TheStyleGeek.com

Last Thursday, Hubs and I went to hear one of my favorite artists, Tyrone Wells play in Santa Barbara.  Since we were leaving right after work, I needed an outfit that would be conservative enough for work yet dressy (read: sexy) enough for a date night.  I decided on my black skinnies and a sheer, red floral shirt from Gap (similar, but minus the flowers here) .  The classic black pumps are something that everyone should have in their closet and the purse, well, I’ve professed my love for it before.

Oh hey, Tyrone Wells and Joe Brooks! Did I mention we had front row seats?

If you ask my college roommates, they will tell you that they are still incredulous that people now ask me for style advice.  In my formative years, I was a cardigan and button-down shirt only gal–often pairing them with khaki pants, no less. These days, my style is a little less “conservative” and one of my greatest joys is helping other people develop their personal style.

To that end, I am going to be starting a series of blog posts that answer reader questions.  This Thursday’s question comes from my friend Carolyn who asked me if skinny jeans tucked into boots are appropriate for a 34-year-old mother or if they will make her look like she’s trying too hard to be “young.”

First, let’s get one thing straight: 34 is not old and being a mom is not a fashion death sentence.

To answer Carolyn’s specific question, though, no,  I do not think skinny jeans tucked into boots are at all inappropriate for 34-year-old mothers.  Since Carolyn is tall and thin, I’d suggest that she purchase a pair of flat boots and pair them with a longer tunic, a jacket or a comfy sweater.

As someone who is rapidly approaching both my 30s and motherhood, Carolyn’s question resonates with me.  Younger styles look good on older Hollywood starlets but often look silly on “older” people in real life. (At this point, let me reiterate my previous statement that 34 is not old.)

While I don’t want to regress back to my days of cardigans, button-downs and khakis (sidenote: there’s nothing inherently wrong with any of those articles of clothing, unless you’re wearing them every day like I was), I do want to make sure my clothes don’t cause people to say “who does she think she is.” Here are a few guidelines I like to follow when deciding whether a certain article of clothing is ok to wear or not.  Personally, I think these guidelines are good for people of any age to follow:

• Unless it’s a special occasion, stay away from flashy fads. We’re talking sequins, sparkles, feathers and fur, here, not a brightly colored dress.
• Avoid lycra, spandex and velour.  Exceptions can be made for workout clothes and sweatsuits (which should only be worn at the gym or around the house, I might add).
• Always err on the side of modesty.
• When in doubt, ask your best friend, not your significant other.  Your best friend will tell you to hide the twins, lengthen the skirt and lose the stripper heels.  Your man friend will either lie or tell you to vamp it up even more.

Since Pinterest (my new favorite website) contains endless outfit inspiration, I decided to create a Pinboard to share age appropriate outfit ideas. You can follow all my Pins, or just the board labelled “Always Age Appropriate.” If you’re not on Pinterest and need an invite, just send me your email address in the comment section below, and be sure to send me your style questions too.

Happy shopping, Style Geekers!

Truth: I only started to accept the fact that I am short and will never grow beyond five foot one and three-quarters of an inch as of last year. For years, I supported my denial by constantly purchasing and wearing ridiculously tall heels.  To this day, when people see me in flats, they say: “Gosh, I didn’t realize you were so short.” I respond by giving them a self-satisfied smirk and saying: “Then my plan has been working. Muahahaha!”

When it comes to fashion, living life as a short person is a series of hem after hem after hem. And there are some things that you just shouldn’t wear together–if at all.  One questionable item for us shorties (Ugh. I wanted to try that word out, but I hate it just as much as I thought I would.)  is ankle pants.  Anything that cuts off above the ankle threatens to make the vertically challenged look like members of the lollipop guild.  Still, the versatility of the ankle pant called to me, and I finally gave in this summer.  However, I place one very strict guideline on wearing them: ALWAYS PAIR THEM WITH HEELS.

And here’s why…

In the photo above, I’ve paired my ankle pants with a classic pair of black pumps and my best I’m too cool for this photo face, and my legs look (a little) longer and leaner. Whereas in the photo below, I’m wearing the same face (ok, maybe a little heavier on the Droopy Dog eyes) with flats, and I look like I just bought a one-way ticket to Munchkinland. The bottom line when it comes to ankle pants: wear heels, not flats.

That’s right. I’m doing it. I’m biting the bullet and posting pictures of myself on this blog more often.  I’ve even got a partner-in-crime to take photos of me at least once a week this time, so you know I’m serious.  And yes, I do remember what happened the last time I tried to post photos myself on this blog, but I figure I’ve set the bar so low that anything I post now will be better than that, right?

In all seriousness, this is one of my go-to outfits for a night out on the town.  I know. I wish the town I live in was more of a little black dress on a Friday night town too, but it’s not; and, sadly, even wearing this I’m usually overdressed.  

One of my favorite elements of this outfit is the necklace.  I actually won it in a Twitter contest about a year ago from an online clothing boutique called Threadsense, and while I can’t find anything quite it on the market right now (though I’m sure it’s out there) some chunky chains like this will work perfect.  It goes with so many things gives the illusion that I have a long torso. I’ve had the jacket for years too, and it goes with pretty much everything.  Express and Target have similar versions this season.

The boots are from Marshalls, but Steve Madden makes a pair that is almost identical.  Or, if you’re wanting to show a little more leg, consider an ankle boot like the ones below or some type of bootie (these are on sale!).

What shoes would I not suggest wearing with this outfit? Flats or pumps of any kind. A motorcycle or bomber jacket screams for something a little less dainty.

As you may or may not know, I work full time as the content manager for technology help website Experts-Exchange; and part of my job involves blogging.  In an effort to better brand ourselves, my fellow blog contributors and I are starting our own columns, where we will write about the tech topics we’re personally passionate about (rather than simply writing about the ones with mass appeal).  We’ve each come up with a name for our columns, and I decided to name my column after this blog.  I mean, what better way to further The Style Geek brand (whatever that is, exactly) than to give her a column–even if it is, well, nepotism.

In my inaugural piece, I decided to weigh in on the issue of women (or the lack thereof) in technology.  Check it out and be sure to share your thoughts!

PS- I randomly found the image for this post in a Google search, but you can be sure that, if possible, it will be making it’s way onto this blog!

First it was New York Fashion Week (and the fact that I wasn’t there), then it was finding out that the girl I interned with in college is now the retail and fashion editor for the Wall Street Journal (yea, she’s been on The Today Show) and last week it was a story by Mashable about the rise of fashion bloggers to prominence and profitability in the industry.  Add it all up and it’s the perfect cocktail of discontentment for people like me with stylish aspirations.

As I watch women like Emily, Lindsey and Jessica pursue their passion and realize their dreams (and mine) I can’t help but feel a twinge of remorse at the road not taken. The woulda, coulda, shouldas start and thoughts like “Why did I stay in North Carolina for my Master’s Degree instead of going to Columbia?” or “If only I’d have taken a job in Los Angeles when I moved out to California, rather than taking the safe job in Sacramento”  creep in.

And then I think about days like yesterday.  A picturesque day on the Central Coast of California, where I probably wouldn’t live if I was the magazine editor or blogger I’ve always wanted to be.  A day spent wine tasting with Hubs and 12 of my friends, my biggest worry being whether I want the white or red flight.

Or I remember last month’s excursion to Los Angeles with one of my best friends from college, where I didn’t check my work email one time, watched the  sunset over the Santa Monica pier and ate dinner at the Chateau Marmont–without worrying whether paparazzi were waiting for me outside, as they were for some of my fellow diners, I might add.

If you’re like me, you’re wont to sit around and wallow in the “what ifs” or concentrate on all the things you could be doing with your life if only you’d have done things differently.  But I’m starting to think that I have it all wrong.  I think we, the “Average Janes” of the world, are the lucky ones.  Instead of being consumed with our careers or our public image, we’re free to enjoy life as it happens.  We’re able to be present in every moment because we have the time to be. Because we don’t have anywhere to be. Because we can.

And personally, I can’t think of anything more stylish than enjoying–and being content with–the life we have, while we have it.

It’s been a while since I’ve done a giveaway here on The Style Geek.  Too long, actually.  With Fashion Week kicking off next Thursday (I’ll be celebrating at Fashion’s Night Out in Los Angeles with my longtime friend, Ruthie), I thought it might be nice to giveaway a $25 gift card to Piperlime.com to help stock your closet for the fall season.  Here’s the deal:

As those of you who follow me on Twitter already know, I submitted a proposal for my boss and I to speak at South By Southwest Interactive this coming March. Until 11:59 p.m. tomorrow evening, SXSW is asking people to vote on their favorite panel submissions.  Public voting accounts for 30% of the selection process for who gets chosen to speak at SXSW, and with 3283 other proposals submitted, I’d appreciate all the help I can get!

To enter the giveaway, just create a SXSW account. (Yeah, sorry about that. I wish you didn’t have to create one too.)

Give my panel submission a “thumbs up.”

Then, post a comment to this post telling me that you voted and what your SXSW username is.

For an additional entry, you can also tweet or Facebook this message: Vote for @jennprentice to speak at #SXSW & enter to win a $25 Piperlime gift card http://bit.ly/qrOref!

Just be sure to post a link to your tweet or Facebook message in the comments below too.

Thanks in advance for the help, Style Geekers. Good luck and happy fall (fashion)!

Her name was Jean Nugent. I only had the pleasure of meeting her once before breast cancer took her life here on earth; but my initial impression of her as an intelligent, dignified woman was confirmed by the people who knew her best and eulogized her at her funeral this past weekend.   Her sons called her classy. Her friends called her welcoming and humble and her daughter-in-law called her graceful. Her legacy was a one of family, friends and acquaintances who were better people for knowing her.  In a world where reality television serves up images of women willing to do just about anything for 15 minutes of fame, Jean Nugent was the antithesis. Jean Nugent was stylish.

Since Saturday, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the way people will remember me once I pass away.  How do I want them to remember me? Does the way I live my life now align with the latter? If not, what do I need to change in order to leave a positive impact on the people I know?

I’ll surely have more to say about my answers to these questions soon, but in the meantime, I leave you all to contemplate the same questions…

A little jet lag, mounds of laundry and a few pounds heavier, I’m back from Cancun.  Hubs and I had a fantastic time, with our daily routine consisting of: breakfast, reading by the beach, lunch, reading by the pool, dinner, drinks, sleep.  It was seriously the most relaxing vacation I’ve ever been on.

Since we spent nearly the entire trip in our bathing suits, we mostly took scenic pictures (see above) ; and because we were quite lazy, there’s not too much to share with you about the vacation, save my experience at the resort spa…the resort spa steam room to be exact.

******

On the second day of our tropical vacation, Hubs and I elected to get massages.  Contrary to what this blog might make you think, I am not a spa frequenter.  My line of thinking is that if it’s a choice between 50 minutes of Shiatsu or Michael Kors, the stress knots will have to take up residence in my shoulders.  Thus, I am only vaguely familiar with spa etiquette and even less so with Mexican spa etiquette.  So, when Louisa, my Spanish-speaking spa hostess guided me to my locker and pointed to the slippers and robe, a wave of panic (the first in a series of many I would face in the next few minutes) set in as I debated whether I should take off my bathing suit and enjoy the spa experience in the buff or play it safe and leave it on.

Opting to abide by one of my style rules (Better to be overdressed than underdressed), I kept my bathing suit on and threw the robe on overtop.  Louisa then led me down a hallway of glass doors, stopped in front of a particularly foggy one, and gestured for me to take off my robe.

“Here it is,” I thought. “The moment of truth.  If I’m supposed to be naked, Louisa or whoever’s on the other side of that door will surely let me know.”

Louisa seemed indifferent to my swimsuit and pushed open the door to a fog filled room where a very large American woman (who, for purposes of this post I will refer to as “Lamerican”) was sprawled out on what appeared to be some sort of step–in her bathing suit!

“Spa etiquette test numero uno? A+,” I inwardly exclaimed.

Now, as previously mentioned, this was only my third or fourth time at a spa; and on none of my previous visits had I ever been in a steam room.  So, not only was a grateful that Lamerican had her bathing suit on, I was also pleased that she had answered my next spa etiquette question of where to sit in a steam room.  With Louisa still holding open the door, I took my place on the bottom step adjacent to Lamerican.

Now, as not previously mentioned, I am mildly claustrophobic. No sooner had I sat down, than panic set in as I realized that I. COULDN’T. BREATHE. The panic only heightened as Louisa closed the door saying that she’d return in DIEZ MINUTOS.

“DIEZ MINUTOS!?” I thought. “I’M GOING TO BE STUCK IN THE OUTER RING OF HADES FOR DIEZ MINUTOS?!”

I began to fidget rapidly in between gasps for air.  And the voices in my head (they randomly show up at times like this) started to talk back and forth to one another.

“Maybe you can just get up and leave. You don’t know anyone here. No one will judge you,”  said the voice in my left ear.

“Don’t be such a pansy,” screamed the voice in my right ear.  “If you walk out, people in this spa will most certainly judge you and henceforth you will be referred to as the girl who couldn’t hack the steam room in Cancun.”

“BUT I CAN’T BREATHE!” Left ear voice protested.

Suddenly, the door opened and in walked a small Asian girl (Smasian) who gracefully hopped up on the top stair of the steam room and assumed Lotus pose.  Now, the voice in my right ear was doing the cursing.  Also at this time, Louisa motioned for Lamerican to leave the steam room.

Perhaps the entrance of Smasian/exit of Lamerican had sufficiently thinned the air in the room or perhaps I was getting used to my environment, but I felt much less panicked as Louisa closed the door for the second time.  In fact, taking a cue from Smasian, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. And then I heard it…A loud whooshing sound that started off distant and got closer until all of a sudden the noise was overhead and the room was filling with steam thicker than it had been when I initially entered it; and even worse, some of the steam was coming from the vent directly in back of my legs.

“OH MY GOSH, THAT BURNS!” I yelled loudly as I jumped to the top stair and forgot all sense of spa etiquette.

“See, I told you that you should have left,” the voice in my left ear taunted back.

So now, I not only couldn’t breathe, but the backs of my legs were suffering from 3rd degree burns and I’d embarrassed myself in front of Smasian.  My only consolation was that the steam was now so thick that I could not see Smasian and she could not see me panicking…again.

Originally, I had planned to spend my time at the spa in prayer, thanking the Lord for my trip and asking for direction for the future for Hubs and I .  I did, in fact, pray while I was in the steam room.  My prayers went something like this: “Dear Lord, if a year is like a day to you, could you make DIEZ MINUTOS like five seconds to me?” and “Heavenly Father, if you’re punishing me for something , please make my misdeeds clear so that I can turn from them and never go through this again.”

Sometimes when we pray for something, God is silent.  This was one of those times.

Eventually, I slipped into something resembling a breathing routine (which I envision using again when I go into labor) and was able to at least slow my heart rate during my last few minutes in the steam room.  After what seemed like a small eternity, Louisa returned for both Smasian and I.  Personally, I though that since Smasian came in later than me, she should have had to stay later as well, but then I realized I could breathe again and stopped caring.  Besides, both of us were about to endure the same and only slightly less torturous fate: the ice bath.

I wish there was a moral to this story, but sadly there is not.  So, I will just hang my head in shame and leave you with the a picture of one of the other steamy moments of my time in Cancun… The day I touched a woman’s breast.

Look at those new shoes. I think Manfred Mann just changed their song to "Blinded by the White."

Hubs and I have not been on a real vacation since our honeymoon in Hawaii over two years ago.  So, when we saw a last minute travel deal to Cancun a few weeks ago, we decided to take it.  We leave tomorrow and won’t return until next Saturday.  I’ve packed a variety of outfits, a mound of books (no matter how tech savvy I become, I refuse to get a Kindle. Someone has to pay Linda Librarian’s salary!), and I got a Brazilian Bikini Wax.

I’ll be posting about all of the above later, most especially the bikini wax (which was a hilariously painful adventure) but you can rest assured you won’t be seeing any bathing suit shots like the one above.  This photo was taken the week after my wedding and I had been doing two-a-days and fasting from no-carbs for weeks beforehand to look that good.  I’m scared to put the bikini photos from this trip up next to this photo… So I don’t think I will.  But a margarita on the rocks? Don’t mind if I do.

Style Geek…OUT!

(Until 8/15/11)