Outfit Post: You can't run away from yourself

I've always gotten my cardio workout as God intended: Through fast-paced walking from store to store; doing bicep curls with shopping bags; and during stair-climbing sessions of those daunting steps in the mall. But last summer, after "celebrating" my 36th (sniff) birthday I decided to take things up a notch. I joined a gym and started a running program.

Initially, I started running for the challenge of it. I'd never participated in team sports, or any sport for that matter. I hate getting all sweaty. I adamantly refuse to wear workout clothes in public. I could never, ever be one of those chipper energy-gel slugging women in matching Nike sports bras and Tempo running shorts (by the way, what the HELL is the mystique with those things? Yesterday at Starbucks I saw high school girls wearing them layered with leggings and Uggs. Layered. With Uggs.) But I digress. I longed to be toned, and strong, and knew running could bring about those results. Even better, running has an additional benefit - it reduces my anxiety and stress. When I run, I have lots of time to think. I can let my mind wander and all the stress of my world fades away.

But occasionally my thoughts turn negative. Sometimes I truly question the existence of that elusive "runner's high," the mythical release of happy jolly endorphins that supposedly warm your body like crack. When I start to feel fatigued, usually around mile 1.5, negative thoughts creep into my head. I realize I'm having some sort of identity crisis. I think, what the hell am I doing here? Do runners think this is fun? I must not be a runner! You know what's fun? Lounging on the couch, watching bad reality TV all night and gorging myself with a gigantic bowl of butter and salt-drenched popcorn. Or sitting at a bar slugging Maker's Mark and laughing with friends until my throat hurts. Now that's fun!

I keep running until I reach mile 2. Runners adore this, I think. They love to persevere and push themselves. Don't get me wrong; I love this feeling too. But sometimes I really feel like I'm going to die. Or suffocate. This is hard. I must not be a runner.

Mile 2.5. My mind continues to wander. I'm hungry. What's for lunch? Uh-oh. I must not be a runner. Runners eat energy bars and protein shakes. I like shakes too, but the chocolate ice cream kind. As a matter of fact, theoretically, I could be in my kitchen making a shake right now. Not that that has EVER happened before. The only drinks I like to mix are the alcoholic variety. But still. I am SO not a runner, I decide.

By the time I finish this little chat I've usually made it to the end of my run. Suddenly I remember why I got on the treadmill in the first place - to feel better about myself and work towards a goal I thought impossible to obtain.

On mornings like today, when I find it hard to even get out of bed in the first place, I am convinced I am not a runner. Runners pop out of bed, wide-eyed and bushy tailed, at 5:30 in the morning. Runners run 6-7 days a week. I run 4. I am not a runner. And today I am especially not a runner because it appears I have done something wicked to my lower back. Seriously, you guys. I'm hurting. Which is most definitely not fun at all.

I decided to throw on something soft and easy this morning. My back was begging for something unstructured and loose. Thankfully, my closet held the perfect pieces.

Forever 21 blazer; Forever 21 blouse; thrifted Paige jeans; Forever 21 oxfords; Forever 21 necklaces; Hype bag (I might be smiling in this pic, but believe me when I say that I'm hurting bad. Hence the bendy hunched-over pose.)

Outfit Post: A dissertation of denim

Ah, jeans. It's easy to forget that they began as utilitarian clothing, evolved to rebel-wear (see: James Dean,) and finally moved into everyday wear. Practical, simple, and easily dressed up or down, jeans are an integral part of any woman's wardrobe. Yves Saint Laurent said the only piece of clothing he wished he could have invented was blue jeans. Nobody knows exactly when the practice of dying cotton with indigo and sewing it into pants began, but a bit of research reveals some possibilities.

The word denim originates from the French term serge de Nîmes, deriving from the name of a bolt of fabric called a serge, originally made in Nimes, France. Originally called serge de Nîmes, the name was soon shortened to denim. The fabric is marked by its use of a single weft thread passing through two or more warp threads creating a specific type of sturdy twill material. The diagonal twill pattern created in this process can be seen on the inside of a pair of jeans either running from right to left or left to right. Denim is always made from cotton and is typically marked by a colored warp yarn (most often indigo blue) and a white weft yarn.

The word jeans derives from the phrase bleu de Gênes, literally the blue of Genoa.  While serge de Nimes was being produced in Nimes, denim trousers were being sold through the harbor of Genoa, long an important naval and trading power. The Genoese Navy required all-purpose trousers for its sailors that could be worn while working on ships. Denim material met this need. These trousers were laundered by dragging them in nets behind the ship, and the sea water and sun would gradually bleach them to white.

In the 20th century, the denim center of production crossed the Atlantic to the U.S. by way of shopkeeper Levi Strauss and his customer and tailor Jacob Davis. Davis suggested adding copper rivets to the jeans, as a way of reinforcing points where the material suffered wear and tear. In the 1850's denim was marketed to the mining communities of California, where it was purchased by Gold Rush participants.

A pair of Levis from 1880, pictured with a wearer of that era

In 1901 the US Navy issued boot-cut denim pants to sailors as replacement for their traditional uniforms.

Photo from Haberdash.com

From there the popularity of denim spread outward, later adopted by cowboys and James Dean and Marlon Brando and Gloria Vanderbilt and Guess and a number of other unfortunate 1980's clothing designers who failed to understand just how unflattering small back pockets are. Eleven years ago we reached the age of premium denim with the debut of Seven For All Mankind, ushering in the cultural zeitgeist of jeans as designer pieces.  The market for high-end designer denim has ballooned since 7 For All Mankind first hit the scene in 2000. In 2006, jeans sales totaled $15.8 billion, up from $15.2 billion a year earlier and $14 billion in 2004, according to market research firm NPD Group Inc. Currently, the average price of a pair of Seven jeans is $165.00. As a contrast, in 1885 jeans could be bought for $1.50 (approximately $37 today.)

The perfect jeans are incredibly subjective, as everyone's body and tastes are different, and what works for me might not work for someone else. What I want in a pair of jeans is relatively simple: a moderately low rise and cut that's as tight as possible in the hips and thighs, but falls straight through the knee and lower leg. (The puddle of fabric that some skinny jeans deposit around their wearer's ankles has never been my thing. It's just not flattering to a petite woman.) I want a bit of stretch, which makes jeans fit better feel more comfortable, though too much stretch results in bagginess in high-traffic areas such as knees and the seat. When I'm wiggling into a pair of Joe's Jeans in the Nordstrom Rack dressing room, I'm not looking to be intrigued by a unique cut or an unusual silhouette. I want to pull them on and think nothing but these jeans make my ass look smokin'.

I happen to be a rabid fan of designer denim. I believe they fit better, last longer, and have superior back pocket placement.  My thighs look slimmer, butt magically higher, and legs longer. I'm extremely loyal to the brands I buy, though I adamantly refuse to pay full price, scooping them up on eBay, at Buffalo Exchange or Plato's Closet.

What do you look for in a pair of jeans? What are your favorite brands? How much are you willing to pay for a great pair of jeans?

Thrifted Ann Taylor blazer; thrifted J Crew blouse; thrifted Paige jeans; Frye clutch; Stuart Weitzman wedges; Forever 21 necklace; Forever 21 rhinestone bracelet

Outfit Post: Am I old?

The other night I cuddled up on the couch with a glass of wine and watched in the circus that is the Grammy Awards. I took in performances by Justin Bieber and Katy Perry and Cee-Lo, along with throngs of teenage girls (and boys) who screamed their little tousled heads off in appreciation. There was glitter, and Rhianna in a dress that looked like a collapsed wedding cake, and Nikki Minaj as Elvira Queen of the jungle.  

As I watched the awards, it dawned on me that not only had I never heard of some songs being performed, most of the artists looked pre-adolescent, undernourished and in desperate need of showering. I became more and more confused. Have Kim Kardashian and J. Lo morphed into one glamazon super-creature? Was that my perfect perfect Gwynnie writhing and moaning on Cee-Lo's piano? (and has Cee-Lo taken a second job substituting for a Mardi Gras float?) AND what in God's great name am I supposed to make of Gaga's egg arrival and shirtless gogo dancer minions? Was it some kind of pro-poultry STATEMENT? Will I be expected to carry signs and protest in front of a federal building this weekend??? Because I have plans, you know.

As the show continued, a fear struck deep into my heart: I am officially getting old.

Getting old terrifies me. It means I'm crotchety and old-fashioned. Old people watch PBS and clip coupons and drive under the speed limit and read the newspaper in the library and rail about the demise of society. They reminisce about a time when a hamburger cost a quarter and people waited until marriage to have sex. They sit across from each other in really depressing restaurants like Denny's and don't talk. Old women wear polyester underwear pulled to their chins and perfume from Estee Lauder and spend hours in the beauty parlor setting their hair. The music is always too loud and the lines are too long and it's too hot or too cold and OH DON'T WORRY ABOUT ME, I'LL JUST WAIT BY THE PHONE FOR YOU TO CALL, IT'S NOT LIKE I HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO. TOMORROW I MIGHT BE DEAD YOU KNOW.

There are lots of other signs which point to my almost elderly status:

My bedtime is creeping dangerously close to ten o'clock.
I aim for high fiber content.
I start sentences with "When I was your age..."
A movie and homemade dinner makes for a happening night.
I use the word "happening".

I sat awake most of the night, convinced I was going to suffer a stroke or heart attack or some other malady that strikes the elderly. But things looked different in the morning. I realized that there are lots of ways I remain youthful. For one, Fruit Loops are my most favorite meal ever. My tattoos certainly channel a young, risk-taking spirit. I love taking my kids to the playground and going down the slide. Ear-damaging loud concerts still make for the perfect night out. Experimenting with cosmetics at the MAC counter fills me with glee. I giggle over Spongebob and Pixar movies and can make a meal out of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And I know how to rock my skinny jeans.

I suppose this outfit is a combination of my young and old parts. The cardigan is a senior citizen meatloaf-and-green-bean early bird special, but the jeans are a twenty-something grad student on her way to meet friends for late-night cocktails.

Do you ever feel "old"? How do you deal with the aging process? Does your age affect your personal style?

Gap cardigan; thrifted J Crew long-sleeved tee; Paige Skyline skinny jeans; Via Spiga bag; Cole Haan loafers; Gap Outlet belt; Nordstrom necklace