just took my first bellydancing class.

I just took my first bellydancing class.

Actually, let me re-write that statement. It needs exclamation points to properly exude my current emotional state.

I just took my first bellydancing class!!

Two exclamations for good luck and emphasis (I like my things in even numbers). It was perhaps one of the best workouts of my life, not to mention, a chance to do something I’ve always wanted to do. Shoulders. Chest. Hips. Thighs. I felt it – truly felt it – from head to toe.

That’s the beauty of all things which make me feel flexible, bendy, and powerful. I can control my body and how it moves; slight hits, elongated snake arms, tiny staccato shimmies, or drawn-out figure eights. Sensual? Or coy? Muscles burn, but I can’t help but want to keep going. Push through. I can do it.

The teacher – probably in her late forties – was beautiful. Exotic, serene, and simply beautiful. I couldn’t stop watching her. Even before she took her position up front, even before I knew who she was, I knew who she was. There she was, a crochet sarong – demure in a sea of brightly colored and well-ornamented waists – tied low on her hips. She was blessed with one of those small frames that couldn’t be overlooked no matter how petite she seemed; there was a presence about her. Commanding. Enticing. Knowing. Perhaps it was the waist-length hair, waves slightly frizzed from the humidity and sweat, pulled half up, half down. Au naturel. Or maybe it was those wide doe eyes; she’d occasionally wink as she looked about the studio at her students.

You could only imagine my surprise when she singled me out. “You’re a dancer, right?” She paused only to smile. “I can tell.”

I didn’t even get to answer.

But what I did get to do, however, was buy myself a hip scarf. It’s something I’ve wanted for the longest time and finally have; silly? Perhaps. Little things make me happy. The only difficult part was choosing; there were so many options. Lavender. A deep purple. Blues. Bright kelly greens. White. Silver or gold coins? Nearly every color and combination piled before me on the wooden table, each neatly folded in their respective plastic bags. There wasn’t any orange scarves, though.

The black one, strewn with gold beads and gold coins, came home with me tonight.

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x

casa blanca

White +  Tan + Nude lips + Black liner. A timeless and effortlessly sexy combination.

“Casa Blanca”

Toni Garrn by Camilla Akrans

Numero #131, March 2012

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x

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happy easter!

Doutzen Kroes clad in nothing but Victoria’s Secret lingerie and bunny ears.

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x

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versace x h&m

Versace tops as one of my favorite design houses of all time, for many reasons. It’s no wonder, then, that I was floored when news of a Versace x H&M collection was to hit select stores in November 2011.

Perhaps floored isn’t the right word – yes, I was excited at the prospects of the democratization of fashion. Versace was catering towards a more mainstream demographic (for plebs like myself), crossing lines in the process. And while collaborations between large, consumer corporations and luxury designers aren’t unusual – I do believe Target popularized the concept – this was different. There’s a distinct socioeconomic hierarchy in the so-called “fashion world,” and mobility isn’t exactly easy. Take a look at the layout of your local mall – note how the Charlotte Russe’s and Sear’s are grouped within the same wing, and how Nordstrom and Sephora are closer in vicinity. Then compare malls in different districts; Nordstrom is high-end in one city, whereas in another Bergdorf’s and Neiman’s are considered true luxury.

But I digress – my point is this: H&M may be an affordable, mainstream retailer, but unlike Target, it’s a fashion retailer. A respected one – unlike the more notorious Forever 21 – at that. Credibility is instilled. Marketing efforts are geared towards a niche crowd and therefore more effective. Which, inevitably, means that campouts and infinite lines were to be expected at its release.

I didn’t think my local H&M would carry the collection, but lo’ and behold, they did. Pricy, yes, but brilliant in quality – far better than I had expected. And one month later, there were actually items left. It was all very true to the luxury design house’s aesthetics. Unapologetic, sexy, a throwback to their eighties’ vision. (I loathe all things eighties, but I make an exception for Versace.) While they weren’t necessarily the ones I secretly had my heart set upon (namely a studded leather trench and coral gown Jessica Rabbit would wear if dressed by Donnatella!), but a round of dress-up in the fitting room never hurt the soul.

And by round, I mean just one, solitary piece. The only left in my size was a bustier – fate, I tell you.

I’d show you pictures, but I’d rather not have such scandalous pictures of myself up and about the Internet; I think my mother (and any potential bosses) might have a heart attack. I’d rather not be held liable for any impending deaths, thankyouverymuch. But let’s be frank: black heels (of any variety) + black skinnies + corset top = a simple and beautiful equation for evenings out.

I’ll show you pictures where appropriate one day. When you’re older.

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x

P.S.: I didn’t actually buy it. It was well over $$$, not in my budget. But the few minutes I spent twirling around in my 4 x 5 fitting room were well worth it.

peace, love, and sexiness

C’est tout.

Indulging in Pilates, chocolates, and learning vintage Britney dance routines during my study breaks (“Toxic” and “I’m A Slave 4 U” namely; don’t you adore nineties’ take on spelling?) and counting down the hours I can finally sit down and watch the Victoria’s  Secret  2011 Fashion Show and read this.

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