If I were a rich girl, na-na-na-na-na-na (etc.)

First things first: I am not a rich lady. I realize that some of my previous outfit posts have included luxury handbags (the Louis Vuitton here, and my Marc Jacobs bags here and here...clearly I have a problem with high-end accessories, but the rest of my wardrobe comes from the Goodwill.) Believe me, I am far from a rich lady. Rich ladies have drivers and personal jewelers at Fred Leighton and private yoga instructors. They summer in sprawling estates on East Hampton and Bermuda. Rich ladies are frenemies with other rich ladies, whom they battle with on charity boards and lunch with at restaurants that serve $55 teeny tiny appetizers on huge white plates. They are Botoxed and face-lifted and silicone-filled, and have their plastic surgeons on speed-dial.  Nannies care for their children, yappy little dogs are toted around in monogrammed Goyard bags, and personal chefs whip up their organic macrobiotic meals. They are pampered, luxuriant, and deeply, disgustingly wealthy.

I am most emphatically not a rich lady. I sit in carpool bitching at the distracted mom ahead of me who refuses to pull up the three inches necessary to get me out of the crosswalk. I feed my kids corn dogs for dinner - frozen, full-fat corn dogs, stuffed full of delicious things like nitrates and food coloring and preservatives I can't even begin to pronounce. I mop the floors, make the beds, clean the toilets and whine about the mountain of laundry that I can never, ever seem to catch up on.

If I were a rich lady, though, the first thing I'd do is change out of my thrifted (insert random article of clothing here) and into any of the following from Dior's Spring 2011 collection. Seeing these clothes makes my insides curdle with desire and my hands curl into grabby gimme-gimme ineffectual fists. I wish I had the occasion and money to dress myself in such a fantastically dramatic, feminine way. But mostly, though, these outfits induce fantasies of how I'd pull them off in real life.

This one would be perfect for viewings of horribly tedious (though deeply adorable) first grade school plays.

Photos via Style.com

I'd wear this delicious pastel number while pumping gas and smoking a cigarette through a vintage Art Deco cigarette holder (which I imagine is included with the dress.) I'm not sure that voluminous skirt would fit in my car, though. And it's probably illegal to smoke while in a gas station, come to think of it.

I can only imagine the ruckus that would result if I wore this towering plume of a hat to Despicable Me (or whatever kid-friendly movie is playing at the moment.) I'd probably get pelted with kettle corn.

I can see how sitting in carpool is these gowns might be a tad bit...uncomfortable. Wiggle skirts and cloud-like layers of tulle are practical for one thing, and one thing only: wearing to the Oscars. Or making Rachel Zoe say ba-nanas over and over and over and over again until her head spins and lifts her into the air like a helicopter.


I am forced to admit that there are no frothy Dior concoctions in my future. So here's what I wore today. My outfit might be missing red lipstick and stiff-shouldered swagger, but, alas, but it will have to do.

Vintage thifted sweater tunic; Michael Stars long-sleeved tee; Gap belt; Gap Outlet jeggings; Frye boots; Plato's Closet leather bracelet