Airport Style

Ready for takeoff, inspired by J. (below right). Except I
think I'll need a bigger purse. And by purse, I mean diaper bag.

Lately, there seems to be a huge disconnect between the way I look in my mind's eye (clean clothes, decent hair, makeup) and the way I look when I pass a mirror (food-covered sweats, messy ponytail, no makeup). I just watched an episode of Giuliana & Bill in which Giuliana worries about losing her mojo after the arrival of the couple's baby. I don't know about my mojo, but my sense of style seems to have flown the coop. It has only made a few incredibly brief appearances since my son was born a year ago. Each of my rare fashion-forward moments have been inspired by J's Everyday Fashion. J's recent blog on airport style got me thinking about my last flight. It pains me to admit I boarded the plane in workout pants, running shoes, and a stained performance tee. Sigh. 

As I prepare for another flight, J. is the wind beneath my wings. Her outfit (above) is awesome, except I can't wear a chambray shirt. My father-in-law was the king of the denim shirt. If I were to wear one, the whole family would call me "Oren." Don't get me wrong, it's a great look on the right person. I even bought a tiny chambray button-down for my son. Because it's cute for a little boy to look like his grandfather. But it's not cute for a grown woman to look like her father-in-law. So I flip-flopped the dark blue and light blue parts of J's outfit. And now I feel somewhat creative. And quite appropriately-dressed. And completely ready to board the next plane to Fashionville. Or Milan. (Or, lets be honest here, Boca.)

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