Elements of Style

"Maybe it's been crazy and maybe I'm to blame, but I put my heart above my head. We've been through it all and you love me just the same." -- Neil Diamond

The fashion trends of spring 2010 need to die a quick, horrible death. But before I rant about why I can't walk into clothing stores without cringing any more, I need to define my own sense of style so you'll know where my feelings are coming from.

I have a typical southern European look -- dark hair, dark eyes, and an hourglass figure. Consequently, my current sense of style tends to recall the fashions worn by the women of classical Italian cinema. Sophia Loren, Gina Lollobrigida, and all of Fellini's women dressed themselves using a simple, flattering set of rules:

1. Wear curve-accentuating clothing to look sexy without showing too much skin.

2. Choose high-quality fabrics in classic silhouettes for a sense of timelessness.

3. Keep most of your clothing low-key and mix in a select few eye-catching elements. Use color judiciously to add dashes of drama.

4. Tailor your clothing to accentuate your best assets.

Though each of those women reached her prime more than fifty years ago, styles like theirs are visible on the streets of Rome to this day. The principles behind their fashions perfectly flatter women who look like me, and they're great guidelines for building a wardrobe that will transcend fads and pay for itself in the long run.

Their rules are amazing for me, in any case. I work in an environment where I need to dress conservatively, so looking good while keeping covered up has become an art form for me. My waistline is my favorite part of my body, so I like to show it off whenever I can. I buy quality items so they'll last me years. (Yeah, I indulge at H&M as much as the next woman, but I'd rather have one well-made Theory blouse than a dozen Abercrombie tees that will fall apart in the wash.) I wear a lot of black, grey and solid jewel tones because they complement my coloring, but I can never stay away from carefully chosen punchy accessories. I choose my skirt lengths, pants cuts, and shoe styles to provide the illusion of long legs and added height. And if something I own doesn't fit me perfectly, I get it tailored so it does.

So... what am I seeing when I go shopping lately? Neutrals and whites all over the place, which make me look pastier than I already am. Florals and big prints everywhere, which would be awesome if I didn't get lost in patterns. Blousy shirts and frilly dresses seemingly designed to hide the best parts of my body. Embroidery and fabric embellishments, which screw with my silhouette. Activewear, see-through shirts, and metallic lame, which look cheap and won't last me more than one season. Military jackets, which I've been wearing for years already. Clogs and Oxfords, which are ugly as hell. And, worst of all, SOCKS WITH HIGH HEELS, which is an easy way to make one's legs look six inches shorter than they really are.

Sophia would not approve. And neither do I.

Fancy Pants and Flooring Inspectors

"You fight like a dairy farmer."
"How appropriate. You fight like a cow." -- Orson Scott Card*

The sun is shining, the birdies are chirping, the cherry trees are blooming, the new series of Doctor Who premiered last night, and the ovens in my house are filled with delicious Easter cooking. In other words, the world is reborn.

And yet, today, I'm going to forego turning over a new leaf by writing about a man I used to have a huge crush on. I've outgrown it by now, but he still means a lot to me. He was prideful and slightly mean and a bit of an asshole, but he was smart, selfless, and deliciously sarcastic... not to mention sexy in an awkward, gangly sort of way. If you want to be melodramatic about it, I guess you could call him my first love.

It's been years, but lately... we've sort of reconnected. I've had the opportunity to spend some quality one-on-one time with him over the last few days, and though I'm older and wiser than I was when he first captured my heart, he's still a pretty amazing guy.

His name is Guybrush Threepwood and he's a pirate.

Hopefully a few of you will recognize his name from your own pasts. For those of you who do not, Guybrush Threepwood is the hero of the Monkey Island series of video games, where players can swashbuckle their way through various quests in a choose-your-own-adventure format. The first game in the series, The Secret of Monkey Island, was released by LucasArts on floppy disc in 1990. I met Guybrush in 1994, when I got my first computer.

Yes, 1994. Which implies 1994 gameplay and graphics. Which means that my first crush looked like this:

Suffice it to say, I didn't fall for Guybrush for his looks. I fell for him because he was a cool, confident smooth-talker who knew he was destined for greatness despite all evidence to the contrary. He could trade insults with masters and seamlessly toss pop culture references into normal conversations. He was clever and resourceful and could solve complicated puzzles with ease. He was still human, though -- bumbling and awkward and prone to making mistakes. And as if all of that wasn't enough reason to love the guy, he was noble enough to risk his life to rescue Governor Elaine Marley from zombie pirates. He was also secure enough in his own masculinity to fall in love with Elaine, even though she was smart, powerful, and never really needed rescuing in the first place.

After I sprayed the zombie pirate captain with root beer to win the game, I was rewarded with a glorious, pixelated, 256-color closeup of Guybrush Threepwood's face:

Yes, he's a hottie, but I was smitten long before I knew what he looked like. (And whether I subconsciously modeled my current hairdo on Elaine's is a blog entry for another day.)

I found an archaic CD-ROM version of The Secret of Monkey Island yesterday afternoon and played it yesterday night. It only took me a few hours to get through it, as opposed to the weeks I spent solving the puzzles when I was a child. It was just as funny, irreverent, and intellectually fulfilling as I remembered it, though, and the jokes and puns still sparkled with clarity and relevance twenty years after they were written.

Right after I vanquished the zombie pirate captain to unlock the portrait of Guybrush that used to make my nine year-old heart melt, I realized something astounding.

My sense of humor -- my wry, snarky, intellectual sense of humor that I adore and often use as a compatibility test -- is identical to Guybrush Threepwood's sense of humor. Both of us quip. Both of us make random remarks about inanimate objects. Both of us can switch from poetry to intellectual banter in a heartbeat. Both of us have a natural gift for rhyme. Both of us can insult someone so smoothly that they don't even realize they've been mocked. And, most notably, both of us enjoy peppering our conversations with quotes and images from old computer games, George Lucas films, and The Graduate.

My sense of humor is definitely on the quirky side of normal, but it's one of my favorite things about me. And since it came into being around the time I first met Guybrush Threepwood, I'm pretty sure he inspired it. Guess I just found another reason to love him.

* Yes, Orson Scott Card wrote all of the exchanges used in the famous "insult swordfighting" sequence of The Secret of Monkey Island.

Curves Ahead

"Picture-perfect memories scattered all around the floor. Reaching for the phone 'cause I can't fight it any more. And I wonder if I ever cross your mind... for me, it happens all the time." -- Lady Antebellum

I've started drawing again. I've also started reading a lot about New York City architecture and infrastructure. One thing led to another, and before I knew what was happening, I had a sketchbook full of this:

From top to bottom: Wallace Harrison's Metropolitan Opera House; Harrison and Fouilhoux's Trylon, Perisphere, and Helicine from the 1939 New York World's Fair; Eero Saarinen's TWA Flight Center (i.e. my favorite building in the world); and, of course, Frank Lloyd Wright's Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum.