I recently purchased a new purse. I love a crossbody bag, but mine was a little too bulky, and I wanted something smaller, sleeker. I also hunted down a pair of sneakers after seeing a Japanese lifestyle vlogger wearing them (I also coveted her wallet and had to find that.) Instagram kept showing me an ad for a dress, so I finally caved and bought it. And on and on we go.
When I looked at the various random pieces I’d acquired over the past 4-5 months or so, I realized they all pull together into a pretty snazzy outfit!
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For every dreamy dress that makes its way into one of my How To Wear fashion collage ensembles, there’s a digital graveyard of discarded possibilities – beautiful things that weren’t quite right because the ruffle-to-lace ratio failed to properly evoke the precise feeling of reading Gothic romance novels by candlelight during a power outage, or the shade of black wasn’t quite the same black as a crow’s feathers found in a cemetery at exactly 3:47 PM on an overcast Tuesday.
I spend hours haunting the darkest corners of haute couture collections, pursuing that perfect piece that speaks to whatever strange mood has possessed me that day. A stunning Alexander McQueen gown? Rejected because the hem wouldn’t appropriately billow in the theoretical breeze of an imaginary Victorian ghost hunt. That breathtaking Valentino piece? The beading caught the light in a way that reminded me too much of morning dew rather than the glimmer of fairy lights in an abandoned conservatory.
Would you believe that for every dress you see in my finished collages, I’ve passed over at least fifty others? Fifty! Each one lovely in its own right, but ultimately set aside because the neckline wasn’t dramatic enough for swooning over ancient cursed jewelry, or the silhouette failed to capture the essence of “widow who definitely did not poison her third husband but has excellent taste in mourning wear.”
A blood-red Rodarte with velvet ribbons at the shoulders, tea-length and slinky – a dress that captured the exact color of freshly spilled… well, let’s say wine. But – and this pains me still – the way it caught the light was more “elegant dinner party murder mystery” when what I required was “secret vampire masquerade where everyone pretends they’re just wearing really good lipstick.” I spent three days contemplating various shades of crimson trying to convince myself it could work. Reader, it could not.
A transcendent Simone Rocha creation in ivory organza with crystal-scattered corsetry and, how to put this delicately? Sequins placed in such a weird way that they’re essentially crowning a pair of imaginary sagging mams, creating an effect that’s somehow crazy fascinating. It’s giving “disco meditation on the drooping divine” when what I needed was “possibly transformed into a particularly elegant moth while conducting questionable botanical experiments.” The upside-down, underside boob crowning was just too distracting for proper ghostly activities.
A Comme des Garçons masterpiece of gathered jacquard cotton that held such promise: a symphony in black with a flared hem that looked like it had been designed by architects who exclusively work in shadows. But alas – while the structural gathering created the perfect silhouette for looming menacingly in doorways, it would make it impossible to dramatically drape oneself over ancient tombstones without getting caught on the carved cherubs. No amount of strategic flaring could solve the physics of proper Victorian swooning. Some dresses simply refuse to compromise between avant-garde menace and classical gothic poses.
An achingly beautiful Alexander McQueen creation that both haunts and taunts me – a sheer, dotted tulle masterpiece with gold sequined unicorns galloping across its surface. Perfect in absolutely every way… except that I couldn’t find a single photo of it laying flat or even on a hanger. And how can one properly daydream about wearing such a magical thing when there’s always someone else already wearing it in the photos? (We need that blank canvas, that absence, that empty space where we can project our own ghostly selves into the dress!) Alas, this unicorn remained, appropriately, too ethereal to capture in the way I needed.
An Erdem blazer that whispered such dark promises, with its dusty pink cotton-candy corsage trailing tattered ribbons against strict black wool like a forgotten Valentine pressed between the pages of a book of funerary customs. But the double-breasted structure and relaxed cut were giving more “eccentric gallery curator who specializes in cursed paintings” when what I needed was “mysterious lady novelist who may or may not have a collection of possessed dollhouses.” The distinction, while subtle, makes all the difference.
An Oscar de la Renta creation that looked like someone had captured the winter night sky and sewn it into a dress – all starbursts and comet trails and snowflakes that might actually be sea anemones frozen in time. The Art Nouveau-inspired crystal embroidery was absolutely perfect for every celestial occasion I could dream up… except that this cheeky little number was definitely more “tipsy on champagne with shooting stars” when what I needed was “solemnly communing with ancient nebulae.” Some dresses are just determined to have more fun than you had planned.
And finally, a Taller Marmo gown of black tulle and cascading fringe that promised every dramatic entrance I’ve ever dreamed of. I passed it by at the time, but now I realize it’s giving “Endora, but make it goth” – like if Samantha’s mother traded her signature tangerine caftans for something more suited to materializing dramatically in your living room at midnight instead of noon. Just imagine the withering looks she could deliver to Dum-Dum in this number, all swishing black fringe and sequined disdain. I could absolutely kick myself because that is EXACTLY the vibe I didn’t know I needed.
Why am I telling you this? I guess because I am sitting on a (virtual) pile of pretty dresses, and I need someone else to play pretend to dress up with me. Sometimes you spend hours hunting for the perfect gown for an imaginary moonlit garden party that will never actually happen, and you have to share that particular form of beautiful madness with someone who might understand. Someone who won’t question why you rejected a masterpiece of haute couture because it wasn’t quite right for theoretical ghost-spotting, or why you have such specific opinions about which dress would be most appropriate for dramatically reading poetry in an abandoned conservatory.
Maybe you’re that someone. If so, pull up a chair (preferably a high-backed walnut throne with blood-red velvet and lurking gargoyles, but I won’t judge if your chair only has regular Gothic architectural details). We can swap stories about the ones that got away – the almost-perfect gowns that whispered the wrong secrets, the beautiful dresses that cast the wrong shadows.
(And yes, I realize these are theoretical dresses that we never would have got in the first place because if we had a spare 36K, we would invest it or pay off our mortgage or something sensible like that. But that’s the beauty of window shopping for ghost-appropriate couture – the price tags can’t hurt you when you’re just playing pretend.)
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For years, I have been weaving these dark narratives, not through words, but through threads and textures. Long before this blog took root, hundreds of these shadowy ensembles emerged from my imagination. Now, I unveil a haunting selection, my favorites from a bygone era.
Time, however, has taken its toll. Many were born in a bygone era, crafted on a digital loom that now lies dormant (RIP Polyvore). The details may be lost, the textures a faded memory, but their essence remains–a testament to the enduring power and mystery of darkness. These are not simply “how to wear” guides. Each is an ode to a muse – a film noir heroine, a gothic poem, an eerie melody (or a blog post or a playlist, in which case those are all linked!) They compelled me to translate their whispers into the glamour and grandeur of fabric and form, an elusive language I do not pretend to understand but which I have forever been under its thrall.
So, step into this spectral showcase, and please enjoy these spooky lewks from yesterday. A love for the little black dress, or perhaps its grander, more dramatic evil queen ballgown cousin, is a must!
Miss Vampire 1970It has always been winterThe nodes of the moon are mystical pointsThe Mystery of the Mysterious Headdress Lady (the mystery is actually solved a decade later)Countess Wolfenbach is expecting you for tea…Forever…and ever…
Business As UsualI JUST WANT TO BE LOVEDIt’s nothing, just a hanged man.
Your head wound will seem insignificant… when I am draining your blood into my bath!An awkward moment in evolutionHad I known eternal life was so crappy, I would’ve opted out.
The Tragedy of Belladonna
The UnveilingThe sound of a thousand souls slipping underSummoning the gloomIt always gives me a shiver when I see a cat seeing what I can’t see.Almost nobody dances sober, unless they happen to be insane
You, too, can feel the joy and happiness of hating.
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This was initially written for Dirge Magazine in 2015. Dirge has since disappeared, but I hate the idea of my writing being homeless, so here it is for my own blog–which is probably where it belonged in the first place.
IN THE AUTUMN AND WINTER MONTHS I am drawn to the somber quiet of cemeteries and graveyards – places that house the still, silent dead. I suppose as the afternoons grow darker and colder, so do my thoughts and mood – and as such, melancholic meanderings alongside spirits and shades are often the order of the day.
The mind tends to wander strange, surreal pathways during these wintry boneyard rambles, and yet one sometimes finds oneself contemplating such practical frivolities as fashion and fripperies whilst traversing between headstones. The thought, for example, that aside from all the dead folk beneath your feet, cemeteries are also full of fascinating sartorial inspiration: the curious gravestone iconography; the bleak, chilled color palette of concrete crypts, porcelain urns, and faded funeral bouquets; the varying textures of cracked stone, velvety moss, and the tangle of overgrown, interwoven vines.
Incorporating these solemn motifs into ensembles for cemetery strolls when you’ve got a case of the morbs would then seem a logical progression, would it not?
See below for a selection of crypt couture and funereal finery fit for early winter visits to even some of the world’s most famous cemeteries. Pack your bags for a whirlwind, worldwide cemetery tour, fashionable saddies and tapophiles!
Seriously, pack a lot of bags. I didn’t skimp on the accessories and accoutrements.
If you enjoy these sartorial musings, or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?
So, much as I did for the two previous books, I was compelled to create a “How To Wear” for my newest offering, The Art of Fantasy! These items were pieced together to create an ensemble full of *immaculate vibes* and not because I’m trying to get you to buy any of these things; my sartorial daydreams are opulent and not inexpensive, so yes–many of these things are stupidly pricey, I am well aware of that! Also, I apologize if some of these things are sold out or discontinued, but you can often find the same or similar items on resale sites.
So I guess I have been making various “How to wear the summer solstice” outfits over the years and posting them willy-nilly on the internet and social media, but I have not been properly gathering them up in a blog post afterward, like I typically do with my other How To Wear collections. Le whoopsie! So that’s what I am doing today.
With such curations, I might usually include a bit of preamble about whatever aesthetic aspect of the seasons linking them with this, that, or the other kindred sartorial elements, but today I will leave the connecting of those dots to you. I have bees to bother and cookies to think about baking (I probably won’t bake them, but I’ll think about it all day) and a mustard yellow tunic to wear, and such is the extent of my summer solstice practices. I am sneaking all of this in-between minutes of the workday, so I am doing my best with what I have to work with!
Click on each image to be whisked away to a page where you will find all of the items that comprise the ensemble. Please note that these were pieced together over the span of several years and many of these things are sold out or discontinued, but you can often find the same or similar items on resale sites. Also, my daydreams are opulent and not inexpensive, so yes–many of these things are stupidly pricey, I am well aware of that!
Summer Solstice 2025
Summer Solstice 2024 (light & dark version)
Previous Summer Solstices…
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My little brain train needs a rest and reset. I have been foggy and sick for over a week now and I have been trying to work and write and think– and the ol engines aren’t chugging and choo-chooing like they should. Or…like…at all, if we’re being honest.
Sometimes when I am feeling this way, playtime is what’s called for. A few moments of letting my brain dream up something fun, a low-stakes little puzzle that engages me creatively but the outcome of which doesn’t feel like the world will come crumbling down around my ears if it’s not perfect.
So I thought I might put together an outfit for the first few days of autumn. Something that felt a little spooky and silly and which is also actually a “How To Wear A Slick Satan Tee Shirt” ensemble, too, I guess, because I sure do love that Barbie’s SCREAMHOUSE top! Something I would totally wear from the top of that black straw hat to the toes of those utilitarian mary janes…if I had the money to afford any of this, and if the weather would allow for it. (Spoiler: I do not have that money and it’s hot pea soup out there until December. The weather will most certainly not allow for it.)
Anyway, unscrambling one’s epizootie-scrambled brain takes time, and I will be patient with myself. And maybe just play for a while.
A restful and relaxing and fragrant summer solstice to everyone in the Northern Hemisphere! I’m honoring the day by wearing all of my orange blossom scents at once.
I did…not…enjoy Things Heard and Seen on Netflix. I will admit, the trailer captivated me, with its teasing of Catherine and George, a young couple and their child moving from the city to a ~quite possibly~ haunted old house in a small Hudson Valley college town. I already want to run away to an isolated farmhouse in upstate New York and bake bread and feed chickens all day (okay, Yvan can feed the chickens, I don’t really care about that part) so this appealed to me on a very base level.
But. With the exception of one character, I did not care for a single person in this film. As it turns out, and I’m not really spoiling anything here, George is not a great guy. You get a sense right off the bat that he’s a bit of a dick and he’s kind of sneaky, and he only gets worse. I don’t think the house would have gotten to him to such a degree if it wasn’t already a bad apple. And by the end of the film, you start to wonder about some things you learn at the beginning of the film and wonder if he wasn’t already rotten to the core.
I didn’t really love Catherine’s character, either. And maybe that’s not fair because I don’t know that we ever got a chance to know her, other than she gave up her art restoration career for her husband’s teaching opportunity, which is why they made the move to the country. And that she’s “the believer” in the family, as George asserts to a colleague who is trying to talk with him about Swedenborgian philosophies and spirituality. But other than his referencing of it, and the fact that she begins seeing and hearing strange, ghostly things, we don’t get much in the way of an explanation or examples of that, or any back story for her at all.
Oh, and a big-time TW here: We also know that Catherine suffers from an eating disorder. We know this has been going on for a while, because George references doctor visits, and weight gain shakes she is supposed to be drinking for meals. An excellent example of this guy’s assholery is how he’s always harping on her for not eating, almost as if he’s actually concerned. And yet. In a car ride home, after they have joined Justine, a fellow professor (Rhea Seehorn, who plays Kim Wexler in Better Call Saul!) and her husband in their home for dinner, George remarks that Justine “can really put away some lasagna.” With commentary like that, it’s not surprising that Catherine has some issues with food and with her body. “That was a really nasty thing to say,” she remarks about his casual cruelty. And it was. Fuck off, George!
Justine Solokof, professor of weaving (?!?!) is a QUEEN and I would love to eat some lasagna with her. She is the very best thing about Things Seen And Heard.
If I am being honest, I utterly tuned out about 20 minutes into the film as I began daydreaming about life in my lovingly restored and gently haunted murder farmhouse. Crisp, clear nights with no light pollution or humidity and you can count every star in the sky and it’s so quiet you can hear the flights of bats and owls. Slow, chilly mornings warmed by endless cups of coffee and something cozy and autumnal to eat.
Like sourdough pumpkin pancakes! It’s 85 degrees in Florida this week, and the pancakes were the only part of this fantasy that I could recreate. I am not a huge fan of maple syrup, so I ate these with cream cheese and honey and they were delightful.
Of course, my haunted country home fantasy needs a rustic autumnal ensemble! Details on all of the items used can be found here; I’m feeling too lazy to list them all at the moment, but if you check back later, I may have done so.
And oh my lord people, you people with comments like “$12K for a bag, I would never!”Of course, you would never! That just goes without saying! We don’t have that kind of money! But what’s the point of daydreaming on a budget? No thanks, friends. If I’m gonna fantasize, even if it’s just a dream of making pies and knitting on a front porch rocking chair with no one in 50 miles in any direction to bother me, it’s gonna be dripping in luxury. You want a cheap murder farmhouse outfit, make it yourself.
How to wear an incredibly close approximation of a thing* I wear nearly every single day even when it’s close to 100 degrees outside and my soul feels it’s like dying after a six-month-long August inferno. But seriously, this is my favorite outfit ever. And I love gold jewelry now? Huh!
A blood-red Rodarte with velvet ribbons at the shoulders, tea-length and slinky – a dress that captured the exact color of freshly spilled… well, let’s say wine. But – and this pains me still – the way it caught the light was more “elegant dinner party murder mystery” when what I required was “secret vampire masquerade where everyone pretends they’re just wearing really good lipstick.” I spent three days contemplating various shades of crimson trying to convince myself it could work. Reader, it could not.
