Groovy, Baby

Fashion is heading into an era I am so in love with: the 70’s. If I could ask God to send me back in time, I’d humbly request to live as a hot, young red head in the late 70’s. From the fashion, disco music, to the infamous Studio 54 parties, the late 70’s was an opening to women and gay liberation. The late 70’s administered a new level of self-love, and was an entrance to the acceptance of individuality. People actually wanted to see the weird and different. Normal was just boring and overrated. The conservative consensus of the country finally opened its canal to a new state of mind with so many negative outbreaks happening, from wars to various protests. Women were also breaking away from being submissive to men’s demands once the government approved birth control. It was like women finally had a chance to say, “Kiss my ass, I don’t want your baby.” 

   Could you imagine living in an age where celebrities and ordinary people party together? I don’t mean VIP sections and ropes. It was utterly everyone who was anyone with an eclectic style or personality on the dance floor having a groovy time. Ordinary, everyday people were inspiring designers and celebs while happy substances were being shared like favors! That’s sheer, awesome tranquility. Party-goers flocked to Studio 54 to get an opportunity to not only rub elbows with stars like Micheal Jackson, Andy Warhol and David Bowie. I know I’m sharing a lot of history, but fashion is history baby! If life were still so simple with less social-standard boundaries, we’d live in a much better place!   

This period in fashion and music history is the ultimate nirvana. Everyone wanted to dance, feel high and have a good time. People weren’t stuck, glued to their cell blocks (aka cellphones) watching moments of the past, people actually lived in the moment. I miss living in the moments. Not saving the moments for others and their standards or expectations of what my moments should look like. I like to do what I want, when I want leaving a trail of golden glitter behind.   

But more than anything, I’d love to revisit the late 70’s for the carefreeness and less pressures of perfection. Seriously, when else would loads of blue shadow over a naked face, false lashes and big hair be accepted? Now, everything in life is so focused on being perfect, we’re missing out on the beauty of life. This is the hardest and biggest pill I’ve had to take: I don’t care about the perfection anymore. I’ve spent years wasting on perfection only to realize I’m the farthest thing from it. I don’t want perfection. I want beauty. Beauty inside as well as out is much more fun than just perfect. I save my perfect for Jesus. Give me beauty baby.


If the late 70’s didn’t teach us anything else, it taught us to live a zen life and not be afraid of bell-bottoms or blue shadow. There is no harm in striving for beauty, its the perfection that slowly kills. 

“What is perfection anyway?”

Fashionably Yours Forever,


Perfect Winged Eyeliner

Want to know the kind of day you’re going to have? You can¬†almost always¬†gauge by the outcome of your winged liner…


I knew my day was going to be fucking crazy when my winged liner just wouldn’t cooperate. My makeup was on point,¬†flawlessly executed and completely successful. Then the moment came to apply¬†my wings, and things went haywire. I don’t know what the hell happened, but my liner just would not work with me. I begged, grunted, took my time and after a few tries¬†with a bit of cleanup, I was finally satisfied with the outcome. At that very moment while staring into the mirror, I realized my day was going to be the exact same way; messy, drive me crazy in the beginning but turn out perfectly fine in the end. My liner was like a psychic into the future! After I finally finished arguing with my winged liner and came to a mutual understanding with my lip color, it was time to get dressed and head out for my 1 pm client. I was determined to be on time and perky after a cup of French vanilla coffee.

I wound up being late and to the brink of hysterically in tears. I didn’t want to be late, I was utterly in panic mode. I wanted to be on time, gracing the driveway as if it were my runway. Life has a way of humbling you and getting your ass in order. I was lost, beyond lost. Lost in a way I didn’t even think I could’ve been lost. Now looking back it was kind of funny, but in the moment there wasn’t a¬†second of laughter. My GPS directed me to any and everywhere other than my client’s house. By the time I finally pulled up in front of her door, I realized I drove passed her complex at least 7 times. I was mortified and beyond apologetic. As a professional, I just didn’t want to come across as the” young, late girl”. Not only was I lost, I called “Minnesota” to calm me down and offer some of his¬†motivational speeches. He didn’t even have the decency to pick up the phone or call me back! I was beyond crushed. Calling my client was no help. It was like the blonde leading the blonde and put me in more disarray.


As I sat in front of my client’s house for a good two seconds to breathe and look at myself in the mirror, I realized two things: Maybe this whole “Minnesota” ordeal wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. I was pissed, but life did push me into putting my “big girl boy shorts” on and making things happen on my own. Minnesota didn’t get me to where I am, he was just a page or two in my story. The second thing I confirmed is that my day was actually going to be smooth sailing there on out. The messy, unkempt part of my day was over (finally). It was now time to clean up and do an amazing job as I initially intended. The sucky part of my “eyeliner” day was over. Now was the time to create a masterpiece, and I was confident the rest of my day was going to be a perfect wing liner day. Truth be told, it actually was.

Artist Makeup Tip 101: I like to line my lids with a gel liner first, then use a liquid to create my wing tips. When doing your liner, look into the mirror and declare that you’re going to have an amazing day!





Gender Bending Fashion Statements

You’d be surprised to know that I used to be very much of a budding, young tomb-boy in my earlier¬†years. Yes, me. Girly, pinup, curvaceously sensual,¬†me. As much of an oxymoron as it may sound, I was always drawn to the¬†softness of a woman¬†that exudes even through men’s garments. In middle school I¬†was forced to wear uniforms.¬†I found much¬†comfort in sporting my form-fitting Dickie pants, light blue polo tennis shirts and Timberland suede boots. It allowed me to be “one of the boys” and grab on the imaginary crotch I never¬†had.

By the time¬†high school¬†rolled around,¬†being a little fem-boy was a hidden part of my DNA. When the discussions of Senior Prom arose, I felt¬†compelled to create a black,¬†classic cut¬†tuxedo dress with plenty of structure and even more boobs to display¬†. Blindly na√Įve, I made the first ‘Fashion Rule’¬†mistake in my History class: Never discuss your [unpatented] ideas with your peers. Of course someone loved my idea so much, they decided to make that dress for themselves (thank God I had a backup plan which is absolutely, always Fashion Rule Number two).

Yves Saint Laurent | Silk-cady tuxedo dress (classic!):

There’s¬†an essence¬†so¬†captivating and impressive about meshing the men women¬†worlds’ together;¬†fashion is an awesome industry¬†for having the ability¬†to do that. A designer¬†can seamlessly¬†overlap the¬†male and female’s outwardly appearances¬†over¬†one another.¬†The viewers will have no choice but to either¬†appreciate¬†or misinterpret the¬†beauty of mild “cross-dressing” couture. In reality, men dressing a tad like women was an idea I actually grew up with in my heritage. Being of Jamaican descent¬†introduced me¬†to the concept of ¬†men dressing in skinny leg jeans, slimmer tops and topped with a masculine¬†Clark shoe. Not until I attended college, did I understand the European influences of my¬†background’s attire and music choices.¬†Jamaica having¬†belonged to the British prior to emancipation,¬†assimilated¬†a lot of the European customs to their culture. I thought we just really¬†liked tight pants and the group¬†Whaam! because they were good. Never did I realize it actually stemmed¬†from the Jamaicans’ initial¬†ties to the U.K cultures.


Midway through college and taking a Visual Merchandising course, I fell in love with the Woody Allen film, Annie Hall. I mentioned to my professor how much I loved seeing women in ties and chinos and erogenous looks. His response was, “Oh, like the movie Annie Hall?”¬† My brows instantly went up. Annie Who? After class, I googled everything I could about the movie before even getting¬†an opportunity to¬†watch. Diane¬†Keaton’s character was so gentle and quirky. The wardrobe director¬†made an amazing call by putting her into more serious, gallant menswear pieces. The contrast was eccentric, but drew you in to her character. You couldn’t help but to glue your eyes onto her¬†outfits¬†in almost every single¬†scene. Later I’d come to¬†discover the movie¬†is actually a really good watch (honestly one of those films I watch every time it airs), and received an A on my following project.


Fast forwarding to present day,¬†I happened¬†to¬†stumble across a Louis Vuitton ad featuring the¬†revolutionary,¬†Jaden Smith in the Women’s SS ’16 collection on Instagram a few days ago. Darling, was that¬†my tea¬†for¬†the morning!¬†Sure this a trend that’s been going on since the days of the Egyptians, but every time it resurfaces I get so fashionably enticed. Not to mention all of the gender-bending looks from London’s runway shows this weekend. May we just take a moment to embrace men in cinched waist looks from the Matthew Miller collection? Bananas! I don’t know if I’d ever see a man in a skinny belt wrapped around his waist and consider him sexually attractive. However it does¬†makes for¬†an appetizing¬†work of haute couture art, and great sex-crossing¬†story telling on the runway.

Jaden Smith

Jaden Smith for Louis Vuitton SS ’16 Collection


Love Your Individuality. Embrace Your Style.


Fashionably Yours,




Personal Vs. Professional Life

Do you remember the scene in the movie, The Devil Wears Prada when Anne Hathaway’s character says her relationship is on the rocks and her fashion colleague turns to her and says something along the lines of, “Honey, when your relationship is up in flames that means you’re getting a promotion.”

Well darling, let me be the first to tell you: That’s so damn true…

Whenever my personal life is in shambles, my professional career is blossoming like wild flowers. Or when my personal life is going too damn well, my work life¬†is suffering.¬†Its so nerve wrecking. Why can’t it all be smooth sailing and the balance scales¬†of life be even on both sides at the same time? Would that make¬†living way too easy? Life must be a beach, and I’m presuming our lives are the boats. If we’re experiencing nothing but clear skies and minimal waves, what will there be to keep us on our toes and sharp? As unfortunate as it is to endure, life would be kind of bland and monotonous without a¬†bit of chaos somewhere.

When my ex and I officially broke up for the last and final time, a month later life blessed me with a new car. Talk about clearing dead weight for new and better things! It was unexpected but a total boost of confidence. I literally went into the dealership¬†for service on my previous car,¬†sauntered over to the sales department and walked out with a brand new car that evening. I had no idea this would happen. I didn’t¬†carry any cash¬†and I was wearing workout clothes from being in the gym prior. It was almost like the heavens and eternal skies opened up just for me! I felt amazing…

The romantic getaway in Vegas¬†I planned¬†just three months later, ended shortly after the¬†trip. However,¬†I did receive a promotion and raise¬†with my current employer a few weeks following. That is totally my definition of winning when all is said and done. You can’t put a price on happiness, but success truly¬†does feel wonderful. (Lets weigh the life scales in this scenario: Penis or pay raise? Penis or promotion?)¬†God, I see the trend here!

Dear Penis, I’m¬†investing in¬†a chastity belt. Bye!

Fashionably Yours,

Tamara S.