My old-fashioned Caribbean mother tried to instill the value of looking like something when you may have nothing (we were in between nothing and something) in me at an early age.
"People don't see how much money you have, they just see you, so look presentable," she would tell a clueless 10 year-old me. Under her watchful eyes, my uniform was always pressed and my shoes were always agleam.
And then I grew up and out and away. And now I have a very lovely couch in my room that is mostly used as a second closet. Now, preparing outfits in advance is a luxury. I have to have the time (or an increased care level that day) for it to happen, and it doesn't often happen.
This means I'm usually found 20 minutes before an occasion scrambling pieces off of my couch, ripping tags off of unworn potentials and swearing at myself. And what you see here is the outcome.
I had a wonderful Sunday off and was summoned by my male companion. I had four hours to get ready, 7/8ths of which went to watching Canadian teen dramas on Netflix (Instant Star, anyone? You, in the back?).
The last 1/8 went to sliding into this. A glorified t-shirt, pretending to be a dress, featuring "I'm-really-cool-can't-you-tell" cut outs, a second skin cardigan and flats --- easy like a (lazy and ill-prepared for) Sunday morning.
Fiore Boutique Watch, Arrow Cuff, Earrings| Purse| Vince Camuto Bracelet
*please note that these were taken with my iPhone. How's that for ill-prepared? I'm acing life.