Of dresses and Doppelgangers

Designer collections are hard to keep track of these days. “Spring/summer” and “fall/winter” are relatively straightforward, conceptually-speaking, except now we also have “pre fall”, which is straining my grasp of the calendar. And, of course, we have “resort” as well. I have to admit, I love the concept of “resort” clothing — at least as I’ve decided to interpret it. I’m not sure where or how the clothes designed as part of “resort” collections are meant to be worn — seeing as how they tend to be utterly fabulous and completely impractical for 99% of the lives of 99% of the population — but I like to imagine that there are people out there who find it natural to lounge around in a Stella McCartney schmatta (I use that term figuratively because, of course, Stella doesn’t do schmattas … and if she did, they would be fabulous) on the deck of their yacht moored in Saint Tropez. Or, you know, who organize their travel plans to fit the mood of Chanel’s latest resort collection, even if it means vacationing in the Sahara or Siberia, as the case may be. [Because I totally would, if I could.]

But even a peon like me occasionally needs a version of “resort” attire suited, of course, to her more down-market vacation plans. Fortuitously, I came across my quintessential “resort” dress a week before my recent vacation. It’s everything I’ve always wanted in a garment of this kind — colourful, flashy and easy to pack. It’s perfect for a romantic dinner at an ocean-front restaurant and maybe (if the drinks are plentiful) a bit of dancing later.

The sleeves are great in case of any late-night breezes, no jacket necessary. I think it’s got a cool 60s, vaguely Pucci-esque vibe to it (though it’s merely Laundry), which is pretty good considering it set me back less than $20 (Vespucci’s was having its season-end sale). 
Especially since it got me mistaken for a celebrity. I kid you not. This one:

No, I am not Bryce Dallas Howard … and, judging by her picture, I’m not sure how anyone could have been mistaken. I’m sure Bryce Howard is, like, “bitch, please”. However, in defence of the lovely couple who fell into error, it was dark … and my dress was pretty awesome. 

Vacation snaps

Getting married is hard work. By the time my wedding was over, I had a new-found appreciation for the concept of the “honeymoon”. Sure, in my case, I could have done with a more literal interpretation (month-long vacation? yes please!), but even an abbreviated version would do nicely.
Unfortunately, this is what awaited us upon arrival at our Mayan Riviera resort last Monday.

If, as postulated by D. Zoolander, moisture is the essence of wetness, and wetness is the essence of beauty, then we were simply awash in gorgeousness. It was everywhere, just dripping all over the place. Pouring, really. And it kept on pouring for 36 hours straight. I have never seen so much rain, and I’ve been to Vancouver plenty of times. 
Luckily, on our second full day, the weather cleared up and we finally got to enjoy our beautiful surroundings. 

And enjoy them we did, notwithstanding a few, small details. It sounds ungrateful to nit-pick about this, but, boy, was it hot. Satan’s-crowded-armpit-kind-of-hot. The humidity was off-the-charts … so much so that after the third or fourth day, my camera gave out. This was a minor tragedy since, as my husband (boy, it still feels weird to write that) has had plenty of cause to bemoan, I’m an avid vacation snapper. [I’m the kind of person who has nightmares about traveling to some exotic destination and realizing that she forgot her camera at home. No kidding.] As a result, we have a meagre few photographs from our honeymoon, and only one of the two of us together — squinty-eyed, bedraggled and mildly sun-stroked. Lovely.

I did manage to get a snap of my Gap polka-dot bikini in action. Remember how I said before that it possessed some magical abilities making it the perfect bikini (I’m paraphrasing here)? Well, it does. Magical boob-wrangling abilities for one. Bikinis are not known to be particularly kind to a girl’s cleavage, so it’s quite a feat to find one so, um, supportive. In any case, polka dots are always a winning proposition. 

In retrospect, this pic — while ably detailing the triumph of the polka-dot bikini over gravity — is a bit unfortunate in making me look a bit too much like the love child of a giant ostrich and a Vegas showgirl. Oh well…

There and back again

Whew! 

Has it been 2 weeks already? I’m back in (rainy) Edmonton, so it must be true. Nevertheless, after a week of stifling hot, humid weather, even the rain doesn’t seem so bad.  The house is a post-wedding disaster, my inbox is overflowing, and there is a giant mound of dirty laundry waiting for me and stinking up the joint in the meantime, so you will have to be patient with me just a little while longer … I’m going to be up and running over here very soon.