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Monday , July 6, 2009
HOW TO DRESS YOURSELF: Laura Jane's Guide to Stoner Girl Chic
Being a girl stoner is fundamentally rebellious. It is a political act.
Smoking pot puts you directly in touch with everything women aren't supposed to be, even in Two Thousand and "Things Should Be Better Than This!" Nine. Smoking pot makes a person- in my/your/our case(s), a girl- turn thoughtful, jokey, hungry, utterly self-reliant, and entirely non-sexual. Just as everybody who has ever tried to "get stoned and make out" has learned the hard way- there is no such thing as "getting stoned and making out." There is only "getting stoned, trying to make out, and then losing interest because you'd rather talk about The Beatles."
I am very proud to be a Stoner Girl. To "The Man," we are "The Enemy," kind of. We are the coolest girls in the world, not to mention the hottest. We are like the "California Girls" of all the different types of girls who do all the different types of drugs. Sings dudes, "I wish they all could be Stoner Girls, like Laura Jane Faulds, and Anna Faris in Smiley Face." Serious! For true! That's what dudes sing. All of them. Non-stop!
Stoner Girl Chic is fun, because it is all about trickery. The guiding principle behind Stoner Girl Chic is: being crazy-lazy about dressing yourself, but figuring out a handful of zero-effort fashion maneuvers that effectively fool the world into thinking you kind of tried, or, are not stoned.
Stoner Girl Chic is a "scrappy/sexy mishmash." Stoned people are auto-sexy, because their fuzzy eyes turn heavy-lidded, which is sexy, and they laugh a lot, and laughing is sexy too. Stoned people are also auto-scrappy, because smoking pot motivates you to scrap it up, to scamper around and go on kicky excursions to eat candy in shopping carts, swing on swings, and shoplift Snickers bars from your local 7-11.
Since becoming a stoner a few weeks ago, I have noticed two major changes in the way I dress myself:
1) I don't give a shit about what I wear, and;
2) I've never looked better!
Typically, stoner dudes have the worst personal style in the world. They make frat boys seem like Ultimate Fashion Champions. Red dreads; goatees with Fimo beads in them; cargo pants embellished with pictures of aliens; those nasty burlap World Famous messenger bags. Hacky sacks do not an accessory make, my brothers!
But we, my Stoner Girl compatriots, do not have to look as gross as our male counterparts! Let's be mad adorable, wear ratty t-shirts as if they were ball gowns, have our brains blown out by "When My Mind Is Not Live" by the Status Quo, roll joints of medicinal quality, and be the hottest chicks this world ever knew!
If you are new to Girl Stonerdom, and are not quite sure how to adapt your old non-stoner wardrobe to the needs of your new stoner self, this simple, easy-to-follow ten-step guide to becoming the chic-est Stoner Girl on the planet is dedicated to YOU!
RULE #1: PYJAMAS= CLOTHES= PYJAMAS= CLOTHES
Now that you are a Stoner Girl, 90% of the shit you'd ever want to do can be accomplished while sporting pyjamas. Scoresies malorskies! Pyjamas are the cat's pyjamas (HA HA HA! Stoners make dumb jokes!) Sometimes, however, you need a Big Gulp from 7-11, or cookies. Sometimes, you have to walk over to your Stoner Girl BFF's house. As much as you don't want to put effort into "getting dressed," you also don't want to be seen sporting flannel panda-print jammies on a major city street. One never knows when one might run into a hot dude!
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Tags: American Eagle Awesome, Big Gulps, bongs, drugz, girl stoners, How to dress yourself, joints, Laura, Laura "Getting Stoned and Listening to Music" Jane Faulds, Laura is chill, Laura Jane Faulds, Sleepy Beatles, smoking pot, Stoner Girl Chic, tees please
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Tuesday , June 30, 2009
HOW TO DRESS YOURSELF: The nogoodforme Guide to Red Lipstick
I've been pretty much a makeup minimalist for much of my life, both out of temperament and general laziness. I have had periods of experimentation, including an intense eyeliner phase and a weird urge to "grow up" via finding my perfect mascara, which seemed like a grown-up lady thing to do at the time. But I've never been a girl who felt like I couldn't leave the house without putting a face on, preferring that whole fresh-faced natural thing both on myself and other people. (I just think people look more gorgeous as they are. I also have this weird innate belief that you can get away with wearing more fashion-y clothing without looking like a mega-narcissistic jerk if you have laidback hair and makeup. I'm not sure where that comes from, but I ain't gonna let that go.) So it's kind of weird that my latest thing in terms of style-style is red lipstick, which is like makeup for makeup's sake, the ultimate in straight-up decoration. It's not makeup pretending to be natural, it's not "healthy beachy sheen" or whatever. Red lipstick is all about "Yes, I am wearing makeup and you will fear/covet/desire/bow down to me in all its hauteur and artifice." Red is the bon vivant, libertine and mega-slut of lipstick colors.
So how does a lazy makeup girl like me become the ultimate red lipstick fiend? I blame my whole "exploring my inner Dita Von Teese" New Year's resolution, which got me buying some awesomely hot lingerie and, yes, trying red lipstick. This is what I've discovered so far in the course of doing this: hot lingerie works, and I LOVE RED LIPSTICK. I think it can change your life, or at the very least make you feel really, really happy and awesome and sassy and bold for a few hours or something. (Plus, it is generally affordable, even at the most designer-y levels, which is more than what I can say about any pair of Eres knickers.) I'm all about the lipstick-inclined trying it 'cause it's just a lot of fun and you should just go for it. Do I really think anyone need a "guide" to red lipstick? Of course not - in principle, makeup anarchy rocks, and I think it should be nothing to be anxious or driven crazy about. (The stuff rubs off, for God's sake -- so why take it too seriously?) Still, it's fun to pretend that red lipstick is like the ne plus ultra of makeup gestures that you have to work up to, like running a marathon or climbing Mount Everest, only about ten times more instantly gratifying. So here it is, the notes and observations gleaned from my own personal red lipstick journey so far. This is by no means an exhaustive list, but feel free to pipe in the comments about your favorite reds. Sharing is caring!
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Tags: beauty, fun, hotness, Kat Asharya, Laura Jane Faulds, Liz Barker, makeup, red lipstick, vamps
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Sunday , May 10, 2009
HOW TO DRESS YOURSELF: A Guide to Astrological Perfumery
The only thing in this world I love more than getting drunk or talking about astrology is getting drunk and talking about astrology. My social network seems to have figured this out about me; lately, drunk-nights have been particularly awesome because everybody asks me to explain the zodiac to them, and I do! I hope my social network never finds out that, 90% of the time, I am making shit up as I go along.
A few weeks ago, I was out with the gang, and our astrology convo became enmeshed with a discussion we were having about our fragrances of choice, and the proverbial lightbulb clicked on atop my boozied, bevvied head. "I shall write a nogoodforme post about matching your perfume to your zodiac sign!" I hollered. Because the only thing in this world I love more than getting drunk and talking about astrology is getting drunk and talking about astrology and nogoodforme.com at the same time!!!! That shit is HEAVEN ON EARTH.
The general character of an Aries is defined by their having the emotional age of "zero through seven years old." This is why all Arieses (Arieses? Ariesians? Aryans? Iranians? Arugula?) act like frat boys. The world's Aries population: can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Arieses are simple folk. They are visceral people, governed by instinct and a predisposition towards creepy rage. Best case scenario Ariesians are straight-shooters, the type who say what everybody else is thinking (for instance, "He's just not that into you"); alternately, worst case scenario Arieses are neanderthals. Ariesianians need not be bothered with topnotes and basenotes and bergamot extract and essence of heliotrope. All an Aries needs is "tomato." Arieses can process that. They know what a tomato is. They like a tomato. They could imagine themselves smelling like a tomato. Yes, thinks an Aries. Yes, Tomato. And that is enough.
PS: If there was a Demeter fragrance called "Steak," I probably would have picked that one instead.
Tauruses (Tauruses? Taureans? Torrential Rainstorms? Capybaras? Lexington Avenue?) are the salt of this motherfucking Earth. Making sure there's solid Taurus representation in Laura Jane Inner Circle is high-priority for me. Taureans see life exactly as it is, whereas I erratically misrepresent life based on a neverending slew of arbitrary guidelines, instances and weird inexplicable impulses. Taureans help me out with not getting too caught up in that. Thanks, Tauruses! Speaking of Tauruses, Bono is a Taurus, and today happens to be Bono's 49th birthday! Happy Birthday, Bono!
If all the different Zodiac signs were different kinds of fruit, you'd think that Tauruses would be apples, but you're wrong: Pisceans are apples, because Pisceans are perfect, a la apples. Tauruses would be figs, because, well, I dunno, fuck it- it's just obvious. Area equals length times width; A squared plus B squared equals C squared; The Beatles are the greatest band of all time; Tauruses are figs. Some things are just true. If you've ever smelled Fresh Fig Apricot perfume, it must be obvious to you that it is what all Capybaras, I mean Tauruses, should smell like. God, I love Universal Truths! They make my job as a writer so much easier. Fuck "explaining things." I've got more important things to do, like freak out about some new irrational opinion I've conjured up in my head proving for once and for all that I am destined for failure, and will never find love.
Geminis are the theme of my life. I have a gift for dealing with Geminis, a topic I will be more than happy to expound upon further once May 21st hits and I post Del Shannon's "Gemini" to Heavy Rotation. Geminis are stellar human beings, except for when their scary Gemini Other creeps in and takes hold of their soul. When this happens, Geminis turn into the worst fucking people you will ever meet. The most fucked part of all is that they remain infuriatingly oblivious to the fact that they have just morphed into an unbearable mutant ogre version of themselves, and are mean to you when you gently try to let them know. This phenomenon is called "The Gemini Mind-Meld." It is terrifying, and I hate it.
Stella McCartney Eau de Parfum seems like a good call for Geminis because they are plucky little blithemeisters, and despite Sephora.com's claim that Stella is "a fragrance based on the contrast between the freshness and softness of the rose, the dark sensuality of amber... a sophisticated scent focused on an intense sense of femininity," to me it just kinda smells like a frolicky June good time. And Geminis are all about that. Incidentally, Stella McCartney is a Virgo, which kind of sucks. Sir Paul McCartney, however, is a Gemini, so that must be why she understands what they want to smell like.
As celebrity Cancerians Kat Asharya and Laura Jane Faulds of nogoodforme.com can attest to, Cancers should ideally alternate between at least six or seven different fragrances. I always match my perfume to my outfit, and I match my outfit to my mood, and my mood is matched to the lunar cycle, whether I like it or not. However, if you are a Cancer and don't want to buy six or seven fragrances (though I can't imagine how this could possibly be the case, since I like to believe that all Cancers have the exact same preferences as I do; it makes me feel less crazy and alone), Chloe is probably your best bet. It smells like everything good about being a Cancer: freesia, lychees, and peony, apparently. I jest. It smells raucously girly, which matches the traditionally Cancerian character of being nurturing, but also insane. Cancers: the Deadbeat Dads of the Zodiac.
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Tags: alcohol, aqua-whatever, Aquarians are flaky enigmas, Arieses like tomatoes, astrology, astrology is real, Cancers, Cancers: The Deadbeat Dads of the Zodiac, Capricorns love Starbucks, Cherry Icees, drunkedly explaining nogoodforme.com to strangers, Friedberger, hearing aids, John Lennon, Laura Jane's Virgo Issues, Lauren "LC" Conrad, Mick Jagger-style Leos, My Little Ponies, obnoxious old rich ladies, Oprah, perfume, Pisces are enlightened geniuses, Ronald Reagan, Sagittarian spunkiness, sanity, Scorpios, Scorpios make unfit parents, Sir Paul McCartney, Stella McCartney, Tauruses are figs, The Gemini Mind-Meld, the joke is on Libras, Wayne's World, Yo Quiero Taco Bell?, Yoko Ono
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Friday , April 24, 2009
HOW TO DRESS YOURSELF: The National Geographspiration Edition
How To Dress Yourself is a new column I just invented (and immediately patented, so never say "How To Dress Yourself" again, or I will sue your sorry ass all the way to Timbuktu. I'm warning you!). Posts falling into the "How To Dress Yourself" category typify the exact midpoint between Imaginary Shopping Spree and For A Date With, with a little dash of the Laura Jane Fashion Challenge spirit thrown in for good measure.
Today's lesson in How To Dress Yourself is based around the tried, tested and true obviousiality (Okay, seriously- how is that not a real word?!?) that people from a long time ago had astonishingly good personal style by complete accident. It's the fashion equivalent of the grass always being greener on the other side. The only way to look legitimately cool within the tedious terrain of Sartorial 2009 is to dress like you're from the past, but not too much like you're from the past, or people might mistake you for a time traveller. This can be inconvenient as fuck when you're trying to grab your morning coffee, and some stranger is all, "Hey, Whoa! Are you from 1935? What's the Great Depression like?"
The balance between looking like a time traveller from 1935 and looking like a person from the present who is inspired by how people looked in 1935 is very delicate, which is why I am here to teach you How To Dress Yourself. In Focus: National Geographic Portraits is a great place to begin; every featured subject (except for creepy drug addicts from the 1980s, but even them kind of) has tons better style than if you combined every single person in every single society snap that has been in American Vogue since 1998.
As follows is a brief tutorial in how to pilcher the most sublime sartorial tics of old-timey nobodies without looking like an old-timey nobody yourself. Old-timey Nobody Chic is OVER.
1. A Puerto Rican Debutante in the 1920s, Charles Martin (1924)
THE LOOK: (1) Metallic Gold Front-Pocket Tunic, Barney's New York; (2) Burnt Gold Gradient Web Necklace, Arielle de Pinto; (3) Digicam/Cigarette Case, Josey Wales; (4) Leather Cut-out Thigh-Highs, Rodarte; (5) Tibetan Lambshair Clutch, Lisa Kingsley; (6) Black Snakeskin Heels, F-Troupe
I am in love with this girl. She is the most charming person ever to have lived. I feel like she must have had a comely, delicate, and well-composed older sister whose shadow she perpetually lived in; her palpable gracelessness and scrappy, skinned-knee anti-poise screams Baby Sis. It's strange to me how her exact outfit is actually very, very now, in a "Kirsten Dunst in Erin Fetherston" way. Since this look barely even requires present-day transposition, I decided to put the kibosh on its unabashed prettiness and turn it into something mad-crazy. My heart pangs for this girl, hiding behind a boa, forcing out an uncomfortable "Whaddya gonna do?" half-smile for the National Geographic photographer who randomly (and probably annoyingly) showed up at her coming out party. Perhaps I am being overly sentimental, but I think our Puerto Rican Deb would be a lot happier if she were wearing Rodarte leggings and a kicky bubble-hem instead of something so confectionary. Trends come and go, but the core truths of life always remain the same: girls who like to climb trees need to wear minis; you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink (or, "you can dress up an awkward Borinquen deb in a party dress, but she'll never be Grace Kelly, which is why she is crazy-winsome and 100% My New Style Icon").
2. Amish Boy with his Pet Guinea Pig, William Albert Allard (1965; Lancaster County, Pennsylvania)
THE LOOK: (1) "Belmondo" Trilby Hat, Albertus Swanepoel; (2) Plaid Short Overalls, Final home; (3) Canvas Lace Bootie, Ecote; (4) Baby Doe Reindeer Ring, Vera Meat; (5) Dangling Gold-disc Necklace, J.Crew; (6) Girl Power Beater, Dimepiece Designs
It makes me so sad that this poor little buddy had the shit luck of being born Amish (it's nice that you can say whatever you want about Amish people on the Internet, since they probably don't check the Internet a whole lot). Dude must have grown up to be so hot (sans beard and top hat, that is)- I hope he made it out of his weird time-warp cult alive. This kid should not be feebly petting a guinea pig. He should be under the bleachers, heavily petting a hot babe who reeks of Love's Baby Soft and Bazooka Joe. This picture looks like it was taken in 1900, but it's from 1965. I wish I could travel back in time and steal Baby Hot Stuff away to my 1965 Life and play him "Norwegian Wood." Listening to "Norwegian Wood" would be a good transition from Amish life into normal life, since it's about wood and all that. Amish people love wood. They build chapels out of it, and then Harrison Ford comes along and is gruff at first but eventually learns a valuable lesson about loving thy brother.
As much as I just beat this dude up for pally-palling around with a rodent instead of a hot girl, another core truth of existence on this planet is that anything and everything is improved by the presence of a cute animal. I wonder what this wee dude would have thought if, in 1965, somebody had told him that in forty-four years time, he would one day be featured on nogoodforme.com, positioned as a legitimate Style Icon by a nutty Canuck. In other news, it's really messed up that people born in 1965 are forty-four years old now. I feel like they should be 20.
3. Received, Maynard Owen Williams (1922; Tidal Basin, Washington D.C.)
THE LOOK: (1) Cropped Collarless Trench, Boy by Band of Outsiders; (2) Lace Date Top, Kimchi; (3) Patterned Knee Socks, Henrik Vibskov; (4) Multi Python Flats; (5) Big Bow Satin Belt, Thread Social; (6) Raffia Headband, Christine Bec for Opening Ceremony
These people are dead now. I suppose there is a minute chance that one of them is alive and the oldest woman in the world, but odds are, she isn't. It is utterly astounding to me how amazing these women look. Together, they make up the Sazerac of Cute Girls in Swimsuits.
I'm sure that, in certain ways, 1922 bit the big one. My gender would have limited and oppressed me; at 23, I would probably be barefoot, preggers, and absolutely teeming with undeveloped potential. Also, I would be forced to wear my specs, and there would be no such thing as straightening irons, let alone Beatles. But, in 1922, people compensated. It is unlikely that the three women in this photo were mega-innovators. As much as I direly wish it wasn't the case, they were probably the 1922 equivalent of three chicks idling around in Hollister luau-print bikinis and Brazilian-flag embellished Havaianas. Best case scenario, they were Lauren Conrad.
What I love most of all about the girls in this image is the visible effort that has gone into fashioning their twee little swimming costumes. Why must the current state of affairs consider clothing functional only if it can be "thrown on"? I am guilty of this myself- all I ever talk about on nogoodforme is "throwing it on." Style icons or utter Normies, these babes did not just throw this shit on. They considered, planned, prepared, costumed, deemed and preened. In 1922, there was less crap to stress out about, so you could devote more time to looking awesome on the beach, which makes perfect sense. 1922 people were RIGHT.
My new fashion goal for Summer 2009: Pair knee-socks with a swimsuit.
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Tags: 2009: The Crappiest Year Yet!, Amish people, Elie Saab, Grace Kelly, Hollister, How to dress yourself, I Hate My Generation, John Lennon, Kirsten Dunst, Lauren Conrad, National Geographic, Pfizer, Rodarte, Sazeracs, strawberries, strawberries are the baby animals of food, time travel
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