In season

Women in sleeveless tops with scarves. Men in shorts with cardigans. Seems like I'm not the only one stuck between sartorial seasons. (Or perhaps everyone's just prepared for the outdoor/indoor highs and lows.)

The shape of things

Fashionable or not, there are some shapes that simply don't flatter a female body. Billowy fabrics in the form of sack dresses, tent dresses, trapeze dresses, you name it, have been particularly troublesome--and practically unavoidable--of late. One petite friend in a fashionably flowy top was even offered a seat on the bus by someone who mistakenly thought she was pregnant. At what price fashion indeed.

Changeroom chatter

Girl 1 (trying on dress): Can you see my thong?
Girl 2: Uh, I can see your cheeks. Maybe you should wear a slip.
Girl 1: Do people still wear slips? It's so like 1950s or something."

Casting call

I remember first coming across this comp card years ago. Helping to cast for a shoot, I flipped right past this model, who I thought looked too unusual in the otherworldly way. She did her share of editorial work, was popular among certain stylists, and went by her last name, Stam. What a difference a few years—i.e., going back to her natural hair color (blonde), not to mention numerous high-profile advertising deals—makes.

Fading beauty

I used to think I could get away with wearing the same foundation color year round. Wearing scarves and high necklines usually did the trick to get me through those handful of weeks when fading was most noticeable. Or so I thought.

"Did you know your neck is a different color than your face?" my sister remarked on a recent visit.

Busted.

Spring fling

Forget Punxsutawney Phil and his shadow. The true telltale sign of spring in the city: girls without socks. Just today I spotted three pairs of sockless feet in flats. I'd say spring's just two weeks away...

Sweet talk

"In France we would never put macarons in a bag," said a French woman to me at the local bakery, as I was getting my macarons in a paper bag. "We put them in boxes with windows so that we can appreciate their beauty."

Ah, yet another reason why French women don't get fat.

Purse envy

I first saw this A.P.C. purse with plastic chain-link strap online. I remember liking it. The remember thinking about buying it (the blue version). I remember picking it up in the store and trying it on. And I remember the exact moment when I wanted to buy it: standing at the till, watching the very last one (the display model, actually), being sold before my very eyes.

Prada satchelus

Bergdorf blonde no. 1: Do you like this bag better or that other one?

Bergdorf blonde no. 2: Oh, you can't compare them. They're two entirely different species.

Neverland

My skinny jean about-face reminds me of the time I was standing in line at the movies and overheard a lady tell her gentleman-friend that she could never wear short dresses or skirts because she didn't have the knees for it.

I, too, have my share of "nevers." Let's see, I'm never going to wear shorts (except for during sports). I'm never going to wear cap sleeves. And I'm never going to wear square-toed shoes.

I call it going to Neverland. We all have our reasons for going. It's a safe place, and once you're there, it's hard to leave.

The skinny

Sometime between the fall shows and the first snow fall, I decided never to wear skinny jeans. The mutton-chop pant-leg look was not, after all, a look I wanted to go for, and so I sat on the sidelines as the leggings look trickled down from the catwalk to the sidewalk. I held out as A-, B-, then C-list celebs wore them, and even lasted through the first, second, third blast of merch in stores.

But weak from a "I'm going to L.A. and have nothing to wear" dilemma, I took to impulse shopping and bought a pair of black skinny-leg pants. The purchase sat in a bag for two weeks before I built enough courage to wear them out (aided by a long tunic top, of course). That was in December.

A month later, I actually contemplated wearing skinny jeans all week. So what about my thighs--nothing that a long top or oversized cardi can't cover. The pants are perfect for tucking into boots and are a no brainer with a foot of snow on the ground.

Sure, Lindsay Lohan puts up with a lot of slack for wearing leggings/skinny jeans all the time. But, really, who can blame her?

Tall drink of water

I've seen Sigg aluminum bottles around, at kitchen stores, grocery stores and even bike stores. Officially, though, I'd say the yogis had it first, having spotted a few at a recent Bikram class and on the street, usually carried together with a rolled-up mat.

Perhaps there's something to the average yoga consumer that naturally gravitates toward the practical, organic and chic (Lululemon, anyone?), and as a wannabe yogi in need of a good, resuable bottle, I was all for their latest approved product. Sigg, a Swiss company better known in Europe, offers a wide range of sizes and styles. There's the large, plain ones, favored by yoga enthusiasts, the kid-friendly small, cartoony ones, and a perfectly purse-sized, classic black one for me.

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.