A cheeseburger, please, large fries and a Cosmopolitan.

I’m 42 years old.

Recently, I heard someone somewhere mention that people lost touch with their personal style during lockdown and a light came on in the attic of my geriatric millennial brain.

I’ve been wondering where that went!!

The first time I considered anything as stylish or fashionable was my junior year of high school. My friend Melanie wore a red and white toile de jouy top that I thought was the most beautiful shirt I’d ever seen. She let me borrow it once or twice and I wore it with absurdly flared yoga pants and platform flip flops and truly thought I was the chicest woman alive.

Melanie thrifted a lot of her clothes and wore things she thought were cool. She was never precious about her wardrobe, lent me items freely (I’m pretty sure she gave me that shirt when we went off to college🥹) and was my first true exposure to personal style.

Before then I considered the too skinny mannequins at Urban Outfitters my fashion gurus and spent many back-to-school shopping trips berating myself in front of a dressing room mirror for being too fat and ugly for anything ever.

Then in 2004, Carrie Bradshaw entered my life.

I remember watching the series finale from my Sophomore college apartment having never seen an episode prior and feeling like I would never be the same. I cannot recall how or when but at some point I acquired the DVD sets for all seasons and have (without exaggeration) not stopped watching Sex and the City since.

This is the flower brooch that rewired every synapse my brain had fired since puberty. All my senses were routed to Michael’s where I purchased a glue gun, a pound of fake flowers and brooch fasteners and proceeded to make myself about 50 pins I’d pin to everything. My tanks, purses and jackets. I could not/would not stop with the flower pins.

God, how I wish I had the patience to sift through old hard drives and uncover photo evidence of my early coolness and style 🫠.

In lieu of that, I went down a Google rabbit hole of iconic (to me) Carrie Bradshaw outfits that will forever live rent-free in my subconscious.

Here is my personal archive of favorites:

The first summer I spent out of college (2006) found me at the Williamstown Theatre Festival in Massachusetts with a new affinity for thrift shopping. In order to prove my Carrie-ness before my impending move to New York City, I scoured for pieces that felt cool based on what I’d absorbed from Patricia Field.

To this day, my pride and joy thrift finds came out of a giant mason jar full of jewelry I picked up at a Salvation Army in Vermont. In it lived my prized black and white cameo that I still pin to all my coats and blazers.

**Honorable mention for Carrie’s plaid scarf placement with absolutely no utility but so much chicness, I attempt this look every winter.

Something about a casual Carrie moves me and I’ve always been googly-eyed over her cardigan looks. I thrifted one similar to that cream color lacy one in the middle 2000s and loved it for years. I still regret donating it in a frantic closet clean a few years back.

This👏Gold👏Heart.

What absolutely thrills me is the versatility of a charm. From necklace to brooch, HOW FUCKING CHIC is this??? I’ve spent my life in search of a perfect gold heart and have yet to find the right one.

A pop-of-red heart charm with a tube top.

The almost too perfect matchy-matchy of the tomato red blazer with the cherry blossom pink blouse and the multi-color striped skirt (THE GOLD HEART AS A PIN)…chef’s kiss.

The pattern mixing of a ruffle collar button down, that TIES AT THE WAIST, with the plaid pants and the fact that it started with this little jacket on top…

Love this ensemble with my whole (gold) heart (charm) and soul.

The next era in my personal style evolution came after my incredibly elegant, St. Johns Knits obsessed grandmother, Dorothy, passed away in 2008 and I inherited a healthy pile of silk scarves, slouchy boots, a gigantic gold tiger belt buckle and handfuls of costume jewelry.

Anyone lucky enough to have been an adult (and living in New York City) in 2008 will remember it as The Coolest year for music and summer. Style was questionable and kind of well…velour and Ugg-ish? But I looked amazing…thanks to Grandmommy Dorothy.

Did I layer a tube dress over jeans and throw a string of pearls on top? Sure. Did I wear capri leggings under outfits I would today only wear with tights? Yeah, I did. But my grandmother’s slouchy boots, chunky necklaces and Ferragamo scarves made me very chic, I’m sure of it.

Come 2009, the premiere of (500) Days of Summer and enter a new obsession with bows and a tip toe into twee.

I bought SO MUCH ribbon. Tied SO MANY bows. In my hair. Around my neck. I wore them as pins. I put them everywhere. I was truly enamored.

My years in New York City (2006-2011) were peppered with American Apparel, Goodwill finds, bows and my grandmother’s hand me downs. I loved getting dressed. I felt cool and excited and grown up. I was drunk all the time, sure my dreams were coming true and within my psyche, no fonder memories exist.

Then I moved to Los Angeles and entered a weird 8 year vortex of... self-development???

Lol.

My love of style and fashion dwindled as I entered an era of desperation. No longer sure of my dreams, after a year long toxic situationship, the weight of waiting to find happiness became too heavy to hold and I decided to move home in 2020.

I pulled my 2008 Honda into my parent’s driveway in February, we entered lockdown in March and you know the rest…

Six years later, I’ve found looking in the mirror exhausting and boring. I’m not excited about my clothes, I haven’t had the thrill of a thrift find in years, I wore all of Grandmommy’s blouses into dust and walked the heels off my slouchy boots.

So, when I heard someone somewhere mention that a lot of people are experiencing a crisis of personal style, I felt seen.

I’m 42 years old.

My subconscious was shaped by Carrie Bradshaw and Blogspot and I’m entering a new era of calm confidence. My excitement for expression is returning.

I feel inspired to write and podcast and design and work and get dressed and I’m no longer feeling like a poser sharing my taste and style.

I’ve never been committed to fashion in a way that inspires me enough to know every designer or trend. I’m much more interested in what actually and simply looks good and makes me feel pretty.

When I put on a string of pearls for date night last week and the clasp broke, I pivoted by tying the strand in the back.

I looked in the mirror and thought…

Oh, there you are!!

May this new season be filled with joy, laughter, self-love and a deep remembrance of who we really are.

I’m sending you all my love and will talk to you soon!

xo, Brittany

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