UGG, I look like my mother!

Posted by Shireen Sandoval  11/09/12, 4:41pm

UGG, I look like my mother!

Smelling of turpentine and paint, my mother breezed by me heading toward her art studio. I, of course, looked at her with snarky teenage disapproval and wondered: "How did I fall so far from the apple tree?". Really, if I was being honest, it was more like a tumble and when I hit the ground, I felt like I had fallen off Mount Everest.

I was an aspiring television reporter; my mother, the quintessential hippie chick. I proudly wore the same uniform everyday: a thrift store blazer, a snappy T-shirt, rolled-up jeans and a pair of high heels I bought at Payless (I re-heeled those suckers four times.) My mother on the other hand, wore cut-off jean shorts, zigzaggy rainbow colored tube tops and wooden Dr. Scholl's sandals, with a blue strap. 

 I begged my mom: "Get some style!" She would just smile and say, "You'll see. You're just like me." I would vehemently disagree and storm off in a dust of second-hand, thrift store, reporter-looking bargains. After all, what would a Woodstock worshipper know about fashion? 

As I worked my way up the food chain of television news, I found my niche in entertainment reporting. I started shedding the expected glossy, veneered look of an "anchor/reporter" and found my way through fashion. There were highs and lows (literally): low cut, high cut and the wrong cut. What's more, I realized just because something was stylish and I wore it on TV, it didn't mean I had to have it in MY personal wardrobe and vice versa. 

As my mom got older, her shorts gave way to long flowing skirts, paired with off the shoulder blouses. She always accessorized with a great-looking piece of turquoise jewelry and a pair of Birkenstocks. It drove me fashionably batty. Especially the Birks! I just didn't get it. What was an almost six foot, sultry brunette doing in, as I called them "Jesus flats"? No disrespect, but it wasn't exactly 14 AD and I knew she wasn't going for, say, an Aphrodite/Venus look, which I would have preferred. 

My "UGG, I look like my mother" moment happened when I was wandering around the Aventura Mall, looking for blog Ideas. I was in Macy's digging through a sale bin of purses, when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I was in utter disbelief! I moved closer to my reflection. There I was, in all my glory, wearing a flowing skirt, an off the shoulder blouse, a turquoise necklace and UGGS (the modern day Birkenstock). I had officially become MY MOTHER! 

I own a lot of UGGS. I've been a fan for over 10 years. The brand was started in 1978, in Southern California, by Brian Smith. He mixed his love of sheepskin and a laid back lifestyle, to create the ultimate hippie/surfer/ski bunny chic/ furry footwear empire. 

No matter where I go, what I do, and how I perceive myself (a self admitted designer shoe whore,) my day usually starts and ends, in UGGS. My newest pair are a dusty rose. Strangely, the same color Birks my mom used to wear. She must have been smiling sheepishly when she ordered them for me on-line, as a gift, per my request. 

I have to admit (although it took a few years; okay, a lot of years) that looking like my mother is pretty cool and comfortable. Wanna be part of the fold? Get lamblike at http://www.uggaustralia.com/ 

The Gallant Gladiator

Posted by Shireen Sandoval

The Gallant Gladiator a blog story...

I know it didn't happen in slow motion but it felt that way. My feet danced around me; forward and backward, up and down, side to side. My body lunged in different directions, twisting and turning, in what I thought was a dazzling display of agility. So, imagine my surprise when my enemy sunk her dagger straight into my heart. I gasped in pain and my body grew limp. After she stabbed me, she pulled me close and whispered: "Rest in peace Gallant Gladiator."

Rosebuds, Mr. Herrick, Clover Canyon & Floggs

Posted by Shireen Sandoval

When Springtime approaches, the poem "Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May" incessantly runs through my head. It affects me in two ways. At first, I feel a renewal of sorts. Spring brings such possibilities. Then I feel an overwhelming need to inflict pain on Robert Herrick. He's the 17th-century English writer that penned the poem. It's basically a warning to young people to heed love ASAP. He states: "That age is best which is the first." My translation - love is better when you're young (virgin-like) so get it while the gettin's good.

Paula, Kookie & Molly my hair chronicle ...

Posted by Shireen Sandoval

I didn't lose my hair all at once. It came out little by little, here and there. It trailed behind me like a brillant mystery novel, leaving little clues to my whereabouts. First, I noticed it on my pillow. Then my shower drain. I'd find strands on my shoulders and frantically pick them off. Eventually a clump would follow. Each piece was like a string of rope coming untethered. The once strong, tightly bound fibers unraveled around me. Over time, my magnificent mane became minuscule. The bottom shed so much it turned see-through. The top, typically full, thinned-out into a lackluster, lifeless thing that just laid there. It was a case of "hair today, gone tomorrow" literally.

A Fashion Felony

Posted by Shireen Sandoval

I was in a deep sleep when the raid happened. It was the middle of the night. The sound of the front door getting kicked in jolted me from my slumber. My heart raced. I knew it was over. I had the premonition a few days prior. I just didn't think it'd be so soon. I'd prepared myself - going over and over it - hundreds of times in my head. But now that it was actually happening, I wasn't ready. I looked through the darkness, toward the door of my bedroom and saw flashlights flooding my apartment. A cop yelled my name, demanding my surrender. I couldn't let them take me. Not now. Not like this. I was vunerable, disheveled and undressed.