Claudia Of All Trades

Claudia calls herself a “Jill of many, master of none”, but she’s selling herself short. What she means is, her artistic impulses have taken her down many lanes, but she’s constantly changing her mind. In her travels, she has been a jewelry designer, chalkboard letterer for fancy cocktail spots, costume assistant, animator, and a modestly successful makeup tutorial host for a Youtube channel. Her most recent endeavor was designing and constructing a giant fluorescent moon with the facial semblance of Morgan Fairchild to be filmed in a music video for the band Gremlinzz 2.

Claudia has a lower back tattoo of a willow tree, but you would never call it a tramp stamp. On Claudia, it’s a lower back tattoo, and it works. She did the half-shaved head thing before anyone else. She has a rescue cat named Taco Salad. She goes to the Met every weekend. Rihanna follows her on Instagram. Her metabolism never caught up with her love of junk food, but her taste for it has been dwindling ever since she moved out of her parents home. Somehow, candy doesn’t taste as great if you don’t have to hide it.

Claudia Of All Trades

Mary Anne Takes It All

Mary Ann has was used to her shyness being misunderstood. The only child of an overprotective single dad, and best friend of the naturally dominating Kristy, Mary Ann was simply used to putting other people’s needs before her own. Then in grad school for Library Sciences, she read The Ethical Slut, and now Mary Anne has no problem making her needs known.

The weekend after she finished the book (in one sitting), Mary Ann attended a party at the library where she was doing her work-study hours. In the dimply lit basement break room, characteristically buzzed off one plastic cup of Merlot, she put eyes on Nathaniel, a warm eyed 27 year old who worked in Returns, listening to NPR all day while sorting books. She hadn’t had sex in a year and a half, not since her college boyfriend Terry, her only sexual partner and second boyfriend in total since Logan, moved back to Santa Barbara after graduation. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, like the hackles of an aggressive dog, ready to pounce.

In the morning, he microwaved a bowl of Grape Nuts with soy milk and offered her some. She refused, she was more concerned with finding her blouse. It wasn’t with the rest of her clothes beside the bed, and she struggled to remember where she took it off. Then it came back to her: spilling some wine down the front of it while they inched closer together on his futon couch. Fumbling, he’d offered to go find a washcloth, but she said “Don’t worry, I’ll go give it a soak”. Moments later, she emerged from the bathroom in only her skirt and bra, nodding towards the bedroom.

Now, in the light of day, Mary Anne stood over the bathroom sink where her blouse was floating in a sink full of soapy water. Nathaniel promised to air dry the blouse and return it to her on Monday. He said he’d try some club soda on the stain if the soap hasn’t gotten it all out. She told him not to worry about it, but could she borrow something of his to wear right now? She had breakfast plans with Mallory and Jessi. He gave her this T-shirt, the closest he had to her size. He said he would love to get coffee with her sometime, and gave her both his cell number and non-work email address.

She never called him, and she never gave him his shirt back.

Mary Anne Takes It All

For the Love of Mallory

I was excited to take my first crack at a Mallory look, because I’ve always felt an affinity with her. We both like to read, we’ve both had mono, and we’re both natural redheads (HA). The look I was aiming for was “gamine, studious, sensitive”. I missed the mark. Instead, I look like a 15 year old drowning in way too much sherbet colored fabric. You’d think that an outfit that baggy and shapeless would at least be comfortable, right? Wrong. The waistband of my culottes felt bunchy, and the sweater is really the kind of sweater you need to layer over a soft t-shirt, because the wool gave me some next level under-boob itching. While I didn’t hit this one out of the park, I’m still on Team Mallory, looking forward to the next time I’m up to bat. (baseball euphemisms courtesy of my inner-Kristy)

For the Love of Mallory

Come On, Dawn

Dawn is a mixed bag. Pros: makes great oatmeal, gives AMAZING back rubs, always remembers your birthday. Cons: never wants to go in on a pitcher of mimosas at brunch, says “cool beans”, won’t shut up about kale. She didn’t shut up about it before it was an “It” food, and she won’t shut up about it now that its passé. She doesn’t wear makeup except for a single swipe of red lipstick on special occasions, and her skin always looks like she just stepped out of a Finnish sauna. Her hair is naturally ombre. She doesn’t coddle her friends, but she is always kind. She refers to her morning runs as “gifts”. She’s the friend you love to hate, but mostly you just begrudgingly love her.

She has you over for soup; it’s a chickpea and kale number, and its delicious, but seriously Dawn, cool it with the kale. It’s the middle of winter, but she is hosting, so she can wear this light summery dress with a seashells on it, an homage to her California roots. Speaking of roots, did I mention that her hair is naturally ombre? Fuck Dawn.

Come On, Dawn

Ruth’s Great Idea

Ruth’s Great Idea

IMG_0840It all starts with Kristy. Kristy wasn’t bossy, she was simply The Boss, and since I am the boss of this blog, it would only be appropriate to start with her. The club owed its whole existence to the Great Idea she had in 1986. She didn’t wear unfussy clothes to hide her body or blend into the background, she wore them because she didn’t have time to be at tugging hemlines while running the world.

I wanted to wear something that Kristy would approve of, and knowing her penchant for sportswear and turtlenecks, I wore both to a friend’s art opening.

Here is the truth: wearing bold power stripes in a brightly lit room made me feel startlingly visible, but the outfit was also incredibly comfortable, so that visibility was accompanied by a feeling of power and ease. I didn’t hunch over when talking to people (as a 6 foot tall woman in heels, this was no small feat), I made healthy eye contact and listened well. I ate fistfuls of snacks, and held handshakes firmly.

I can imagine that in her adult years, Kristy settled into a series of uniforms for different settings and occasions. A work uniform, a going-out uniform, a guest-at-a-wedding uniform. They may have changed slightly through the years, but I assume they had to meet a few basic points of criteria:

Is this generally attractive looking?

Can I raise my arms all the way over my head comfortably?

Can I eat a full meal while wearing this?

Could I fall asleep on an airplane wearing this?

Does the pattern or color scheme make me feel like a powerful Goddess?

Like I said, she wasn’t bossy, she was simply The Boss.

Ruth’s Great Idea