Snow bootz, minus the snow

So today I set my alarm for the same time I do every morning that's not a Pilates morning: 6:42. My alarm goes off and then I hit snooze twice and get up at 7. I leave the house by 7:35 and get to work by 8.

That's when everything runs smoothly. This morning the first alarm went off, I'm sure, but I don't remember it. I woke up and fell immediately back to sleep, then proceeded to have a bizarre dream in which I got up, but I lived in an apartment somewhere, probs NYC, and I was 30 minutes late. I kept trying to put in my contacts but they kept drying up and shriveling before I could get them to mah eyeballs. So I finally gave up and decided to wear my glasses to work.

The next thing I remember is that my alarm went off... at 7:10. WTF. So I got up, already 10 minutes late. I decided to forgo contacts, based on this awful premonition I dreamed, and wear my glasses to work. Then I looked out the window and the grass was white. Just frost, not snow, unforch. But I could tell it was fa-fa-freezing outside so I decided to wear these:

Snow bootz.

They are chocolate brown snow boots I got on sale a few weeks ago at DSW. I actually bought them for NYC; I tested them out in D.C. last week and they were super warm and comfy, so go me. I'm wearing them with black leggings and a grey sweater dress. I am so comfortable it's ridiculous. Also I am wearing my glasses, which automatically makes me feel less stressed out, because normally when I wear them it basically means I'm taking a day off from life. So wearing them to work = chizillin in mah cube.

Also I've had Britney Spears' "Circus" stuck in my head all. day. long. Actually it just switched to "Womanizer." Buh whatevz they're both good.

Until next time, majorly yours.

OMFG

A break in your usual fashion postings for a quick message: HOTTY TODDY.

I wrote a post about a year go detailing my disdain for LSU football and its fans. This year, I feel nothing short of victorious. That is all.

Until next time, majorly yours.

2n1 = awesome

My life has very few guarantees right now. I'm not guaranteed a job at the end of my internship (ha! i lolz at the notion). I'm not guaranteed a suitable place to live once I get to New York. (Oh, I bought my ticket bee tee dubz. I fly out Dec. 30!) If we're being honest, none of us are really guaranteed anything. Life is completely unpredictable. Skerry.

But there is at least one thing I can guarantee that I will always love: anything that is actually two things in one. I have always loved and will continue to love: reversible things, mittens that double as gloves, rain jackets that become wool coats when you remove the lining, so on and so forth. I have a reversible skirt from the Gap that I got like three years ago, and it's still going strong.

I have a couple of fairly recent purchases that I love as well. I can has 2n1 nao plz.

I bought these Nine West boots last weekend and I. LOVE. THEM. Anyone who knows me knows that I hate wedge heels. Hates them. But for some reason I put these shoes on my feet and immediately fell in love. The best thing about them? They can also look like this. I am definitely more prone to wearing them scrunched down with leggings, but I love that I have the option of wearing them higher up if I want to. Loves it.

I got this bag in August, but I think it's multi-seasonal. Gray on the outside, yellow on the inside. Aaand it was cheap. I got it at Aldo so you know it's pleather. Whatevz I don't care, I pretty much got what I paid for because now it's starting to come apart at the handles as a result of my carrying way too much ish in it. And even if you don't want to flip it inside out, the flash of yellow is great to brighten up an otherwise dark outfit.

OK, it's almost time for The Office so I need ta cuddle into my bed and get ready. Hope y'all are enjoying the cold weather as much as I am. Mmmm blankets and sweaters and coats and hot beverages. Yes plz.

Until next time, majorly yours.

Timbaland > Timberlands

I went shoe shopping this weekend. Oh, don't be so shocked. I know my love for shoes has been tastefully understated thus far, but really, I luv shoez.

I went looking for boots. Booties, ankle boots, shrug boots, calf boots--they were all on my list. I walked up and down the boot aisles at a huge shoe store that shall remain unnamed, and I saw all kinds of boots: black riding boots, black platform boots with spiky heels, brown slouch boots, black booties. It was boot heaven. Except for these, which somehow snuck past the guy (or lady!) guarding the heavenly gates. They kind of just defy explanation:

From the front, it seems harmless enough. (twss)


From the side, a scary surprise. (twss?)

I'm sure you can see from the logos that these "boots" were created by Timberland. I know we all remember Timberland boots. For a spell between the sixth and eighth grades, they were incredibly popular, and if you didn't have a pair, you were, like, such a loser. Other things that were popular during this time period include flared jeans, sparkly makeup, Smackers lip gloss, and GAP sweatshirts. These Timberlands would have been in good company, says sixth grade me.

Now, I stared at these boots for a good 10 seconds trying to discern on what occasion you might wear them. Hiking? Clearly, no. With a cute dress and tights? Ummm... no. With jeans? No, also ridiculous.

I appreciate Timberlands for what they are. On guys, they can look nice with a pair of good jeans and a polo or something. But those are, of course, old school Timberlands sans two-inch heels. The boots seen above are just wrong. I will neither go timbering while wearing them nor do anything involving land, like walk. What a disgrace. Honestly, Timberland. Stop trying to make Timbaland consider changing his name. Sigh.

Until next time, majorly yours.

Banana shoes

These are mah banana shoes. Sorry for the sub-quality photo; I took it with my camera phone at work today. Yes, they are Tory Burches. BUT in my defense, I bought them on sale. And, as it turns out, they have been worth every penny.

I bought them on sale in May, right after I moved back to Birmingham. Being a (very yellow) Spring/Summer shoe, they were on the clearance rack at a local department store, and even though I thought they were kinda fugly, I was drawn to them. I wanted them, and they had my size, so I took the plunge. When my best friend saw me wear them for the first time, she was like, OMG THOSE ARE SO FUGLY. To which I responded, whatevz I like them.

I wear them to work a lot because they are super comfy and let me run around the office quickly and efficiently. And since I started working slash wearing mah banana shoes to work in July, I have gotten so many compliments on them. You would think that since I've been working there for four months now, people would be used to the banana shoes and would stop making comments about them. But no, literally every time I wear them I see someone new in the elevator or in the hallway and they say something along the lines of, "Wow, cute shoes!" In fact, just today someone in the art department said she loved the pop of color on my feet. Indeed.

This is not the normal Hautey Toddy post, I realize. It's very un-HT to post a picture of my own shoes and say why I love them. But the point is I, too, love fugly things. The shoes are almost five months old now and they have held up very well, with nary a scratch. I got them on sale. I get complimented on them every time I wear them. And they transition well through the seasons.

Dear Fugly Banana Shoez:
I luv you.
<3,
Meghan

Until next time, majorly yours.

Apologiez.

Because it's election day, and I know the one thing you all really care about is whether or not I'm updating this blog, I want to start by apologizing. It's been nearly two months since I posted anything. I sux. I'm sorry. I've been really busy traveling for work and contributing to the blog there, and I neglected you. I'm sorry, Hautey Toddy lovers. And haters.

You will all be glad to know that I was called to action this weekend by something particularly post-worthy (read: particularly awful). I went to the Day of the Dead festival in Birmingham, which was really cool because there were lots of shrines people had put together for loved ones they lost, and I was having a great time until I saw something that, naturally, made me wish I were... dead.

I'm afraid to post these photos because of the shock that some people may experience. You may feel sensations of nausea, confusion, or dying brainz. Just as a warning. Here they are.

(Face blocked out to protect identity and dignity. Strike that last part. Just identity.)

And, in case that doesn't satisfy you, a closeup:

Photos courtsey of Andrew.

And in case you can't read it:

You can't see it in these photos, but on each side of the Utilikilt can be found two large utilipockets, metal snaps and all. Because I can think of nothing else coherent to say, I have written an open letter to the man in the Utilikilt:

Dear Man in the Utilikilt:

I understand the function of the Utilikilt. Really, I do. A person can wear a Utilikilt in a myriad of situations. You're building a boat or a deck or something manly, but you don't want to come across as too manly in your cargo pants: Utilikilt. You need to carry a lot of heavy ish in your pockets, but you don't want your pants to hang low, nomesayin???: Utilikilt. And, apparently, you're going to an art gallery event dedicated to our long lost loved ones: Utilikilt.

But really, Man in the Utilikilt: Chacos??? Srsly? You take a perfectly respectable article of clothing like a kilt made out of heavy-duty painters' fabric and pair it with something tragic like a pair of Chacos? I'm so ashamed. You could have gone with something just a little more appropriate, like a nice pair of Merrells. Or if you really wanted to outdo yourself: Crocs. Lightweight and attractive, they would have made your Utilikilt super utilitilititlitllitarian.

Also, another suggestion. You should totally ask out that girl in the hot skinny jeans and brown boots standing in front of you. I'm sure she digs guys in kilts, espesh Utilikilts. Do it. Doooo it.

Luv,
Meghan

Until next time, majorly yours.

Apple

I bring to you a live post from the Apple store as I wait for an appointment to fix mah earbudz.

Within eyeshot: a tucked-in short-sleeved T-shirt over a long-sleeved T-shirt with jeans. A tucked in Polo shirt. Camo cargo pants. Cargo jorts. Merrells with ankle socks and said jorts. Another tucked-in Polo.

If people who buy Macs can't dress well, what hope is there for the rest of the world? I.e., those who use PCs and buy their computers and related products from Best Buy or Target or (gasp) CompUSA.com.

Unfortunately the Genius Bar applies only to geeky technology, not to fashion choices.

Until next time, majorly yours.

Pants = amazing

Apparently some time over the past year pants went out. The following is an image I actually received in by e-box from the great people at Victoria's Secret:



E-mail subject line: FALL TREND ALERT: PANTS.

I keed you not. I'm so glad that when I woke up late on this glorious Saturday morning I was made aware that pants are not only "returning," but they are in fact at the top of the fall trend list. Lolz.

Lolz lolz.

Until next time, majorly yours.

Sarah Palesin comparison to Michelle

So normally I avoid Republicans like I avoid people in the hall wearing Crocs, but last night I made an effort to be a good citizen and listen to their versions of things, at least as Rudy Giuliani and Sarah Palin see them. I had been hearing a lot of talk about the latter of these two, and I wanted to hear for myself what she had to say.

Unfortunately I couldn't really focus on either of them because I was too distracted by the audience, which was sheathed in glitter, feather boas, tall patriotic hats and American-flag themed eyeglasses. It looked like the muppets had a tragic run-in with Dick Cheney and the remnants were disposed of in St. Paul.

I mean, really. I saw a woman in a glittery red cowboy hat, red feather boa and I'm sure some sort of obnoxious pin that said "HOCKEY MOMS FOR PALIN." I remember another lady wearing eyeglasses that were coated with the pattern of the American flag. I'm sure Lenscrafters would approve of such tackiness, but Uncle Sam probably would not. And it sho don't make you more of a patriot.

Even Cindy herself looked like death in a lime-green suit. What was that? I'm pretty sure the last time I saw a human being wearing that color was in the fifth grade when we all worshipped at the altar of Lisa Frank.

Perhaps what made the evening's attire seem even worse was that each ensemble was topped off with a gaping mouth shouting "DRILL, BABY, DRILL!" or something equally inane and disturbing. The only thing more skerry than a stadium full of fervored Republicans is an Old Navy full of parents and children during the back-to-school sale. Actually they might be closer to a tie.

Palin's outfit wasn't too offensive, but it wasn't exactly exciting either. It was pretty blah. And I spent a good portion of my time trying to figure out how it worked. There was a collar, but it vanished into some sort of overshirt that was never really explained. Sort of like how people choose to live in Alaska, it didn't make much sense.

If I were going to vote based on personal fashion choices alone, the Democrats would have my vote by a long shot. Michelle Obama always looks fabulous and I don't seem to recall a vague taste of vomit in my mouth as I watched the DNC.

But then I would be voting for someone whose name rhymes with Osama, and y'all know I loves my country, like, WAY too much for that ish.

Until next time, majorly yours.

The bar scene

What is it about getting ready to go to a bar, and consequently drinking copious amounts of alcohol, that makes people want to dress really, really poorly?

Oh, BTW, sorry it's been so long since I posted. I've just been busy at work and I don't like to blog unless inspiration strikes, and, honestly, I haven't seen anything worth blogging about recently. Or I hadn't until Saturday night.

I made plans to go out with some of the other interns. We convened at one girl's apartment, consumed some deelishus fake wine (read: Franzia), and then headed out for the night. I wore a mini dress and heels (true to form) and my new best bud did the same. By the time we got to the bar, it seemed like pretty much everyone was quite intoxicated. And it wasn't that late. I knew I would probably see some things worth telling you about.

First of all, there was a group of guys there wearing what appeared to be suits and ties. I'm not sure, because they had so destroyed their own attire that it was hard to tell. One guy had on a jacket, tie and dress pants rolled up to his knees. I asked my friend, "Are his pants rolled up?" She said, "No, I think they're shorts." So I took a second, closer look just to be fair.

"Nope, those are definitely rolled-up dress pants." She proceeded to lolz.

He also was wearing a dress shirt so thin I could read the letters on the back of his T-shirt. Yep, he wore some sort of screen tee underneath a thin white dress shirt, and had his pants rolled up to his knees. You can't make this ish up.

Also, it kind of bugs me when people dress super caj when they go out. When I go to a bar, unless I just feel like poo and am only going to assuage one of my good friends, I dress cute. I wear a dress and heels, or jeans and a dressy top and heels.

I never wear flip flops. And yet I see other people wearing them all the time. Wtf. This isn't K-mart, and that flashing light isn't the blue light special; it's the fashion police coming to pick your dusty ass up for wearing a polo and flip flops to the bar slash club. Shudder.

In other news, it's been raining here for, like, four days. Cray cray.

Until next time (which I promise will be sooner), majorly yours.

PS, I'm going to D.C. this week. I have a strong feeling it will provide me lots and lots of new material. Hellz yes.

Pilates is for the fashion-forward, biatch

I have been getting up at 5 a.m. Tuesdays and Thursdays to go to Pilates. I know, I know, hold your applause. (I tried really hard to make that into a pun on "Pilates." Fail.)

A long story short - because I am very tired from getting up at 5 a.m. - today a woman and her apparent husband came into class late. Fail number one. They were obvs new at Pilates and struggled through the whole thing. Fail number two. If you come in 20 minutes late, you better blow the teacher away with your level of Pilates-amazingness.

And she was wearing crocs. She didn't just wear them into the studio and take them off when she commenced her attempts at Pilates. Nope, she wore them for the duration of the class. I was beside myself with disgust.

It's Pilates! It's my happy place before werk! I want to work on my abs by doing The Hundred, not by vom vom vomiting all over myself because of your offensive and rude choices for workout attire.

Fin. Until next time, you know the rest.

It's freakin' hot

Hello, faithful readers. I can't believe it's been (more than) a month since my last post. I didn't realize it had been so long, but Blogger is telling me it has, and we all know that everything on the Internet is true. So I apologize and hang my head in shame.

I was inspired to write today by something amazing I witnessed whilst at the gym. Since I have had about a month off between graduation, moving to Birmingham and starting my internship, I have spent a lot of time at the gym. I mean, not a lot a lot; but you know, more than I was before. Lolz.

Anyway, this morning, after minimal sleep due to cat-related interruptions, I went to pilates (read: life-changing), stayed for an abs class and did some cardio on the elliptical machine. While I was listening to Timbo and sweating up a storm, I looked around and noticed an older gentleman on a weight machine. Not an altogether novel sight, except that he was wearing jorts.

That's right, ladies and gentlemen, jean shorts. Jorts as a general rule are to be avoided; but jorts in the gym ought to be punishable by death. It bugs bugs bugs when people wear street clothes to work out. I hate it. I always have.

It's like when I watch "So You Think You Can Dance?" (which I do, religiously) and these fools audition in jeans and scarves, etc. Wtf. It's a dance show. Wear clothes appropriate for dance. Even the amazing dancers have committed this sin. It just pisses me off.

Similarly, when working out at the gym, wear gym clothes. Athletic shorts. Tank tops. T-shirts. Leggings. All these items are appropriate to wear when exercising and sweating copiously. I don't ever want to see jorts, it's true. But it's especially true when I'm innocently jammin' out to my favorite workout album. I get irrationally angry to be violated in such a way. Must be all the exercise-induced testosterone.

I start my internship tomorrow. I'm excited. What to wear? I'll figure somethin' out.

Until next time, majorly yours.

Hello, lovers.

As you all know, in my last few columns and blog posts, all I could talk about was my big move to New York. How I was so excited and couldn't wait to continue the Hautey Toddy blog from the big apple.

Well, things have changed.

I will still write the blog but I have delayed my big move to NYC by about 6 months. I got a paid internship in Birmingham, so I will be here until December, then moving to NYC in January. The internship will be a great opportunity to write for a huge magazine, get paid and save up a lot of money to help me pay for the big move (from here on out, TBM – just like LOL, SATC, SJP, etc.) Yep, I'm excited about the movie.

Anyway, I'm actually going to write about fashion here in a minute but I just wanted to update everyone on my life plans. Because I know you all care so much.

Turns out I could write this blog from anywhere in the world because people dress like fools everywhere. What I want to touch on today is class. Not the kind you go to, in which you are likely to open the newspaper and do the crossword puzzle instead of actually listening to the professor, but the class of Audrey Hepburn. The class of Robert Redford. Or any number of old/deceased actors. It's gotten to the point where I can deal with mom jeans, clogs and possibly even pleather vests, if the person wearing such apparel has even an ounce of class. Sad.

I went to a bar in Birmingham the other night and saw, as per usual, any number of fashion blunders. However, the lack of class is what I want to comment on today. I saw a man – a grown-ass man, mind you, probably in his late 20s to early 30s – wearing a screen-T with a picture of a dachshund on it that said, "My weiner doesn't bite."

Really? I mean, really? Honestly I'm not exactly sure how to formulate a response to such an article of clothing. Suffice it to say he was with another dude, with no females in the vicinity, quietly sipping on his beverage. A word to the wise: Any female who would even ponder speaking to such an individual is either 1) completely classless herself, or 2) completely drunko.

The incident reminded me of a shirt I saw during the Double Decker festival in April. A guy was wearing a T-shirt that read, "While you are reading this I'm staring at your boobs." Once again, really? The worst part was that he had what appeared to be a wife and a family with him. Someone married you?! Yes, the question-mark-exclamation-point combo was required. My consolation for being offended by your T-shirt is that I know if you can find someone to love you unconditionally, anyone can.

I'm beginning to think that if I were ruler of the Earth, I would immediately institute a burn ban on all screen Ts. And I like screen Ts! I like them if they have a clever message or are an expression of something witty or unique. But telling me you are looking at my boobs, or that your "weiner" doesn't bite (BTW, who calls it that, honestly?) – you're a damn fool.

Then again, maybe these kinds of shirts are like social Darwinism in action. If I see you wearing this, I will never speak to you. I will never look at you again. You may as well have vanished from the planet. Survival of the fittest! Screen-T that ish.

Until next time, majorly yours.

Examz

It's final exam week here in Oxford. The weather has been beautiful and I enjoy walking around campus for the last few times.

I also enjoy taking full advantage of the "It's exam week so I don't care at ALL what I look like" rule. I had two finals today, modern dance at 8 and political philosophy at noon, and I didn't shower or dress for either. I dressed appropriately for dance I guess, but then I wore my sweaty dance clothes to the noon final. Ahh delightful. And I'm pretty sure that I hadn't showered for a couple days before then. Now I have. Grease be gone.

Tell your friends about my blog. I'm updatin' it. If they don't know the URL, e-mail it around. Get the word out.

As always, majorly yours.

DM Farewell

Well, dear readers, the time has come. This is my last column.
Even as I write that, it seems like it can't be true because it feels like yesterday when I awoke with a start, experiencing the birth of an idea that would become this well-loved, more well-hated and certainly infamous column you read every week.
Whether or not I knew it at the time, my idea would become a reality, which served to define my senior year.
I was no longer Meghan Blalock, journalism student, DM managing editor and all-around fun-loving gal. I became Hautey Toddy - with a little help from my friends.
I was recognized in public. I was called funny, witty and hilarious. I was called a stupid bitch, the worst Ole Miss has to offer and a mega-beast.
When I first started writing, I was shocked by the responses I got. I was shocked that one person could be so hated. I was shocked that people cared so much.
But of course there were days that I loved being Hautey Toddy.
One time a girl e-mailed me asking for advice because she had just lost a lot of weight and wasn't sure how to dress her new body. People have asked me how to dress for interviews, what appropriate attire is if you work in a hospital and how guys should dress in general.
I gave them my opinions. And don't fear! I am leaving Ole Miss, the state of Mississippi and even the Deep South, but I will never be far from the wonderful world of the Internet.
I will maintain my blog, and if you have any questions you want to ask, feel free. Hautey Toddy is so much of who I am now that I feel leaving it behind would be all too tragic.
So, thank you. All of you. If you love me, I thank you. Keep reading my blog, and keep letting me know you enjoy my writing. If you hate me, I thank you. You are a significant part of the reason that HT became one of the most well-read columns in DM history. Thanks, and hate on haters.
My Ole Miss experience simply would not have been the same without my experience as Hautey Toddy. What's bizarre about being well-known in any environment is mostly you don't really think about it. At least I didn't. I still went to class, went to work and went out at night as a normal college student, as a real person. I didn't change who I am. The column changed me, and it certainly changed how people saw me - for the best or for the worst - but I'm a real, normal person. I think.
It's been fun. A lot of fun. Writing the column every week just became part of my life, and it was a great way to procrastinate doing "real" work. I didn't say that. Even as we speak, I have a paper to write. But this is much more fun. Shrug.
This has been a year of fun. The year of Hautey Toddy. The year of lol-speak and talking in abbreviations. I can has good English now? Lolz. Obvs. I love bad English. But you have to know the rules before you can break them.
I'm not going to critique anyone in this column. I'm sure you've all had enough of that for a while. In just a little over a month I will be living in NYC. There will be plenty to critique and plenty for you to read. Trust.
For now, I leave you with a final thought, and I hope I have conveyed this thought throughout the year. Fashion is fun. I started out the year explaining why fashion matters. I am going to conclude by saying that it does matter, but it is also something that should enrich your life. A good pair of shoes is a religious experience for me. Hopefully you feel the same.
And to those of you who got the joke, kudos. I'm signing off. Until New York, majorly yours.

New York is for lovers

So I went to New York last weekend. Every time I go back, I am reminded why I love it and why I belong there.

I'm in love with Manhattan. I'm talking passionate, unyielding, crazy stupid, in love. Coming back to Oxford was like breaking up with my true love to go back to an ex who I still like but no longer have strong feelings for. Depressing, to say the least.

There are lots of reasons I love New York. The people are friendly. (No, really, it's true.) Central Park at 11 a.m. on a spring day. The feeling of the subway whizzing by. The huge abundance of stuff to do.

And the fashion. Yeah, yeah, New York is the fashion capital of the world. When someone who has never been to New York thinks of that, she might be inclined to think that everyone walks around in haute couture, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes whilst making sure everyone knows why they are better than them.

But it's not like that. I think the reason NYC is considered the fashion capital of the world is because, generally speaking, people who live in New York simply make an effort to dress well.

Casual wear in Oxford consists typically of Nike shorts, an oversized T-shirt and Rainbow flip flops. This is a Rainbow and North Face campus. It's unfortunate, to say the least.

But in New York, casual wear consists of dark skinny jeans, a fashionable top of some sort and cute flats, paired with a cute bag and jewelry. It's not even necessary to spend a ton of money to look cute, and New Yorkers are a prime example. I've never been in an H&M that wasn't packed to the brim, and many people I know from the area rave about stores like H&M and Uniqlo. Just because you're a New Yorker doesn't mean you have to spend lots of dough to look cute.

Walking around New York is like being in a candy store of fashion. Rarely do you see something awful, and even people who dress in a manner that I would consider poor at least have their own style. Bad clothing in Oxford tends to be not only fugly but also typical. Pretty miz. At least in New York, people who dress badly do it in their own way.

I did see a couple atrocities though. I saw a kid with a rat tail. Really? People still sport those? He was in the airport so I'm not really claiming it as New York City. But still. People who either have rat tails or let their kids have rat tails need to be learned a thing or two.

I also saw a woman on the subway who was just awful. She was beautiful with a kickin' body - it wouldn't be surprising at all if she modeled professionally. But her outfit was tragic. She had on a satin ankle-length skirt with a ruffled slit up to her thigh, paired with a sequin and bead embellished spaghetti-strap top and dangly faux pearl earrings.

It was just off. Nothing matched and everything was too embellished: ruffles, beads and pearls. All too much.

It was actually quite shocking-considering she looked like a model and was in the fashion capital of the world. But I guess even New Yorkers eff it up sometimes.

Until next time, majorly yours.

From NOLA with love

So I'm back. I went to New Orleans last weekend to see the Vagina Monologues. It was an amazing experience - very inspiring to hear all those women talked about their vajayjays. No, really, it was.

And I love loved New Orleans. As I told you, I had never before been, so it was a completely new experience. It was everything I expected it to be - filled with music and life, colorful and a little bit dirty. OK, maybe a lot dirty. But it somehow only adds to the appeal.

I ate lots of delicious crawfish. The French Quarter Festival was going on, so I ate small portions of the best food the city has to offer. Crepes. Etoufee. Beignets. Go ahead - be jealous. I know you are.

Aaaand I saw Berger from Sex and the City. Yeah, that guy from Office Space. Just walkin' around NOLA. OMG.

So New Orleans is wonderful. It's all the good things about the South in one place. Food. Music. Parties. Fashion.

That last part was a lie. Trying to critique the fashion choices of the wonderful people of New Orleans is like critiquing the morality of the choices made by rock stars in the 1960s and 1970s - they were usually way too out of it to be subject to the common laws of morality.

Same of the people of NOLA, god bless 'em. At least the ones I saw. Especially on Bourbon Street and in the French Quarter.

I saw one lady wearing what can only be described as tennis shoes with springs for heels. Normally tennis shoes have some sort of built-in springiness to add bounce to your step so your heels don't get shredded. These springs were plastic and rubber, and visible.

They were so awful that I'm clearly having a hard time describing them.

I saw one white girl with dreadlocks. Actually, I'm surprised I didn't see a lot more than that. I hate when white people try to sport dreads. I love dreads on black people; whites, not so much. Your hair just looks dirty. Probably because it is dirty.

My friend told me once that a white friend of hers had dreads and not only did she not wash her hair for weeks, but she would grease it up so the dreads would stay. Ew. Vom vom.

Bourbon Street after midnight is an entirely different universe. I'm convinced of it.

Fashion and otherwise, it's pretty much beyond comprehension.

I saw a stripper. She was wearing only a bra and thong underwear. And, um, they didn't even match. The bra was orange and the thong was white. Really? If you're going to be outside, pretty much naked, shaking your ass at people and hoping for some dolla dolla bills, y'all, at least wear a matching set. Honestly, stripper, your laziness astounds me. Gawd.

As far as the other outfits that night? I don't remember. I'm sorry. I can't. Don't hate me.

I go to New York this weekend. I know, I'm such a jet setter. More from that later. Until then, majorly yours.

Tie dye (to die)

I own a tie dye T-shirt.

That said, I must also assert that I am unilaterally opposed to tie dye. My T-shirt stays in the drawer, much like my cookies in their jar. Thanks, Ciara.

It was recently brought to my attention that some people still wear tie dye. I want to talk to these people. Who are they? Where do they live? What kind of food do they eat?

And more importantly, what inspires their donning of tie-dyed clothing?

Maybe it's the desire to look like a walking rainbow-swirl lollipop. Weezy would support that.

Or perhaps they actually think they look good. Of course they're wrong. All tie dye is bad. T-shirts, sweatshirts, pants and dresses - yes, entire dresses covered in tie dye exist - should be forbidden. If it were 1968, you would look hip and rebellious. Now you just look like a fool. Take it off.

I also saw in one of my favorite fashion magazines that full-length peasant skirts are back in.

This is really unfortunate. I actually have two in my closet, and that's pretty much where they stay, unless something flies through my window and I need something to block the draft.

Peasant skirts were super-in about three years ago. I remember wearing mine, like, all the time.

It's true: they are super comfortable, and they aren't super hideous - with the exception, of course, of tie dyed full-length peasant skirts - but they just bug me. They're so ... hippie. Apparently this is the anti-hippie column for the year.

I just don't like big, billowy clothing without a purpose. Sometimes it can be beautiful, such as evening gowns that are designed to flow around the body, but most of the time it's just tragic.

If I'm being honest, I could see myself pulling out the peasant skirts some time before this summer is over. But it will probably be in an effort to stay cool without wearing either jeans or shorts. I def wouldn't consider mine a staple in my wardrobe, and neither should you. Last minute necessity only, my friends.

Speaking of shorts, I love love high-waisted double-button front shorts for this spring / summer. Worn with a tank top or a cute baby tee and either sandal flats during the day or sandal heels at night, they look fabulous.

Of course, you have to have the right body type. Thin waist, relatively long torso. I tried a pair on and they looked pretty foolish.

It made me sad, but whatevz. I can find something else cute to wear. But I have seen some other girls rocking them and I love love it. Love.

I would like to take a moment to come out as a New Orleans virgin. I've never been. (I know, gasp!) But I'm going this weekend. I'm skurred. Wish me luck.

Until next time, majorly yours.

Thesis donezo, jorts

I finished my thesis this week.

As such, I feel finished. I feel like I shouldn't have to do any more work.

This is unfortunate because I still have more than a month of school and work left. All I can think about is graduating, leaving Oxford and moving to New York. Fortunately, writing this column is fun and not work-like, so I still enjoy it.

Plus, there is plenty of material, so let's get into it.

Earlier this week I saw a girl wearing jean shorts. No lie.

I know it's hard to believe. I barely believed my own eyes. And she was wearing them with ankle socks and wallabies.

I didn't know people still wore wallabies. I def owned a pair of these freshman year and def wore them in public. I was young and silly then. It's not that I even strongly dislike wallabies, but I certainly don't like them.

And I certainly abhor them with knee-length jean shorts rolled up at the bottom. Straight out of 1990.

Also, while at Wal-Mart the other night on a late night run for ice cream (I mean, broccoli), I saw a couple of tatted up individuals shopping for leafy greens. One guy had full sleeves and the other had a small tattoo on her neck.

I hate tattoos. This is going to get me in trouble.

I know a few people with tattoos, and honestly, if they are small and not visible in most standard clothing, I'm OK with them. But I hate neck tattoos, sleeves, arm tattoos, anything visible if you are wearing professional clothing.

And for the ladies, if I can see a tattoo when you are wearing a formal gown, it's trashy. I just don't like seeing them.

Of course, it depends on what the tattoo is, but mixing formal wear and tattoos is like mixing gin and tequila. It's just a very, very bad idea.

I know, I'm straight-laced. I value class and professionalism. Sue me.

So, as I was walking around campus earlier this week, I was wearing skinny jeans, brown flats, a tank top and a button-up jacket.

(Oh, P.S., why is it so damn cold? It's April and it feels like February. I'm ready for April weather.)

Anyway, I was walking and thinking about what is an appropriate casual look for class. I thought I was dressed appropriately, but I also wasn't dressed particularly cute.

I mean, it wasn't jean-shorts bad, but it wasn't really cute for casual wear either.

I never struggle with dressing cute to go out at night, but during the day it can be more of a challenge to look cute but not seem like you are trying too hard.

I think skinny jeans, flats and a cute top will take you a long way. Any time I see a girl in this sort of ensemble, I almost always like it. It's much better than Nike shorts, flip flops and oversized shacker T-shirts.

On a college campus at 9 in the morning on a Friday, any fashion effort is appreciated.

OMG, that's totally untrue. Lolz.

Most fashion effort is appreciated.

I've got to get going for now. It's starting to rain outside, which means it's time for me to take a nap.

Until next time, majorly yours.

Infamous

My name has been in the paper several times this week and not just on the masthead and at the top of this column.

Monday my roomie Christine wrote an opinion column on fashion, in which she argued that fashion should be a personal choice and a mode of self-expression. Of course it should, but fashion as a study and as an industry becomes meaningless if it is not held to certain standards. But that is another column for another day.

Then on Tuesday, my dear editor published a comment from TheDMonline.com made by my friend Jim Dees from Thacker Mountain Radio.

I have to say thank you for reading and thanks for saying I'm attractive. Usually I think I'm attractive, too, but sometimes I wonder.

Oh, and my sunglasses aren't that big. It's true that they are large. But extra large, no.

I've decided to write my column this week on bar fashion. The only thing more sacred than Grove fashion at this school is "going out" fashion.

Are you going out tonight? I guarantee you I am. Maybe I'll see you at the Grocery or Parrish's. The latter only if they play good music. And by good I mean Ludacris, Usher and Webbie.

Last time I was out on the Square, I saw a girl walk in the bar wearing a T-shirt, the infamous Nike workout shorts and flip flops.

Really? I'm sitting here in a baby doll dress and 5-inch heels, and you're gonna roll up looking like you just came from the gym? Hellz no.

Then there are the ladies who dress up too much for the Square. They are the types that tend to overdress all the time, i.e., wearing designer gowns and shoes to the Grove.

They also love to mess their hair up before they go out, which makes no sense. And they wear entirely too much make-up. You may be dressed like a fool, but that doesn't mean you have to look like a clown.

One time I saw a girl's ass at 208 (R.I.P.). She was wearing a tunic dress so short that when she lifted her arms to hug someone or get her wine off the bar, her panties showed. Not. Hot.

I have nothing against underwear. But I sure as hell don't want to see your white cotton briefs donned with pastel flowers while I'm in one of the best restaurants in Oxford. Shudder.

Guys aren't innocent either. If you are wearing khaki shorts to the bar, you look like a fool. If you are wearing full-on athletic gear, you are a fool.

Last time I was out I saw a guy wearing sweatpants, a T-shirt and a sweatshirt in the bar.

What? Same rules apply as they do for our gym bunny from earlier - if you just worked out, that's cool; just go home and change before you go out.

You could probably use a shower anyway, LBO.

I am also not a fan of the super-dressy look at the bars. I think there's a happy middle ground between workout clothes and suits.

One time I was out and saw a guy wearing a full suit with a bright pink dress shirt. No. Just no.

You're in freaking Oxford. We're all in Oxford. It's an unfortunate situation, and, luckily for me and many of you, a temporary one.

It's a good idea to dress cute for the bars, def. But to wear a suit or something equally ostentatious to a bar in Oxford just makes you look stupid. This town is full of rich people.

Dressing rich doesn't make you look cool or respectable. Dress well, yes, but also get over yourself.

If it's likely you are going to see vomit at least once while you are out tonight, dress accordingly. Some girl vommed in the sink one time when I was out. No lie.

Until next time, majorly yours.

Clogs, blogs and thanks

I'm over clogs. Today I saw my second pair of chunky clogs in as many weeks. As in brown, wooden sole clogs with metal buckles. These fashion tragedies were popular during the late 1990s, and still no one knows why. Even more perplexing is why anyone continues to wear them in public.

I'm not going to lie. I owned a pair when I was in the 7th grade. But so did everyone else. And we all looked like fools together. But now, since most people choose not to don 10-pound wooden clogs when adventuring to Wal-Mart, it means you alone look like a fool. Sadness.

In other news, I encourage you all to scroll down to the bottom of the page and check out the number of hits on the blog. Exciting, no? Granted, they aren't unique views, but still. It makes me feel good.

Also, I have heard several comments recently from people who love my column. I really appreciate it. There will always be haters, and I have always thought it's easier to speak out as a hater than as a lover. So thanks to all of you who have shown the love. Keep showin'.

Majorly.

I want to pinch 365 days a year

I don't like St. Patrick's Day. I don't hate it either, but it just seems hard to have any feelings that aren't neutral about a holiday that I deem largely meaningless.

Hey, let's all wear green and drink some beer. I can understand the significance if you are, in fact, Irish, but other than that, it's just an excuse to cover yourself in a pukey color and drink entirely too much.

I do like the pinching. Only I don't like to be pinched because I'm not wearing a certain color. If I'm wearing something fugly, like green crocs, then you can pinch me.

But for re re, if you pinch me, I will click on your ass. I don't like being touched.

I wish I could pinch people who dressed like freaks 365 days a year and it be deemed socially acceptable.

I saw a lady wearing some sort of embellished tank top, high-waisted flare jeans that were a couple inches too short a la 1985 and huge brown clogs. Why couldn't I pinch her? She looked like a damn fool - but her shirt was green.

So if I pinched her, I would just be seen as a hateful hobgoblin. But if her shirt had been blue, it would have been OK? Stupid. Stupid holiday.

In other news, my favorite preacher is back on campus. I'm sure Brother Micah already thinks I'm going to hell so I don't feel the need to hold back.

I love suspenders on hot women. See: Victoria Beckham on the cover of December's Elle. Loves. It. Yes, I said hot. I guess I'm going to homo hell.

Suspenders on a balding, middle-aged, overweight man yelling offensive things and calling women whores as they walk by? Fugly.

If you are going to yell at people and tell them they are all going to hell specifically to raise awareness of your "religion," you are also going to raise awareness of what you are wearing.

It makes sense. A crowd of 300 people looking at you - and you're going to wear suspenders, a stupid-looking hat and, my favorite part, some sort of backpack strapped so tight it reminds me of that BDSM film I watched last week.

Oops. Hell strike two.

Honestly. Everyone here thinks you're a fool already, but that doesn't mean you have to dress like one.

On the other hand, if you are going to speak out against masturbation and fornication, one could argue that it's appropriate to dress like someone who has never experienced either of those things.

Congrats, Brother.

I would also like to say that if hell exists as our friend Micah describes it, it is full of masturbators, fornicators and homosexuals. If that's the case, my damnation has been a long time coming.

That's what she said.

And hell would also be - let's be honest here - one hell of a party.

Next week, more tomfoolery. Until then, majorly yours.

Zee white beaches

I'm in Destin for Spring Break. The Internet in my condo costs $4 an hour to rent. As such, I must be brief.

I just wanted to say - I'm so over the skinny tan look all the females down here are sporting. Tanning is bad for you. If you have bronze skin, and it's obvious that you weren't blessed with that skin tone, you look like a fool. Getting some sun is good for you - getting so much that you look like a burned pop tart is not. Overz it.

Also, I want to take a moment to celebrate women with some curves. Mind you, I appreciate a well-toned bod, but I think in the long run, having a little something to grab onto is preferable.

That's what she said.

Majorly.

The blogging world and professor fashion

I lied to you last week. I said there would be a surprise in this week's column.

There are two.

Surprise No.1. I hope you're ready. Hautey Toddy is now its very own blog. Sure, you will still read it here, in the print version every week, and you can still find it on www.thedmonline.com, but now it has a home of its own: http://hauteytoddy.blogspot.com.

What's the point of moving the column online, you ask? Because I wanted to, that's why.

It's also so that you can check periodically during the day for continuous updates on horrible fashion choices I see.

And it looks nice, too. The blog, probably not what you're wearing. I designed the logo myself.

Oh, and I can't make any promises, but expect the Hautey Toddy blog to live on long after I've graduated.

People dress poorly everywhere. Just because I'm moving to New York doesn't mean I won't have plenty of material to mmmblog about.

Go check the blog today! You should see a welcome note written by yours truly as well as all my old columns. Have fun and please comment.

Surprise No. 2. I have received many requests to write a column on professor fashion. Well, my dear friends, here it is.

I want to start off with a disclaimer. I have taken many classes in my years at this university, and I have had many different teachers.

The specific looks I discuss herein cannot necessarily be attributed to current or past teachers I have had; it could be any teacher I have encountered during my stay here. And remember, it's all in good fun. Sort of like cat toys.

First, it's interesting to note that most of the professors I have encountered have been male. Thus this column will focus mostly on their fashion choices, not due to any gender bias of my own, but rather due to the circumstances available to me. Sorry, guys.

First, there's the classic professor look. Pleated khakis, brown belt, some sort of button-up - sometimes long-sleeved, sometimes short - brown dress shoes. There's the occasional vest thrown in for good measure, in case you ever doubted their professorness.

Sometimes it's a sporty vest of the fleece variety, sometimes a dressier vest. Sometimes even a sport coat over the vest - for those in super professor mode. Oh, sport coat. My favorites are the ones with the elbow patches.

For those professors who fancy themselves more fashion-forward and like to throw it up a bit while still maintaining that professor motif, there's the dressier version of the above. Black or gray dress pants, black dress shoes, pastel button-up, bold tie tucked into vest.

This is my personal favorite because it allows for a bit more variation than the former style. It shows the professor has actually made an effort to dress up, which is respectable since they tend to stand in front of classrooms filled with students wearing North Face jackets, leggings and/or sweatpants and flip flops. And we can't forget the shacker hair. Unfortunately.

Then of course there are those we don't speak of. Those professors who, in addition to not making any effort to dress up, barely get dressed at all for class.

For 8 a.m. classes this is understandable, but still reprehensible. Wearing a T-shirt (even if it's long-sleeved or Polo) and jeans to class is not OK.

A sweater and jeans … shmeh. Borderline. In fact, jeans in general should be avoided. Unless it's Friday.

You get paid to go to class. It's your job, so work clothing is appropriate.

Not that I'm condoning slovenly student dress - read the archives of my column on my blog and you'll see - but there is just a certain expected level of dress for professors. And T-shirts and jeans ain't it.

Have a professor whose look you want to talk about? Comment on my blog.

Next week is spring break! Enjoy. Until next time, majorly yours.

Bienvenue and welcome, betchez

If you're reading this, you found my blog. Congratulations! If only most people dressed as well as they navigated the Internets.

This blog is a newborn baby, kicking and screaming and covered in amniotic fluid. Ew. As such, it needs your help. Clearly it will be an extension of the weekly DM column – it will carry that content plus any extra stuff I feel like writing about. It should be lots of fun, for both of us. That's what she said.

But if you want to see more content, less content or just different content, let me know by leaving comments on the posts. If you loves what I said, let me know. If you hates it, let me know that too. Let's be honest, I know you're out there. No point in hiding. Blogs are cool like that – we can sort of go back and forth discussing topics.

It's gonna be fun, I promise. I know I will have fun posting about things I see.

Speaking of, I went to the ballet Tuesday night at the Ford Center and saw a lady wearing a short denim skirt. No you didn't. First of all, it was 30 degrees outside, so you look like an idiot. Second of all, short denim skirts were never in. I have owned my fair share, believe me. But it never looked particularly good on me. Shudder. Third of all, you're at the ballet. Dress or dress pants are required. No questions. She also had on high-heeled sandals. Seriously? It's so cold. Everything about the outfit was just so wrong. Le sigh my friends.

How (not) to dress for an interview

As a senior with some experience in the professional world, I know the importance of proper attire in the workplace. I have worked at two professional magazines and have seen the proper way to dress for work - whether it's a standard workday or a more casual day. And let me tell you, neither one involves tennis shoes.

In recent events around town that were business-oriented, I have noticed some of the most atrocious "professional" outfits I have ever seen.

I saw one girl wearing a silk lavender (poor-fitting) shirt, black dress pants with lavender piping to match and… tennis shoes. And, yeah, you guessed it - her tennis shoes had lavender detailing as well.

Vom. That's all I have to say about that.

Poor thing. I wanted to help her out. I would buy her a shirt that fit, first of all. There's nothing wrong with matching piping in pants and the color shirt you are wearing, as long as it's not too obvious. And obvs I would put her in a pair of nice black pumps and light her tennis shoes on fire.

If you're going to work out, tennis shoes are fine. If you wear tennis shoes to a job interview, the only job you deserve is getting paid to dress extremely poorly.

Now, I know that not everyone can afford nice suits, shoes and accessories just for a job interview. But there are reasonably priced solutions - you can dress professionally on a budget. No one says you have to wear a D&G button-up or a Gucci suit to an interview to look nice - or get the job.

Banana Republic is my favorite store. Def. And part of the reason is because they have great quality clothes and amazing, wondrous, heavenly sales. If there's a heaven, it's an infinite Banana Republic store where everything you try on fits perfectly. And everything is free. And there's a chocolate buffet in the middle, and you never gain weight, etc.

Yes, they put their suits on sale, and they are amazing deals. I looked at their Web site, and there currently aren't any sales on men's or women's suits, but once it's time to move the spring collection out and the fall collection in, these items should go on sale.

I have a two-button blazer and pencil skirt suit from there that is amazing. It wasn't cheap, but it wasn't Gucci expensive either.

If you can't afford or don't want to pay for Banana-quality stuff, other good places to look include H&M and Forever 21. There aren't any H&Ms in the South that I know of, but there are Forever 21s everywhere. Granted, the quality of clothing you will get is significantly lower than somewhere like Banana, but you will also pay a lot less.

Another thing I've noticed with men and women alike, but especially with men, is that they don't wear suits that fit properly. A suit should be fitted to your frame, not loose and baggy.

Guys: The bottom of the jacket should rest against your body right where the crotch of your pants starts. Of course, this relies upon you wearing pants that fit properly and not having baggy crotches. I think a lot of guys think they need a lot of room in there - let's be honest. We know you don't.

The tie is crucial. Unfortunately, there is no set rule for avoiding fugly ties. You just have to have style. Generally though, stay away from bright, busy patterns and stick with simple, solid, bold colors. Also, the tie should hit in the middle of your belt. Not shorter. And definitely not longer. If you take away nothing else from this weekly column, please heed this advice.

Ladies: It can be trickier for us because we want to look stylish without wearing something too tight or showing too much skin. You know, because we're the more delicate sex blah blah blah, vom vom vom.

Fitted suits are still appropriate for women, but if the jacket or skirt is buckling at the bust, around the back or across the buttock, that means it is too tight. Go up one size. I saw a girl this weekend wearing a pencil skirt that was so tight her entire lower body shifted up and down when she took an awkward step forward in her five-inch heels. No, sweetie.

Which brings me to my next point. High heels are acceptable in the workplace but not trashy high heels. Platforms, black patent leather and shoes with any excessive strings or buckles should be avoided - AKA, let's-have-sex-right-now pumps. A five-inch classy black pump, whilst uncomfortable, is not forbidden.

Next week, a surprise. I've been planning it for months. Just in time for spring break. Until then, majorly yours.

How (not) to dress for an interview

As a senior with some experience in the professional world, I know the importance of proper attire in the workplace. I have worked at two professional magazines and have seen the proper way to dress for work - whether it's a standard workday or a more casual day. And let me tell you, neither one involves tennis shoes.

In recent events around town that were business-oriented, I have noticed some of the most atrocious "professional" outfits I have ever seen.

I saw one girl wearing a silk lavender (poor-fitting) shirt, black dress pants with lavender piping to match and… tennis shoes. And, yeah, you guessed it - her tennis shoes had lavender detailing as well.

Vom. That's all I have to say about that.

Poor thing. I wanted to help her out. I would buy her a shirt that fit, first of all. There's nothing wrong with matching piping in pants and the color shirt you are wearing, as long as it's not too obvious. And obvs I would put her in a pair of nice black pumps and light her tennis shoes on fire.

If you're going to work out, tennis shoes are fine. If you wear tennis shoes to a job interview, the only job you deserve is getting paid to dress extremely poorly.

Now, I know that not everyone can afford nice suits, shoes and accessories just for a job interview. But there are reasonably priced solutions - you can dress professionally on a budget. No one says you have to wear a D&G button-up or a Gucci suit to an interview to look nice - or get the job.

Banana Republic is my favorite store. Def. And part of the reason is because they have great quality clothes and amazing, wondrous, heavenly sales. If there's a heaven, it's an infinite Banana Republic store where everything you try on fits perfectly. And everything is free. And there's a chocolate buffet in the middle, and you never gain weight, etc.

Yes, they put their suits on sale, and they are amazing deals. I looked at their Web site, and there currently aren't any sales on men's or women's suits, but once it's time to move the spring collection out and the fall collection in, these items should go on sale.

I have a two-button blazer and pencil skirt suit from there that is amazing. It wasn't cheap, but it wasn't Gucci expensive either.

If you can't afford or don't want to pay for Banana-quality stuff, other good places to look include H&M and Forever 21. There aren't any H&Ms in the South that I know of, but there are Forever 21s everywhere. Granted, the quality of clothing you will get is significantly lower than somewhere like Banana, but you will also pay a lot less.

Another thing I've noticed with men and women alike, but especially with men, is that they don't wear suits that fit properly. A suit should be fitted to your frame, not loose and baggy.

Guys: The bottom of the jacket should rest against your body right where the crotch of your pants starts. Of course, this relies upon you wearing pants that fit properly and not having baggy crotches. I think a lot of guys think they need a lot of room in there - let's be honest. We know you don't.

The tie is crucial. Unfortunately, there is no set rule for avoiding fugly ties. You just have to have style. Generally though, stay away from bright, busy patterns and stick with simple, solid, bold colors. Also, the tie should hit in the middle of your belt. Not shorter. And definitely not longer. If you take away nothing else from this weekly column, please heed this advice.

Ladies: It can be trickier for us because we want to look stylish without wearing something too tight or showing too much skin. You know, because we're the more delicate sex blah blah blah, vom vom vom.

Fitted suits are still appropriate for women, but if the jacket or skirt is buckling at the bust, around the back or across the buttock, that means it is too tight. Go up one size. I saw a girl this weekend wearing a pencil skirt that was so tight her entire lower body shifted up and down when she took an awkward step forward in her five-inch heels. No, sweetie.

Which brings me to my next point. High heels are acceptable in the workplace but not trashy high heels. Platforms, black patent leather and shoes with any excessive strings or buckles should be avoided - AKA, let's-have-sex-right-now pumps. A five-inch classy black pump, whilst uncomfortable, is not forbidden.

Next week, a surprise. I've been planning it for months. Just in time for spring break. Until then, majorly yours.

I wonder when people stopped knowing how to act... and dress

So, I went to Memphis this weekend for my Valentine's date. Gross, I know. I will spare you the sappy details, but I saw lots of things while in the "home of the Delta blues" - I put that in quotes because we Mississippians know that just ain't true - that gave me the blues. The fashion blues. Woooooe is me.

We went out to dinner Saturday night at a nice restaurant in downtown Memphis. It wasn't what you would classify as "fine" dining; however, it was really expensive and had really good food and an amazing bar and wine list.

Therefore, it was nice. Therefore, you should dress nice. For women, a dress is in order. For men, at minimum dress pants and a button-up shirt is required.

So imagine my horror when I walk into the restaurant and not only is it really crowded, but people are standing around in jeans and tennis shoes.

Really? I was wearing a black sequin dress, black hose and black Mary Jane platforms and felt extremely overdressed, which is a problem. Actually, I don't ever feel overdressed, I just notice how underdressed everyone else is. Fools.

Later on, at this restaurant that shall remain nameless, I saw an 8-year-old in the bathroom wearing a Juicy Couture sweatshirt. I didn't know they made sizes that small in Juicy Couture, nor have I ever cared to know.

I'm over Juicy Couture. In fact, I've never been under it. Anyone who pays $100 for a pair of velour freaking sweatpants probably has an IQ on the lower half of the bell curve.

And any parent who would buy something like that for an 8-year-old - and proceed to take that child to a nice steak house where said child will proceed to spill meat and salad all over themselves - probably has a similar IQ.

Also, I have always felt that having "juicy" written across your ass is not only utterly ridiculous but also makes you look stupid because it lets everyone know you paid $100 for those pants that you shouldn't even be wearing out of the house. Fool.

On a related note - children under the age of 13 should not be allowed in nice restaurants. Period. If you have enough money to eat somewhere really nice, you have enough money to get a babysitter. They are loud and run around everywhere and spill things. If I'm going out to eat expecting to pay a lot, I expect a perfect experience. If your child is yelling in my ear while I'm sipping on a martini and waiting for my table, it detracts from my experience. Shudder. Children. They - not unlike their parents - rarely know how to act.

So, then we went to the Peabody for cocktails - obvs so much better than mere drinks - and it was more of the same.

People wearing denim. Stretchy denim. Stretchy cotton pants. You name it. In the Peabody lounge at 10 p.m. on a Saturday, where the drinks range anywhere from $10 to $40 per, you freaking dress up.

If you're going to sip on a $30 glass of Crown Royal - yes, I saw it on the menu - then you may as well dress like you are.

You not only owe it to yourself to do so, but you also owe it to the long history of snooty, rich Memphis bourgeois sipping on expensive whiskey in that very lobby. They didn't skimp on the proper clothing, and neither should you my friend.

For next time, I hope people learn how to act. Until then, majorly yours.

Cupid stole my heart... and your sense of style

It's Valentine's Day. You know what that means. As you're reading this, I'm either in class wishing I were at home eating chocolate and texting people about how stupid Valentine's Day is, or I'm sitting at home eating chocolate and texting people about how stupid Valentine's Day is.

What are we even celebrating on Valentine's Day? I don't love any of the people in my life any less the day before this "holiday" or the day after, so why should I be coerced into buying candy in pink bags or cheesy Hallmark gift cards out of my love for them?

Who is St. Valentine and what did he do? He could have done something atrocious - like wear white after Labor Day - and none of us would know, because we've been brainwashed to walk around in sugar-induced, coma-like states on Feb. 14, professing love to anyone moderately attractive.

I say boo on Valentine's Day. I'm not even particularly single and I still think it's ridiculous.

Also ridiculous: so many outfits I saw over the past week. It was like I stepped into the twilight zone this weekend I saw so many ridiculous things.

Things you would never think someone would actually put on her body. Oh, but I saw them.

First I saw a girl in the mall wearing a brown cotton dress that hit just above her knees. Not bad, you might think. Maybe so. But then she paired it with calf-high brown furry boots. And I do mean furry boots.

Not just boots with the fur a la Flo Rida. The exterior of these boots was completely covered in faux brown fur. It looked like a large squirrel had died on both her feet. Shudder.

Within the next 30 minutes, in the same mall, I saw a girl wearing a gray one-piece pantsuit number.

You know, those really tight ones that you step into and then zip up the front. It had belt loops built in, so she deemed it appropriate to wear a red patent leather belt.

The belt matched the baby tee she wore over the top part of the pantsuit, and the shirt matched her shoes, which were five-inch white platforms with red polka dots.

Yes, you heard me correctly. I didn't stutter. I'm pretty sure I stopped breathing when I realized just how bad this outfit was.

Not only was it a one-piece skin-tight pantsuit. Not only was she too matchy-matchy with all the red. Not only was she wearing possibly the fugliest shoes I've ever seen. But she was also a really cute girl, which made it that much worse that she dumbed her look down so much. So, so much.

And finally, ladies and gentlemen, the cherry on the sundae of extremely bad fashion decisions.

As I walked to campus Monday morning from my parking spot that was eons away from any central location, I walked behind a girl donning a sweatshirt, ankle-length sweatpants and … flip flops.

Really? I could barely process the information my brain was retrieving. Obviously she was cold. It was 30 degrees outside, and as she got ready to leave her house that morning she thought, on some level, it's cold outside. I better put on long sleeves and heavy pants.

And obvi I'll wear flip flops, because those will keep my feet, like, soooo warm.

You look like a damn. Fool. Then later I saw a girl wearing Nike workout shorts and flip flops. Are you working out or going to the beach? Make up your mind. It's freaking 40 degrees outside. Dress appropriately, bia.

I hope everyone has a great Valentine's Day. If you don't have a Valentine, never mind. Just keep reminding yourself it's a holiday created by corporate America to get you to spend money on ish you don't really need.

Until next time, majorly yours.

The real winner of Super Tuesday: Skinny jeans

As I sit writing this column, it is Tuesday and Armageddon is upon us. There are tornadoes everywhere, a tree is on fire somewhere in Oxford and several buildings have been damaged. Trees are falling down and lights are going out.

I drove to Birmingham today to vote in the primary there, and as I was driving back I saw what might be considered a bona fide lightning storm.

All this is to say that I was scared. Very scared. And in those moments that could have been my last, when the wind was howling and large drops of water threatened to take over my car, I thought about jeans.

I thought, "Thank God for skinny jeans." I saw a girl the other day, I believe at one of the local bars, wearing hard core flared denim with boots. No ma'am.

I recently converted my roommate to skinny jeans and even she now admits that once you go skinny, you never go back.

Flares are just so awful. If you're going to wear jeans and high-heeled boots, for the love, don't wear flares. They swallow the bottom half of your leg and, by association, your cute boots. Let's all leave flares where they belong - in 1999.

With a black man and a white woman running for president of the United States, the time has come to progress.

Don't fear the jeans that hug your calves. If you have nice legs, go for it.

In addition to the foul weather we experienced earlier this week, we also experienced two very American celebrations on one day: Super Tuesday and Fat Tuesday. Also known as Super Fat Obese Tuesday, making it all the more American.

I'm over Mardi Gras beads. I got over them really quickly Tuesday night when I was out on the Square and everyone and their brother slash sister thought it was appropriate to wear them, regardless of what their outfits looked like.

I appreciate the celebration of Mardi Gras, but those beads are just so fugly. And the fact that they have come to be equated with girls baring their breasts is just unfortunate.

Girls, if you wear Mardi Gras beads, even on Fat Tuesday, you look like a slut. Sad but true. Just don't do it.

Plus, the cheap plastic is liable to turn your skin green. Eek.

Apparently Fat Tuesday is also an excuse for people to dress as ridiculously as they see fit. I saw plenty of people on the Square donning ridiculous hats, shirts and other attire I assume they thought was somehow resemblant of Mardi Gras.

Just because it is oversized, brightly colored and tacky does not mean it should be equated with Mardi Gras. Put that ish away. We're not even in New Orleans. You look stupid.

I want to go back to jeans for a second. The debate over whether black jeans are acceptable rages on. I say that they are acceptable, but only very specific types of black jeans. No acid wash.

They have to be dark, dark black; if they are faded at all they look like 1985, and they should be bumped.

They also need to be skinny, of course. Skinny black jeans with a brightly colored heel - on point.

I hope everyone made it through the storms OK. Next week I'll bring a storm of my own, talking about more fashion blunders I've seen. People, stop wearing sandals when it's cold outside! Srsly. The weather is crazy, but that doesn't mean you have to dress like you are also crazy.

Until next time, majorly yours.

Sickness fashion

Here's the thing, y'all. I'm sick. I've been sick since the end of last week.

I spent all day in bed Saturday, dead to the world, feverish and sore and unable to eat or drink. I actually haven't eaten a real meal since Friday night, and even then it was a small one. I'm not vomming or anything, I just have no appetite.

In addition, I've noticed that about half the people I know are also sick.

There are varying degrees of sickness: some can go to class and work while maintaining a regular hacking noise consistent with the black lung, others just lay in bed immobile for a couple of days and drink lots of orange juice. Tomayto, tomahto.

As a result, I decided to write my column this week on sick fashion. Even if you feel like death, you better look fierce. Like fierce, fierce death.

You're still in the running towards becoming America's Next Hottest Sick Person.

You have the flu. Or the black lung. You already missed this class twice. If you miss it again your grade will drop by five points. You muster the energy to get out of bed and trudge to class through the probably disgusting, cold, rainy, windy Oxford weather.

If you're lucky your roommate slash best friend slash significant other has offered you a ride to class. But the big question still remains: What do you wear?

A trip to the student health center will tell you that the appropriate sick outfit is pajama pants, T-shirt, sweatshirt and a general look of disgust and/or wanting to die.

A face mask might also be appropriate if you have flu-like symptoms. Our busiest hours are from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. each day of the week.

However, I say that fashion standards don't change just because you feel like dying. You might be hunched over trying to avoid either coughing up a lung or vomiting into your hand, but you better look fabulous while doing it.

You show that flu who's boss by rocking those platform pumps and skinny jeans.

Going to class in pajamas is not acceptable. Also unacceptable?

Wearing that awful deadpan look on your face while you're sick. Come on, y'all. Perk up. Maybe your sinuses are packed with mucus.

Maybe it hurts to breathe. Maybe you can't even look at a Java City cup without wanting to vom. But other people don't know that.

They just see you sitting in your chair in class, staring off into nowhere with your head sort of swimming around in space. You look crazy. Get it together.

Oh, and wash your hair. It may be hard to stand in the shower for that long, but I mean seriously, guys.

Showing everyone what your hair looks like four days unwashed is not going to make you or any of the other sick people around you feel any better.

In fact, looking at your nasty hair makes me feel even worse, so please scrub scrub that ish.

Feel better, everybody. Including me. I'm so over this illness.

Next week - hopefully - I'll be back with more critiques. Until then, majorly yours.