My friend Reuben and I stumbled onto the train a few nights ago (because that's what happens after happy hour), and started blabbering loudly about clothes (because that's what happens with two stylish drunk people).
I happened to look across the train and met the eyes of a poised young woman, her hands folded in her lap as she tugged gently on a seam of her gray knit sweater, balancing a turquoise bag on one knee. I loved her immediately. Sadly I FORGOT to write down her name, because I'm a dumdum, but hopefully she'll visit the blog, see her lovely face, and shoot me an e-mail. Sorry, girl!
Anywho, I forgot how the conversation went exactly (*ahem*... happy hour), but it sounded remotely like this:
"Girl, I love your sweater," I said, and looked at Reuben. "She gets it. She gets style. She has her own."
"Do a spin!" Reuben said, clicking away with my ancient point-and-shoot and most likely trembling from excitement.
"You first!" She said, and pointed at my feet "I love your shoes! How are you walking in those?"
"Four cocktails. My feet are numb."
And then, with these pictures, we proceeded to make a mockery of photographers and style blogs everywhere (maybe one day I'll have a camera that can make even my tipsy pictures look amazing). They barely begin to portray her amazing personality, which was as much a part of her style as the clothes:
I somehow managed to scribble down where she got all of her pieces: