Sweater - Vintage Missoni from Hattie's in Portland, Necklace - c/o Vanessa Mooney, Cuff - c/o JFR, Shoes - c/o Wanted, Dress - Vintage, Sunglasses - Magpie Vintage in Portland
I always feel out of place at weddings. It's an environment that really illuminates just how bad I am at being a real person.
"Oh, hello. How do you do. I am a robot. Eee-oo, eee-oo."
That's something I once actually said to a stranger at a wedding.
My boyfriend (henceforth referred to as "Lamson"...because that's his name and stuff) and I went to his hometown of Portland, Oregon over the weekend for his sister's wedding. I think of Portland as being what would happen if there were a shift in the time-space continuum and Boston and San Francisco suddenly found themselves simultaneously occupying the same area. It's full of fantastic affordable vintage (I just about had a heart attack at Hattie's, where I picked up this vintage Missoni jumper, as well as a gorgeous bohemian dress, a pair of relief-dyed shortalls, a crocheted cropped tank top, and a pair of floral baggy capri things that Lamson called "hippie pants"), bicycles, badass strippers (home to a strip club at which Courtney Love used to dance), greenery, unique teas, creative cocktails (which explains how I ended up drunk [a rarity for me] eating vegetarian soyrizo tacos [not so much a rarity for me] at three a.m. with Lam plus LA friends Jason and Jenny Parry [talk about a powerhouse couple of style, talent, and ultimate radness...love those guys and happy to see them receive much-deserved success!]), beautiful architecture, a whole mess o' bridges, and, evidently, people gettin' hitched (we attended Lamson's sister's wedding, but on the very same day was his BFF's wedding as well [now-married BFF-plus-wife own Reveille, which you should check out]).
What was I talking about again? Oh, yeah, I suck at being a real person.
Okay, so I buy a pretty dress in Portland to wear to the wedding, which was on a fancy schmancy winery. The dress is navy blue and has pink flowers on it and is bias-cut and flowy and, I think, quite nice. For the first hour of that wedding, I looked event-appropriate, let me tell you. I was like a freakin' lady or something. La-dee-da. By the time the reception started, though, I somehow ended up looking like a hippie who'd been sleeping in my Vanagon in the parking lot and wandered in to steal free food. Evidence? Above. I got cold, and the sweater went on, then I wanted my cell phone, so the dirty old military purse came along, and then...yeah...I was marching through the vineyards like it was the Pentagon and I was about to levitate it.