City Threads: Finally.

To reiterate: I seek :
1. Wearable, durable, comfortable footies
2. Sized beyond 12+ months,
3. Available in many different colors-- including at least two different shades of blue (so that my twins' clothing might compliment, but not match), and
4. Omit any tragic graphics or designs.

City Threads adorable little footies meet all of my criteria:

1. Comfortable, wearable, durable. 
We've had them for 10 weeks now, wear them tirelessly and wash them carelessly. They don't look brand new, but they don't have any holes or pilling and the zippers function perfectly.

The Carter's footies are made of some sad poly blend that becomes strangely stiff and disturbingly likely to attract hair/lint. The Kickee Pants footies that I really, really wanted to like that came in the loveliest shades of blue were unfortunately made of the same thin, stretchy material used routinely at Forever 21. City Threads are 100% cotton, which is comfortable, retains the color dye, and stands up to crawling, walking, climbing on to the dishwasher, mounting the cabinet in pursuit of Comet-- America's Number 1 Scrubbing Powder, tripping over one's brother while he lays screaming on the floor, and many other high impact twin sports.

I am seriously impressed. These garments have taken a beating and are still alive and well.

2. Sizing up to 24 months.
According to our pediatrician, my twins are in the 60-75% percentile/s for height and weight which means they're a little bigger than average. So why is it that they exclusively wear clothing sized 18-24 months?

Our nanny (who used to be a corporate buyer for children's clothing at the May Company) tells me that baby clothing is generally intended to fit an infant that is half the age (or younger) of the size listed on the garment his mother wants him to wear. Moreover, the half the age or smaller rule is typically stronger with designer clothing. This would explain why the thirty-fix dollar size 18-24 month footies I purchased from Egg Baby (Susan Lazar) fit us for about 30 seconds when we were 8 months old.

My point. City Threads meet my first criterion because it not only offers sizing up to 24 months (rare) but actually runs true to size (even rarer). City Threads footies in size 9-12 months actually fit my 10-month-old children. This. Is. Awesome.

3. Masculine Array of Appropriate Colors
So I like blue. Sorry. I do. I don't like green or gray or orange or olive or any of those others new-agey shades in which most of the Restoration Hardware model nurseries are drenched. I like blue. And since I refuse to dress the twins identically, I need at least two shades of blue. City Shades come in 5 different shades of blue-- all with tonal stripes.


4. No tragic graphics
Tonal stripes and a contrasting zipper (admittedly, don't love the contrasting color on the zipper). That's it. No giant skunks or raccoons or rodents on spaceships.

I vote yes. Well done, City Threads.

Kickee Pants AKA Kicky Pants: FAIL

How lovely. Multiple shades of blue that compliment but don't match. Comfy snaps instead of a zipper. And footed. Couldn't WAIT to get them. I ordered in the colors 'Pond' and 'Twighlight.'

FAIL! The fabric is some kind of bamboo stretchy blend that reminds me of the tragic tube dresses I wore at age 19 with a pair of boots I stole from the set of the hit film "Pretty Woman."  It's so stretchy that I unknowingly twisted it and put the garment's left leg on a twin's right leg and vice versa. I kept trying to snap it and it just seemed… wrong. It seriously took me 7-10 minutes before I realized my mistake. Thank god the other person present to watch me fumble like a complete idiot was the other twin who still seems to think I'm great.

Oh, and it and it pilled on the first wash. No way it would have persevered through even a week of crawling. Thumbs down.

In pursuit of footie.

I've got to face reality. It's staring me in the face. Actually, it's sleeping soundly in its bedroom but it will awaken in the next hour and torture me all night long. And if it doesn't, then the other it will. Because there are two. Yes, two. In the meantime, I am feeling motivated to share what I believe is reasonable feedback for the rest of the clothing-conscious, child-bearing world.

Look I appreciate that some of you have the time to secure multiple garments of clothing to one infant, but I do not. Other things I don't have time for:

1. Socks: Seriously? They don't stay on. Yes, I know they're cute. They don't stay on. And I've got four to keep track of.

2. Garments intended to pull over a head. I read on one of babycenter.com's weekly "your baby is now XX weeks old" emails that one of the things my baby (um, babies, thank you) should be doing by 8 weeks ago is holding his (their, people, their) arm(s) over his (their) head/s when I dress him (them). You know what I mean? If you were an infant version of a white red-headed sumo wrestler with a genetic clone and you were trying to help me out when I was dressing you, you'd hold up your arms over your head so I could slip arm holes easily onto each of your shoulders. Unless you were one of my sons in which case you would scream bloody murder when I brought a garment, any freaking garment, near you. Anyway, slipping a garment over my child's head? Are you kidding? How about a garment that secures in front by zipper or, better yet, snaps. Who the hell wants to sleep on his belly with a wretched stiff zipper poking against his bare flesh?

3. Shoes. My children don't walk. They're 8 months old. And even if Giuseppe Zanotti made children's shoes (he doesn't), mine would grow out of them too quickly to make it worth it.

4. Bottoms without crotch snaps. Not sure about the singleton-rearing population but in my world, we've started eating solids. In fact, "solid" is now a common word in my house and I'm not just talking about food. Never in my fashion past did I contemplate a reality in which I would prepare a particular foodstuff and simultaneously shudder at what it was going to smell like coming out. It's a whole new world. And this world does not tolerate bottoms without crotch snaps. Do you know how many bowments I had to smell on Tuesday of last week? 10. Yes, 10. That's 5 bowments per red-headed sumo wrestler.

5. Layers. See, screaming bloody murder when presented with a singular garment, supra.

So anyway, I am on a quest and that quest is for a wearable, durable, comfortable footie that comes in 12+ month sizing, does not have some tragic graphic on the front and preferably comes in multiple shade of some masculine color so that my twins' clothing might compliment, but not match.

I've done the research and I'll begin posting regularly with my findings.

Why, God, why?!

Years ago, when I didn’t have a full time job and a husband and 7 month old twins and I did have free time, I used to write a thing or two from time to time about designer jeans and pretty clothing and designers I liked and so forth. Someone whom Anna Wintour has never heard of might even have said that I wrote about fashion. At the time I was writing those things, I might have agreed. Now I’m not so sure.

As the days pass, and as the trends about which I used to bitterly complain fester on (and on, and on), I am beginning to believe that I am but a voiceless peasant in some kind of dark, hopeless dictatorship. The misguided masses bow to the cruel and ignorant tyrant and I am but a tiny, quiet minion, forging on through the bloodshed.

So mea culpa. I am now officially in the minority. And I get that what's attractive is subjective. But still, I just can’t help but ask. Who in his fucking right mind thinks that this is attractive? 

Tonight I sat through yet another disappointing episode of Project Runway. And again, the judges elected to eliminate a contestant that I’d have kept—and for a garment I liked. But tonight I arrived at a conclusion that begged some indignant response on my part so here goes.

What the fuck is wrong with you people? Doesn’t anyone care about what’s attractive any more? Are we so engulfed by the excitement of new that we’ve abandoned what’s pretty? Shouldn’t fashion be pretty. And WHEN FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST will our current runways finally finish vomiting 1985’s sour bile?

My Nipples Are Leaking.

Dude, seriously. How long has it been? Like, years. I’ve got a license to practice law. I’m married. I now regularly use capital letters. I’ve gained 60 pounds. There’s some kind of weird brown spotting on my forehead. Where’s my glass of wine? What’s that smell? Nothing? But… what happened to that charming smoke-poorly-masked-by-Chanel’s-Mademoiselle aroma that was my signature scent?

I contemplated starting a new blog to deal with my new… situation. And then I contemplated not blogging at all. I haven’t dismissed either idea but in the meantime, I’m going to bitch about my life right here because you must have hated me a little bit when I was so skinny and well-dressed, right? So perhaps you find my woes a little endearing now. Oh c’mon. I was awesome; even I hated me a little bit for rocking so much. Don’t worry; I got what was coming to me.

New readers, I’d love to show you my wedding pictures so you could really conceptualize how much my life used to rock and how recently said life rocked. This “change” was pretty damn recent. But I can’t post them because I am waiting for a certain magazine to let me know whether or not it’s going to publish them and I’m not allowed to share them within anyone in the meantime. How cruel is that?

Let me give you an example to help you understand the coolness of my former life. A few weeks before my wedding, I went to a designer’s studio for my last dress fitting. Because I hired a designer (areally, really amazing one) to design my dress because I was not only awesome but also thought I was rich (silly, silly me but that’s another story).  I realize that the preceding sentence was not a complete one. I’m gestating two parasites right now. I’m allowed incomplete sentences.

Anyway, when I was visiting said studio, I admired one of the more striking gowns that said designer had created for his Spring 2012 collection. So he invited me to try on the runway sample. Now dear readers, for how many of you is the expression “runway sample” a possibility? I’m guessing not very many. Well, it was not out of question for the old me. Do you hate the old me yet? Please do. It’s ok. Anyway, I did indeed slip into this gown and it fit. Perfectly. Like it was made for me. Well, that’s not true. It’s acid green and even at my hottest, I am way to cool-toned and fair to wear acid green. But still. The dress. Freaking. Fit.

So that singular anecdote epitomizes my life prior to late December. Now for an illustration of my current life: there’s yellow stuff leaking out of my breasts. Yes, yellow. Yes, breasts. Yes, mine. To make matters worse, my sister’s reaction was not one of horror and disgusted disbelief but instead happiness and excitement. She suggested that I save it.

If you’re Googling ‘bookleaks’ right now then I envy you because it means you didn’t immediately understand why yellow stuff leaking from my breasts is illustrative of my current state.  After you’re done doing that, you’ll probably start looking at Phoebe Philo for Celine fall collection. And maybe you’ll think about how you might look in one of those dainty little outfits. You bitch. You lucky, lucky bitch. 

PS Well, I 'spose I could share one or two of them... 

The Investment Suit

Well, I'm a real live lawyer now. Ok, I've been a real live lawyer for a while now, but have recently started earning... an income. Gasp.

Obviously, there are some changes to be made around here, and I don't just mean the introduction of capital letters into my writing. It's also time to shift my girlish love of blue jeans to something more mature. More grownup. More professional. More expensive.

So it's a logical conclusion. It's time for the investment suit. S. Investment suits.

Now, as I've mentioned in the past-- I am actually a girl trapped in a giraffe's body. And while this was helpful when my job was basically that of a human hanger, now it's an advantage to be used carefully. I don't want to wind up looking like a she-man. This is all made more complicated by the fact that in addition to being unreasonably tall, I'm also built like a linebacker. Ok, that's an exaggeration. What I mean is-- I have broad shoulders and long arms and I do not need shoulder pads. And while we're all reluctant to admit that this 1980s tragedy lives on in most of our wardrobes-- it does. In fact, according to my tailor, no blazer is complete without a least a little somethin'-somethin' stabilizing the shoulder seam.

So, my goal is as follows: find reasonably classic (ie avoid the 'district attorney barbie look'), wearable suits that maintain an air of femininity. Class. Style.

Here are a few of the contenders:

Balenciaga:

Beautious, right? Um, yes. But also maybe a little domiatrix and while that's fun after 5, or perhaps on Boston Legal, I wish to create an air of professionalism. And, as is illustrated below:This suit has the potential to go from dominatrix to mental hospital orderly. Avant-garde, yes. But perhaps a little too over the top.

Tuleh:

Yes, it looks like a 3-piece, but the middle lapel is actually sewn to the jacket. I LOVE this suit, perhaps the very most, but am concerned that the narrowness of the leg won't be flattering. That is, I'm worried it's the equivalent to the skinny jean. Shudder.

Ralph Lauren:

Luca Luca:

Douglas Hannant:

Whip It, Good

as if the anti-thesis to my fashion identity, i would for once like to own a pair of shoes which are utterly impractical and highly likely to be tragic in a matter of months.

...or if for no other reason, than because the DEVO-inspired fashion revolution has finally presented me with some low-heeled options.