other people think of me. Probably the latter, but nevertheless I'm damn proud of myself for not audibly crying when I saw all of my hair falling to the ground. I was initially scared that I would look too much like a little school boy, but then I realized I had two rather large reasons how they couldn't.

I may wake up tomorrow with the horrible realization that it will take at least two years for my hair to fully grow back, but for right now I'm not in panic mode. I'm too busy modeling headbands.