We flew in on Friday, changed like lightning, then met the Hubs’s friend S and his lovely partner N for drinks and dinner. We see S & N about once a year, so we’ve a LOT of catching up and playing to do when we meet. This was our second meeting in Vegas. And we got a LOT done.
I bought the tunic in XL because the medium wasn’t long enough (possibly because it’s a shirt, not a tunic). In retrospect, however, I find this outfit to be the least exciting of the three. The tunic is doing that thing tunics tend to do: eliminating all curves and turning me into a puffy rectangle. In the mirror the night before we flew, and again the first night in Vegas, I perceived curves. But the camera says no, and that sucketh.
Sequin tunic: Forever Fashion (via Winners)
Leggings: [label rubbed off] (via Winners)
Let’s pretend it’s nighttime. After all, that’s when I wore it.
Hmm. ‘More sparkle, but still no real shape. . .
Wise StyleNation, I turn to you for counsel once again: how can this sparkly tunic/top thingy work in future? Or is it a lost cause?
Night/outfit #2: Buffett Ridiculousness
Regular concerts don’t do it for me. Also, I despise stadium concerts because I can’t see anything good, and then the sound disappears into the rafters, then comes back down to bounce off the concrete walls, so I can’t hear anything good either. But it was the A-Dubs-Hubs’s birthday, and he and S share a love of Jimmy Buffett music. The lovely N is a much better sport about this ridiculous preference than I am. I tried to follow her example on this evening.
In the interests of good sportiness, I agreed to go to dinner at Margaritaville, Jimmy Buffett’s restaurant (it’s a chain, for pete’s sake), before heading to the arena/stadium down the street for the concert. Thankfully, the margaritas over dinner were strong, and the bikini-clad woman who slides down a fake volcano into a giant margarita glass once every hour at this classy establishment appeared to have the night off.
Thinking about the concert we attended, the reason for which this whole Vegas trip was undertaken, inspires fatigue. Depression even. Maybe I’ll just sit down for a minute. . .
Studded pleather & viscose top: Sejis J (via Winners)
Skinny jeans: Revolt (via Winners)
Studded pointy Vegas walking shoes:
Fugitive de Francesco Rossi (remixed
Faux-wine & glass: included to recall multiple debilitatingly strong margaritas consumed pre-concert in effort to will self into Buffett-concert mindset (didn’t work); bonus side effect: giant nap during concert
Moving on: this ensemble breaks my recently-developed rule prohibiting the wearing of jeans and t-shirts out at night. But I dressed down a wee bit anyway as I was told that Buffett concerts are super-casual affairs.
As it turns out, I was still over-dressed. Or under-dressed, depending on your perspective. After all, I was not wearing a toy shark or parrot as a hat; and I was not dressed as a pirate (or a “sexy pirate wench” – whatever that is); nor was I – like many of the shit-faced soft-bodied middle-aged straight white men in attendance – wearing a grass skirt, fake-coconut bra, 16 plastic leis, and a straw hat with blinking lights threaded through it. (please note: neither the Hubs nor S was thus costumed; probably they would also disavow any association with middle-age and soft-bodiedness)
A-Dubs to N: “Seriously? It’s like a Jimmy Buffett-lead cult.”
N to A-Dubs: “Yes. It’s kind of great that they’re so into it. But it’s also kind of sad, if you think about it. ‘All these people dreaming of a better life, but not actually having it.”
Moving on once more.
Can you tell I’ve a new pointy-sided chin-length bob? It’s inspired by N’s awesome style. (Except hers is curly and blond.) I was tired of long hair. I don’t have the time to take care of or style it, so I just wore it up every day. And my face really needs a hair frame.
The jacket pictured below, and the clutch pictured above were involved with this outfit, too.
Also, tall shoes would be better here, no? But this night involved a LOT of walking. I can handle EITHER concert-related OR shoe-related discomfort. Not both. The concert
rage discomfort was inevitable; the flat shoes were, therefore, an additional inevitability.
Earrings: The Bay
I keep forgetting to pose with – not drink from – the wine glass. Each time I sip in these photos, the grape juice creates disappointment. And yet, I keep lifting the glass through sheer force of habit.
Night/outfit #3: Tapas, “Love,” Dinner
By far my favourite of the three Vegas nights, this evening saw our happy crew drinking champers over early-evening tapas, then attending “Love,” the Cirque de Soleil show inspired by The Beatles music (a show in which, I’m told, the indomitable Yoko Ono had a creative hand, as this brilliant woman owns the rights to a number of Beatles tunes), then talking into the wee hours over late-night dinner and drinks.
(Still drinking, not posing. Kind of like drowning, not waving.)
Items in this sequence were much smoother when they appeared in Vegas. Today, they’re fresh out of my (just-now-unpacked) suitcase. I do not iron things I’m not wearing into the (real) world.
Green silk blouse: Banana Republic (gifted from Designer Shoe Whore two xmases ago)
Kitten heels (the only ones that have EVER worked for me)
: Moda (via Shoe Heaven
Dangly earrings: The BayBunch of bracelets:
The Bay (remixed
In short and to sum up, StyleNation, we should go to Vegas, wear sparkly things, be merry, and take piles of photos doing it all. I had a great time with the crew last weekend; but you and I both know that together, we could make a party bomb.