Tuesday, January 1, 2013

All My Dresses, All At Once

Hello, darlings! Here comes the much-awaited very last Dressopotamia post, as I have other things to take care of in 2013 (ahem, driver's license). For the lazy and/or curious among us, here's a slideshow of Dressopotamia to wrap up the blog (and 2012) with a neat little bow. The pictures are in more or less random order, or rather they are in a very particular order that is known only to me.





Opal – In which purple and green paisley is the wonderfullest thing.


Against the Wind – In which I am reminded of Fred Flintstone, and of mimes, but in a chic way.


Crazy Daisy – In which I match my eyeliner to my outfit for a polished ensemble.


The Birds – In which I have never known birds of different species to flock together. The very concept is unimaginable. Why, if that happened, we wouldn't stand a chance! How could we possibly hope to fight them?


Beach Belle – In which you have really got to hand-wash your vintage.


Pandora – In which I can only imagine the reaction of the person who found Dressopotamia by searching for the phrase "Grande Arche de la Défense ugly."


Hearts on Fire – In which I refuse to believe that something that sounds like Rice Krispies could kill you, but at least I don't have to feel guilty about it.


Swampandia! – In which you can't expect me to take your serious literary novel seriously if you name a character Kiwi Bigtree. Who do you think you are, Thomas Pynchon?


Tangerine Scream – In which my wardrobe predates the ridiculous dominating color scheme of Hollywood movies of the last ten years.


Parabola – In which stripes go zoom when used judiciously.


Verdant – In which my earrings double as door knockers to my dream house. (And what knockers!)


In Dreams – In which both my grandmothers deserve their own version of the Advanced Style blog.


Citric Acid – In which the Morton Salt girl had ONE JOB.


Pod Person – In which they're here already! You're next, you're next, you're next!


Picnic – In which prints are not absolutely necessary, if the cut is interesting.


Foam – In which I am occasionally outclassed by my own wardrobe.


Bluey – In which I find a good home for a piece that likes to party.


Real Deal Holyfield – In which I address what Cinderella's footmen and Michelangelo's David have in common.


Up – In which I forgot to use the word "shambolic."


Autumn Tendrils – In which I have a real problem, and try to figure out why.


Fractal Candy – In which nonsense French is pressed into service once again.


Batusi – In which I invent the best Batman villain. 


Weakness – In which the snozzberries taste like real snozzberries.


Dagenham – In which the English are slightly more comfortable with reality than the Americans.



Candyland – In which I fight and lose a battle with my id.



Wanderful – In which a travel wardrobe is essential, even if it means that no one will be surprised by your outfit when you get off the plane.


Flower Shower – In which the dress takes Tyra Banks's advice to heart.


Green Champagne – In which I peek into the abyss.


Natural History – In which I go from hypothetical rowdy office meetings to hypothetical sedate night clubs without breaking a sweat or reapplying mascara.


Lucky Twin – In which I make a startling discovery that involves Jon Hamm.


Lilac Baby – In which my frontal lobe itches, like when I used to have to remember things, before the Internet.


Peony Cache-Cache – In which I was not taught that it's not polite to talk about myself.


Red, Beige and Blue – In which I revisit the Bill of Rights, which is awesome.


Charlie Chevron Brown Chevron Garden Chevron Party – In which I just really like saying the word "chevron," can you blame me?


Winter Blossoms – In which I get as good as I give.


Sacapuntas – In which my grandma gets mad props for her fashion sense.


Lily Pads – In which I break a bad habit that feels so good.


Flimsy Whimsy – In which free-flowing, swirly, floral, half-stoned, Seventies prints are the new neutral.


Trompe l'Oeil – In which Surrealist clothing is eyeball.


Arsenic – In which I consider the non-figurative implications of the phrase "dressed to kill."


Caryatid – In which the awesome Jennifer Lilya weighs in.


Disco Mondrian – In which I crowd-source Halloween ideas.


Painted Tortoise – In which Hurricane Sandy messes up EVERYTHING.


Color Bloc – In which my favorite part can't be captured in a photograph.


Pulitzer Prize – In which we have to save the bees to save ourselves.


Chinoiserie – In which I wonder how problematic I should find my wardrobe.


Blue Pill – In which I lay out my tenets of maximalist fashion.


Mirror Ball – In which cacophony and incoherence somehow work.


Futureworld – In which my first dress gets a name, almost by accident.


Sky Flower – In which I analyze the elements of a really satisfying shopping experience.


Embarrassed Zebra – In which an alternate universe version of me is a cross between Little Edie Beale and Smaug the Dragon.


Fire Sign – In which I find the exact word my husband was trying to avoid.


Forest Garden – In which that pattern could go on forever (and I wouldn't mind).


Coquelicot – In which I consider a uniform.


Lunch – In which I verb, ambivalently.


All Business – In which I try watching some new TV shows, to underwhelming results.


Noir C'est Noir – In which I experiment with LBD.


Puccini – In which even the homeless people in New York know their stuff, sort of.


Veracious – In which I meet one of the better celebrities.


Beehive in Your Soul – In which I pick Dressopotamia apart, etymologically.


Shell Game – In which I fact-check an anecdote, with unsettling results.


Twin Set – In which twins freak me a out a little, when they're doing it right.


Goldenromp – In which I might have to sit on the ground unexpectedly.


LSDelicious – In which I have a cat, and I have pearls, and I try to give the people what they want.


Bridethrilla – In which my wedding dress cost less than some brunches.


Mosaic – In which I examine the wrap dress.


Red Fish Blue Fish – In which I get Seussian, and ambivalent.


Summer Leaves – In which I am a fabulous pirate.


Bananas – In which I will not police my behavior to please you.


Prismatic – In which I accidentally find the perfect dress, and it's not vintage.


Raspberry Ripple – In which I require even my least intriguing dresses to have a certain élan.


Cloud Cuckooland – In which the gods require a sacrifice.


O Modaction – In which mod parties DELIVER.


Strongest Link – In which it can get so, so hot.


Seven Year Bitch – In which I get mad all over again about a movie no one else has given a second thought for ages.


Sunny Flowers – In which I get a package from Vermont.


Adventure Garden – In which I travel the world, but I don't wear pearls or vacuum.


Electric Avenue – In which I have a big problem that I later solve with very little hassle.


In Bloom – In which I get a wearable Stroop test as an unexpected gift.


Spy – In which I get an excuse to act silly, as if I needed one.


Va Va Vinyl – In which I model ostensibly sexy daywear for robots.


Day and Nightie – In which I need help.


Earthly Delights – In which I live out your most frequent anxiety dream (an experience that, it turns out, Maggie didn't even recall).


What Big Teeth – In which have you ever really thought about how weird Little Red Riding Hood is?


A-Tasket – In which I decide to blog my closet.


Shady Lane – In which I come up with the million-dollar idea of Google Image Search.


Enter the Dragon – In which I identify and solve the biggest problem facing shoppers.


Filthy Martini – In which I totally grok what Dorothy Parker was talking about.


Tan Lines – In which I try to define what vintage means to me.


Moebius – In which you should probably own this dress, except I gave it away in the meantime, so, sorry.


Swimming Pool – In which I have no compunctions about wishing happy birthday to ME.


Phony Joanie – In which I reveal the true protagonist of Mad Men.


Audrey One – In which a wig isn't always good for what ails you.


Paisley Park – In which I discuss—at length—my love of paisley.


And so I leave you, my friends, with the (literally) immortal words of Mel Blanc:


Thanks to everyone who read and commented, either here, on Facebook or in the real world, and special thanks to Claire Loeb, without whom the visual component would not have ended up nearly as cute. Très gros bisous to each and every one of you.

2 comments:

  1. I will miss your blog and your dresses. Looking forward to your next writing project and hearing about that driver's license. I learned how to drive a manual transmission car in Manhattan. It's the best place to learn to drive.

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    1. Thanks so much, Lynn! I'll let you know how it all goes...

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