SHABBY CHIC

Top and skirt from House of Glamorosa

So, this is it. My very first outfit post... And I don't know when my next one will be. 

In this humble yet courageous attempt to share my fashion perspective, with hopes of avoiding the dreaded “Sinetch itey” libretto, I also intend to share the bold truth about my personal style. 

I am fashiononymous on Twitter, Metro Mom on news print. I’m no teeny-bopper or a fresh out college gal privileged with capsule collections from designer brands all over the world.

Twenty-nine, single, and busy. Calendar packed schedule and clock work speed are just few of the words to describe my life and work. I’m a public relations and advertising agency rolled into one person, who sidelines as a lifestyle columnist and stylist. Did I mention I’m already a mother?

With so little time for so much work to do, I try to minimize the minutes I spend scanning the racks of my closet after every waking moment. Despite my penchant for the slimming benefits of little black dresses, I also try on different colors so as not to be branded as an everyday widow. But, when time is in question, I go back to the basic rule in modern day dressing: Speed is the new black.

Like other modern women, I confess to being a true blue clothes horse. Women are all made up of the same DNA thread of that gifted state of mind which enables us to dissect the formula to looking good in our own personal best. In my case, my wardrobe choices are not bounded by look-at-me fashion brands. Just to clarify, I raise no dispute towards fashion dynasties and the regime of Prada, Chanel, Marc Jacobs, Versace, and the like. I have the highest respect for these brands. However, in the context of single-parenthood, my shopping acquisitions are guided by practical reasons and are limited to guilt-free forms of self-indulgence.

A mall or a boutique brings to mind memories from childhood when every sight of colored and processed sugar brought smiles to my face. But now, unlike the saccharine satisfaction I used to enjoy, I have to swallow my shopping cravings and avoid the path to bankruptcy.

Keeping away from the thin line that separates a hefty wallet from a one day millionaire cash count, I shop within means and only when my budget permits it. A bi-monthly salary needs to be maximized to a full 15-day lifespan until the next payday. Bills are persistent love letters that remind us of the price of survival. Thus, the slow death of piggy banks, mercilessly poked by a brow liner and by desperate hammering to pound on the remains of our hopes and dreams.

And, so, my fashion adventures will tell you stories of how style, savings account, and single parenthood meet minds. I go for brands and trends that can build wardrobes that will last many pay days. My style is a cross between Carrie Bradshaw and Audrey Hepburn, and sometimes a semblance of frenemies Serena Van Der Woodsen and Blair Waldorf. I dress for utility and location, as the world I work in pay high respect to aesthetics, in many different ways. I prefer fashion anonymity than to seek prime importance through fake monogrammed pieces. My closet is made up with staples and modernized by the affordable variety this generation offers, both online and on the racks.

Carrie Bradshaw once said, “I like my money right where I can see it... hanging in my closet.” I’d say I’ve made a wise investment on my wardrobe, making sure that we always have more stock in the ref and not just in my wardrobe. This is the ultimate wealth tag in my fortress of a closet, and this is how I live and breathe fashion along my runway to self fulfillment, success, motherhood, and love.