fitforafemme.com

When: Christmas Eve 2008.

What I: Vintage brocade swing coat, gray and black lace sweater and matching scarf by Hazel, vest from H&M, purple velvet tiered skirt by BCBG Max Azria, gray tights from Old Navy, socks of unknown Italian origin and boots by Restricted.

What II: Printed dress by BCBG Max Azria, gray tights from Old Navy, socks of unknown Italian origin and boots by Restricted. (I love this second outfit, but deemed it too fancy for beers. )

Confession: I went ice skating today! It was fun (and cold). I also baked shortbread and made a big fat breakfast and last night I met friend and FFAF reader “photojenna” for drinks last night! That was a blast. I’d never been to Toronado’s in the Haight and it was fantastic. I’ll have to take the tomboy back with me on a date sometime. I tried around 5 beers (tiny little pours – just a gulp or two for tasting) and settled on a glass of Affligem Blonde Ale and a pint of something called White Christmas by Bay Area brewery Moylan’s. Both were delicious!

The two of us just sat and talked for 3 hrs. – mocking the douchebag who came to our table to ask us what we’d do if we were bionic (!!!) and had just one week to live and marveling at the strangeness of family when I ran into a cousin of mine just outside of the bar. We exchanged one of her fancy Australian cigarettes for one of my Djarum Blacks. Afterward, I met her lovely family and we sifted through a box of clothes she couldn’t take back with her to NYC, which brought oohs and aahs and giggles in equal parts. And then? AND THEN! I took the REALLY AWESOME armchair with matching ottoman that she re-upholstered herself, but had to part with. I am sitting in it now. I love it. It’s deep and comfy and perfect.

And finally, this car was parked just outside of our building earlier tonight. It is so special and I had to share it w/ y’all. Also, here is the awesome shirt I purchased from Lola Starr’s Dreamland Roller Rink at Coney Island, with a Kum & Go cap to boot:

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!

XOXO,

FFAF

When: Mon., Dec. 22nd, 2008.

What: Skinny pants from Laundry by Shelli Segal, sheer blouse by Guess, vintage leather jacket by Wilson’s. Beret from H&M and boots by Restricted.

Scent: Victoria’s Secret Sexy Little Things & Very Sexy Dare. I really can’t stand any of the scents that came in this coffret, I really can’t. It’s almost painful just to test them, y’all. Let’s start with Dare. It’s citrus-y. It doesn’t last long, so the fact that it succumbs to the middle and lower notes on the dry down is moot. It gets chocolate-y for a second, too. Top notes: bergamot, blood orange, pineapple juice, tamarind nectar, hazelnut leaf. So, basically, VS is daring me to what? Not get a migraine with their perfume on?

Sexy Little Things and/or Ooh La La is more like choke, choke, cough. Seriously. You know how some people come on really strong and then when you don’t retreat or back down, they suddenly wuss out or start backing away whimpering, tail between their legs? That’s what these both are. It’s very unfortunate.

Confession: I love this leather jacket. I’ve had it for years. It’s tiny and very tight. I love that the sides cinch with little leather tabs that slide through silver buckles, and that the pockets are just tiny slits, and the zippers at each snug wrist.

I love that it’s got green paint on the shoulder that won’t come off, from the time M & I helped a friend paint her foyer. I love that it’s never been washed and I abuse it constantly – throwing it everywhere, rubbing it up against concrete pillars, tossing it on the filthy ground so I can sit on it, shoving it into small, dark spaces instead of actually hanging it up – it’s like the more disgusting it gets, the more I love it.

It’s definitely SBJ-proof. I’ll cry if it ever gets lost.

When: Sunday, Nov. 30th, 2008.

What: Light blue turtleneck by Nine West, royal blue cropped linen jacket by Persaman NYC, Laundry by Shelli Segal trousers and suede and patent boots by Restricted. Awesome bag of unknown, thrifted origin, and flower pin in shades of gray with crystals also unknown, but just because I don’t remember. Anyway, this was my outfit for our impromptu date night to go and see the new Jason Statham movie, Transporter 3, at Kadinsky’s urging over at BCP.

Scent: Valentino’s Rock ‘N Rose. It tells me that I am a rose on the outside and a rocker on the inside. I don’t know what that means, but M picked this out for me on another notorious date night, and it’s nice. The notes are: Bergamot, Black Currant, Crunch Green, Orange Blossom, Gardenia, Muguet, Rose, Sandalwood, Orris, Musky Notes, Vanilla, Heliotrope. It isn’t floral, save rose, and the rose itself is a very pure note with almost no trace of sweetness whatever. M likes it as well but she disagrees, saying she can detect the other florals. It’s unapologetically feminine, very French, almost – thus I believe Rock ‘N Rose to be a bit of a misnomer. It’s what Emmanuelle Béart ought to smell like (I’ll demonstrate Herculean self-restraint and post something other than her French Vogue cover):

Confession: The other night M & I met a friend of ours to shoot pool and imbibe at the White Horse Inn, the oldest gay bar in Oakland. We’re all pretty terrible at pool, so once it was clear that we were losing a game, we’d simply try and harass our opponents into submission, at which point it became even clearer that our opponents enjoyed the harassment at least as much as they enjoyed winning. Midway through the night, M was busy writing her name in huge letters on the chalkboard, having been accused of not signing up properly. When I say ‘huge,’ I mean she left no room for any other names whatsoever. She was interrupted, however, by a 31-year-old with alleged $40K dental bills who asked M if she was wearing fleece.

(Insert sound of record scratching here.)

M (to stranger who asked about fleece): Do not ever speak to me again.
Stranger: What? Why? Did I say something wrong?
Femme (having walked over, sensing M’s belligerence escalate): What did you say to her?
M (pointing at stranger): She is never to speak to me again. Do not let her speak to me.
Femme: Why?
M (v. clearly enuciated): She asked me if I was wearing fleece.
Femme: (Sucks in breath, gives stranger a scolding look.) Nevermind, bebe. It’s your turn. Go on. (M sulks off, ignoring stranger completely.)
Stranger: What did I say to her? What’s wrong with fleece? I don’t get it.
Femme: She would never wear fleece. It’s insulting.
Stranger: What? I didn’t know. I mean, I know fleece isn’t super fashionable or anything, but…
Femme: Never. Ever. It’s OK, you didn’t know. Now you know.
Stranger: I sometimes wear fleece!
Femme: I’m sure that’s very nice for you, and probably only you.
Stranger: I mean, it’s always a last resort.
Femme: There’s a reason for that. Obviously.
Stranger: But it’s practical.
Femme: (Scowls in disgust.) Like that’s an excuse.

Anyway, I made an attempt to continue communicating the fleece issue but didn’t get very far. I realized today that I should have just explained that asking us if we wear fleece is like asking a foodie if they garnish their delicious gourmet dinners with Velveeta. Or used canned vegetables. DON’T DO IT. Only small children and non-Californians in hostile climates should be allowed. (Note: We are not foodies.) His ‘n hers fleece is HELLA especially not allowed:

When: Tuesday, Nov. 11th, 2008.

What: Gray sweater with fancy black lace and matching scarf by Hazel from Lounge in Soho, black dress from H&M, vintage scarf from my mom, gray chevron knee socks from Barney’s. Boots by Restricted from piperlime.com.

Scent: Today I am wearing Figue Amère from Miller Harris. It’s described as being “curious contrast of fleshy fruit with astringent salt.” When I put it on I thought that I was headed for tragic old lady perfume territory, but within an hour it evolved into something, yes, juicy and clean and salty all at once.

Confession: When I stole borrowed this from my mom for the first time almost twenty years ago, it never occurred to me that I’d one day rock it so casually on a blustery day at work. It’s delicate, with a black rose pattern and stretches over seven feet from one end to the other, with silver thread running throughout the entire scarf. It’s really beautiful and I’ve always loved it. In fact, I’m amazed it’s lasted this long. (Few things are truly SBJ-proof).

I’ve mostly used it the way my mother once did – as a shawl for covering up a evening gown or cocktail dress for a fancy night out. But I really love it like this, too. I feel like with the silver in the awesome chevron of these knee-high socks, I should have worn my robo-femme boots instead, but this outfit still makes me happy!

PS. I am going to try v. hard to keep consistent with the new Scent section whenever I can. Thanks, Viper, for the suggestion. This post is also named after my new favorite song, Miss Miss, by Figurine. Listen for free here!

When: Friday, Nov. 7th, 2008.

What: Skinny jeans from Zara, striped sweater by Split. Suede and patent boots by Restricted @ piperlime.com.

Confession: You would think this outfit wouldn’t be too bad for a Friday night protest, right? It’s relaxed, comfortable, but still stylish. Well, guess what? These are not 3.5″ heels, as noted on the website. These are 3.5″ heels on top of a covered 1″ platform, which means that I walked my happy ass up and down THREE WHOLE MILES of hilly San Francisco terrain in 4.5″ heels. Holy Jesus Christ. I got so hot, and the cotton/acrylic blend of this sweater did me no favors. I SWEATED THE INK OFF MY FUCKING BART TICKET, Y’ALL. (This is me afterward, by the way…well, a few blotting sheets later.)

Anyway, it was worth it. Nothing could dampen the sight of thousands of people streaming down the streets of the Castro, united in the fight for equality. Friends, lovers and families like ours. It felt so good to be there and part of an effort to not back down, not be silenced or defeated. It brought tears to my eyes and was exactly what I needed to shake off the depression I’ve been in since Tuesday night.

So, the other part of this confession is that when I ordered these boots, I consulted with M first, same as she consults with me before ordering new shoes. I wanted flat boots, ones in gray or dark red or blue to tuck my skinny cords into and stomp around in. But she kept vetoing all of them, freaking out at the “skin-like folds” or calling pair after pair of sexy, gorgeous riding boots “ugly,” insisting that they looked like galoshes. Finally, I found these ones, which to me felt like cheeky Little Lord Faunterloy-inspired boots, so I showed M and she loved them.

It wasn’t until I put them on after they’d arrived that I realized she totally tricked me! They weren’t flat at all! Drats! I still like them a whole bunch, though, and I’m glad they survived 3 miles of marching and a muddy Dolores Park.

PS. MAD PROPS TO BANGIEB, who logged into FB as me via cell to mobilize SF “Jezebels” since I was sitting in traffic and unable to do so myself. Thanks, B! We love you and you were right there with us tonight. We talked about you at least 84,000 times, and said “vulgar” and “I really just don’t know why ___” lots, too.