Sunday, May 11, 2014

{Style by Star Sign: Aries Man}


The RAM (His)

"There's not a trace of cunning wile in the ram, and he'll remain this way throughout his lifetime; forever believing with all his heart, always falling down and getting up again to try once more. Any doubts he collects along the way are immediately displaced by the next person who's kind to him, just as the baby forgets the pain of the safety pin that accidentally stuck in his leg the next time someone sprinkles the powder. The ram can make believe from here to tomorrow, and spin fabulous dreams, but he can't lie worth a tinker. What you see before you is what he is." 


--Linda Goodman




I was married to a ram for 8 years. My maternal grandfather, who I adored and revered, was a ram. I have tons of male ram friends. In fact, I'm drawn to the male ram like a moth is drawn to light. I think I can spot a ram, if I had to, from a mile away.

I'd define Aries style as simple, basic, and polished--but not as polished as, say, a male Libran, and not as simple, as, say, a male Taurean. There will always be a slight edge with the male ram, an edge that many other star signs aren't going to have ... and aren't going to be able to pull off. The colors I associate with Aries style are black, red, and white. Here are some good examples:






...and here's a street-style Ram (my lovely ex Jaco):


OK, guys, do you think this is total bullshit, or is there any grain of truth to my vast generalizations based on star signs? You tell me.

Sunday, May 4, 2014

{Muted Gold}


I love gold & mustard, especially when they're on the verge of neutral, and especially for spring.










Items: Free People (dress), Modcloth (swim), Irregular Choice (shoes), Free People (dress), Modcloth (shoes)

{Black & White}


There are many ways to destroy each other, but we make our choice. 
It’s the slowest way, which studies the destruction step by step as it occurs and shrouds it in cloud. 


We are naked in bed, for instance, when one of us says, I am your favorite and you are my favorite, so our shadows will always run from each other. 
We prefer to drape our undoing in tender nonsense.

I hang velvet curtains over your eyelids, and you pull the weeds from my tongue.



One thing is certain: We are both so practiced at playing the victim that even a chrysanthemum could slice through our skin.