What I wore all weekend: a look that's hinting at the fact that I'm getting excited for fall clothing (hats! silky button-downs! brown leather!) but still light enough for midsummer.

(Mostly excited about the hat. I bought it at Anthropologie last fall, decided for some reason to store it on a hidden shelf in my closet, and completely forgot I owned it until two weeks ago when I rediscovered it and glued it to my head.)

For Saturday's Date Night (to see This Is The End, which was so terrible and inside-joke-y I can't even talk about it), I decided to dress like a total fashion renegade.

White top, jeans, nude heels.

OK, so I wear outfits like this all the time. But there is a method to my non-madness, and the method is called "get out door now." The thing about a look this simple is that it requires next-to-no thought...but still: it's more fun if every single piece is just a tiny bit more interesting than you'd expect on first glance. Extras are everything.

It's the same philosophy I apply to decorating my house: I like the idea of sort of "rewarding" people who feel like looking extra-close with the discovery of, say, a ceramic frog tucked in between the plants, or a crystal skull head filled with flowers sitting on a tray. Adding fun details to a classic outfit - a slight cuff on the jeans, textured lace on the top, a bag with a stingray print - is a similar idea...it's like sprinkling your body with little eye-surprises.

A poolside look I love: a solid-color one-piece suit paired with a super-bright pair of earrings.

Like this.

When I was in fifth grade, I went to a private school that required students to wear uniforms: the boys wore slacks and collared shirts, and the girls wore little belted pale-blue jumpers. The popular girls wore the jumpers beltless, layering them over white or navy turtlenecks that were bunched at the neck (never rolled). I went for button-down blouses with enormous, frilly collars and tied that belt on exactly where it was supposed to go.

I was not cool.

I took a strange sort of pride in my non-coolness, actually. I remember at one point all the girls deciding to wear their scrunchies around their ankles, and making a conscious decision to keep my scrunchie in my hair where it belonged (despite my best friend's urgings) because it seemed pointless and weird to stick the thing on my foot. My choice to buck that particular trend made me feel pretty good, actually...in a small way it felt like a sign that I was doing my own thing, and that "my own thing" might be a kind of awesome thing to do.

And then, in the spring of that year, everyone (by which I mean Sarah and Nell and Katie and the other girls I wanted very badly to be just like) started wearing saddle shoes. I loved them. I wanted a pair of my own. But I felt silly about the fact that I wanted them; it seemed embarrassing to even desire the pair of shoes that was so clearly what the cool kids were into. I worried that it would seem like I was wearing them just to fit in, or that "fitting in" was actually what I did want.