I had assumed my first bit of luck with the Target-designer collabo It-item was a fluke, but a bit of random luck struck again. This week, I visited my local Target on a business trip to pick up detergent and other household necessities. However, I couldn't help but take a detour stroll to check out the Libertine for Target ladies. They'd already been in town for three weeks. Mind you, they weren't usually the kinds of girls I'd go for, but, hey, I'm open to the possibilities.
By now you must be thinking that dreamecho is a slut, 'dressing' around with anything that's got a pleat or some ruching. I take offense to the slut part, but I cannot deny that I am attracted to the well-done cheap thrill just as much as I am to the quality investment piece.
Back to the story: So I'm making eye-contact with some of the Libertine chicas, chatting up a few of them, when lo and behold, Ms. Crepe Dress saunters by. Remember her? In senior year, she was voted Miss Popularity for her vaguely 'vintage' sensibility, her classic style and her ability to flatter the figure. Personally, I respected her for what she was, but wasn't terribly interested in getting to know her. My interest was piqued, though, after seeing a few girls around town looking oh-so-sweet wearing Ms. Crepe. I was surprised to see her still here, though, given her prominent and respected status.
Ms. Crepe's just hanging out on a size medium hanger, chilling by herself, no entourage of copycats around her. I give her the once-over, taking note of her pockets and detailed neckline. A discreet sneak at her tag reveals – she's a size ONE?! My size?! How is it possible that the only size left is a one? I flip her from side to side looking for defects, but she reveals nothing to me. Curious and perplexed, I decide to see for myself what all the hoopla was about. This time, I will tell you what went on behind closed fitting room doors: Ms. Crepe Dress was indeed flattering, nipping in at the natural waistline, flaring slightly to the knees. Her bodice contoured perfectly to mine. I twisted and twirled in my raggedy black Converse, checking myself out from all angles. The more I wore her, the more I wanted her. By all means, she was a cutie, and I was getting caught up with the mass hysterics for this dress. I was darn near taking her back to my place that night.
Before getting sucked in any further, however, I forced myself to slow down and ask the hard questions: Do I love her? Do I love her? Deep down, do we really suit each other? No, no and no. Although I was initially swayed by her grace, traditional good looks, and covetable status, I realized that these were all superficial aspects. In truth, I could not have a meaningful, lasting relationship with her. She was a one-dimensional being who cared not to rejoice in life nor challenge herself to grow. Content in her comfort zone of average-ness, Ms. Crepe Dress was a little pretty and a little bit classic. I would have been ecstatic if she were an all-out utilitarian basic or an unabashedly lacy frock; I like clothes that do what they do well. I mean giving it one's all. Or, if the piece itself is a study in contrasts, then that contrast better be a damn deliberate one. No tip-toeing, no half-assing around for me. Once confronted, Ms. Crepe's complacency and mediocrity was a turnoff. Perhaps I could have made the relationship work with the right styling, but I only have so much time and money to spend. We have priorities in life, and some things just aren't worth the effort. So it was with a bit of a relief to my bank account that I returned Ms. Crepe Dress to her handler, the fitting room attendant.
I want to surround myself with clothes who give life everything they've got, and Ms. Crepe Dress was definitely not interested in pursuing such a life. As soon as I had acknowledged the hard truth, I began to feel stronger. I felt released from the oppressive desire to buy, buy, buy, have, have, have. This exercise in restraint ultimately brought me a sense of peace, that sort of serenity that comes from disciplining oneself to do a difficult thing. In relation to all that I do have in this world, such a dress means nothing to me. I smile in acceptance of this simple realization.
Hear ye, hear ye. Let it be heard throughout the dreamachine that I, dreamecho, am in the midst of a quest for the perfect all-purpose day bag. Nay, I am not a 'bag person'. In fact, I have had a long-standing aversion to purses, an aversion which stems from my early (and late) rough-and-tumble days. Long after I embraced skirts, dresses and floral prints, I could still nevertheless be found sporting...a nylon backpack. True. With trainers on my tootsies and arms & hands free of baggage, dreamecho of yore could climb trees, stealthily chase after cute boys, break into impromptu dance and most crucially, flee scenes of mischief in a jiff. Now, however, I understand how a good bag can contribute to (or at least not take away from) an overall look. A sporty backpack no longer satisfies my style and toting needs. 
Combined with awareness of my inner style, my relatively recent foray into the world of bags, both cheap and higher-end, has revealed both what I want and want to avoid. Color: one in black, one in grey/taupe. Size: big, as in school backpack-capacity big. Main closure: zippered, for security. Straps: shoulder, and possible optional messenger style. Moderate structuring (not overly slouchy nor inflexibly stiff), functionality, ruggedness, cleaner lines. More tough than pretty. Not completely minimal, but no 'rock star' studs or major contrast stitching, please. 
Recently, I turned my eyes to Dunlin, based in 
There is a complete listing of stockists on the Dunlin website, but I am partial to Oak's selection. I have not found the Condillac style online, however, so the question is, how do I get ahold of one?!? A journey to Brooklyn may be in order....
