Jump [to the Hustle].

Even though I really like this dress, I've been holding back on posting the pics because they're a tad blurry and I think I look a leeeeeettle chunkers. But, whatever, I'm a real girl not a supermodel and it's time you all just accepted that fact and stopped putting so much pressure on me. GEEZ.
I'm sorry. It's not your fault.

There's another reason I decided to post these pics. One that trumped my vanity. Or perhaps is vanity in another form? See that location in which I am standing? That gritty urban locale? That's Catalyst's parking lot. (Catalyst is an Artist collective in which I live that happens to be in the middle of skid row.)  It turns out that the 80's classic, White Men Can't Jump was filmed right. there. We watched the movie to make sure, and lo and behold:

The rumors were true.

So add that to our home's storied past.

The Doors drank here

Michael Jackson Beat it here

Then Woody Harrelson hustled the hustlers here. And kitties I'm thrilled. Hustlin' has long been my motto.

You thought nothing good ever came out of Skid Row? Think again. 

OK, BYE!

The Rise and Fall, and Rise Again of Drunk Writing

Drunk texting, drunk sexting, drunk dialing, drunk emailing and even drunk facebooking are all pretty common in this day and age and I bet everyone has at least one good story to tell. I've even been known to drunk bake, and thus drunk burn myself. As it turns out I was not born with pot holders in place of hands, but the good news is should I ever commit a crime I'll leave no prints.

One thing I havent done is drunk write a handwritten letter, and send it through snail mail. I'm sure it's been done. I know its been done. In 1873 Lord Blackwell had one too many snifters of brandy and was feeling quite amorous in his lonely brocade infested country estate. He started thinking about that hot strumpet Lady Pettigrew of the Stratfordshire Pettigrews, and proceeded to write her the most scathingly inappropriate letter of it's time. A lot of nonsense about passonate loins, heaving busoms and 300 pounds a year. That sort of thing. Anywho, he made the butler deliver it post haste and promptly blacked out only to wake with a pounding headache and a vague feeling of dread. Cut to two weeks later when he showed up at the Byron's Midsummer Ball, and you can just imagine the snarky looks and cold shoulders he got. You'd be surprised how fast word can travel in an age without computers. That just about ended his social and romantic career. In his desperation he was forced to wed his odious spinster cousin Eunice (she was an ancient 28) who later gave birth to 3 rather unfortunate daughters non of which received a mere thought of a letter let alone a marriage proposal... putting a nail in the Blackwell family legacy forever.

It happened again in 1956 when 15 year old Peggy had been drinking spiked punch at the sock hop. As soon as she got home she just HAD to write a letter to her cousin Mary Beth in Ohio. It was all about how she was just sure Sammy was going to pin her any old day now, and really he's positively radioactive! All the gals are jealous. She was over the moon now that her brassiere was finally filling out, and golly; she CAN'T WAIT to go to college her parents are so square they wont even let her listen to Buddy Ho----- That's when she started to feel a bit green and instantly developed a cold sweat. That doomed letter never made it to Mary Beth because before she could even set her pencil down, she blew chunks all over the letter, her poodle skirt, and the pink shag carpet. Mother was furious and took the record player away for 2 whole months, squaresville indeed.

There were a few more drunk letters written after that and not all of them ended in regrets and vomit, but somewhere around the advent of personal email they drastically started to taper off.  In fact, in the last 10 years not a single drunk letter was ever written, let alone mailed. That was until November 21st, 2011 when Baxter wrote me a letter at approximately 3 o'clock in the morning.

Earlier that evening Jesse, Baxter and I had been steadily throwing back rye manhattans while laughing it up at the Improv. When the show was over, the real show began. Aghast and appalled that I had never been to the Chateau Marmont, the boys were determined to take me there before the night was through. Once settled at the bar with fresh manhattans in hand, I was ousted from the boy talk with orders to make some new friends. EASY PEASY. Let's see; socialites, models, and celebrities, blah blah blah. I make friends with the guy who has one arm and two hands. You do the math. I thought he looked like one of the comedians from the show earlier, although you would think I'd have noticed if the comedian on stage had one mini hand poking out of his left shoulder blade or not. But dude, I just see people as who they are inside, man, not their physical representation and attached societal prejudices... or whatever. Mostly the manhattans were taking over.

SO the bar closes and Jesse decides to get a room for us. Thanksgiving is the next day, and we do love to spend our holidays unconventionally. You could say it is our tradition to spend the holidays untraditionally. Oh the irony. Ok, ok, enough stalling. Mini hand comes with us, and once in the spacious suite we all head to the kitchen to raid the well stocked bar. That's when it must've happened. That must be the point where Baxter finds the hotel stationary and unbeknownst to us writes a letter thus breaking the drunk letter writing drought of the 21st century.

A few days later I'm sifting through my junk mail when I find a slim envelope addressed to me with the return address of the Chateau Marmont. Confused, I opened it to find this:

Dear Misty, I have enjoyed your company and the company of your man very much this evening.  Love your coat. You look hot. Love, Baxter
P.S. Hi Jesse

Not only did he write it, but he knew our address and he actually followed through and posted it on his way out. AND it say's I look hot. WIN WIN WIN, I can't tell you how much that made my day. The point is, what is my point? The point is, letter writing is alive and well. So go ahead and get out your best stationary (and no you can not find some cheesy clipart online and print it out), throw a few back and start penning some goddamn letters already. Just make sure you steer clear of inappropriate propositions and KNOW YOUR alcohol LIMITATIONS lest the fruits of your labor be sullied with the contents of your digestive tract.

PRE-MENA PART 2

OK, here are the rest of the old Barbie clothes I made when I was but a wee fashionista. Who wants to come over and play? You bring the Barbie's and I'll bring the clothes.

I'm thinking I would totally wear that sweater dress.
Maybe I should send my resume to Mattel?

PRE-MENA PART 1

Back when I was home a few weeks ago, I poked around in my parents attic and found a box with my name on it. I almost left it right where it was and walked away, because I knew that once my mom saw me with it she would guilt me into packing it up in my suitcase and taking it with me. It seems the parentals are tired of being our storage unit.

 Over the years on various trips back home I've been presented with similar packages. In the beginning they were filled with clothes, books, posters and the remnants of my teenage life. When it became clear that adulthood was going to stick, they started traveling back in time- nerdy junior high photos, misspelled poems to my dad, an engraved baby spoon, family heirlooms and lots of drawings. Stacks and stacks of drawings, actually. 

I always have mixed feelings about receiving these time machines. They're fun to dig through for a minute, but then what? They really have no place in my current life and it was always somehow comforting to know that my past was neatly stacked away in my parents garage next to the croquet set we used that one time. 

I imagined this box was going to be more wonky drawings of Care Bears and Cabbage Patch Kids birth certificates, but to my surprise it was the remainder of my prized dollhouse. I started pulling things out; a perfectly replicated 2" refrigerator, an apple pie the size of a quarter, mini hand-crocheted rugs...But what really excited me, tucked between the baby buggy and the armoire; were the old Barbie clothes I had made.

Barbie was wearing Mena before ANYONE.

I spent much of my childhood playing with Barbies, and to be honest I played with them well after my friends had stopped.  Looking over these outfits, I'm pretty darn impressed with my past self. They're complete with darts, button holes and some serious high fashion design sensibilities. 

It's funny that this box is probably the last bit of my childhood to move out of the house, and for once it doesn't seem out of place in my current life. Mena IS a childhood nickname after all. ;)

THAT'S WHAT'S UP

Holy roller coaster couple of weeks; I don't even know where to begin.

There was a speeding ticket and then a trip to the emergency room (separate days thankyou), a night at the Opera,  8 sequined bridesmaid dresses to finish before leaving town (I succeeded, pics soon!),  a comic evening at the Chateau Marmont followed by 2011's only drunk letter....and somewhere in the middle of all that Thanksgiving came and went.  Most of these things require a separate blog post which I just cannot wrap my head around right now, so instead I'm just going to give you a mash-up of all the other places my brain has been.

*I'm participating in an event this Sunday called Heart On. It's an art show/dance party. I'm setting up a booth and I'll have these tops, my aprons and a bunch more lovely treasures I'm currently working on. FYI these tops are all going to be under $40 bucks. Maybe even $30 if I'm feeling generous.

*Who Tumble's? Tumblrs? I do now, add me and let me know how I can find you.

*One of my favorite internet developments are all of these sites that help you create or keep track of your links. Like Pinterest.  Imagine if you had to write down all of your favorite links? How many notebooks would that fill, and how would you keep track? OK, don't waste too much time imagining that scenario. If you have links to keep track of then chances are you have a computer... which leads me to believe you have some sort of Word program you could use. Still though, that would be a pain.  My particular way of thinking positive is to imagine the horrors that COULD be, and then be thankful that they AREN'T. Make sense?

* Have you seen this sick fashion vid? BTW,  still wondering how and when 'sick' took on such a positive meaning? Maybe it was Ferris Bueller taking a 'sick' day that did it?

*Also, I did this DIY for Distinctive Fabrics. If anyone does it please send me a pic!

That's it for now kittens.
nuzzle, nuzzle.
-Misty

Mad Men Tart

Have you heard about this show called Mad Men? Okayyyyyy.... so maybe I'm a little behind the times because I just started watching it a few weeks ago. I kind of hate it, yet I Just. Can't. Stop. The sets! The clothes! The sexist remarks!  It's so much eye candy I spend most of the time grabbing screenshots, and sometimes while I'm waiting for Joan to return to the screen, I get to hear sweet little nuggets like this:

Mad Man 1 (about Peggy): "She's a lobster"

Mad Man 2: "Lobster?"

Mad Man 1: "Yeah, all the meat's in the tail".

I confess I may have repeated that joke about 45 times since I heard it. Who knew this show was going to be a comedy? Anyways, all of this Mad Men watching has inspired me to sew a slew of these retro aprons and add them to the shop. It's also inspired me to drink more cocktails before 10am; but don't worry, I always add a splash of coffee so's no one can say I have a 'problem'.  

(Why is Betty Draper such a b*&@h?)  Also, you can find more aprons  in other colors HERE 

To round out the Domestic Goddess circle I've included a tart recipe that I made the other day. It's insanely good and probably the only dessert I'll ever make again; amen, the search is over. It's also the REAL reason I've drawn the above avatar. I keep sneaking in the kitchen for another slice, and once you start photoshopping the pounds off there's no turning back. Better to just start with an idealized drawing from the get-go.

If I may make a suggestion- bake this for your very own chain smoking philandering Mad Man. While he's eating it ask pointed questions like "How did you like that tart?" or better yet, "Who was that little tart that answered your phone?" Broad statements such as "I'm sorry you didn't like the tart, I know how you prefer redheads" may also work well to prompt a confession. Or not.  It's only a tv show.

 Sweet Tart Crust

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup confectioner’s sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 stick plus 1 tablespoon (9 tablespoons) very cold or frozen unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1 egg yolk

1. Put the flour, sugar and salt in the bowl of a food processor and pulse a few times to combine. Scatter the chunks of butter over the dry ingredients and pulse until the butter is coarsely cut in. You should have pieces the size of oatmeal flakes and some the size of peas. Break up the yolk and add it a little at a time, pulsing after each addition. When the egg is in, process in a long pulse about 10 seconds until the dough forms large clumps.

2. As soon as the dough is processed dump it into a 9" tart pan. Press the dough evenly over the bottom and up the sides of the pan. Don't press to much, or overwork the dough, just make sure the pieces cling together. With a fork poke holes in the crust so it doesn't puff up and shrink while cooking.

3.  To fully bake the crust: Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 375°F. Butter the shiny side of a piece of aluminum foil and fit the foil, buttered side down tightly against the crust. I use martha wrap and put the parchment paper side against the crust. If you use this there is no need to butter it.  Put the tart pan on a baking sheet and bake the crust for 25 minutes. I usually make and freeze the crust a day before I  bake the tart. If baking frozen add 5 minutes to the baking time.

4.  Carefully remove the foil. If the crust has puffed, press it down gently. Bake the crust about 10 minutes longer, or until it is firm and golden brown, brown being the important word: a pale crust doesn’t have a lot of flavor. Transfer the pan to a rack and cool the crust to room temperature

Pear and Almond Tart
Adapted from Smitten Kitchen 

Pears
3 cups water
3/4 cups sugar
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
2 medium-size firm but ripe Bosc pears, peeled (each about 7 ounces) 

1/2 cup blueberries fresh or frozen (if frozen do not defrost)

Almond Filling
2/3 cup blanched slivered almonds
1 tablespoon all purpose flour
7 tablespoons sugar
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, room temperature
1 large egg
1/2 teaspoon almond extract 

1 sweet tart shell, baked (recipe above)

Powdered sugar (optional)

For pears: 

Bring 3 cups water, sugar, and lemon juice to boil in large saucepan over medium-high heat, stirring until sugar dissolves. Add the pears. Reduce heat to medium and simmer until pears are very tender, but not mushy turning occasionally, about 20 minutes. Cool pears in syrup. (Can be made 2 days ahead. Cover and refrigerate.)

For almond filling: 

1. Finely grind almonds and flour in processor. Mix in sugar, then butter and almond extract. Blend until smooth. Mix in egg. Transfer filling to a bowl. Cover and chill at least 3 hours. I usually make this a day ahead and store it in the fridge. Try not to eat it all before you assemble the tart.

2. Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat to 350°F. Spread almond filling evenly in the cooled baked tart crust. Stem pears and cut each in half lengthwise; scoop out cores. Cut each half in half again, lengthwise.  Cut each quarter crosswise into thin slices. Gently press each pear quarter to fan slices but keep slices tightly overlapped. Slide spatula under pears and arrange atop filling like spokes of wheel with narrow ends in center. I only end up using 1 1/2 of the pears. The other half can be gobbled up right then and there.

3. Press the blueberries into the filling between the pears. 

4. Bake tart until golden and toothpick inserted into center of filling comes out clean, about 55 minutes. Cool the tart in the pan on a rack. Push pan bottom up, releasing tart from the pan. (Can be made 8 hours ahead. Let stand at room temperature.) Cut tart into wedges; sprinkle with powdered sugar, if desired, and serve.

*********************************************************************

Stay tuned next week when I review this little show I heard about called The Soprano's. It's supposed to be pretty good.

As The World Turns

Fashion tip #213: Match your clothing to your furniture for maximum stylish lounging. 

I loved this printed cotton fabric so much that I bought a couple bolts of it. The only problem is that originally it was purple and white, and if you've been paying any attention at all you will have noticed that I'm currently on a blue, pink, and red kick. I had a feeling that the print would still show through if I dyed it, so I dyed a few yards each Cherry Red and Evening Blue. I couldn't decide which I liked more, so indecision prompted me to use both colors together.

If soap opera's have taught us anything, it's that a memorable exit is just as important as ones entrance, so I opened up the back at the shoulder blades, and appliqued some of the contrasting flowers on to the lower back. This way you wont have to toss the remainder of your cocktail into anyones face, OR slam the door off it's hinges on your way out. You can just politely bid your adieu's and go. Unless of course you have just discovered that your fiance has a two year old love child with your estranged mother, pilfered your entire fortune, and crashed your yacht again...then by all means make a scene.

That not-so-random thought popped into my head because I recently heard that soap operas will be all but kaput within the next few years. I've never watched them as an adult, but as a kid they definitely provided many a good plot line which were played out by my dear friends Barbie and Ken and that little conniving slut Skipper. I also have fond memories of sitting in the kitchen with my sister Gail 'practicing' our soap acting skills by slamming full glasses of water on the table in utter amazement/disgust/anger over and over again until we had it right, or more likely; til we heard mom's car drive up. Then the mad rush to clean up the sopping wet floor before she could open the front door would begin.

Oh the memories. Thank you daytime soap gods for shaping my childhood and making me what I am today: The well dressed mistress of an oil tycoon, with a secret past and a penchant for sleeping pills and sequins. I kid, I kid. Sequins are scratchy and they chaff my armpits. The funny thing is it doesn't really matter where you put the punctuation in that long sentence up above. The oil tycoon is just as likely to have a secret past and addiction to sequins as much as his mistress is.

Sigh. Goodbye and farewell soaps. I pray you all go out with a proper crash, slap, or bang and finish with the dramatic close-up that you deserve.

A Pinup and a DIY

I hope everyone had a great weekend! Mine was pretty awesome, although both my kitty and I spent yesterday sick in bed watching movies and taking turns sneezing.

I just wanted to share these beautiful photos with you guys. My lovely friend Delevo did a photo shoot wearing one of my dresses and I am loving the fun pinup vibe! Besides being beautiful and photogenic she is a very talented musician/curator/and jewelry designer. You can find more of her jewelry here.

look at those muscular legs! Yowza!

For the next month you can get 30% off this dress by using the coupon code Delevo30 !

In other non-related news, I'm going to be doing some DIY blog posts for my friends over at Distinctive Fabrics. You can check out the first one here. 

Lets slow this glamour train down for a moment, shall we?

 I don't know about you, but my life isn't just a series of parties,  premieres and 5 star restaurants.  Occasionally I have to run errands, go to a meeting, or  just water the plants. I've even been known to eat lunch at a mere 3 star establishment from time to time, none of which require fancy dress. That's where this little number comes in. I would live in this dress. I will live in this dress. It's comfy, crazy soft, shows off my guns, and doesn't even require a bra.

 Yippee!!!!!!! 

You can dress it down with a little sandal during the day, and at night just add some wedges and a pair of big chunky earrings. OR you can wear it with 6" lucite fetish heels and a dog collar. Who am I to tell you how to accessorize?

So friends, get used to seeing this dress because I have a feeling it's going to be part of my next summers daily uniform.

*Also, you may have noticed that my photos are getting better. The actual photos that is, not the modeling. This is due to Jesse's insistance that he takes my photos from now on. And rightfully so, they were pretty atrocious. 

Synchronized Winners

Happy Halloween!

I made my costume this year, and since this blog is basically a "look what I can do!" a' la Stuart,  I figured I'd share it here. Me and a couple of my girl friends went as Synchronized Swimmers. Think Esther Williams, not Olympic medalists (next year). We had flowered swim caps, retro swimsuits and I embroidered our names on fluffy white towels. The other two girls wore adorable vintage swimsuits that they found at the flea market, and I was able to work both of their color schemes into mine to help with the synchronicity.

We went to a really great party at our friends warehouse where Sonoio performed (and killed it!) and EVERYONE looked amazing. I'll admit at first I was a little self-conscious about going out in public in just a bathing suit, but really, that's more clothes then Lady Gaga wears on any given day. So I got over myself because it's not like we took some random occupation and just sluttified it, as is by now sacred Halloween tradition. And who would've guessed that the three of us would win Sexiest Costumes? Certainly not me. In my thirty-something years I've never won sexiest anything. BUT we did. So take that all you fresh-faced 19 year olds.

Of course we did not get any pictures of the three of us together because I can't hold my liquor, but here are the other bathing beauties! Somebody please photoshop me into this picture:

Aren't they fabulous?

You'll probably see versions of my swimsuit in my Etsy shop this summer. Dude, it is an award winning swimsuit after all.....

Have fun tonight and save me some candy!

Angela Dress

 I just finished this dress this morning. You might remember the last dress I posted? I was liking the idea of the black contrast insets and the lace sleeves but I wanted to dial down the sweetness a bit and amp up the sex appeal.

 

Pretty On The Inside

Hello Lovelies! Here is the next dress in the installment:

When I first started sewing, way too many years ago, the inside of the garment was always sort of an after thought. So were hems, zippers, and buttonholes to be honest. Years went by where nothing I made was lined, and everything was made from stretch fabric so I wouldn't be forced to put a zipper in it. Then about 8 years ago I bought a jacket, and on the inside waistband there were words embroidered. It said- 'You are beautiful'. I loved it. Hey, a compliment's a compliment even if it is coming from a cheap-o jean jacket. Over the years as I've gotten better at sewing and pattern making I've started paying more and more attention to the inside of the garment. Sometimes that means just making sure all the seams are finished, or maybe hand sewing the zipper down, but the most fun is when you have a super special lining. It doesn't always have to match but it compliments the garment- Like a navy corduroy jacket with hot pink lining, or a ditzy floral print on the inside of a boxy retro jacket. It always makes you smile every time you put it on even though no one ever sees it but you.

People will love your shoes and they'll ask you where you got your dress. Your lover might notice your new perfume and they may catch a glimpse of your perfectly matched underthings but I doubt they will ever remember what the inside of your dress looks like. That one's just for you.

Hard Decisions

Black Lace or Ivory? These are today's tough decisions. 

HELP!

<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/3010670/wear-mena?claim=8d37bdaaywb">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>

The Ocean Shook, The Sky Went Black.

Barbara Dress front & back. Amazing retro shoes from Anthropologie

Do you ever cry at your desk at work? Do you curse and scowl and throw tantrums? Do you ever find yourself sprawled out amongst the scraps on the workroom floor; fists clenched and questioning your purpose in life, when one of the company cats tries to comfort you by doing a balancing act on your left nipple?  I'm not saying anything like that ever happens around here. All I'm saying is that sometimes one workday can read like the entire Series of Unfortunate Events exploded on top of a bus full of zombies; and then Pandora tosses out a Decemberist song into the mix and the mood goes from tense to dramatic real quick like.  

Why do I do it? Why do WE do it? As artists, as creators, painters, writers, musicians...why do we feel this need to push ourselves and create new things when there is no foreseeable reward? Of course I know there are all sorts of fun internal rewards, blah blah blah, but a super swell sense of accomplishment does not pay the rent. So other than creating my own personal dream wardrobe why do I torture myself by staying in the loathsome and very difficult fashion industry when I don't even know if it's worth it? 

And you know the answer to the 'Why'? The first answer that always pops into my head? It's always the same:

 IT'S THE ONLY THING YOU'RE GOOD AT. 

I don't have to tell you that is a bitter pill to swallow; knowing that the only thing you're good at is ripping out the same seam 3 times in row. Cue the Decemberists, this is getting dramatic again. It makes sense though. Since I was 9 years old, never did have a plan B and if I ever had a minor it was in grilled cheese eating making. 

After about 14 minutes the song ends and the floor starts to get really uncomfortable. Climb out of the belly of the whale, brush off the crazy lady threads, breathe and get back to work. It's only noon. Moping is fun but it doesn't solve problems, unless your problems are there aren't enough people moping. (and give me a call maybe I found my plan B) 

Ah, but it's the second answer to the 'Why' that really matters. The answer you get when the tantrums are over, and you're brain is getting it's recommended dose of oxygen again:

 IT'S THE ONLY THING YOU WANT TO DO.

Oh yeah. Duh. I knew there had to be a reasonable explanation for this madness. Maybe there ARE other things I am good at. For example, I didn't know I'd make a good gardener until a few months ago, and now look at all these (ok just 3) bell peppers I grew! Hellz yeah!  I might make an excellent detective, lion tamer or archaeologist as well, but I don't really care. Yet. YET. I do this because it's the only thing I really want to do. It is also the only job I've had so far where I can throw myself on the floor and no one calls security. Plus...... no one questions my choice of music here, and I hate to say it, but those other company cats can be real jerks.

Which one is the camera hog?

So that's why I do it. What's your excuse?

Let Me Count The Ways

The 4th of July is up there on my list of favorite holidays. The beer is flowing, the fireworks are glowing and also Great Britain doesn't own our country anymore. That's because the Chinese do. Some other fun holidays I like to celebrate are Bastille Day, Fiestas Patrias, and Icelandic National Day. Basically the more days where it's acceptable to wear red, white and blue the better:

I'm naming this dress Lea after my dear friend who might love themed dressing even more than I do.

Why is it that when you show up dressing patriotic to a 4th of July barbecue, people make strange comments as if you were wearing a white dress to some other brides wedding? Are we not allowed to compete with the flag??! When did it stop being cool to be patriotic anyways, let alone on a PATRIOTIC HOLIDAY? Last I heard America was still a great country. Just ask the millions who risk their lives to get to this country. Perhaps you disagree, and are considering fleeing these fair lands and becoming an ex-pat? If that be the case, chances are this dress probably will still work for you.  There are about 30 countries whose flag boasts the same triumvirate of colors (very original dudes, those founding fathers), and now you can celebrate ALL of their National Holidays with the same ONE dress.

Sorry. I stopped counting the different ways this dress can be worn after #5, mostly because I ran out of poses.

I will probably end up making this dress in another colorway for those who are scared of this one. 
In the meantime; I will continue to wear this color combo whenever I feel like it, and urge others to do the same. If someone should give you grief, tell them to stop being so damn ignorant in world affairs. Don't they know? It's Anzac Day.

Progress Report: I for Incomplete.

I'm going to distract you from this weeks progress report with this:

I really love how stiff the models are in this video. I always love Alber Elbaz's counterpoint to the thousands of moody fashion videos out there at any given time.

 So What have we learned here? Are models trying to dance, like reality stars trying to sing? Or celebrities trying to design?  Does Paris Hilton really fit in all of those categories?  What's that you say? Posing statements as questions really covers your ass in the long run?

Anyways. They can't all be winners like that Lanvin video, and alas, the last piece I was working on misses the mark. (insert segue-way.)  It doesn't quite measure up to the vision I had in my head *I have fashion visions* and quite frankly I'm embarrassed to show it to Barbara Stanwyck.  It is still 1942, right?  I'm like that Twilight Zone episode where the aging movie star escapes reality by watching the old films she starred in, over and over again; until one day she is able to cross over into them. FOREVER.

I'm sorry if I gave away the ending to the story, but it did air on October 23, 1959. You have had time to watch it. I feel like spoiler alerts should maybe have an expiration date.?


 No I'm not an aging movie star, but I AM obsessed with old films so I feel her pain. Long story shorter than it could be, I'm just going to take this here pattern and tweak it again, again;  because I think it still has potential. I'm also going to only post portions of it, just to give you a better sense of what it's like to have an Incomplete in Translating Your Fashion Visions:

I'm liking it better from this view:

These past 5 days I have managed to see a great show, eat some yummy food, and hang out with quite a few of my amazing friends. The week was not a total loss!

When This Party is Over, It Will Start Again.

See our little marmot friend?

Last weekend I went on an epic backpacking trip. After a grueling 4 1/2  hour steep uphill climb with 30 pounds strapped to my sweaty back we arrived at the first leg in our itinerary; an alpine lake with not a person in sight. Within 5 minutes of our arrival, we tossed off our bags, tore off our clothes and tiptoed in the frigid crystal clear glacier water. Knee deep and giggling we spotted something watching us on the shore. A beautiful spotted doe was gracefully walking towards us and WE froze like the deer in the proverbial headlights. She came close to the waters edge and with her big brown eyes watched us giddily splash around before slowly wandering off. 

This was the first of many magical moments on that mountain. In the next 4 days as we discovered furious waterfalls edged in the softest carpets of velvety moss, lazy creeks dividing neon hued meadows, violently brilliant shooting stars, another doe that followed us around for hours in plain sight, and ancient gnarled bonsai trees growing firmly from the cracks of massive boulders; these lyrics kept repeating in my head:

"Heaven,
Heaven is a place,

A place where nothing,

nothing ever happens."

That may sound boring to you, and is in fact only true to the human eye. Nothing happens on that age-less mountain that has not been happening in its own slow and perfect way for 4,000 or more years. Rain, snow, sun, death, new life, repeat. It is incredibly humbling to witness such natural bliss knowing that we are really but a speck in time. The drops of water that slice boulders in half will take more than my lifetime to do so. But it will, and it does, over and over again. By the end of the trip we had such reverence for this forest that we were careful not to tread on any vegetation lest one tiny wildflower be broken.

We also vowed to become Park Rangers when we retire, and to leave all of our money to the National Parks Department when we die. Haha! Talk about a life altering experience!

That longwinded PSA for the National Parks Department aside, I was happy to be back in this crazy home on this crazy street full of these crazy people. The very next day I happily worked in my studio all day, not even realizing it was 9pm when I stopped. Just the knowledge that places like that exist, tucked away from 'progress' and development, and inaccessible to the masses who cannot even be bothered to take the stairs but one flight; calms my spirit. I cannot wait to go back, but for now I cannot wait to get back to work:

Here is the next piece. The pattern has been drafted, tested, tweaked, and finally cut out in it's final fabrication. Now to sew it up. Hopefully it will be done by tonight!

These flowers were everywhere! I had to take a pic since they match my color scheme so perfectly.

I hope everyone else had a fantastic Labor Day weekend.

<3 Misty

Good Omens

What a super sloooooow start to my day. So far I've managed to water the plants, and today they are looking especially gorgeous.

This guy is blooming!! Anyone know what it's called?

I love how intense this little bush looks.  Especially with coils of razor wire behind him. 

Sun, Soil, and Water = Veggies!

Alright, now I need to just finish the hem, and start on the next pattern. Please note: I did not alter this photo. It would appear that the heavens approve of Eve. I'm going to take that as a good sign.

The Lady Eve

The hardest part is deciding which sketch gets to be lucky number one. My days are spent making these kinds of life or death decisions, you better believe that. Which ever sketch I start with pretty much sets the tone for the rest of the collection and since I don't have some factory in China pumping out new samples for me everyday, I don't want to screw up and spend a large chunk of my time on something that is going to end up in the reject pile. False starts are not good for moral.

So here we go, this is where the collection is off to:

The pattern came together pretty quickly, but you know- I'm a pro now. By now I've also figured out that you don't start off with the most difficult mind-boggling 426 piece pattern. Cursing and tantrums on the first day are also not good for moral.  Save that one for when you've already invested all of your money and there is no turning back.

 Mark that down in your copy books. I'm giving away some real golden nuggets of advice here.

Since every piece needs a pretty, pretty princess name for the linesheet (style #517 just wont do), I've named this dress Eve. I was watching The Lady Eve as I was sewing it last night, AND it happens to be the first dress in the new collection. It it were pants it might've been Adam.

Also, a wee side note:  I LOVE Barbara Stanwyck. Isn't she fabulous?

Charles Pike: Now you, on the other hand, with a little coaching you could be terrific
[at playing cards] 
Jean Harrington: Do you really think so?
Charles Pike: Yes, you have a definite nose.
Jean Harrington: I'm glad you like it. Do you like any of the rest of me? 

Starting Over

Alright, I'm working on my line for next summer and I think I've narrowed down the color palette. Contrary to popular belief, redheads CAN wear pink:

our in house model approves the fabrics.

One Year Ago

Last year at this time I was busy working on this collection. By now you've all seen it. Yes, it's still very purpley. Thank you guys for the support, encouragement and for all the other nice things you said. I hope you meant it. BECAUSE: I quit my day job based on all the nice things you guys said. So if anyone was lying you have about 10 minutes to fess up [MAYBE-THERE-IS-STILL-TIME-TO-RETRACT-MY-RESIGNATION].

Wait.

Actually I quit a month ago and there is no way I'm going to let go of this new freedom so quickly;  even if it is 100 degrees right now in this little sweatshop. It's MY little sweatshop. The old corporate gig was a frigid 64 degrees 24/7.  Methinks hell hath nothing to do with warm temperatures. Am I right, Antarctica? What I'm trying to say is, if I end up living in a (very chic) tent one o these days, all you have to blame is yourselves.  You won't be so willy nilly with the positive reinforcement then, will you?

In all seriousness, being your own boss is not as easy as it sounds. In an effort to control my staffs 3 hour poolside lunch breaks I've come up with an ingenious plan. Consider this blog as my time card. There are new things to create and they will get done. I certainly can't promise 8 hrs a day, but there will be progress reports. Old habits die hard you know.

Look how corporate we're becoming all ready.

I'll even match my own 401K contributions. Shouldn't be too hard. 0+0=0

A Little Background

You know what is awesome? Black holes. You know what is like a black hole but is not awesome? Writing bio's.