Salt of the earth

Salt stains on my shoes are the absolute bane of my winter existence. No matter how carefully I step or how immediately I wipe, at the end of the day, I look down and there are those pesky, jagged lines of white scrawled onto my boots. Sure the salt is distressing to leather, but what really eats away at me is the embarrassment of its unkempt appearance. Exacerbating the situation is its inevitability--unless you have car service, you have likely worn salt-stained shoes in public.

A friend once told me about one winter's night when he was looking particularly fine, decked out in new duds from head to toe, and went to party at a hot, new club. The place was hopping: the music good, the people fun. But he left early, sullen and in a foul mood. Why? He couldn't stand the look of the salt stains on his shoes. He had tried to wipe his shoes with paper towel in the restroom but, alas, the stains remained.

At the time, I thought his reaction was a bit much. But, today, looking down at my salt-stained boots, I feel his pain.

Brand awareness

It's hard to go wrong with wearing Gucci or Louis Vuitton... unless you're a politician speaking out against capitalism.

Tip of the hat

The problem with berets is that they scream "beret." There's nothing subtle about the stylin' French cap that seems to be everywhere these days. But if you're set on wearing one and are neither French nor in France, there are some considerations to keep in mind. The key being in the placement. Tilting it to the side is just dorky. What you want is to have some hair (ideally your thick, chic bangs) showing in the front and framing your face. Et voila.

Even better? Floppy berets. Because they don't look so, well, beret-ish.

Doin' the twist

There's a strange move that's taken over my gym. Rarely a visit goes by without me noticing ladies in the changeroom fastening their bras in the front then swiveling them around to their proper position. It's done quickly and awkwardly. I wonder if stretching helps.

You can count on me

During long stretches of gloomy, dreary weather, nothing says comfort quite like a black cardigan sweater. Easy, dependable and always appealing, you could say it's the mac n' cheese of the clothing world.

Picture perfect

Being camera-shy really isn't an option these days. It seems everywhere you turn there's a camera-phone or digital camera snapping away, capturing life's every little moment and then some. Personally, I've never liked having my photo taken. The worst being ID photos. I always felt there was something a bit phony about them. A stiff pose. A faked smile. Picture day in grade school was a torturous ordeal. I would practice the night before, looking in the mirror and posing: smiling not too much to scrunch my eyes, not too little to look uncomfortable; chin down; face angled to the "good" side; shoulders down; clothing adjusted; hair just so; breathe in. Oh, and look natural.

So last week, when I found out I could have my work ID re-taken, I was torn. As much as I disliked being photographed, I was also partly thrilled. The photo I had for the past year was so objectively terrible--I had biked to work in on a high-heat-alert day and didn't know I was having my picture taken--that it outweighed the overall dread.

Oddly enough, it was the thought of Victoria Beckham that eased my usual photo anxiety. On picture day, a colleague reminded me of the TV special where Posh goes to the DMV. She gets all posy-posy as if being photographed for a magazine shoot. She looked ridiculous to me at the time--I mean, it was just her driver's license photo. But perhaps she (and it pains me to admit it, but Paris Hilton with her trademark red-carpet pose as well) are onto something: If there's a camera around, might as well work it. Right.

Cold comfort

Woe is she who has a lovely fall/winter coat this season. While mild fall weather is usually not something to complain about, now, on the cusp of November (which is practically, though not technically, winter), I can't help but feel sorry for all those who have a toasty wool coat. I mean, do you wear it regardless of the mercury, just to get some wear out of it? Or do you let it languish in the closet as the weeks and perhaps even the style of your big fall purchase pass you by?

Take today for example. With the temperature in the mid-60s, I happened across several young ladies with the same look: chic, mid-length wool coats accompanied by flushed faces. As someone who gets warm very easily, I know the look quite well. And as a weather watcher, I rarely go wrong because of my trusty when-to-bring-out-what-outwear system:

50 to 60 degrees: blazer/chunky cardigan
40 to 50 degrees: fall coat (boxy, tweed, lined)/trench
20 to 40 degrees: puffer/peacoat
20 and below: winter coat

Fortunately, I am still shopping around for a winter coat. I figure I can take my time this season, seeing as I'm still comfortable wearing a blazer--a whole two coats away from a winter coat.

The long and short of it

Like the ever-divisive reaction to cilantro or Crocs, people seem to either love or hate Kirsten Dunst. Whether discussing her acting abilities or her style, some aspect of her, for some reason or other, is bound to irk/delight. Personally, I like the films she's been in but am no fan of hers. Which makes it all the more harder for me to admit that she has single-handedly inspired me to go smaller (bag-wise) and longer (strap-wise). I am obsessed with her latest bag.

Large and small, in black, white, gray and counting, an enviable collection of Jane Mayle Billie bags have been photographed on Ms. Dunst over the summer. Much like her consistency in taste--from boys to sunglasses--she has carried the long-strapped purse with total abandon, a refreshing change from the oversized totes that everyone else seems to be lugging around.

Yes, the classic Chanel chain-strap shoulder purse is also hot among the downtown and young Hollywood crowds of late, but it's thanks to Ms. Dunst that I have become a long-strapped purse devotee.

Chacun son gout, as they say.

Prime time

Spotted outside the Four Seasons: A and B dolled up in short, sexy, satin numbers. A checks out B, then herself and grins in approval.

A: We're so, like, The Hills or Gossip Girl or something.

B: Actually, I'm going for more of a Blair thing.

Seems that talk of Gossip Girl has not only hit the streets, but the hot show of the season also has its own influential character-based style. (The Blair being referred to is, of course, GG's naughty-meets-preppy Blair Waldorf.) Not bad after just three episodes. Next up? Quite possibly the bad-girl-turned-good, legs-down-to-there Blake look. Stay tuned.

Remains of the day

In the mood to shop this week, I decided to make an end-of-summer visit to a few of my favorite stores. Ever the romantic when it comes to shopping--and life--I set out partly to check out what was new and mostly to follow up on those items I had at one point carried a torch for.

Riffling through the sale racks (for better or for worse, it seems to be prime sale time right now), I soon found myself face-to-face with my summer '07 object of desire no. 1: a pretty blue silk dress that I had tried on a month ago, which was quite flattering on, but which I couldn't justify buying at the time. There it was. Just the one. And in my size. Hemming and hawing, I held it up to me, as I had on several previous occasions, and looked in a nearby mirror. I imagined all the fabulous events I could wear it to. But then the doubts started to fill my mind. Maybe I didn't want it that badly after all. Had its moment passed? Or had I changed and wanted something different? I followed my gut feeling, my hesitation, and put it back. Like Deanie driving away down that dusty road after seeing Bud, his pregnant wife and their farm house (good ol' Splendor in the Grass--so tragic, so true), I parted ways one final time from my once-beloved dress, with no regrets, and slowly made my way down the rack.

Moving on and across town, I visited a decor shop that usually is filled with goods from floor to ceiling, but it seemed on the sparse side today. Of course, a large weathered-wood-framed mirror that I was fond of was still among the offerings. It was marked down.

"Only 12 Saturdays until Christmas," I heard the store owner say from behind the counter to a couple buying a vase. As the couple expressed their disbelief and dismay, the store owner simply stated, "I'm a retailer. I gotta know."

As a customer, I was grateful for the insight. The mirror started to look awfully sell-so-we-can-get-the-new-Christmas-merch-in to me. Guess it just wasn't meant to be.

Brand new bag

I'm always on the lookout for cool, reusable bags to carry my groceries in. And just the other day, I heard about the latest bag in town while at the gym of all places. Two women, with faces flushed from spinning, sat on a bench conveniently located in front of my locker, speaking in hushed, conspiratorial tones. I leaned in to listen.

"So where did you see it?"

"All those film fest people have them. They carry it over their shoulder. It's black. And pretty big."

Well, that was enough to pique my curiosity. Out and about that weekend, the opening weekend of the Toronto International Film Festival, I spotted one being used as a book bag, then another that seemed to be on official film fest duties (the man carrying it was wearing a suit). Simple. Sleek. Discreet. I headed to the festival headquarters to purchase my own.

To be honest, I was less than thrilled when I finally held my new bag in my hands. In previous years the festival bags were made of cloth and even leather, but this year's $8 tote by Roots didn't look or feel substantial in any way. The surface resembled a tarp in sheen (dull and a tad tacky) and sound (kind of crispy), and moreover, the bag just felt too light and too flimsy. So I let it lie dejectedly on my kitchen floor. A few days later, I grew curious and inspected it up close. Inside the bag was an unexpectedly soft, woven material, something I didn't recognize. So I googled the name on the fabric tag: polypropylene.

Polypropylene. A lightweight, extremely durable polymer used in everything from dishwasher-safe plastic food containers to wick-away-type long underwear. Score, I thought to myself. Ever since learning about this king of materials, I can't stop spotting it, particularly in its reusable bag application (seems to be the latest thing among the "green" bags sold at stores).

Now that the film fest is over, I can finally take my bag grocery shopping (because carrying an event-specific bag after said specific event is way cooler than during). It's no hyped Anya Hindmarch "I'm Not a Plastic Bag" bag, the last eco-friendly bag I considered buying, but that's just fine. I'll pass on cloth. And no paper or plastic either, please. I've got polypropylene.

Cheap chic

Returning home from a trip to my local bookstore empty-handed--they were sold out of "Deluxe: How Luxury Lost Its Luster," the book I was looking for--I was greeted by a mailbox delightfully full of alternative reading material: a new issue of the New Yorker, a postcard from a friend overseas, a few bills and the Ikea 2008 catalogue.

Deciding to set aside the reality of bills to pay, the friend I had neglected to keep in touch with and the stack of New Yorkers I was already behind on reading, I soon found myself flipping through page after page of Ikea's affordable escapism. I contemplated buying a new couch (a circular conversation with myself that starts with "I do need a new one," followed by "it is an investment piece," then "but it is on the expensive side for Ikea" and back to "I do need a new one"). I thought about "hacking" a few tables into a shelf. And then came upon a page promoting a new luxury line from Ikea: Ikea Stockholm.

Now, the concept of going high-low makes sense to me. The now-ubiquitous collaborations between big-name designers and mass market retailers, like, most recently, Roberto Cavalli for H&M, Jovovich-Hawk for Target and Vera Wang for Kohl's, are essentially a case of high-end design for low-end prices, and I'm all for budget-priced Cavalli and company. But low-high, as it were? Is it a case of low-end design for high-end prices? Or just a basic brand pushing the price tag, albeit with plush this and plump that? The appeal of luxe lines for main street shops, such as Forever 21's new Twelve by Twelve "couture" (their word) line, alludes me.

Sure, luxury might have lost its luster (which I'm sure I would know much more about once I get my hands on a copy of the book!), but lustrous low-end? Really. There's nothing more de-luxe than that.

Water, water everywhere

Like most people, I don't drink nearly as much water as I know I should be drinking. I know hydration is good for me and all, but it's always been more of a knee-jerk reaction: If I'm thirsty, I drink water. More on hot days, less when I'm sitting at my desk at work.

So it struck me as odd that for the past few weeks, my first waking thought, my first craving in the morning, has been water. Not the regular H2O variety. Just Glaceau's Vitaminwater, specifically the deliciously pink Power-C (Dragonfruit) or any new flavor I'd seen recently--the latest on my to-try list is Essential (Orange-Orange), which I saw some dude drinking on the subway on the weekend.

Besides the not-too-sweet-in-a-good-way taste, I suppose just seeing others carrying it on the street and the sight of all the luscious colors lined up on store shelves have been enough to infiltrate my subconscious. Usually I'm a sucker for food and drink advertisements (I'll even admit to having tried Smartwater because of the Jennifer Aniston print ad--I know. Lame.), but funnily enough I've never seen a Vitaminwater ad. As far as branding goes, the cheeky tone of the writing on the labels is effective--I always seem to read them and half-smile. Whatever they're doing, it seems to be working.

Unlike the traditional bottled water companies who have been getting a bad rap lately, as tap-water brand Aquafina well knows, you could say Glaceau has been having a good year. There's the whole being bought by Coca-Cola deal, or, more tellingly, a spot feature in that arbiter of style, Vogue. Or so I think...

Call me obsessed, but isn't Daria holding a bottle of Vitaminwater in her pink-bauble-clad hand in the September issue? Must be the Power-C flavor. Or, actually, I suppose it could be the rose-colored Focus (Kiwi-Strawberry). Focus. Must remember to try that one next.

Gold rush

I have nothing against gold. In fact, the first earrings I ever had, studs that were punched into my earlobes during childhood, were gold. But what can I say. I'm a silver person.

I don't know exactly when this life decision came about, but it seems that one gravitates toward the silver or gold camp in the teen years. Up until then there's a sort of indifference or unawareness. Then one day you wake up and one precious metal says cool and understated, while the other conveys self-importance and flashiness, and you pick a side, and that's that.

Anyway, it has always been easy enough to avoid gold, with popular taste increasingly favoring silver-colored-type metals like platinum, particularly for wedding rings (hello, Lucida ring, anyone?). But this summer, stores have been awash in gold. Bags, shoes and clothing with gold hardware, gold bows and gold chains, chains, more chains.

I caved.

It started out small with gold horse-bit-like links on a pair of sandals I fell in love with. Next, a long chain necklace, which I'm wearing today. I still prefer silver, mind you. But today I just felt like being a little flashy.

Gray matters

Standing in the checkout line at H&M the other day, I couldn't help but notice a girl with an armload of clothes stacked from her outstretched arms right up to her fashionably long bangs. "That's a lot of gray," said the shopgirl to the bangs girl when it was her turn to pay. Without skipping a beat, Bangs Girl replied, "Yeah. Gray is the new black, you know." My first reaction was to shudder at what she said--the trite phrase, the earnest tone--but then my attention was drawn the clothes piled on the counter. They looked more like a black or even a faded black in color than the gray she was so keen on.

It reminded me of the issue I had with my new Kate Spade pumps. In the store, I was drawn to the gleaming gray patent and was thrilled to add gray footwear to my shoe collection. But when I opened the box at home, I was so sure that the shoes I brought home were brown, not gray, that I triple-checked the box label ("color: gray," it said) and then looked online to make sure it didn't come in brown (it doesn't).

After some subsequent research, I learned that gray extends much further than the charcoal and heather shades that I know. All those hyphen-gray and -ish-gray terms that are thrown around colloquially, like purple-ish gray, blue-gray, reddish gray, are all fully grays. Heck, even taupe is classified as gray. Taupe!

A gray area of color, that's for sure.