I have loved clothes ever since I was a little girl. I like to think I was pretty fashionable even as a 5-year-old–trust, my oversized Nike tee and my vast collection of Ariel gear would be indie gold today–but it took me a long time to hit my shopping stride. Let me explain–I’ve never had problems shopping until I drop (mostly my jaw, when looking over my bank statement). But until a year or so ago, I wouldn’t say that I was shopping properly.

See, there are three types of clothing shoppers. And if you ask me, these could apply to personalities as well, but some people don’t like to be defined by their ugly shoes, and that is their right. So, there’s…

  1. Shopper Numero Uno. This person is the practicalist. They don’t like shopping for clothes. They get in (to boring stores with cheap clothes) and get out with the bare necessities. They probably wear running shoes as sneakers and own jeans that make their butt look flat.
  2. Shopper Numero Dos. This kind of shopper is also practical, but they have a modicum of personal style. They shop at plain stores and aren’t super into it, but they have enough sense not to wear Shoxx out to dinner.
  3. Shopper Numero Tres. The trend-whore. This shopper leafs through Lucky, runs to the store, and spends $600 on high-waisted baroque pants that make them look like a 15th-century whale.
  4. Shopper Numero Quatro. The classic shopper. They know that quality is worth more than quantity  and they buy clothes that flatter their body type. They don’t like to change it up–they know what works for them  and they stick to it. Forever.
  5. Shopper Numero Cinco. This is the best type of shopper. They’re a healthy mix of Dos, Tres, and Quatro. They shop smart, know what works for their shape and style, but still try new things.

See, I just made that up right off the top of my head, but it seems pretty accurate. You can probably squish anybody into one of these categories (if you’re some kind of cruel freak who likes to label others–God, what kind of monster are you?!). And so for my whole life, I was a Tres-Quatro. I had my body-conscious, never-change-’em clothes (ancient jeans that I still wear–they hug my body even after 700 washes), but for everything else, I’d just run out and get whatever was in stores. If i liked it, I bought it. The end result was a tragically overstuffed closet filled with clothes that clashed more than two Kardashian sisters fighting over a basketball player. I couldn’t put together an outfit to save my life, unless it involved a stripy top and floral-patterned bottoms.

But then, in a beautiful moment of clarity–or, you know, getting really sick of having a half-useless wardrobe–I realized: you have to shop for staples. The majority of your wardrobe should be well-fitting, nice, practical staples. Jeans. Black leggings. Black tank tops and tees. White tank tops and tees. Plain-colored cardigans and sweaters. And then, once you feel like you’re in a Uniqlo, you can finally get fun things, because hey, you know something you own will match them.

In conclusion, I am now the most fashionable person in the world, and you can be too. Click this link to take my, “What kind of shopper are you?” quiz and then buy my styling book (Stop Dressing Like That, Fugly!) for the low cost of three installments of $19.99!

A Work of Living

Jobs are a bleak dreary horrible thing. If you are some kind of freak who likes their job, then you can just go sit in the corner with some construction paper and scissors and cut yourself some confetti. Otherwise, you are probably a normal person who wants to die for 8 hours a day.

Cats make the wanting-to-die thing a little better.

Do you know that movie The Island, where everyone lives on a secret hippie commune island and they all pitch in for food and shelter and get to live in a beautiful paradise together? That is what life should be. Instead, people work all day to survive, but they are wasting their lives at work. It’s a paradox, or a circle, or something smart-sounding: you work to make money –> you make money to enjoy life –> you can’t enjoy life because you’re working.

But what if you could have any job ever? What would you be? I never really gave this any thought because the obvious answer is “independently wealthy.” I am not at all ashamed to admit that I would gladly sit around and shop and drink tea and travel to exotic places and do nothing of value to society if I had the G’s. But if I had to have a dream job not titled “rich bitch,” I’ve figured out what I would be.

  1. A stylist. You get to shop for a living. And hang out with celebrities. And if you hated them and they were obnoxious and self-absorbed, you could put them in something hideous and call it “cutting edge.”
  2. A magazine editor. You get to put together a book full of shopping ideas. Plus, you get to make Anne Hathaway do your bidding, and I don’t care for her so I would make her do stupid things like fetch me lattes whilst on a unicycle.
  3. A museum curator. You get to shop for art for a living. And, you can help up-and-coming artists become the next Andy Warhol but less creepy and rude.
  4. An artist. I can’t think of a quip for this one because I would absolutely love making art for a living.
  5. A blogger, which if you get paid for it, is just like being independently wealthy while taking lots of pictures. (Hey there WordPress, wanna pay me?)

Rich and famous people always say you should “be what you love” and all that shit, and I am for chasing your dreams like a My Pretty Pony prancing through a field of daises, but in my opinion that only applies if you love garbage removal or difficult math. “I love to shop” doesn’t exactly translate into a stellar job.

So, the best I can hope for is the zombie apocalypse (totally not influenced by The Walking Dead playing in the background right now) so that I can steal all the clothes I want from abandoned malls and then go live in some former stylist’s mansion.

Shoes That You Could Wear Instead of Uggs

It’s winter. Your poor little feet are cold, and you want some adorable boots that go with everything. There’s snow on the ground, and you need to buy some shoes, stat. So what do you do? You snatch your mom’s credit card, bop on down to the Ugg Emporium, and spend $150 on these things.

Now, there are worse shoes. Crocs, for example. Or those boots made out of denim that JLo used to wear back when she was Jenny. Uggs are actually kind of adorable, like little fluffy puppies you shove your feet into, only without the animal abuse. (Unless you count all the dead sheep used to make le Uggs.)

This might be abuse-ish if no one takes down their laundry, but awwww!

But. $150? $150?!!?!? I have a friend who owns about ten pairs of the things, and you aren’t supposed to get them wet, apparently, because it ruins the outside (unless you buy their $20 Care Kit!). She said hers came also with a slip that told her not to wear them with socks, because it’ll wear out the fluffiness of the inside. So, in summary, Uggs are $150-$350 winter boots that you can’t get wet or wear with socks?

WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY. Why. I don’t understand. They are casual and comfortable and you just plop your tootsies in there and go, and the colors are nice, and from what I understand they’re fairly well made. These things all make sense. But there are so many better options! If I’m going to spend $150 on shoes, I’m going to spend them on shoes that don’t look like a 5-year-old girl’s galoshes.

Here are some great alternatives to making your feet look like fat sheepskin pillows buying Uggs: these Steven Madden boots ($150), these gorgeous heeled ones from Mod Cloth (only $50!), these classy J. Crew boots ($350), these two-toned platforms from Clark’s ($210), or these Guess boots ($105).

Pick any of them! Just, for the love of God, if you’re going to spend some people’s weekly paycheck on shoes, at least make them beautiful boots that will make you look sophisticated and sexy, instead of I’m-a-fashionless-drone-whose-Uggs-perfectly-match-my-ripped-Abercrombie-jeans-and-hoodie!

See, Sophia Loren can rock a pair of boots.


If I Had a Million Dollars, I’d Be Rich (But I Digress)

If I had a million dollars, I would not buy you a house, or a fur coat (but not real fur, ’cause that’s cruel), or an exotic pet.

Seriously, though. I wouldn’t buy any of the things in that song. No offense, Internet. It’s just that I already have a lot of plans for what I’d purchase with my fictional bucks. It’s a pastime of mine, daydreaming about all the stuff I’d have if I was rich. (What do rich people daydream about, do you think? Because they sure as fuck aren’t jonesing for Kraft mac-n-cheese or a twin-size bed. But I digress.)

If you eat caviar every day, this is a delicacy.

So here it is. The official WildHearts if-I-get-rich shopping list.

  1. Weed. Lots and lots and lots of weed. And a beautiful bong, and a cute little bowl, and a gorgeous vape. In fact, I would have a special room in my mansion (see Number 2) just to hotbox.
  2. A mansion.
  3. A butler named Jenkins. Or Watson. If he has a different name, I will force him to change it.
  4. A bunch of fluffy, friendly dogs and cats.
  5. A Porsche Spyder, and a Mini Cooper.

I probably put too many pictures of people smoking on here, but whether you’re down with the ganj or not, you have to admit that smoke is very aesthetically pleasing. Besides, I thought to myself, What would the lovely People of the Internet prefer, a photo of an old British butler, or a pretty girl? I made a judgment call. But, once more, I digress.

Other things I would like include a maid, a fennel fox called Sebastian, really nice leather boots, headphones that don’t just indiscriminately blast music to the world while barely reaching my ears (thanks, iPod), and a Hello Kitty water dispenser. So watch out, world. When I make my millions, you’re gonna…you’re gonna…well, you’re not gonna hear Ke$ha blasting from my head when I walk by, that’s what!

Bringing Bartering Back

Sadly, I forgot to water my potted Money Tree, and it died. (And also it never existed in the first place.) So. I am left in a pickleishly pickley situation, otherwise known as Being Broke. But that’s not a problem, because I have devised a genius plan that will not only help me get slizzard tonight, but will solve the economy crisis.

Ready for this gem? Bartering, baby.

I mean, come on! We can just trade things for other things and then we won’t even need money! Like right now, I have a craving for some ice cream. So I’m going to mosey down to the gas station and give them half a mitten in exchange for a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. I think it’s a pretty solid trade.

Also, my brain just took a little meandering break for a wee bit (it was bored), and came up with another totally solid idea. That solves the, um, drunk-and-hungry-at-the-same-time crisis. ALCOHOLIC ICE CREAM. Think about all the possibilities! Mint chocolate-chip with Bailey’s!  Pecan and Bacardi! Vanilla swirled with Raspberry Smirnoff! (Trademarked to the Wild Hearts, bitches–unless you wanna make some and bring it to me…)

I would fully trade two mittens for some of that.

Whip Your Hurr

I wish I was a little ballsier with my hair color. I have only dyed it weirdly once (bright, cherry-berry Ariel red), and it was an accident (I was trying to go auburn). My natural hair color is this weird dirty blonde-gray combo, so I’ve been highlighting it since basically forever. But then I had the classic movie-like First Big Breakup and revenge-dyed my hair like, slutty blonde–way lighter than my natural color. Which was fine, until the horrible roots grew in like five inches.

So. I just re-dyed my hair (the terrible Breakup du juor was a while ago–three different guys ago, in fact–but my hair grows ridiculously slowly) to something kind of (but not really) resembling my natural color (who the fuck would buy “ugly gray-blonde”? They don’t sell that shit in stores). But I can’t help wishing I would just pull a Cowardly-Lion-at-the-end-of-The-Wizard-of-Oz and be brave for once in my life. And do something crazy, like blue highlights.

I mean, this?

She totally pulls it off. But one of the biggest reasons I’m too lazy to dye my hair a crazy color is because…

a.) I may be the laziest person who has ever lived (well, okay, I come in second to those people to have to be cut out of their trailers, maybe), and…

b.) I’m broke.

Those two things don’t really make me want to spend $$$ on dye every, like, month. And then there’s c.), I’m a huge chicken.

But I was thinking…if it’s just highlights, and not all-over color, maybe it won’t be so awful when it grows out? And so now I’m thinking I want pale turquoise or teal highlights underneath my hair. Stupid? Probably. Awesome? Also probably. Kinda like this, but a little lighter:

Like this gorgeous color, but only little pieces of it:

The big question is, will I do it? And the big answer is probably not, because I suck, but at least I can drool over hair I will never have. C’est la vie. I’m just going to go binge-drink and fishtail braid while crying.