Check Me Out: One Lucky Girl

Have you ever had the realization there wasn’t a single thing you’d want to change about your life, even if a billowing Angela Landsbury emerged from a magic teapot to grant you a wish? Well, maybe after a jillion dollars (and a burrito) rained down on me, I’d feel that way. Still. I call myself damn lucky.

Reason #1 My new boyfriend is sweet, talented, adventurous, grows one helluva beard, and actually likes hanging out with my mom, taking time to watch every single sunset, and taking photos of me. I’m still convinced he immortalizes my days just to show his friends the hilarious jokes I call “outfits.” This one involves combining black with brown, mixed metals, mixed leathers, and a DIY hairdo. Salons in LA are defined as dodgy if they don’t charge at least one limb for a haircut.

Reason #2 In spite of my best efforts, my hair color manages to look like I may still have salon connections – or at least that’s what I’ve been getting. But! There were no actual skills involved – I literally pinned up the top layer of my platinum locks and slapped a foolproof sample of John Frieda Precision Foam Color (in Dark Cool Pearl Blonde) onto the under layer. This stuff is brilliant. The haircut was inspired by Joan of Arc, Louise Brooks, and Jamaica’s self-inflicted bowl-cut (Experimentation + Luck = SKILLUSION).

Reason #3 Just over a week after arriving in LA, I scored a meeting with the VP of Online Marketing for Lucky Brand. He said I was their quintessential Southern California Girl. “Huh! SURE!” I agreed. Among other things, he ended up sending me these gorgeous art nouveau earrings, and a pair of leather platform dream shoes. Little does he know that after just over 3 months here, I’m a total convert. Charlie, you’re a prophet.

Reason #4 This outfit cost me a grand total of $8, thanks to my sponsors and friends.
Gold Earrings and Shoes – Lucky Brand
Sunglasses – American Apparel
Vintage Bustier – $4 Thrift Store, Phoenix
Leather Jacket – a gift, vintage made in Vancouver, BC
Silver Bangle – Barrio Vintage, Honolulu
Gold Bangle and Leather Belt – $4 Thrift Store, Tucson

Reason #5 I’ve got spreads coming out in Material Girl Magazine, Estetica and nationally available (at all major drug stores) Reinventing Beauty Magazine. Woo!

photos by Rian Flynn

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Painfully Trite Twitter Tweets for 2012-02-26

  • Fashion designers, boutique owners and clothing companies… I'm looking for collaborators for upcoming editorials! Please PM if interested! #
  • @MicksITupp Hey! Why thank you so much! Sounds great, I'm a 7.5. in reply to MicksITupp #
  • Fashion designer (Sapphire Cordial) and former accessories addict, Jamaica Cole makes a confession and endorses… http://t.co/t91Jfh6k #
  • Follow Painfully Hip on Facebook for our hippest fashion tips and editorials! http://t.co/Wk3By0Qs #
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Un-Accessorize Me

I have a confession. Deep breaths. I can do this.

Okay, so you know from my previous post that I can’t keep my hands off a pair of haircutting shears, or if I can’t find those, fabric scissors. Or hedge clippers, in a pinch. And okay, I have a thing for extremes. Why just wear a gray skirt when I can wear a gray skirt with gray tights, a gray top,  a gray knit cap and gray peacoat?

It’s called eccentricity, ok? It’s adorable. I’ve been told by people who’ve only just met me that it’s adorable. And for the most part, I agree. But here’s the thing. While I do consider my complicated, over-thought tendencies part of my charm, there is one thing I know I must stop doing, and therein lies my confession. Here goes.

I have a dangerous habit of piling on accessories until I almost drown in them. It’s hard for people to look at, I know this. It’s confusing. It’s loud, and I don’t just mean visually.

“Why are you wearing a dozen cowbells, Jamaica?”

“…Cause they match?”

I was lucky enough to have a mom who let me wear anything I wanted to school, even if that meant sixteen layers of statement pieces per outfit. Since those days I’ve mellowed out a little, but I long for simplicity (and a little color, for that matter!), which is why when I went to visit Amber in Los Angeles last weekend, I meant to dress like this the whole time:

photo via fashiongonerogue

Instead, I foolishly gave myself only 20 minutes to pack, during which I tossed all my “special occasion” pieces (none of which can be worn together) into too small of a bag and didn’t grab any basics. This left me with no choice but to borrow Amber’s clothes, so perhaps I’m smarter than I give myself credit for.

Next time I pack for LA, you and I are going through the process piece by piece. I know that sounds like a threat, and that’s because it is. We will follow Amber’s packing advice, and strive for a barely accessorized cohesive look based on an idealistic vision of myself as a dewy, carefree, pastel-crop-top-wearing ingenue.

photo via fashiongonerogue

In the meantime, I’m vowing to follow Coco Chanel’s famous “take off one thing before you leave the house” advice three times every morning. Restraint is not something that comes naturally to me, but I can learn. After all, I used to hate beer and we all know how that turned out.

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Painfully Trite Twitter Tweets for 2012-02-05

  • Best TV show of all time: HBO's The Wire or Ru Paul's Drag Race? Discuss. #
  • Post no bills. Genius. http://t.co/90N6u24y #
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Jamaica Scissorhands, Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love my Obsessive Haircutting Tendencies

Well, hey there. Do you remember me? We went on a couple of dates in early 2010. I had the lobster and one too many dirty martinis. You had me at hello. You seemed to listen to my advice (making unflattering thrift jeans skinny). I enjoyed your company, and I meant to keep giving you alteration pointers and pictures of myself in outfits that I obviously thought were very chic at the time, but then… I saw something shiny and wandered off with maple glazed eyes.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to abandon you. I’ll never make that mistake again, baby.

Okay, now that we’ve cleared that up, let me bring you up to date:

Firstly, I’m still holding down the fort in Tucson after Amber abandoned ME and moved to the big city where I should probably (ok, definitely) be. But since I already followed her from Sacramento to Tucson I figured I should wait a little bit before I follow her to LA so she doesn’t get suspicious when I move into her living room. Again.

Part 2: I chopped off my hair.

I first cut it short two years ago, and it’s proved impossible to grow out. For some reason, every time it shows a bit of progress, I gravitate toward my scissors like some magnet-handed maniac. I have admitted that I have a problem. I make my roommate promise to not let me cut it no matter what, and then I find myself sneaking to the bathroom mirror while she’s at work. shooting furtive glances at the door just in case she comes home early. I admit my weakness the second I see her. She throws her hands up in defeat and I flinch, afraid she’s going to hit me.

Compulsive behavior? Definitely. But is that so wrong? Cutting my hair is my only addiction besides the insane amount of coffee I consume daily. So maybe I should cut myself a little slack. I mean I have to admit I’ve had some great self administered cuts. So what if they lasted two weeks each?

The original pixie cut I could never have achieved on my own. I owe 200% of that glory to the unrivaled Danielle Cushing of Mauricio Fregoso Salon. A seriously great cut that I didn’t touch for a good 3 months (a personal record!).

After that, I took scissor in hand and over the course of 2011 made myself look like several different species of Star Trek aliens, Lloyd Christmas, and Jon Stewart as Marion Frank Stokes in Death to Smoochy.

But then! O glory! While flipping through the New York Times Sunday glossy insert thing one November morning, I spied a Pringle of Scotland ad featuring a tow-headed, bowl-cutted Tilda Swinton and I swooned. (Swintooned?)

This “warrior girl fringe” as the actress put it, is pure brilliance. I dove in with my own brunette version on Christmas Eve. Luckily, my roommate was with her family and I was home alone getting ready to hit the town, loudly and drunkenly crash a really mellow afterparty, and pass out on the floor of my own hallway at 4am.

I don’t recommend trying this at home (The cut, I mean. I definitely recommend the passing out to be at home) unless you have payed keen attention to your stylist’s methods in the past. If you ask yours for it, bring a picture of me with you (you already have one in your wallet, right?) and remember that the the uniqueness of this cut is it’s bluntness. The line of the bangs continues all the way to the ears. And I didn’t shave my “sideburns”, but cut them extremely close. It makes the shape more intentional.

Hair today:

The great thing about having a super fashion-y cut like this is that almost everything you put on looks chic. Well, as long as you’re wearing makeup. On Christmas morning I was understandably hungover, and when I showed up at a guy friend’s house for breakfast, he cheerily pointed out my likeness to an asylum inmate.  Okay, so I can’t wear orange. Also I may or may not regret jokingly made a Three Stooges comparison in front of my wise guy boss.

I dunno, I think he looks pretty hip.

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