Keep your keys warm with fox fur.

Last Wednesday, while we were literally rushing out the door for a dinner, my dazzling friend Liz surprised me with this natural red fox fur keychain. I suppose she thought my LV needed a little more rusticity. (See for yourself here or scroll down.)

For less than twenty dollars you too can channel Davey Crockett as you fumble for your keys...or Be Like Liz (as I often aim to do) and clip it to your handbag. 


You can find these keychains on eBay in a veritable spectrum of shades both natural and dyed. I think they're the perfect marriage of decadence and mountain man simplicity. 

Gifted Gitman.

Yesterday Chris Olberding, creative director of Gitman Vintage, surprised me with a gorgeous hot pink plaid flannel shirt from Gitman's FW2009 collection. Not only was I thrilled to own my first piece by the storied label, I was also relieved to have something to wear to last night's lineup of holiday parties.


Gitman's shirts, crafted in beautiful Ashland, Pennsylvania and inspired by well-culled archives, are built for gents, but their narrow cut makes them ideal for ladies like me to steal. My wish for 2010 is to amass a small fortune in this American-made Technicolor plaid.

Against a sea of little black dress-bedecked ladies, I stood out at Butter, where I joined friends to support Guest of a Guest and the Tug McGraw Foundation's efforts to aid victims of brain tumors and trauma brain injuries. My dear friend Kate, shown above, joined me in killer vintage leather pants by Gap.

I think the key to wearing menswear-inspired looks like mine is to pile on the bright lipstick and jewelry. You'll never see a gentleman with a red lip or a bauble-stacked wrist or a neck draped in Lucite. I go wild with costume gems because, as a filly, I just can. 

To compliment my Gitman flannel, I also sported the following pieces, all by J. Crew:

• White vintage slim jean (to really make that pink POP)
• Gold laser-cut leather belt (no longer sold)
• Estate link bracelet (stacked one on top of the other)
• Golden ropes necklace
• Chandelier necklace (no longer sold)
• Harper crackle-metallic platform heel
• The ubiquitous boyfriend fatigue jacket

This shirt will look equally awesome next spring and summer when I pair it with cut-off denim shorts, Ray-Ban aviators, and a stiff, cold, rocks margarita. Or maybe belted over a chambray sun dress if I feel "formal".

Many thanks to Chris and Gitman Brothers for the gorgeous shirt.

Christmas wishes.

'Tis the season to be generous, but that doesn't mean I can't fill my own stocking too. Below are some all-American (and British and Swiss) treats that would look just as spiffy on me as they will under the tree.

Clockwise from top left:

Classic trench by Burberry
1960s vintage gold de Ville by Omega
Baroque broach bracelet by J. Crew
Tuxedo shirt by Thomas Mason for J. Crew
Elsbeth oxford by J. Crew
Estate link bracelet by J. Crew
Tortoise shell Wayfarer by Ray Ban
Tuxedo scout chino by J. Crew

Pop Up get-up.

My battle gear for the Flea was of utmost importance. I nixed a vintage prairie-inspired maternity dress (cinched with a belt, of course) and vetoed all black (because I wanted to stand out) before finally settling on this khaki ensemble, a safari-inspired look that was just perfect for sartorial stealth reporting. Summery, yes, but a brown scarf kept me warm.

The ubiquitous boyfriend fatigue jacket by J. Crew.

Lace blouse (which turned into a dress around midnight at the Boom Boom Room) by French Connection.

Matchstick jean by J. Crew.

The ubiquitous peep-toe brogues by Nine West.

Tiered brass and wood bead necklace by the Dandelion.

Don't forget to read my recaps at All Plaid Out. View my snaps on Flickr.

Sartoria Americana.

Like scouts and sailors, I am easily identified by my uniform. And whenever I feel compelled to defend what has become my go-to get-up, I point to the fashion greats. Designers and creative directors are proof positive that great sartorial minds cultivate closets with little variation, eschewing the trends for their own take on the “classic”. Tonne Goodman, Tom Ford, Ralph Lauren,Donna Karan - all have a signature style that rarely wavers, year in, year out.

My uniform happened by accident; for the past eight months I have just refused to wear anything other than the pieces shown above. Night and day. Work and play. I make it black-tie appropriate with a champagne sequin tank, and I winterize it with a scarf. Should opportunity arise to hit the skateboard, I swap brogues for Converse. If the temp rises the jeans come off and chino shorts jump on. Say what you will about my Tradette fatigues; to me this uniform is double-stitched American perfection.All items I own are bolded. Others are substitutes. Clockwise from top:

• Ralph Lauren pearl studs
• J. Crew boyfriend fatigue jacket
• Louis Vuitton Speedy (I carry my grandmother's hand-me-down.)
• J. Crew Pearl Ring (I wear Kenneth Jay Lane's version.)
• Pedro Garcia leather brogue pumps
• J. Crew selvedge chambray shirt
• Libertine distressed jean
• J. Crew skinny metallic leather belt

(By the end of most nights out I also tend to wear Tanqueray gin, but that is always a happy accident.)

I feel most like myself in these duds - the sartorial daughter of Jane Goodall and Mary Randolph Carter, of the elements and the seasons and the outdoors, as proper at a cocktail party as on the deck of a sailboat. Ça look, c'est moi.

Hit the road, Jacks.

Skateboarders were, for a long time, something like modern-day outlaws, getting into shenanigans wherever there was a rail to ride or a little old lady to scare.

A recent post on A Time To Get got me thinking about how "totally rad" this subculture is and how much more I want to learn about the sport and the people who have made it so gnarly (especially the girls because there are so few of us but especially the boys because they are so darn cute).

Skateboarding, surfing, and that whole California thing have, in the past fifty years or so, come to define the American youth. Think of Lords of Dogtown, the X Games, the Beach Boys. Tony Hawk on a box of Frosted Flakes.

The whole wide world has gone to the boards.

And for the past six months I have cruised all over New York City on my American-made Zig Zagger, put together by the pros at Autumn.

My deck (and my carefully honed ruffian persona) would be nothing without this dirty pair of Jack Purcells which have seen me through many long nights and epic rides. I may not be the fiercest hooligan on the street, but I know a good shred when I see one.

The Jacks look jaunty with shorts and fresh to death under a sun dress. Together these summer staples (skateboard and sneaks) have cruised seamlessly into fall, and keep my street cred alive and kicking. Or so I tell myself.

All pieces, from the selvedge shirt to the chambray frock, are by J. Crew.

Pastoral and pigskin.

On Friday I ran along my old route in Columbia, Missouri, my college town. I ran west toward Scotts Boulevard, past the church and the golf course, past the playgrounds and the subdivisions, and stopped along a dirt road to take some photos.

Gray, gloomy skies don't make Missouri any less beautiful. This farmhouse, guarded by barbed wire and a thick wall of holly, looked especially proud against the clouds and strong cold breeze.

Ripe holly stood out against the greens and browns and grays. It also reminded me that Christmas is now just two months away.

If not for the rain I might have snuck past that fence for some close-up shots and fun-seeking, but menacing sprinkles demanded I make tracks.

My adventure outside the farm served as inspiration for Saturday's outfit at the Homecoming game. I channeled the sky and earth in white jeans, a white pointelle cotton tuxedo shirt, gold belt, brown leather handbag, and (of course!) the beloved olive drab fatigue jacket. All pieces are by J. Crew. On my feet are the peep-toe, heeled brogues by Nine West. The lipstick is Lancome L'Absolu Rouge in (just like the holly) Berry Noir.

Standing next to me (and equally well-dressed) is one of my oldest and dearest friends Kristen B., author of White Gloves and Party Manners. She wore a black Merino wool cape by Ann Taylor Loft and a beaded black and gold headband by Belle.

The new favorite.

On Friday I visited J. Crew's flagship in the Flatiron District to poke around the sale section and see what's new. Style director Jenna Lyons' sensibility about mixing high and low, new and old, fancy and casual, is a major source of inspiration for me, and while I cannot credit her with my discovery of the cargo short, my friends might certainly blame her for approving them as evening wear.

I love a deal and rarely purchase retail, preferring to hold out for sample and seasonal sales, but this jacket, the Boyfriend Fatigue in olive drab, practically leapt onto my back. I could not leave without it.

I have determined to wear it every single day for the rest of my life (or at least until spring bids adieu to jacket weather).

On Saturday night night I dressed it up with a skimpy LBD and black patent heels and gold hoops.

On Wednesday night I dressed it down for the L.L. Bean Signature Collection presentation with white jeans, platform peep toe brogues, and, most importantly, J. Crew's Lucite chandelier necklace. (When you hang with boys' club, it's very important to sparkle.)

I'll wear it in the summer with gold sequins.

I'll wear it in the winter with tartan and wool.

I have long needed a new sartorial security blanket, and this jacket most definitely fits the bill. I don't ever want to take it off. It gives the wearer instant street cred. What girl wouldn't look cool stomping down Chrystie Street in this tough coat and rich red lipstick, aviators hiding her eyes?

Note: Lovers of all things J.C. should add the J. Crew Aficionada to their daily reader.

Check transition.

One of my favorite rites of seasonal change is the wardrobe swap. On Friday a box arrived from home, filled with wide wale corduroy, thick wool, and Technicolor fleece. Also included were the old velvet party dresses, a stack of September issues, and my fabled collection of tartan and checks. Thanks, Mom!

Clockwise from top: Stapleford flannel shirt, Gap wool mini purchased for my first trip to the MoMA (and Saint Patrick's and the Spotted Pig), Benetton relic from freshman year of high school, and my ruffled Ralph Lauren blouse. Sometimes I like to feel fancy while hunting wabbits (or swilling gimlets).

My prized plaid is this Stapleford shirt, pilfered from a now-infamous Carroll Street closet. I always thought it looked better on me, and now that we have become friends, I can tell him so. I am convinced that there is an entire psych dissertation behind the practice and meaning of stealing clothes from boyfriends. This shirt would be my exhibit A.

A quick Google search confirmed that this torn label hails from Urban Outfitters, land of the small brand revival. Alas, UO no longer carries this product. Not that I'll need another. Even after I find a boyfriend who wears the real deal, this tattered relic will figure prominently in my snowed-in Saturday wardrobe. (But let's keep that between you and me.)