So, I just finished an episode of Sex and the City. My wonderful husband bought me the complete series for Christmas (thanks, Babe!) and I've been enjoying watching the FULL episodes from the very beginning (no more of the edited down crap they show on E!). Now that I've had my fix of Carey, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda for the day, I'm feeling primed to write my first fashion blog post.
I used to dream about visiting New York City as a young girl. The whole facade just seemed so intriguing, mysterious and glamorous all at once, but out of reach for a small town girl like me. Fast forward to my senior year of high school, and I was eagerly packing up all my worldly possessions to live out my dream and attend Fordham University - right smack in the heart of Manhattan. My decision to actually move away to NYC was not an easy one, but it was one of the best ones I have ever made. The next four years I would spend there dramatically changed my life in exciting ways I could never have thought possible. This is where my love of fashion comes in. Seriously, who could live in NYC for four years and not have your surroundings influence your sense of fashion in some way?
Before I get to that, however, you should know that in order to really understand my sense of fashion, you need to first understand where I come from. I grew up in a small town outside of Boston. My hometown is one of those places where everyone knows everyone. Cows and pigs are a common sight. I just visited my parents there for Christmas and was able to confirm that nothing has changed since I left nearly eight years ago now (has it really been that long?) It's enough to bore you to death and drive you away forever if you don't have strong ties like family drawing you back in. But, it is my beloved hometown where I spent my childhood and it is where my fashion story begins.
Straight into high school, my sense of fashion was...non-existant. Jeans and t-shirts in the summer, jeans and turtlenecks in the winter. Hair in a ponytail. No make-up. That was about it. (I was studying, ok? It took effort to get straight A's and actually get into a good university!) Anyway, I lumbered along, proudly wearing a few nice sweaters my mother helped me pick out at the Gap. It went on like this my entire freshman year until something finally clicked. One night, I asked my mother if I could get my belly button pierced. Surprisingly, she said yes, but only if I got straight As. I was shocked she was going along with it and thought she would back out if I actually made the grades. But I busted my ass anyway, brought home a perfect report card, and before I knew it I was waiting in a tattoo parlor with my mom. What a sight we must have made! My belly button was pierced over the summer and I was so in love with it I decided I needed to make my grand entrance back to school my sophomore year with an amazing outfit that showed it off. I had never spent so much time shopping for clothes in my life, but soon I had my first day of school outfit: khakis, a denim jacket and a cropped yellow tank top that showed my navel underneath. The outfit got mixed reviews from my peers "hey! where did the rest of your shirt go?" but the bug had been planted. I had actually LIKED shopping for this outfit, and the next one I bought was going to be even better. And there my friends was the birth of a monster, kept somewhat tame for two more years of high school until I finally reached my promised land - Manhattan - and was set free.
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