Forget the Chloe's.

This photograph below is a preview of my late twenties/early thirties that are to come. Let it be said. Someone leaned over this night and kindly pointed out I have interesting features and perhaps I have not yet grown into them. Damn straight. Thirty is the new everything. Life keeps looking better and better and if I went outside dressed in an outfit such as hers tomorrow, or in two months, or in five years, it would still be in brilliant taste each time.

Memo to self, collect clothes that age with you.

Come to think of it, I have three noteworthy pieces in my modest lifelong collection that stand out: One, the magnum opus of my reserve is a black crepe overlay dinner coat lined with silk satin that is without a doubt, a show-stopper; Two, also black, my men's alligator portfolio that cost me well over half the rent but was simply so justifiable and so damn beautiful I didn't even consider not getting it. I found it two years ago in Paris with Kit and Rabbi standing guard as I travelled toward it like a bee to the hive and have long vowed to cart this minivan sized carry-all around on my shoulder until death do us part. The third piece is a mink fur stole that my Grandmother bestowed upon me. It sounds like regal heirloom (and it is), but Helen Helen Helen probably stitch ripped the shit out of that thing from the collar of some ratty coat and threw it haphazardly onto the Self Help pile. (On the same note, I remember finding a beer cooler with a cool shoulder strap in a similar give away pile and wore that thing as a purse religiously for about two months straight when I was ten. Even to church. Duracel, represent. My hat collection is also worth mentioning at this point. While I am not one for maintaining a fashion blog or posting daily What-I-Wore recounts, I will happily talk your ear off about clothes that make my heart race. These things, do me in.

Forget the Chloe's, the Mary Kate's, the Aggy's, the Kate's, the Lara's, this is the type of woman that if I would see in the street, I would automatically respect her based on individual style. Cool, collected, classic and baby bit weird. It works and she wears it well. I hope some tripping teen born in the new millennium will say something along those lines in regards to my taste ten years from now.