Monday, July 7, 2008


The internet is already clogged with blogs. Blogs about sports and food and cats and babies. But I have a lot of time on my hands, so let's just throw ourselves into the fray here.

Maybe I should start at the beginning. My name is Samantha. Sometimes Sam. Never Sammy. Well, unless we share blood or you've had too much vodka. Like any number of little girls, I liked playing dress up, shuffling around in my mother's heels and putting on too much of her blush. I was particularly drawn to sparkles. Glitter. Shiny things. On trips to Filene's Basement with my mother, I would pass the time by counting every single dress with sequins. And we're talking the late 80s here. There were a lot of fucking sequins.

It wasn't until I reached college that I started to care about those things again. I spent large swaths of seventh grade on equating love of all things clothing-related to frivolity. Partly because I've always been far too serious for my age and partly because I liked hiding my weight from everyone.

But for the past four years I've been reading an obscene number of fashion magazines and annoying my friends by telling them far too much about the inspiration for the latest line from Balenciaga. I've slowly transitioned my wardrobe from juvenile and lumpy to youthful and streamlined. And because I should probably stop drunkenly telling girls in bars to get their denim skirts in a darker wash, I've decided to dispense my unwanted advice to the masses.

Or to the one person who will end up reading this blog.

And by one I mean me.

No comments: