The Murse Discurse...

It has recently been brought to my attention that perhaps my eye gravitates towards gentlemen of questionable style. Questionable in the sense that the ability to distinguish their sexuality creates a blurred boundary line.

One such discussion brought up the subject matter of the Murse, a satchel of sorts, that men use to carry all their necessary life accessories. Now some would like to point out that a Murse (man purse) lends no possible connection with the heterosexual community. However I believe that, if worn properly, it can be viewed as a matter of style, not sexuality. Regardless of your personal opinion I do believe women would benefit greatly from the world wide acceptance of the Murse and thus be forever rid of having to carry all our gentlefellows extras that create an obnoxious bulge that totally negates the value of skinny jeans...

Skinny jeans...if they can be accepted so too should the Murse!!

Gleaming against the Glitter...

Once upon a time I fell into the trap so typical of Vegas broads. I thought that the trashier you dressed the better you looked for a night out on the town. Now I feel nothing but remorse for some truly tragic instances that have unfortunately been fully documented by modern technology. However, if ever there was a town where strippers can become high society housewives then a few interrogations by the fashion police can surely be forgiven. One place in Las Vegas that does showcase classy yet sexy attire for the late night scene by way of the female gender is at XS nightclub at Encore, a Wynn property. I must say that although a few scraggly perpetrators slipped through the ropes, there was a bevy of ladies adorned with simply delectable attire, giving a ray of hope that subdues the backdrop of glitz and glitter

FIERCE TRIALS

Fierce. A word I dread for fear of not being able to live up to its standards. I have perfected my picture pose wherein a smile is plastered oh so stratigically across my face that is tilted at just the right angle that ensures a nod of approval the morning after. However, it seems to be a struggle to take an serious pose, well serious. I feel absolutely ridiculous trying to emulate "sexy." But then again I guess it is just as ridiculous to perfect a manufactured smile. All this inner tormoil that exposes itself in the form of uncontrolable laughter was brought about by my last visit to Paris. So often have I thrown a camera in willing strangers hands and let them assume the responsibility of capturing vanity in its purest form. However, only in Pari did I have a nice young fellow question the decision of smile versus serious. I remember clearly the shock and utter indecision that came across my face. I have a pose. ONE that never fails. When my heart is pumping the alcohol through my bloodstream I will be the first to admit that no amount of fashionista driven passion can refrain me from less than fashionable poses. Yet they are just that, poses orchestrated for the camera with the full intent on being an entertainingly favorable representation of myself. But Posh Spice I am not. So from here on out, in accordance with the intentions of this blog I will make every attempt to class myself up to the standards of the fashion world. But I'll be damned when the Vegas in me slips out.

Success / Fail

Paris

There's something so intoxicating about Paris. There is a certain level of glamour that American women have the inability to match. Not ALL of them, but the vast majority. Everything about the city is inpiring.

There is an inexplicable impulse that it induces a girl to want to be a woman. And a woman dresses like she knows exactly who she is and what she wants. There are no traces of insecurity in what she wears. She walks into a room with complete confidence because the clothes that drape her are simply an extention of herself, they are mere representations of every aspect of her life. Every accessory gives insight into exactly who that woman is.