Moneymoneymoneymohhhneyhhh…mohhhneyhhh

After Helga’s birthday dinner (our youngest turned 8 today), after oranges, ice cream (Nestle pops for us, brazo de mercedes for helgy and fro- they LOVED it. it’s super sweet but sans the chocolate toxic to doggies) and over tea, my family and I had a bit of an A-ha moment. Granted, it was only A-ha to us. To the rest of the world it is a known fact. We were daydreaming- out loud and at night- about all the places we haven’t yet seen but would love to see. We have Europe pretty much covered. North America, too- although by that we just mean the US, but no one seemed to express a desire to visit Canada. I have some parts of Asia and Australia down, too. As our passports will attest, we are not exactly travel-deprived, but all the same, there is still the rest of the world. Central and South America. An entire African continent. Talk inevitable leads to HOW and HOW predictably leads to money. So our A-ha moment was this: Money does make the world go round. What had been obvious to everyone else seems to have eluded us all these years. Yes, we’d always had a taste for the fine things in life and while we knew that the fine things are not without cost, acquiring wealth was never considered a priority. We were never raised to aspire to make money. When my brother and I were in school, there was never any pressure to major in something that would secure us a well-paying job. Study what you love. We were always of the follow-your-dreams variety. I wouldn’t have it any other way, of course, but a slight emphasis on money-making couldn’t have hurt either. In college, while I was enrolling in classes like Taking Shakespeare’s Word for It and The Politics of War Crime Tribunals, I was not above scoffing at the Bulgarian Economics majors, voluntarily submitting themselves to semester upon semester of monotony and misery. I would smugly tell myself, I’m making the most out of a liberal arts education; I study whatever I’m passionate about, who can be passionate about numbers and graphs? I wonder who’s smug now. My editorial job won’t buy me a cruise any time soon. Earning 70 grand a year as a Wall Street financial analyst, one of my Bulgarian friends probably could.

I have friends all over the world. I mean that in the literal sense. A whole bunch of them are backpacking across the continent of their choice. Their facebook albums remind me that, at 24 , now is when I should be doing the same. Money makes the world go round. It also makes going round the world possible.- perhaps even the purchase of a designer bag or two along the way.

unexplained absence

The Nobel literature laureate Thomas Mann said, “A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.”

I would like to think it is this, not pure laziness, that accounts for my 6-month long absence from this blog.

i want to be bad.

i've always had a fascination for bad boys and party girls. books, movies, and TV are rife with the stereotype. leather jackets and leather pants. motorcycles. tattoos. weed for breakfast, cigarette for lunch, alcohol for dinner. black eyeliner and blood red nail polish. the boys brood, the girls are heroin chic. both the bad boy and the party girl are always a little bit of rock and roll. kate moss is the queen and pete doherty the king. they hate authority and authorities hate them back. in high school they skipped class to smoke up in the bathrooms. in college they skipped class to smoke up in their own rooms. they come in different varieties and varying degrees, but you get the point.

i think my fascination for the "bad" stems not from wanting to be like them. or wanting to be with them. it's really more of a twisted curiosity of what makes them them. what makes you live so much in the moment as to have complete disregard of the future? as someone who analyzes, overanalyzes, thinks, and overthinks most anything, living life at the whim of your most basest instincts is a mystery that is perpetually intriguing to me. at 23 i have discovered and resigned to the fact that i do not have a wild child's bone in my body. can't say i haven't made any feeble attempts at being one though. here are a couple of examples:

attempt #1: hitch hiking for weed at 17. it was easter sunday. a south african, an american, and i were in pisa and bored out of our minds. we had planned on staying for 4 days but on day one had discovered that all pisa had was the leaning tower and pretty much nothing else. we get a call from a friend whose dad owned a house somewhere in the middle of tuscany. come, he says. it is only a 2-hour trip from where you are and there is porchetto (a bland, italian version of our lechon) and my uncles and cousins have a weed garden. they are here, too, he says, referring to the 3 guys he always hung out with. and so lured with promises of pot and boys, the south african and american dragged me along. as instructed, we took a train to a town called orvietto. it was all good except what we were told was a two-hour train ride turned out to be five. we get off the train, called our would-be host, telling him, we made it. how do we get to your house? weelll... actually, he said. my house is still 2 hours away but there are no trains to there. take a bus. and so we went off into the streets looking for buses only to be told by strangers that this was italy and neither buses nor cabs run on easter sunday. that's how we ended up hitch hiking. it wasn't as bad or scary as i initially thought and 3 cars and 4 more hours later, we were finally where we needed to be. after having gone through that much trouble to get here, the south african and american smoked up with a vengeance. the house used to be part of a commune. dreadlocked musicians played the drums and guitar as barefooted, long-skirted girls danced around a bonfire. it was an atmosphere quite conducive to getting high. i had never smoked a joint before, and when they offered me one, i thought, hmm... maybe i should try it. after all, this is what we traveled 9 hours for. well, it took me all of 5 seconds to say no. no inner struggle, no flipflopping, no maybe's, just no. i knew that one puff would be perfectly harmless but i had heard that pot was something "bad" and therefore, something that should not be done. in my mind, it really was as simple as that. that night, as all of my friends got high on pot, wine and life, i watched, ate some porchetto, and tucked all of them to bed. needless to say, the only "bad" thing i did that night was go to bed without brushing my teeth.

attempt #2: after a few more failed attempts not very different from attempt #1, i decided that if i couldn't be "bad" i would get a boyfriend who was. i initially liked him for several reasons: his half-aussie,half-italian roots made for some good genes. he was an amazing soccer player, an incredible surfer. he knew how to paint. he wore designer shoes. his mom helped costume design for the matrix. i thought he was the paradigm of cool. then he told me that he used to be part of a gang and he once ended up in juvy. some jail time made him want to get out of the gang and his uncle ended up paying thousands of dollars just so he doesn't get severely beaten when he makes his exit. his parents never found out. after i heard the story, i liked him more and thought he was even cooler. dating him made me feel like i was fulfilling my bad boy fantasies without actually having to deal with one. i liked the fact that i was dating a reformed bad boy so i can pretend there was an element of danger involved even though there really wasn't. the problem with this whole scenario was that he was in this i-want-to-be-a-better-person phase and to go along with his new image, he wanted to be with me, the good girl. that would have been fine except that was all he saw me as. because of that, ironically enough, my dating a bad boy turned out to be some of the most boring 5 months of my life. i am with a good guy now and i can tell you that it's a whole lot more thrilling.

sometimes i wonder if i will wake up old one day and regret not having done anything crazy or stupid when i had youth as an excuse to fall back on. all my attempts to be "bad" were done mostly because i thought i should get all that out of my system while i'm young. but what if it was never in your system to begin with? i have nightmares of looking back at my life and lamenting at how unadventurous, safe, and sane my choices were. i imagined me telling myself, "i'm 60 and i don't even know what it feels like to be high." i thought about it and realized, yeah that sounds boring, but you know what? i think i can live with that.

addendum to previous post and other wedding-related issues

dan says i get really amped up about certain issues and all the useless rules the catholic church has imposed on weddings seems to be my chosen "amped upper" these days. here is my latest beef with them: i attended a wedding today and my friend, edwin and i noticed how weirdly overaged the coin and ring bearer were. these were kids who were at least 12 years old (though they looked 14) and were way past the age to be considered cute. i didn't get it. adolescents carrying a heart-shaped cushion with rings and coins just looked very awkward and very wrong. shouldn't there be an age limit for these things? apparently, some churches seem to think the opposite. you cannot join the wedding entourage unless you've had your first communion. next thing you know, they're going to require flower girls to present their marriage certificates, too. which brings me to my next point.

now this i can't blame the church for. i don't know who started it or where it started, but apparently, there is this new addition to the wedding entourage called the "little bride." everyone had already seen it at least once before but today was my first time and i'm not sure if i've gotten over it quite yet. the "little bride" is a little girl that is dressed exactly like the bride. that's it. she has no other duties but to look like a mini version of the bride. this was very disturbing to me as it conjured up images of 80s (and way before that, too) iran, afghanistan, etc where parents were marrying their daughters at a really young age and there were 9-year old brides all over the place. the ridiculousness and tackiness of this whole concept was compounded by the fact that the little bride i saw today wasn't very little anymore. i can kind of (kind of) see how adorable it would be to see a little 3 or 4-year old running around in a white gown and veil but this one looked even older than the ring and coin bearer. protacio, who made the bride's gown divulged that the little bride's measurements were bigger than the bride's. of course the bride didn't look like she'd gained a pound from when she used to be a model at 14 but still...

speaking of models, the bride was a model, the groom was a model, the bridesmaids were all models. it was like sposabella (a bridal fashion show) or some shoot for wedding essentials. thank God for the few oversized ones in the entourage that were thrown into the mix. they made the thing look more real. i am happy for the newly-weds because their kids are never going to be fat or midgets but how is the average appearance of the world's population supposed to improve when attractive people will only reproduce with their kind? share the wealth.

on a less cynical note, i bawled at the pretty couple's wedding today, but it wasn't my fault. the groom started it. i never used to be affected by weddings. all my friends would get kilig (giggly is the best translation i can come up with) while i would sit and beg for the whole thing to be over so i can get to the reception* and eat already. today was different. my friend, ana, says that it's not mental but just biological. as a girl (or a woman, if you will), you reach a certain age... i can't even make myself finish the sentence. i am officially a marrying age. best wishes to all my friends getting hitched soon, but man, are you guys not freaked out? i'm freaked out FOR you. good luck with that.

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* receptions are called such because it is when the bride** and groom*** receive their guests. why do we do it the other way around? the guests always sit around waiting for an announcement asking them to stand up and applaud the newly-weds about to enter the room? more wedding planners should read "miss manners"
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** and *** did you know that you are only supposed to say "best wishes" to the bride? "congratulations" are only meant to be said to the groom

as if planning a wedding weren't difficult enough...

the catholic church (or at least the people who run it) must really want us to live in sin. how else would you explain the obstacle course that SOME churches in cebu have set up for those who want to get married?

obstacle 1: if your fiance/fiancee is not roman catholic, he/she has to convert to the religion as couples need to present their baptismal certificates before they can be wed. i believe this one applies to all churches not just some. this is not new, but it shocks me all the same.

obstacle 2: every single person of the wedding party is required to show their baptismal certificates before they can fulfill their assigned roles in the wedding.

what these rules say is that not only can you not marry anyone who is not roman catholic, you can't ask them to be part of your wedding party either. this kind of discrimination is just unfathomable to me at an age where wars are fought and genocides take place in the name of religion. way to be hip with the times, monsignors.

obstacle 3: all would-be ninongs and ninangs have to present their marriage certificates.

apparently, they do not only discriminate on the basis of religion now, but on marital status as well. old maids not allowed.

obstacle 4: have you noticed how brides have little boleros made with their wedding dresses now? or how ninangs take shawls with them to church? that would be courtesy of the rule that all members of the wedding party have to have their shoulders covered. i wonder if this applies to flower girls, too. oh, i hope so. we would not want those bare, provocative 8-year old arms causing sin.

(potential) obstacle 5: a well-known monsignor is advocating for brides to be only allowed to wear white. not off-white. not cream. not beige. just plain, stark, newly bleached teeth white.

i am tempted to go on a tirade about the tackiness of a pure white wedding dress, but i will not. instead i will ask, why does this really matter? to keep up appearances? so they could pretend every single woman getting married (whether in her 20's or 60's) is pure and untouched? who are they trying to fool? God?

besides, a woman's wedding day is supposed to be the single most important day of her life. there will be pictures. many of them, and they will keep resurfacing long after the day itself. do we really want a bunch of old, frumpy men telling us what to wear?

all these make me think that vegas may not be such a bad idea, after all.

the beauty of sloppy and a little bit about cebu fashion week

i decided to stay home today because i was exhausted. this was not exhaustion brought about by heavy manual labor or intense mental exercise, but more like the kind of exhaustion that is a product of make-up application and general beautification. now, don't get me wrong. you don't have to know me well to know that i am v much a girl's girl. i adore clothes, i think putting on make-up is therapeutic, and i get supreme satisfaction from the art of accessorizing, but i think the last 3 nights have finally caught up to me. friday, saturday, and sunday were the closest that cebu had to a fashion week. i was really looking forward to it for several reasons: my mom had developed this new technique of fabrication and this was a venue for her to showcase what she'd been working on; other cebu and manila designers (including favorites like edwin ao and ivarluski aseron) were showing off their stuff, too; it was an opportunity to see and be with people; and finally, it was a chance to dress up. and dress up i did. on day one, i had on my edwin ao dress from our preview photo shoot during his night with the clothes for life foundation. day 2, a dress by my mom, which looked very much like a modern poiret when she was showing with the fashion council of cebu (fcc). and on the third night, which was sposabella, a wedding fashion show with fcc, some manila designers, and monique lhuillier, i wore a dress given to me (well,ok to my mom) by teresin mendezona, which amazingly enough, turned out to be an original pedrito legaspi from way back in the day. my shoes all three nights averaged at 4.5 inches in height. i attempted to take extra care in applying my make-up. i actually wore foundation in addition to powder, blended my eye shadow instead of just smothering it, tried my luck with liquid eyeliner rather than the usual pencil one i wear most days, i even wore lip gloss on top of my preferred burt's bees. there were going to be photographers around. extra effort was required.

getting ready for the shows was just as fun as the shows themselves, but i can't even tell you how much i am relishing being sloppy and grubby at home right now. i am wearing an oversized tshirt that my best friend, jula's mom gave me when we were 10. it is super soft from the 13 year's worth of washing it has been through. i remember it being pink but now it is really more like a grayish white. my curls have somehow positioned themselves horizontally on my scalp, perpendicular to my face and parallel to the floor. and my zit (apparently, not washing off you make-up is bad for the skin) is big, red, and although it is exactly right where cindy crawford has her beauty mark, i don't think this one will catapult me to supermodeldom. i certainly don't feel prettier now than i did the last 3 nights, but there's something to be said for the comfort and freedom grubbiness provides. ask my feet. i'll bet they'd agree.

lessons in happiness from a bitch

this was published in the cebu daily news just today. writing for the lifestyle section gives you freedom to talk about the randomest of things.

Helga came to our lives in 2000. Her home during her first month with us was a cage below our deck, but a call from a neighbor unhappy about her incessant barking got her upgraded into the house. In our house, she charmed her way up from the wooden floors to the couch and finally, to the bed. The bed, of course, started out as my parents’ but she has since taken ownership of it. It is Helgy’s bed and Mom and Dad are just lucky that she lets them sleep with her every night.
Helga has turned us all into such dog-lovers that my aunts soon got one of their own, a Dachshund whose hobbit-like proportions earned him the name Frodo. Helga is a German Shepherd and they make quite the pair. They are the topic of every dinner and after-dinner conversation. I often wonder what we used to talk about before they came into the picture.
My family was never the pet-loving variety. Before Helga and Frodo, we had a few fish, turtles, and birds but they were only there because my brother and I got school credit for them. None of them saw their 6th month birthdays. But, as every dog owner will gladly attest, there must be something special about dogs. Valentino takes his pugs on his private jet everywhere he goes. No one does that with a goldfish.
So what is it about dogs? They are never just pets; they are family. I think we fall in love with them partly because they are entertaining or cute or fun to dress up, but mostly because there is something so touching about their simplicity. It takes nothing to get their tails wagging. Mubo ug kalipay, we like to say in Cebuano. It makes you wonder why the term is sometimes used in a negative light. Wouldn’t life be easier if we didn’t put such a high price on contentment?
Whether it is through their example or through the experience of living with them, Helga and Frodo have taught me that happiness can actually be easy.

Enjoy Life’s Little Pleasures
I think the problem is that, sometimes, having too much of a good thing does not make us stop wanting; it makes us want more instead. We become so easily jaded with what we already have that life becomes a perpetual quest for the newer, the bigger and better, and when that’s no longer enough, for the newest, the biggest and best. What amazes me the most about Helga and Frodo is how the most redundant routines always feel fresh to them. For years now, Helga has had the same things to look forward to. She gets a few pieces of Beggin’ Strips at 9 in the evening. She gets to go on car rides and run errands with my Dad on Sundays. Yet everyday at 8:50 pm (Yes, our dog can tell the time), she starts getting antsy and every car ride (whether on Sunday or any other day) is prefixed with jumps and yelps because the excitement is just too much for her to bear.
Granted, we are more complex creatures and we like a little bit of variety in our lives, but my point is, there is pleasure to be found in the little things.

Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff
Living with dogs teaches you to pick and choose what to stress over. You learn to let go of the little things. When Helga was teething, we found her chewing to unrecognizable pieces my mom’s beloved pair of boots. When she was done with those, she moved on to the leg of an antique table. Frodo, in his usual hyperactive state, once knocked over a favorite sculpture. In an effort to lay claim to some parts of the house, he has peed on at least 3 different rugs and pooed on 2 beds. Sure, my mom will miss her shoes, the table is forever ruined, the sculpture is now held together by superglue, and we can only hope that Frodo’s bodily excretions have been completely washed off the rugs we step on and the sheets we sleep in, but in the grand scheme of things none of these are really that big a deal. Save all the worrying and screaming for when something major happens. And even then, remember that…

There is Always Something to Smile About
Doubtless, you have heard of Rhonda Byrne’s “The Secret.” It proposes that thoughts become realities and therefore, we should only aim to think of things and images that we want manifested in our lives. Naturally, there are a few speed bumps along the way that could set our thoughts in the wrong direction. The book says that we can redirect our minds away from the negative and back to the positive through what Byrne calls “secret shifters.” This can be anything- a memory, a conversation, an image- that instantly calms us down and makes us smile. That’s where Helga and Frodo come in. I could be in the lousiest of moods and the mere thought of Helga’s puppy dog eyes and the way her tongue sticks out the side of her mouth when she’s napping or Frodo in his little polo shirts and how his tail whips instead of wags is enough to get me out of my funk. Even if things are not going our way, dogs always give us something to smile about.

Give Everybody a Chance
Sometimes the key to happiness is niceness. Our dogs have taught us a few lessons in kindness, too. Our laundry woman is not exactly very good at doing laundry. Holes have been burned through shirts, the outline of an iron embedded on pants. White shirts have been turned pink and the pink ones blue. Her washing and ironing techniques may be faulty, but she must be doing a few things right. How else could we explain Helga’s adoration for her? She walks into the room and Helga watches her every move, follows her every step. Sometimes Helga even keeps Lorna company as the latter gives our clothes a makeover.
Lorna takes Helga for walks around the park every afternoon. Next to her Beggin’ Strips and car rides, this probably ranks third among her favorite things. Yes, initially, maybe it was the excursions Helga was fond of, and she just liked Lorna by association, but Lorna’s patient and gentle ways have eventually earned her Helga’s friendship, too. Funny how we need dogs to teach us that there is something to celebrate about everyone. Some of our clothes have still ended up as casualties, but we have since learned to suffer in silence. What else can we do when she is our dog’s best friend?

Whoever came up with the expression “it’s a dog’s life” to mean a wretched existence, has clearly never had a dog or been one. In fact, the more literal dog’s life is a happier, simpler, kinder one. And at the end of the day, isn’t that what all this is supposed to be about?

hair philosophy

i got a haircut just the other day. normally, it is pretty uneventful. i decide to get a haircut, set an appointment with tito albert, show up for said appointment, leave feeling very much like the same old me. you see, i'd always had long hair. and up until the other day, hair cuts really were just hair trims. maybe 2 inches is too much. take off an inch and three quarters. is that just an inch and three quarters? it looks longer to me. my hair doesn't look too short, does it? it's fine? you can't even tell the difference? ok. phew.

the other day, however, was different. not my usual inch and three quarters, but a foot. i, who have always always had long hair, could suddenly feel the breeze on my neck. the decision to do it was long and dramatic. i told my family. i told my friends. i told my boyfriend. i told even my newest acquaintances. dan, my boyfriend was the most eager, sending me links of different short hairstyles i might like. my dad was instantly open to the idea. my mom needed a little convincing but she eventually decided it would be a good thing. my friend, sam, showed her support on my facebook wall. everyone else kept asking are you sure about this? how short? THAT short? i can't really picture you with short hair. i'm sure it'll be... fiiiine, but think it through, ok?

and i did. i thought it through. perhaps i may have even thought it through too much. something about hair does that to you. an ear is just an ear. a nose is just a nose. an elbow is just an elbow. a foot is just a foot. hair is never JUST hair. when natalie portman shaved her head for V for vendetta, we said to ourselves, she MUST be a serious actress to go that far for a role. when britney did the same, we all thought (rightly, it seems) that she had not only lost her hair but her mind. keri russell chopped off her locks and felicity tanked. ashlee simpson dyed hers black and suddenly, she was no longer jessica's sister; she was her own person. sports teams get the same hairstyles as a sign of camaraderie. sons shave off all their hair to feel one with their moms who are losing theirs from chemo. heck, even rapunzel found the love of her life because she decided to grow her hair long.

my point is, hair has become this all encompassing symbol of many things to many people. it is not just an extension of our scalps, but of our minds, our hearts, ourselves, and our loves. am i listening to myself right now? i am doing exactly what society does about hair. we philosophize about it.

naturally, that's what i did pre-haircut. it went from, will short hair make my face look fat to: will short hair change how strangers perceive me and will short hair make people take me more/less seriously? i decided that what is considered conventionally beautiful was long hair. (name one shampoo commercial featuring short-haired girls. people with short hair may not use as much shampoo, but they use it nonetheless, you know?) i took it even further. i said to myself that getting a haircut would mean that i have freed myself from caring about whether people think i'm attractive or not. and then all of a sudden, it was a challenge. am i brave enough to do it?

and so i did it. at then end, it was no longer a question of whether i was sick of my long hair and wanted a shorter cut for a change (what i've been telling people). i did it just to prove to myself that i COULD do it. and when it was over, well, it was, quite frankly, anti-climactic. i had short hair and that's all there was to it. i thought about the different steps i used to go through to get a hair trim and realized that although the first and final stages were a little more drawn out this time, at the heart of it, it was all the same. i decide to get a haircut, set an appointment with tito albert, show up for said appointment, leave after an hour feeling very much like the same old me.

in fashion i've learned that...

woot. first blog post. here's something i wrote for the cebu daily news (published june 9, 2007). perhaps i should write something new. it IS my first blog post, after all. but i won't. because i am a lazy ass like that. here you go.

Just recently I was asked to lead a fashion workshop for 12-18 year-olds. It got me thinking about the subject. I am no expert in fashion, but I did grow up surrounded by people who are. My mom is a fashion designer; her friends are fashion designers. There was not one fashion faux pas I could get away with. This is not to say that I’ve stopped committing my fair share of mistakes, but I have learned a lot. My mom and her friends and a bunch of old, embarrassing photographs have been very effective teachers. This I what they’ve taught me so far.

I’ve learned that…

The number one rule to dressing well is knowing when to say no.

Whenever I whine about not having anything to wear, I am not really lacking in clothes, just in imagination.

The next time I decide to dress like a bag lady, I will ask myself, “Is this really how I want the world to see me today?”

Before I walk out the door, I will consult a full-length mirror and listen to what it has to say.

Sometimes the best place to shop in is your closet. Fashion is redundant and likes to repeat its self. Recycle.

Someone who blindly follows trends is not fashionable but a fashion victim.

Wearing head to toe designer is not stylish, but it is two things: expensive and tacky.

It may sound ironic, but vintage will never get old.

Wearing something a size smaller can actually make you look bigger.

Elle McPherson may have looked like the epitome of cool when she wore flat, gold sandals with a big ball gown at the Met Costume Institute Gala, but I am a foot shorter, so if I am in any kind of gown, I will contend myself with looking less cool in heels.

Since women stopped wearing corsets, it is perfectly acceptable to refuse to suffer in the name of fashion.

At a party, being underdressed makes people think you are gate crashing, while being overdressed makes them think you tried a little too hard. I will aim to be in the happy middle.

What looks good on Kate Moss (a.k.a. everything) may not always look good on me.

When people tell you, you will look good in anything as long as you carry it with confidence, they are lying. If you are 200 (whether in years or pounds), no amount of confidence will make you look good in hot pants.

When it comes to accessorizing, what you choose to leave out is just as important as what you choose to put on. It’s easy to get carried away. Edit, edit, edit.

Unless work starts at midnight and your office is in Jongkera, tight, skimpy tops should not be worn with tight, skimpy bottoms. Pick one, never both at the same time. Balance, balance, balance.

Getting noticed is not always the same as being admired. Eyes may be staring and heads may be turning, but they could be doing so for all the wrong reasons. Fashion doesn’t always have to be shocking. I want good attention, not any kind of attention.

When Vogue says that fashion is returning to the 80s, it really just means fashion is hinting at the 80s, not welcoming it back full force, so I will feel free to get myself a pair of black leggings, but I will leave the neon ones alone.

It helps to get to know your body, its assets and its imperfections, too. Once you do, you will be the best judge of what works on you. If you are self-delusional, clearly, this does not apply.

There is a reason why people keep saying that black is slimming: it’s true.

Even if someone gave me a pair of the Fendi knee high, fur-lined, winter boots that I’ve been admiring, I will refrain from wearing them here. I live in a tropical country and I don’t want to be uncomfortable, or worse, look funny.

An LBD (little black dress) is a girl’s best friend and more. It will be there for you- rain or shine, night or day. You can call on it at the last minute and unlike your best friend, it won’t even mind being your Plan B.

Fashion has stopped abiding by its archaic, rigid rules and you should, too. Black and brown are cool together, and more recently, so are black and blue.

It is wise to invest in pieces I will wear forever, not ones I won’t want to touch within 6 months’ time.

Fashion often contradicts itself. Right now it is either skinny jeans or wide-leg trousers. Sometimes it’s ok to ignore what fashion dictates and wear whatever looks best on you, instead. Hey, something that has trouble making up its own mind can’t always be that smart.

Dressing well is key, but should your house be on fire, grab the nearest thing even if it is a muumuu and head out the door. Fashion is just fashion, after all.