You got a lot of luggage in your name

You got a lot of luggage in your name

Fun fact: I’ve had a fear of white denim for quite some time. I think it makes a wonderful outfit at any point of the year, despite what our grandmothers taught us, and is a really sneaky way of wearing “jeans” to work Monday through Thursday, you know, for those of us who aren’t necessarily supposed to. But as a true pear shape, I’ve always stayed far, far away from it.

I finally bought a pair of white jeans at my trusty Old Navy at some point in the second half of last year. They were on sale for something stupid, like nine bucks, so I made myself do it. I only wore them a couple of times and couldn’t help thinking to myself, “should I really be doing this?” You know, like I was committing some crime against humanity. As if wearing white britches when you’re not a size 4 or less is akin to drowning small children or buying heroine in a back alley.

Naturally, they’ve sat in the closet since then. Totally unworn. In my somewhat defense, they’re not my favorite fit to begin with, regardless of being white. However, several weeks ago one of my favorite Insta-bloggers, Liz Urso, was rocking some white denim and I was like daaaang, homegirl looks GREAT; I really need to get on board with this. So last week I finally pulled them out of the closet.

Now, I’m not saying I walked into the office like a supermodel. But I am saying it’s highly likely not a damn person with whom I work thought “Nikki look likes a fat ass, why come she thinks she can wear white?” Chances are nobody even noticed. So I wore them again this week. #Scandalous.

We should all be here for White Denim. After Labor Day. And no matter what size we are. Down with the establishment. I mean, LOOK THESE CUTE ENSEMBLES, Y’ALL.

I grabbed all these pics from Pinterest. So if if this is you, know I think you look fabulous and am sorry for being a thief. And clearly I have an Outfit Type. Who knew.

At $9.99, I’m perfectly disguised

At $9.99, I’m perfectly disguised

I love to shop. And by shop I mean look at pics from fashion bloggers on Instagram, outfits in windows at my favorite stores and on Pinterest. I personally can’t put together outfits to save my life or yours. So let’s hope we never find ourselves in a ryde or die styling situation. And as much as I love somewhat fashionable and trendy clothes, I would be perfectly happy in tank tops, jeans and flip flops for the rest of my life. Though I do love a good blazer/jacket as well. Therefore, when I say I love to shop, it doesn’t refer to the the physical act of shopping. Because that, my friends, is fucking terrible.

I have been a short, curvy girl with a skewed waist to hips ratio for my entire existence. My mom has always told me I am built like my dad’s paternal grandmother. That’s great, except she was close to 6 ft. tall. So, yeah. Not quite the same. Nine times out of 10, things don’t fit me on some level. To add insult to injury, I am extremely pale (but tan super easily, thank the lord – except my legs OF COURSE) and outside of one year in LA, I’ve always been blonde. So there goes most anything on the light end of the color spectrum. I think you get it. Clothes are difficult for me.

And I’ve never been rich. I won’t go into the history of finances of either my family or myself, cause that’s just boring and tacky. But I’ve never had money to invest a lot in clothes (though many times I’ve spent more than I should). Therefore, I am the one that will walk out of Old Navy with four shirts, two pairs of pants, three workout tops, maybe some shoes and a bag, a new dog, a Diet Coke (I don’t even really drink Diet Coke), two face masks and six pairs of earrings for $75.

But can’t make a cute outfit out of ANY OF IT.

I’ve promised myself when – not if, but WHEN – I get to “goal weight”, I will invest in a personal stylist. Cause your girl needs some help. However, who doesn’t need any help whatsoever? One of my best friends. She can step out of the house in workout clothes, hair in a topknot, flippies and a designer purse with no makeup and look like she just walked down a runway at New York Fashion Week. Me? Look a little closer and you’ll see three inch roots, a growing sunspot, a little hole in the crotch of my yoga pants and a statement necklace made out of animal hair.

A couple of weeks ago we were out running errands and popped into a well known and loved boutique here in Dallas for her to drop off some clothes that needed alterations. I have heard of this place for quite some time, but never dared go in there. I’m basically a scene out of Pretty Woman walking in wanting to yell out “yeah but look, my sunglasses and lip gloss are Tom Ford, you guys! Please like me!”

I must state, this place is absolutely lovely. The majority of the clothes in there I would never wear because I am just not cool enough. But boy, some are darling. And the denim! (Cause that’s what you call it there: denim). I started looking at price tags and promptly stopped. I could own my own Old Navy for the price of one rack at that place. So I turned to looking at the just jewelry and candles, thinking I was seeking the comfort of more familiar digits.

After I fell head over heels for a candle called Positano that costs $105, I decided to just sit in a chair, enjoy a free bottle of water and mentally vision board the day I will be able to waltz in there, drink champagne, and go on a complete shopping spree. A girl can dream, right?

But also, remind me to never feel out of place in Nordstrom ever again.