I can't bring myself to do a fashion post-mortem on the Oscars; fun, yes, but the style of celebrities on their most fashion-conscious night simply does not apply to my average Monday. Though I'm quite sure my husband would appreciate it if I served tonight's ratatouille wearing a floor-length archival Valentino.
Aside from a lovely pile of the latest magazines (I refuse to end my love affair with paper, dammit), I find myself referring back to the notes I made from Paris for mature fashion guidance. At least the lives of Parisian women are somewhat closer to my own, and I like what they're wearing to serve that ratatouille.
Hasta, cheries.
PS: A little "x" on a garment means it's in noir. And please note humor in my recommendation of cigarettes as accessory.