Nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time.

H'OKAY, SO.


I feel like a fraud because I'm posting outfit photos from so long ago that I could have gotten pregnant and had a baby by now and you wouldn't know it from my blog. (Well. Actually I'm slightly more caught up than that, but only just.)


So here's an outfit I wore at the end of January, which is... not enough time for a baby but definitely enough time to write 12,000+ words of fanfiction for BBC Sherlock. (Yes, between my last post and this one, I've added 1,000 words of uneventful domestic life at 221B Baker Street. I hate myself a little bit.)

Uh... I think I only wore this because I was really excited to be exiting the house that day.

Obviously too excited as evidenced by this over-twee pose. Why am I allowed to take photos of myself.

Which is kind of pathetic even if you don't think about it very hard, but I mean. You can read the amount of time I'm spending working on a computer by the number of procrastinatory* tumblr posts I make per day, and it's very (very (painfully)) obvious that this post-grad, living-at-home, online-classes, virtual-internship lifestyle is SUCKING THE MARROW FROM MY BONES AND NOT EVEN IN A SEXY HANSCHEN WAY.

*According to the squiggly line in my editor, that's not a word, but.** 

**That wasn't a sentence, but this is a picture from backstage at Dolce & Gabbana, and if you haven't seen this season's show yet, I advise you to GET ON IT, because DAMN.

So anyway, I was practicing my double French braids ending in pigtails, but they turned out messier than I intended. (They'd probably be better with Benedict a lot of hair gel and more dexterous hands, but I don't like washing my hair often, and my tendinitis isn't going away, so my head only looked a little bit alien.)

Note about this sweater: I've had it for at least nine years. Or, to put that into perspective, I've had this sweater since before I owned a bra. 

It's, um, a bit small now, but that's what I was going for.

Sweater: ellemenno. Skirt: secondhand, cousin's. Socks: Target. Chelsea boots: Cole Haan. Necklaces: mother's. Ring: estate sale.

points of interest

I wore this in July to watch Super 8 and welcome into my arms the $20 worth of Neutrogena Norwegian Formula lip balm I ordered on Amazon.

I don't have much to say about this except that I felt vaguely patriotic because of my blue-and-white striped shorts and my red-and-white socks.

I should probably mention that my socks didn't come like this; I busted holes in the heels of both socks and then patched them with pieces of a red sock. (Socks made of socks. So meta!)

Jacket: Esprit, mother's. Shorts: hand-me-down, aunt's. Tights: generic. Socks: I have no idea. Shoes: Miz Mooz.

The text of this post is boring, so here is a list of unrelated things rendered marginally more interesting by their introductory bullet points:

• I was supposed to go home after this past long weekend in SoCal at my cousins', but, well, I was left behind to save room in the car, so I won't be home until this weekend.
• As a result of only expecting to stay the weekend, I didn't pack a lot of clothes, so I'm currently living out of my cousin's closet.
• I've realized that I really, really, really like Tangled.
• I've been listening to The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes on audiobook and just finished "The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle." To be honest, I don't think I'll ever sit down and read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (I've tried; I fell asleep), so if this is the only way I'll consume canon!Holmes, it'll have to do.
• I am drowning in fashion week coverage for my internship. (This sounds more impressive than it actually is. What it actually is is me sitting with my audiobook playing while scrolling through Style.com for appropriate images.)
• (The inspiration/execution at Giles was amazing. The colors and textures at Erdem made me clutch at my heart. Marchesa made me want to throw myself on the ground and weep (what else is new). Ralph Lauren combined with Oscar de la Renta would be my dream wardrobe. And Jason Wu, Rag & Bone, and Burberry Prorsum had gorgeous makeup.)

Here's a picture from Erdem that I stole off style.com to break up the text.

I don't know why looking at this is making me emotional.

• NYFW makes me want to be rich and thin. London Fashion Week makes me want to stand in my closet for hours and plan outfits.
• My BBC Sherlock fanfiction is at 11,000+ words. I don't know how this happened, and I'm slightly terrified that I might be butchering everything that is wonderful about the show, but I can't even be embarrassed because I like these characters too much to not try playing with them.
• I have fallen in love with Cabin Pressure.
• I went fragrance shopping with my brother today, and to our great mutual surprise, Burberry Brit (for men) dried down really nicely on him, so it's going to be his new scent. (I'm a monogamous Burberry London (for women) user myself, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised that we both smell good in Burberry? I don't know.)
• I'm currently wearing a Tinkerbell sweatshirt while sprawled on a Beauty and the Beast bedspread with a Flintstones pillow behind me.
• My tendinitis is flaring up.

hair envy: deux

It's been nearly a year since I last expressed my hair envy, but even though my hair's twice as long as it was then, I definitely still feel like I'm lacking something. (Interest. My hair lacks any point of interest.) Here are a bunch of hair pictures I've been gathering just to rub it in.

Beginning with natural-looking hair that could be achieved by someone with a hair texture different from mine. This is Joanna Bernacka, here to make your hair feel inadequate.

The mussed-up volume! The soft waves! The lived-in-ness!

Rumi's head in double braids (how is this even possible?), because there's something appealingly alien about really tight braids, especially in unexpected places.

Feather hair extensions. Not my style, but I'd be lying if I said that seeing it on other people didn't inspire major hair envy in me. Now, before we move into unnatural hair color territory, I'd just like to take a moment (or thirty) to let my hair envy bubble and splutter at the injustice of NOT HAVING HAIR LIKE THESE LADIES:

Have I mentioned that I have major redhead envy? Because my name is Samantha, and I have major redhead envy.

Not sure what era this hair would fall under (1920s judging by the length and perhaps finger waves?), but this is perfect in at least 47 ways.

Life is not fair.

NOT FAIR. If I wore a giant fur coat in the same color family as my hair, I would just look like any all-black-wearing fashion editor, not a quirky ass-kicking artist.

This is Vanessa from My heart blogged. WHAT IS HER HAIR EVEN. LOOK AT THAT IMPOSSIBLE TEXTURE.

This is Amber from Forever Amber. She is 13 shades of redhead PERFECT.

Jane, from Sea of Shoes, of course, because her hair is (or at least should be) legendary. It should be celebrated or described in a non-historical or unverifiable story handed down by tradition from earlier times and popularly accepted as historical. [source, source]

Stop it. Just stop it. This color is unreal. Jane Aldridge is not a real person. She is a hair goddess sent to live on earth among us mortals.

I can feel my hair's self-esteem stumbling into the gutter in a haze of hairspray-ethyl-alcohol, gambling, and loose women.

Flawless hair is flawless. When you are done weeping over your inadequate hair, pick yourself up and dust yourself off, because there is hope, and its name is UNNATURAL COLORING:

This is Chanelle from Not So Naked. I know it's kind of late for dip dye hair, but I want it. In shades of violet, dark blue, and sea green, so that I can feel like a Creature of the Deep is swimming around my head.

Augh. Her color even fades well.

Then again, if I dyed my hair like this, it wouldn't look the same anyway. The texture would be much more Severus Snape Dipped In Oil Meets Ceramic Flat Iron than Careless, Carefree, Calculated Nonchalance.

The photo that started my fishtail braid curiosity.

And of course, peacock-colored hair. With little plastic hairclips that I probably wore without irony when I was four.

I don't think I could ever go this light without looking sickly, but be still, my beating heart! This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

things i haven't learned much about yet but which make my heart all aflutter

1. Phonetics.
2. Being present.
3. Cohesion.

You can put pretty much any skinny dude in a tutu and I'll like it.

Oh my God. I can't begin to express how obsessed I've become with this editorial. I know it's supposed to be about nails and nail polish, but I CANNOT GET OVER HER LIP COLOR. I even went to Walgreen's to look for some brownish-nude lipstick (unsuccessfully) immediately after I viewed this.

I love Karlie and I love Prada A/W '10. It's going to be a while before I get this out of my head.

This is like a photo dump, except cooler.

In honor (?) of the recent 4chan-tumblr war and my resultant difficulty tumbling my visual brainbarf, I have compiled a post of my visual brainbarf to post here instead. (I think I should actually stop posting all my fashion-related inspiration on tumblr because I post, like, everything, and posting it on this blog makes me a more selective editor.)

I find that no matter what's inspiring me lately, it never translates to what I wear. What does this mean? (It's so intense.)

[1 - 2, 3, 4, 5- 6, 7 - 8, 9, 10, 11]