Dignity = 0, Instant Gratification = 1

It is not a proud day here at the Pretty. Despite prior displays of self-restraint, and kind offers from friends to just loan it to us already, we succumbed. Yes, it was today during our daily weekly Target visit when we decided we just could not survive one more hot minute sans:

(credit: Barnes & Noble)

In our defense - and on the off chance you've forgiven us and are still reading - we offer you the following justifications for said purchase, all of which enjoy the added bonus of having just been declared null and void by a certain Anonymous Husband:

1. It's Monday.
2. We're hereby playing the Hormone Card; see our FP post - if you dare.
3. It was, like, totally fate. There we were, standing in an interminable line behind the Check Writing Coupon Lady (more power to you coupon types, but we admit to feeling rather unladylike urges towards those who not only write checks - checks? - in a checkout line, but wait until they're at the counter to start filling them out), when lo . . . where was I going with this again . . .
   
4. Oh, yes - so there I was waiting in the Target line that would not end, when an express lane opened, cashiered by a 30-something lady who understood our secret shame. Surely this was meant to be!
5. We have a difficult job where we read numbingly dull complicated stuff all day, so we generally like a bit of escapism and less syllables in our leisure reading.
   
6. Um . . .
7. This purchase scratched the buying itch we'd had thanks to the latest J. Crew catalog, to the tune of the approximately $5,467,892.67 extra the JC Preppy purchase would involve. Not that we aren't going to order 3/4 of the Fall catalog, but we've bought ourselves another day to think about it!
8. Ah . . .
   

Lovelies, the moral of this tale is that for the sake of both self-respect and marital harmony, we'll be needing to send this tome along as soon as we're done - which should be sometime tomorrow. 100% inspired by that Mom with the Mostest, One Fabulous Mom, and her recent Tori giveaway, we'll also give this one away. Just leave the Pretty the most patently false, over-the-top compliment you can conjure in the comments, and we'll select the most absurd one as the lucky winner. Because we may have lost our dignity today, but not our knack for narcissistic self-promotion . . .

Smootches,

Important, Special Note to Coach

Pretty Headquarters

123 Princess Grace Way

Principality of Monaco, via Austin, Texas

September 28, 2008

Coach Intergalatic Headquarters
456 Jumping the Shark Street
New York City, NY 100-Oh-No

Dear Coach:

A first love dies hard. Thus, although we're certainly not the first to point out your* recent Crimes Against Design, we feel compelled to add our saddened, betrayed voice to the mix. *Just to clarify, we're addressing "Coach" as in the handbag line, the one we now suspect is named after the economy airline class due to our commensurate levels of customer dissatisfaction with each, vs. someone who trains athletes.

It was 2002, across a Lincoln Park bar while visiting Chicago friends, when we spied our first Coach bag love. It was a small, classic, black canvas over-the-shoulder number that cost $128 dollars - a princely sum at any time, far more than we'd ever paid for a bag. So enamored were we, however, that we scrimped and Top Ramen-ed our student budget way to ownership of said lovely purse and wore it with such pride for many years. It sits in our closet still, a bittersweet reminder of elegant times past.

And then . . . then came The Logo. Because the growing popularity of the brand was apparently insufficient, You felt the need to remind us at Each. And. Every. Frapping. Opportunity. just exactly who designs Your bags. In case the 13-year-old at the mall now purchasing your wares has gone myopic and is thus unable to view the bag designer from Saturn's outer rings.

So although we get our hopes up every now and again with something quite lovely you've conjured up, like this:

(credit: Coach via Flickr)

Simple, utilitarian, only one (removable) logo tag, in our favorite Hitchcock blonde-worthy red . . . but at $898, we'll just save up to buy another brand of "C", courtesy of friend Karl Lagerfeld.

Granted, you still sell the classic workbags and such here, but we would never know it from the few times we've found ourselves in one of your stores recently. Nay, on those underwhelming occasions - to be less whelmed, we'd have to be mid-algebra class - we're far more likely to encounter something along these lines:

(credit: Coach via Flickr)

Let's take a tally of The Logo, shall we?

1. Fabric pattern, the color scheme & graphic pattern of which wouldn't be bad absent the ubiquitous "C"s.
2. The cursive "Coach" written mid-bag; see the ligher colored, backwards "C".
3. Gold horsey thingy with written "Coach" on black patent piece near handles & top of bag.
4. Gold tag thingy hanging from handle, Part 1.
5. Black tag thingy hanging from handle, Part 2.
6. ANOTHER gold tag thingy hanging from handle, Part 3.

Coach, we're admittedly terrible at math, but by our count that equals 6 separate brand mentions. Handy if we're attempting to send Morse Code messages involving the letter "C" to passing jets, or perhaps as a festive prop on a "Sesame Street" alphabet sketch, but maybe a tad excessive otherwise?

To conclude, we'll still be watching you from afar, Coach, ever hopeful for a return to, um, taste. After all, despite our icily cool appearnce, we're admittedly struggling to forget our first handbag love so quickly. Hope is fading apace, however . . . not as quickly as we hope the nightmare that is the "Graphic Op Art Large Sabrina" above erases itself from our memory, but consider us a close second.

Snootily Yours,


Legallyblondemel, Pretty HQ

PS - Important Note to Readers: We realize that we're a bit hypocritical in our Logo targeting; see our beloved Tory sandals, for example. For some not terribly well-thought-out reason, we find the Burch logo-ing to be different, as we also do with the occasional, discreet appearance of the wee Lacoste creature or Polo pony (although the latter is really Pushing It as of late). And it's Our Blog, so there. As our policy position develops on the issue, we'll continue to update you. Thank you for your understanding.

I Am Legallyblondemel. I Am Six.

To crib from "Eloise", the greatest book ever penned for little girls and grown-up little girls alike, there are days when I suspect I haven't much progressed much in my 30 21 years. Thanks to the tag award & challenge bestowed on me by the charming ladies at Preppy Little Dress and The Dirty Martini Diaries, I took pause today to consider just some of these very qualities, or un-qualities, as it were.

I fear from the tenor of this week's posts that you might envision me as an old biddy creaking back-and-forth in her rocking chair, crocheting doilies as I recite Crane's Blue Book of Stationery chapter and verse (not that there's anything wrong with that!), tsk-tsking about Those Kids Nowadays, and speaking in the third person to my phalanx of cats. Although I'm most assuredly and proudly traditional in many aspects, The Pretty here can knock back a cocktail or six with the best of them, and is usually in active pursuit of doing so. Furthermore, I more often than not can be found holding the couch down, wearing my Tarjay jammies, attempting to do as little as possible save watching some inexcusable television* and telepathically willing the dishes in the sink to wash themselves already. *Seriously, citizens of Atlanta, I fear for you if your "Real Housewives" in any way represents actual neighbors. Seriously.

So in the spirit of the tag - except completely cheating, as I'm sharing just one random story here (ask away in the comments if you'd like to know any others) - and veering off the Pretty Path a bit, I bring you The Uncomfortable Drugstore Purchase, my most recent of which happened today. You know the one . . . involving feminine products?

Make no mistake, I make no claim as to being the only woman who is made uncomfortable by this; in fact, I think it's listed somewhere on the back of our Woman Cards that this buy be the most squirmy and awful 5 minutes of whichever day on which it unfortunately falls. I don't know why exactly this is uncomfortable at all, given that everyone who has suffered through that "Miracle of Life" video is entirely too familiar with the concept, in addition to the 50% odd percent of us who, you know, have lady parts and stuff, but nonetheless, The Purchase just doesn't seem to get less traumatic with age.

No, my claim to fame lies in my blissfully reliable cashier selection & resultant reaction to same. Without fail, each and every single time I enter a Walgreen's and attempt to furtively just buy the FPs and hastily get on with my day already, the following will occur:

- I will pick the slowest line, which at least has a friendly female cashier at the helm, only to be repeatedly and unavoidably called over to the newly-opened line. Do I really have to add that the cashier manning this new line is, well, a man, and usually some combination of handsome, a teenager, or a handsome teenager who completed Health Ed. not one semester ago?

- Upon placing my lonely FPs on the conveyor - because in these instances, I've inevitably forgotten to hide my purchases under cover of pretextual boxed wine or Q-Tips, the following uncomfortable exchange will occur, following the same 3 predictable stages every blessed time:

Stage 1
Male Cashier (all sunshine and unicorns and rainbow-y voiced): "Hello, Ma'am! How are you today?'
Legallyblondemel (avoiding eye contact as I mutter): "Umyesfineokthanks."

Stage 2
MC (eyes fall upon the FP while blood drains from face): "Oh, um . . . did you find everything OK?" (unicorns and rainbows have rapidly and irretrievably departed the building).
ME (suddenly seized by insane desire to abandon ladylike demeanor and grab said FPs, one in each hand in manner of pom-poms, jazz hands aloft, and bellow at the top of my lungs):

"Why, YES, er (peers angrily at employee nametag), Jared, I DID manage to find the TAMPONS! TAMPONS TAMPONS TAMPONS! Regular, premium, and super-unleaded TAMPONS! In Aisle 3, more TAMPONS than you can shake a stick at! Would you like to talk about it some more, Jared? I could just talk TAMPONS all day with you here at your delightful cash register!"

ME (what I actually mutter): "Uhyesfineokthanks."

Stage 3
MC (relief washes over his face as transaction with berserk lady finishes): "Well, have a nice day!"
ME (exhaling a sigh of relief): "Uhyesfineokthanks."

Anyone else fight imaginary mental battles with cashiers on the average drugstore run? No? Just me then? (crickets chirping). My one fun fact indeed . . .

And because I just can't bear to send you off on such an Un-Pretty note - if I haven't already sent you running for the smelling salts with this post - before I bid you farewell for the week while I go drink too much beer listen to good live music at Austin City Limits and host some visiting friends, I wish you the best, FP-free, most fabulous weekend imaginable.

Smootches,

"Living Well . . ."

". . . is the best revenge," or so my grandmother's maxim went, one of many sayings she loved to incite. The point wasn't so much the literal meaning of the words - I never could figure out who exactly I was supposed to be getting revenge against, for example - but rather, what I took from them was the joy and complete conviction in her voice as she spoke.

One of the many reasons this week has been such a champagne bubble up and Mean Red down at the Pretty is the would-be birthday of Grandmother - under pain of certain death, she was known as "Grandmother", never "Grandma" - this Saturday, when she would have turned 84. Grandmother, who was very much a mother in all the meaningful ways to me, maintained that she was 29 and holding up until the day of her passing earlier this year, so that 84 is an educated guess, but it's telling about both her marvelously stubborn nature and adherence to appearances.

And yet she was not just full of pithy sayings and respect for formal traditions. Without complaint, she marched me to theater productions, special museum exhibits, and lunch at Neiman Marcus, where I first learned to appreciate outrageously scrumptious Monkey Bread with strawberry butter. She bought me my first set of engraved Good Paper & demanded/taught me to write the "bread and butter" note. She wasn't the cookie-baking type of grandmother - oh, was she ever an awful cook - nor was she the type to offer a decent hug, but she ensured that my brother and I had a top-quality education, and made many, many personal sacrifices to ensure that it happened. No library trip or book was denied, nor any other learning or cultural opportunity. Through her obvious eccentricities - and there were many, the lurid blue eyeshadow being just the frosting on the Estee Lauder caked foundation - and flaws and private demons, I always knew that she prioritized family in her funny, odd way above all else - and isn't that all that we can ask of a parent, really?

As any good daughter / granddaughter is prone to do, I spent my adolescence fighting all of this, my melodramatic exit from Cotillion in sixth grade being the first of my many Crimes Against Feminine Tradition. Because no sixth grader, particularly a painfully awkward one entirely afraid of actual boys, should be forced to learn the Pattycake Polka, but that's a subject for a different post. In any event, I struggled mightily against her teaching until I hit age 21 or so, when the feminine graces started to sneak in somehow.

It was then that I realized that I really did, and do, love Good Paper, and taking a stab at being nice to other people even when every fiber of my being doesn't feel like it (most of the time, that is), and appreciating the arts and incredible writing and all the other things that make each day a little more beautiful. I began the path to redemption in her eyes by joining the Junior League, and greatly advanced my cause back into grace by marrying the Grandmother-endorsed Doctor / Laywer/ and-or Respectable Businessman (any of the above being equally desirable), but I've come to suspect this lady business is a bit of a lifelong learning process.

So in Grandmother's honor, I raise my symbolic flute of Veuve - a love of champagne being a family tradition and all - and share with you my formal china and sterling silver patterns. Yes, my china and silver patterns. While this might strike some of you as odd or irreverent, it is the very highest form of tribute I can conceive of for this very special, independent lady. Because second to my becoming a well-educated, well-rounded woman of substance, or at least effectuating the appearance of same, the subjects most discussed over our NM or Four Seasons brunches since I've reached the age of majority were - formal china and silver patterns. And so I bring you:

(credit: Michael C. Fina)

"Imperial Scroll" by Miss Vera Wang & Wedgwood. Should you find yourself in Austin, please drop by Chez Pretty - both because I'd love to meet you all and because I look for any excuse whatsoever to whip out my beloved china.

(Credit: Affordable Dinnerware)

"Chippendale" by Towle. Again, really looking for opportunities to use these more often. Barbeque, superdelicious cupcakes, Twinkies, whatever - my sparkly sterling is depending on you.

Grandmother, we never said the mushy "love" stuff, so I'll leave it at this - thank you for the china. There isn't Good Paper enough to say all that you mean to me, but don't worry - I'll keep up with the thank-you notes.

Ask the Etiquette Maven

Dear EM:

I have this person - let's say by means of entirely random example she is a colleague - who is generally well-intentioned and kind, but routinely comments on what I'm eating, particularly the food is of the unhealthy variety. Just the other day, she very kindly noted that the Halloween candy I was eating was one of my "vices", and that I ought to be careful around the office lest I gain 10 pounds during the Thanksgiving and Christmas season.

So when the same lady asked for candy just this week, I sweetly fibbed and claimed to be flat out of the good stuff. Auntie EM, is a girl justified in protecting her special Halloween edition York Peppermint Patties from such a person?

If I weren't so daintily feminine and proper, I might note that this particular lady is not, er, of the fitness-inclined persuasion, as it were, whereas I do try to be in between candy corns.

XOXO,
Anonymous Reader

Dear Anon,

Not only are you justified, Sweets ( and with the occasional sweets), but I recommend when next asked to part with one of your hard-earned candies, you look her directly in the eye, tell her again that since you are concerned about your health, you're reserving treats for special occasions, and thank her for her ongoing concern. This has the benefit of both being true, as well as protecting the goods. Bonus points if you can keep the sarcasm out of your voice while saying this, although We're admittedly still learning how to do that ourselves.

And do try to recall that some people, when attempting to strike up conversation, just don't know what the Hell is appropriate are awkwardly fumbling around for something decent to say and grasp for the nearest conversational gambit. Benefit of the doubt is always a good thing, but Peppermint Patties safely tucked away in your supply cabinet = better. Do let a bon-bon or two out of your cold, chocolate loving grasp every now and again in the holiday spirit, and then be done with worrying about it.

Smootches,

Legallyblondemel, EM Extraordinaire

PS - We do realize the delicious irony of doing such a post directly after one about Emily Post's biography, and we trust that you will ignore the same as we do and just knock back a candy corn or 500 with us in the spirit of things.

Attention Etiquette Mavens

While at home on the couch surfing the internet working today thanks to being Under The Weather, we happened upon a biography we simply HAVE to purchase. We particularly adore the subtitle and aspire to the same ourselves - "Mistress of American Manners":

(credit: Barnes & Noble)

Thanks to our Grandmother's early manners training - note that I didn't say sucessful manners training, but there was training - etiquette books have long warmed our cold, rules-loving, old-biddy heart. Add to the mix our love of learning about strong, intriguing women, and this book strikes us as being Directly Up Our Alley. After all, if our plan to tell people what to do for a living is to become a reality, we may as well bone up on the expert in the field. We suspect our current reading of this month's "Vogue" and "InStyle" isn't getting the job done, and that's not just the Valium talking. We hope.

Unfortunately this book doesn't come out until October 14th, but look for a related reader giveaway once we've devoured it. Because a certain Anonyous Husband might undertake some rather unmannerly actions should we overload our already-crammed bookshelves with one more tome.

Any other manners mavens out there? Or am I the only one secretly looking for the excuse to order calling cards?

A Charming Trend . . .

. . . post in which we discuss charm bracelets. Get it - "A Charming Trend"? Ha! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

But seriously, if you're still reading after that obnoxiously unforgivable wordplay . . . we've noticed an uptick in what we've always considered a classic. Charm bracelets at once strike us as personal and like something we'd run across while furtively pawing through our Grandmother's jewelry box - simultaneously modern and retro. The jewelry, that is, not the sneaking through the family jewels.

Moving right along, upon moving to Texas a while back, we saw more than we were used to, mostly from local silversmiths like this. Now it appears that as though the fashion world at large has caught on. Let's take a look:

(credit: Juicy Couture via InStyle)

Yes, it's from that Juicy Couture, they of the velour pantsuit national nightmare that we addressed not so long ago. We're forced to admit that we like this little bauble too! It's got this fabulously faux-horsey name - "Country Estate" - it's almost entirely logo free, and it even has fun little details like an acorn for Blue-Eyed Bride. At $178, we're hoping it will magically appear in our Christmas stockings vs. actually purchasing it ourselves, but nonetheless - Juicy, as much as it pains us to say, well done again on turning things in a considerably more tasteful direction.

Our friends with the magical blue boxes have a few we fancy as well:

(credit: Tiffany)

This one has champagne flutes AND a cupcake - it's like a miniature silver tribute to everything we hold dear! And:

(credit: Tiffany)

This one is directly up our equestrian alley. It also costs nearly as much as an actual horse, unfortunately, but we'll put it a close second to a live pony on our Christmas list.

And over at Ruby Lane, which always has delectable-looking antique goodies, we found some adorable vintage ones here and there.

Girls, let's keep this classic as much to ourselves here on the, um, internet as "In Style" will allow, lest the charm bracelet go the way of the Birkin and be seen on every tragic starlet's arm. Speaking of, Heidi Montag - you're on the snark deck, sweets - stay tuned . . .

************************************************************************************
Speaking of charming, and removing my Third Person Tiara for just a sec, tonight I had the pleasure of meeting the brilliant blogette SLynnRo in person. She was just as nice, funny, and fashionable as I'd feared. Of course, this unfortunately means that someone in the Blog World can now confirm that I *might* not quite so closely resemble Grace Kelly as I like to maintain, but I think the price of meeting a lovely person in "the real world" is worth the risk.

The Kristin Davis Collection at Belk

Chief amongst the myriad reasons I so loved the character of Charlotte on "Sex and the City" was her always feminine, ever classic wardrobe. Well, maybe after the impossibly posh Park Avenue apartment, that is; as Miss Austen so accurately noted in my favorite book, high-end real estate is a rather delicious way to a woman's heart.

In any event, upon hearing that Kristin Davis was putting out a collection for Belk stores based upon Charlotte's her own wardrobe, I was tentatively excited. After Sarah Jessica Parker's "Bitten" collection, which We Did Not Care For, and The Movie, which is another post entirely, I learned to apply a critical eye to these post-"SATC" marketing opportunities.

(credit: Belk)

So let's examine the hard evidence, shall we? Tragically, there is no Belk near the Pretty, so we're force to rely on the online exhibits:

(credit: Belk)

(credit: Belk)

(credit: Belk)


Charlotte Kristin, like Pretty, looks best in a defined waist, so We are rather partial to these. And let's take a look at the accessories:

(credit: Belk)

A very basic black boot, but the construction and material (leather) look good. And:

(credit: Belk)

A more affordable, wearable take on the berserk Prada shoes the magazines are all on about this season.

(credit: Belk)

(credit: Belk)

Very basic & only PVC material, but an affordable work tote in some pretty fall tones.

Overall, this looks like a decent line for discount, work-appropriate basics, but I'd prefer some in-person reconnaissance - readers, have any of you seen this line in person? Anyone near a Belk and willing to conduct research, in the name of helping le blog world?

Secret Single Behavior, a 10 Year Retrospective

Friday Night At Home, Age 20 Edition: Activities likely to include:

• the gym (have you ever seen a more melancholy place than a Friday night gym? Seriously, it's enough to drive us back home to the Ben & Jerry's. As if we needed any help in that department.);
  
• wine (from the jug);
• um, personal grooming;
• searching desperately through closet for something to wear in case of impromptu, inevitable keg party;
  
• catching up on girly TV, waiting for impromptu, inevitable keg party; and
  
• wondering what death-defying and/or intoxicating behaviors to which the boyfriend is up.
  

Friday Night At Home, Age 30 Edition: Activities likely to include:

• the gym (just as sad 10 years later)
• wine (from Coppola Vineyards, in proper bottle);
• um, personal grooming;
• weeding through closet to get rid of keg party attire;

In the name of bloggerific integrity and embarrassing ourselves, we bring you Exhibit A. Complete with mysterious pink cosmopolitan stain.

• catching up on girly TV, anticipating an early bedtime in nice, new sheets; and
  
• wondering what death-defying and/or intoxicating behaviors to which the husband is up.
  

Hmmm . . . from the looks of things, things are looking awfully similar, saved for a marked improvement in both the quality of our wine and thread count. Nonetheless, we're enjoying our SSB evening in a Large way, and wish you an equally outstanding one.

Pretty Icons . . . Fe**rgie?!?!?!

Despite what you may think, we do try to avoid the obvious punchlines here at the Pretty. That being said, neither do we believe in looking the gift horse in the cliched mouth on the off time he comes trot-trot-trotting into our blogging stable. So when I stumbled upon this article in my interweb ramblings, I had to stop, drop, and cover my head in fear. Peeking between my fingers, I cautiously read it once again, and saw that I had indeed correctly interpreted the headline that proclaimed . . .

"Fe**rgie Tops People's Best-Dressed List"

Ahem. So many thoughts come to mind, but before we jump into those stormy waters, let's look at the hard evidence, shall we? Young readers might want to avert their eyes; the following is rated "PG" for "Please, God, Tell Me What Is Going On Here":

(credit: Daily Mish Mash)

(credit: LFI )

A particularly Un-Pretty image, but in the name of bloggerific integrity and thoroughness, we must include it in our analysis. And please see this:

(credit: Contact Music)

We really could go on all night with these, but in the interest of not belaboring the rather obvious issue, let's explore the flip side.  Is it possible that "People" picked her on the strength of her accessorizing alone?

(credit: Celebrity Hookups)

Josh, schnookums, you look confused - we don't understand it either. But there's a lot about fashion lately we don't understand - like the, ah, jumpsuits, that are meant to be the height of fashion:

(credit: Net-A-Porter)

Admittedly this might be on the tasteful end of jumpsuits, but we're rather partial to the Osh-Kosh-B'Gosh overall ones of our younger years. We don't want to give The Duchess any ideas, however, so we'll hurry along to note that we're also quite certain that our kiddie couture did not cost the (drumroll) $4,100 this Marc Jacobs number will set you back.

At the end of the day, we conclude that we are just hopelessly behind the times, and destined to muddle through sans leather skinny jeans or non-ironic bowler hats. Thanks to you helpful readers, we're already on course to add to our business casual collection with the gradual addition of "investment" pieces we find on sale & actually like ourselves (ie, no pleated capris with cat appliques), as well as the usual BR, J. Crew & Ann Taylor pieces.

This outlook might not land us on the Best Dressed List, but we suspect we'll be able to sleep through the night anyways. And hold on to the $4,1000 we didn't spend on a designer, ahem, jumpsuit.

Impersonating a Competent Professional

Reading Nautical by Nature's recent post brought to mind my fashion rut of late & the issue of appropriate professional dress in various stages of life, as last manifested at a conference I attended. At this particular event, I found myself surrounded by a group of my peers. By "peers" I mean other lady professionals in my particularly conservative line o' work who can dance wide, intricate pirouettes around me career-wise, both in years and in aptitude. In fairness to moi, this was a weekend, "business casual" affair, but nonetheless, upon assessing the situation, I had a rather frantic internal conversation that proceeded along these lines:

Self: "My, what an impressive group of women we've found ourselves amongst! How fortunate we are to find ourselves in their proximity."
Response (also self, but clarified for dramatic purpose here): "Um, hello! These ladies are the rock stars of your profession. You don't belong on the playing field, in the stadium, in the zip code of the oxygen you breathe. Slouch down in your chair now, and just pray that no one notices you."

Self: "Actually, we consider ourselves happy to be here with the opportunity to learn from these pioneers. Besides, we have the very same professional degree they do."
Response: "Oh, get over yourself - uh, Self. Not only are these other women light years beyond you professionally, they also look it. And, PS, I notice they don't speak to themselves in the third person."

Self: "What are you saying? I see your point on the experience, but don't I at least look the part?"
Response: "Duh! Look to your left, then look to your right - zero of these other women are in designer jeans, even if said jeans are accompanied by a dressy blouse and 30 years of bluffing your way through above-your-level situations."

Self: (puzzled, struggles to look around room and spot a non Ann Taylor-ite. Fails.) "Hmm, uh . . you may have a point . . . " (muttered while slouching down in seat, hiding behind conference binder).

Aside from legitimately learning some valuable substantive points at this event, I left with the question - how to dress "business casual" to blend with a group of older, seasoned professionals, such that you fit in, but not to the extent that you're slavishly imitating a 45-year-old in the requisite Talbots pleated chinos (which are second only to skinny jeans on the Conspiracy To Make My Hips Resemble Alaska List) and sweater with jaunty cat appliques?

I've set to work on investigating some classic, business-casual wardrobe additions for my Christmas list, not so age-inappropriate and boring as to put me in the Cat Sweater set (hopefully), but tailored and traditional and, frankly, above-Target-level enough to blend with the ladies who have officially Made It. Given that I work in a "casual casual" office at best, I'm a bit rusty at this & therefore would love some Readerly Assistance. What do you think of the following?

Shoes

(credit: Tory Burch)

(credit: Tory Burch)

Yes, everyone and their aunt's sister's gardener's babysitter now has a pair of Revas, but the unusual colors / patterns on these make these a younger take on a soon-to-be-classic, no?

(credit: Saks)

The Tod's driving moc has been a longtime Pretty favorite, but am I 20 years and 5 cats short of being able to pull this off?

Work Tote

I have a dressy, structured black Furla tote for suit-level business occasions, but what about this for the more casual event:

(credit: Longchamp)

Again, this is a bread-and-butter tote, but does the of-the-moment color make it age and trend appropriate?

(credit: Longchamp)

Less budget-friendly, but also less ubiquitous. Conservative, but love the color & barely there but interesting hardware . . .

Pants (ie, The Wardrobe Area in Which Upgrade Items Most Urgently Sought, But Most Difficult To Find As All Secretly Designed To Make Figure Resemble Hippopotami)

(credit: J. Crew)

Lovelies, it's important that you know that We Are Cold. All of the time. No, really, even - or especially, given the AC situation here - in Texas, we're reaching for our under-the-table heater. So pants are most often a professional way of life for moi, despite our love and purchasing habits with dresses.

(credit: Ann Taylor LOFT)

Forget the (completely inappropriate for my line of work) shoes here - do these pants say to you, "I trust this woman with my money and livelihood?" Or do I really need to just dive in and Talbots it out already?

Readers, any hints for good business casual wear? Or do I just need to finagle a personal shopper at Needless Markups and fork over dignity & credit card in short order?

The Ritz-Carlton, Laguna Niguel

I'll confess to attemping to give this post a clever title, but there's just something about "The Ritz-Carlton, Laguna Niguel" that needs no cute introduction. Indeed, words generally fail me when attempting to describe my stay last weekend at this hotel, made possible by an Hollywood-movie-perfect blend of the personal and professional. It is amongst my Top 5 Pretty Hotel Stays Anywhere, and therefore my digital camera and I share a bit of the fairy-dust sprinkled experience with you.

Lest you think me an entirely unforgivable snob - I like to think of myself as a partially forgivable snoot - the Ritz is hardly my usual hotel fare. The Pretty has enjoyed our share of staying at places most appropriately addressed as "motels" , or "Dumpy Suites" as Slynnro coined the term, growing up and even now occasionally. As long as I'm traveling and experiencing the globe, and the hotel is clean and the service decently polite, I'm generally happy.* *Due to people who know me in real life stumbling upon this blog, by "generally happy" I mean that I'll whine and moan and pull out all the stops to stay in a, well, resort with a capital "R". Where things like thread count and turndown service are a critical part of the discussion. Where it isn't about how much you pay per night, but the attention to every detail, details our luxury-loving heart would never have even thought of, that can justify the exorbitant price make price a secondary consideration.

Of course, I was predisposed to enjoy this hotel even more than the usual luxury joint, given how I grew up just down the Pacific Coast Highway from it. I fondly recall picture-postcard Sunday drives with my family, peeking out the backseat window, dreaming of the day when I could stay at a grown-up place like that pretty one by the sea. While some girls dreamed of Ken & Barbie's dream house, I had visions of Belgian chocolates dancing on my Frette-linen-clad pillow. Yes, really.

So without further fuss, I bring you the Pretty Hotel , the best of our homeland:

The view from my In-Depth Pool Chair Research. So spectacularly beautiful AND comfortable were these chairs, we took note of the brand - Denon.

I roused myself from my poolside perch just long enough to take a stroll by the Pacific and snap this cliffside view of the hotel. No Photoshopping was involved in the intense azure of the California sky here - that's as it usually appears in late summer afternoons, after the morning fog clears.

Go back to the picture above and look to the right part of the building with the domed windows - that's the gym. The gym that overlooks the ocean, that is. Call me crazy, but if that doesn't make a 1/2 hour on the elliptical machine almost bearable, I don't know what does. Actually, I do, but people might stare if I actually a tub of Ben & Jerry's "Phish Food" while step-step-stepping away to nowhere.

If you're a Type A Minus like me and use vacation as an excuse to skip Hateful Exercise, you might also enjoy the stroll along the beach like mine. From this prime vantage point, we observed both the surfers and the elliptical gliders above, and really FELT like we were getting a great workout. A minus for effort!

After completing the steep walk back up from the beach (exercise!) to the hotel, we came upon this Pretty View.

The inside was just as captivating as the outside. Having undergone a renovation just two years ago, the hotel's new design scheme was a striking blend of the traditional and the modern, of the "transitional" school of design (I think).

The color scheme was a delicious mix of taupe, chocolate brown, and, as my BF-J so perfectly described it, "Grace Kelly blue".

Bad photo notwithstanding, the bed was just as a luxe hotel should be - fluffy, all-white, and clad in Gazillion-count Frette sheets.

A room with a view. That morning fog I mentioned obscures it here, but that's the o-c-e-a-n there beyond the landscaping. Amen!

Although I'm delighted to be back home, and even happier to learn my friends are safe from Ike, I can't help but feel bittersweet about this weekend. Far be it from me to be a primadonna - stop laughing - but I fear that the Ritz Laguna may well have soured me on other hotels henceforth. This leads me to the even more fearsome conclusion that, alas, our very sweet and adorable and insanely handsome Anonymous Husband just might have to work very hard to accommodate the hotel lifestyle to which We are now officially accustomed . . .

PS - This isn't strictly related to Le Ritz, but it is related to our weekend, and deals with style and it is Our Blog and so there. In any event, we decided to try out that Polyvore site the kids like so much nowadays, in order to show you our semiformal wedding uniform du jour:

The bag and bracelet aren't identical, but this gives you get the picture. This Plenty Frock by Tracy Reese number in particular has gotten us through no small number of semiformal events this summer/ early fall. So many dress addictions, so little time.

Making Lemons Out of . . . Well, You Know

Thanks to the recent hurricane business, we've found ourselves stranded - gasp! - here in Left Coast paradise for another day:

(credit: Hotels.com UK)

On our Pretty Scale of Unicorns and Rainbows, we rank this fortuitous event a 9.75 out of 10 for utterly sublime life perfection. It's rather akin to one's high school prom date calling to say he won't be able to escort you to the dance, but that George Clooney (loveyoumeanit, Anonymous Husband!) has offered to sub in, and by the way, HRH George would like to know what brand of champagne the lady prefers. So not exactly how you had pictured the event or week unfolding, but a substitution so far superior to the original plan so as to render you a bit speechless and wondering what you've done to deserve such luck. Rawther similar to how we hope She Who Shall Not Be Named feels about her baffling rise to stardom & millionairess income:

[we'd usually insert a picture here, but in the interest of not giving, ahem, name rhymes with "Laris" any additional, unwarranted PR, we hereby decline. Harrumph.]

So we'll be a bit delayed in our re-entry into the blogosphere this week, but promise to bring you our in-depth Lounge Chair Report and pictures later this week. Once we're done cavorting on the beach and pinching ourselves, that is. In the meantime, sending you all good wishes, particularly those in Ike's path.

We also hope you enjoy the Pretty's face-lift - our initial foray into plastic surgery, yay! - courtesy of the lovely Krystyn at Krizzy Designs. Krystyn was responsive, attentive to our every request, and affordable; in short, everything we'd hoped for in our surgeo . . .um, web designer, Smootches, Krystyn!

On Second Thought . . .

So for quite some time, we've looked forward to bragging about sharing with you how fortunate we are to be doing in-depth lounge chair research this weekend at this glorious homeland resort, one that we've been aching to stay at for years:

(credit: Hotel Rates.com)

And how we quite possibly were planning to skulk around the Coto gates and stalk the original, the one, and the only Housewives:

(credit: Seen On)

And then we - rather, I - woke up this morning, looked at my calendar, and realized the date. And read many of your lovely posts around the Blogettesphere, and was touched and saddened even more. And considered my own family currently serving in the military, and my many relatives who have served in battle. And read the local papers, and realized that, just to add to the sum of today, a hurricane was headed towards dear friends near the Texas coast. And suddenly, staying in 5-star resorts didn't seem so important - or important at all - anymore.

So I thank you, readers, for keeping things in perspective for Miss Pretty here. Whether you realize it or not, your daily thoughts and inspirations are one of the many reasons I've dipped my toe (mouse? keyboard?) in the Blogettesphere. As much as we like to keep things lighthearted here at the Pretty - those nice boys and girls at CNN do such a good job with that other business - we, ahem, I recognize that there is an appropriate time and place for snark, and today is not one of those times. Know that I'm thinking of all of you in harm's way or with loved ones in danger, whether it be caused by war or gale-force weather.

Wishing you and yours a safe and happy weekend . . .

Of Bumpers and Boasting - The Texas Chronicles Cont'd

I think it was about the 30th Prius that did it. As I sat in traffic tonight, running an customary inexcusably poor 10 minutes late to a meeting, I spied what I suspect is standard mode of transport in many liberal-leaning parts of the country - a shiny new hybrid, bedecked with the obligatory Mac-Obama-Tibet-offbeat-music-store bumper stickers - except in this & its predecessors' cases, there was what I now recognize as a Texas twist. This car was veritably bending over backwards to send rainbows and unicorns and non-carcinogenic Valentine hearts of love to everyone everywhere - except for those not fortunate enough to live here in the Great State. Because this Prius' bumper, like no small number of other cars on the road, proudly displayed this:



Fun, no? To this California girl, it is such a good thing, as Our Martha might say, and ridiculously entertaining to boot. In my homeland, natives will confess to you within 5 minutes of meeting exactly where they last had a little Bo (as in "-tox"), and foist the name and number of their cosmetic dermatologist on you, but wouldn't dream of flying a California flag in front of his or her home. Or know what the California flag actually looks like, for that matter:

Because I just had to, lovelies. You're welcome, Gubernator Schwarzenegger.

If asked what the California state bird is, your average California-ette would smartly reply "Halle Berry" before quickly turning back to her no-sugar decaf iced mocha blended and inspecting her manicure. This isn't to say we aren't full of pride - as many angry folks on the interwebs have documented before us, we are convinced we hail from one very sparkly, special place - we just tend to be quietly smug about it - until we leave state lines, that is. Apparently it's far more fun moaning about how much better home is and driving up real estate prices while "out of pocket", as it were . . .

But back to The Great State . . . here's my choice for the Prettymobile, which we might display for fun if it weren't so very likely to cause our Left Coast loved ones to convulse:


Indeed! And the fun doesn't stop here. Should you feel your home is lacking a certain something, might I suggest a bronze Lone Star:

(credit: Lane Metal Works)

Does this one get double-secret bonus points for having TWO Texas references?

For any former, current, and future Texans, this is all meant in admiration and good fun. As delighted as I am to be from my fair home state, and I do visit home as often as reasonably possible, I too got here as fast as I could.

Melt-Proof Makeup: Texas Chronicles Cont'd

Important, Secret Note to Readers: We're feeling rather Un-Prettily under the weather at the moment, and as a result might be blogging under the influence of both DayQuil and ice cream. So please forgive us if the below makes as little sense as that show "Private Practice" or the host of the VMAs the other night. Thank you & smootches.
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We've experienced many cultural delights in our move to Texas - that Sonic has a secret patent on fountain-drink ice perfection, that cheese really does add to any and every meal - but one we didn't see coming was the need to change up our makeup routine.

This isn't to say that everyone around us is wearing more makeup than we are; in fact, chief amongst our disappointments in moving to The Great State, second only to the general lack of High Hair, is the absence of Tammy Faye-worthy spackle. Rather, what we've found is that the type of makeup necessarily changes thanks to the glorious heat for six months of the year.

We realize this is no newsflash to the Belles amongst you, but the Welcome Wagon flat forgot to include this info in our personal fruit basket. It took just one week of 100 degree temperatures, in which our scantily-made-up face immediately started to, uh, "Glisten" like nothing so much as one of those Texas oilfields you hear so much about. We quickly discerned that in order to continue our attempts to look Prettier Than Everyone Else, more serious makeup was in order.

So although we're absolutely no makeup experts or even particularly a fan of the stuff - we go to Beauty Snob and Slynnro for that level of advice - we did want to share a few new finds that have withstood our summertime & early fall Texas trials, given that the heat here shows no signs of easing up.

Another disclaimer - it is our Official Pretty Stance that we look like this (ie, Grace Kelly avatar) naturally, and when asked in person, we're quite likely to lie sweetly, bat our (suspiciously lush) eyelashes demurely, and declare that we just dab the occasional chapstick and moisturizer on. If we're feeling honest, however, here is how we actually try to do that No Makeup Look on our, ahem, possibly fair, freckly, combination skin. Note that no animals were harmed in the testing of this makeup, just our wallets in some cases:

(credit: Neutrogena)

If you're a tinted moisturizer type during the warm months like little ol' me, this is great. About $30 less than the gold standard Laura Mercier, yet better coverage. This is what we wear during the work week & whenever we've thrown in the towel on fighting the Glistening ie everyday.

(credit: Neiman Marcus)

Bobbi Brown Oil-Free Even Finish Compact Foundation, for when we feel like Putting Our Faces On. This is probably medium-coverage level at best, so not for those of you who want maximum spackle-age.

(credit: Neiman Marcus)

Bobbi Brown Creamy Concealer Kit. Objects in real life not as neon-orange as they appear here. The powder stuff underneath is particularly worthy.

(credit: Maybelline)

Maybelline Define-a-Lash mascara, also in waterproof when the situation demands.
It's important to just know how severely eyelash impaired we are. Years, YEARS!!! have been devoted to the study and enhancement of same. So dire is the situation, we had to marry someone with thick, languid lashes himself to ensure the happiness of our future progeny.

So it's only barely an exaggeration to say we've done extensive research on this one vs. the expensive big boys like Diorshow, and we keep coming back to this one.* *Important note: this must be used in conjunction with the legendary Shu Uemura eyelash curler.

(credit: Neiman Marcus)

The new, sparkly Bobbi Brown Limited-Edition, Shimmering Nudes palate. We read about this first at Beauty Snob, and, only after we stopped giggling like a 13-year-old boy at the name, ordered it immediately. This stuff survived a long tailgate - a miserably hot, humid, occasional downpour- filled tailgate - and is also subtle enough to wear to work.

(credit: Clarins)

Because you can take the girl out of Southern California, but you can't talk her out of turning herself orange from May-September . . . but seriously, when it comes to self-tanner for the face, we go with this department-store stuff. Works instantly, smells yummy - particularly impressive for self-tanner - and actually lasts a few days.
(credit: Beauty Counter Direct)

We own various & sundry variations on the exact same pink lip gloss, so many that it would bore you to tears to hear about it, but we continue to come back to Juicy Tubes. And attract orbiting spaceships and flies along the way with our shine, but - more is more in our (shiny, subtly pink) book.

Anyone else out there with some good warm weather makeup tips?