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January 20, 2006

Ready for my close-up

From Beth, fashion victim no more...

So this week my friend Kelly the fabulous fashion designer flew out from Los Angeles to help me promote the new book, and I have discovered a whole new frontier of style.

Kelly is one of those strikingly confident women who is forever throwing on the most startling clothing combinations and making it look like she just mugged a runway model in Paris. She’ll pair one of her own hand sewn silk corsets with $14 pants from Target, white pumps, and earrings from a teenybopper store at the mall ($3 on clearance!) and you look at her and writhe with envy. She can wear hats, for God’s sake. I would kill to be able to get away with hats.

Since we were going to do TV interviews, Kelly graciously offered to act as my personal stylist and doll me up in her designer goodies for each appearance. “We’ll work with what’s already in your closet,” she assured me as she pulled all manner of slinky tank tops and capelets out of her suitcase. “Go find your favorite pair of black pants and a white button down shirt.”

“Hmm,” I said. “I don’t have a white button-down shirt.”

“You what?”

I shrugged. “Well, I had a PMS meltdown a few months ago and decided that I hate button down shirts and completely purged them from my wardrobe.”

The look on her face. It was like I just announced that I wore sandals with socks.

“Okay, well, we’ll work around that. Go grab some black pants.”

Two minutes later, I was informed that my black pants—all of them—are too short. As are all my jeans. For years now, I have been showing an obscenely offensive amount of shoe. Who knew?

Kelly surveyed my closet in grim silence, then dusted off her hands and announced, “Grab your purse. We’re going shopping.”

“But it’s eleven o’clock on Sunday night,” I pointed out.

“Well, I can’t let you go out looking like this.” She gestured to the entire contents of my closet with parental disapproval. “You need new flip-flops, cute ones with little kitten heels. And your jewelry…my God, honey. What’s open on eleven o’clock on Sunday night?”

The 24-hour Wal-Mart. That’s what open at 11 pm on Sunday.
So we drove down, and in the space of twenty minutes, she’d loaded me up with velvet blazers, chunky necklaces, cute flip-flops and pants that didn’t make her cringe. She also bought some hairspray. The extra hold kind.

I narrowed my eyes. “What’s all the hairspray for?”

“I’m doing your whole look tomorrow. Hair included.”

“What about make-up?”

“That, too. I hope you like eyeliner.”

As it turns out, I do like eyeliner. I also like mixing couture originals with my new Wal-Mart pants. It is much easier to feel poised and witty on TV when an actual fashion designer has styled my sorry, work-from-home, sweatpant-wearing ass. She is even loaning me an outfit for the book party tonight. How’s that for red carpet treatment? Now all I need is paparazzi going through my trash and Joan Rivers asking, “Who are you wearing?”

I have the coolest friends, y’all.

Now all I need is a hat.

Posted by Beth at 9:36 PM | Comments (9)

Comments

Posted by: ZaZa at January 21, 2006 12:40 AM

Posted by: Michelle at January 21, 2006 8:16 AM

Posted by: Brittney at January 21, 2006 5:29 PM

Posted by: Beth at January 21, 2006 6:42 PM

Posted by: Whitney at January 22, 2006 8:47 AM

Posted by: Lani at January 22, 2006 10:44 AM

Posted by: Eileen at January 22, 2006 1:11 PM

Posted by: derek at March 25, 2006 11:54 AM

Posted by: chargerdaytona at August 24, 2006 12:20 AM