Milky Whites: Unoriginal Sin

Milky Whites: Unoriginal Sin

Before I go any further, I want to get this out of the way: I am definitely, for sure, no-doubt-about-it wearing the same shirt, shoes, and beanie you last saw me in a month ago in our inaugural “Milky Whites” post. 

I’ll let that sink in for a few moments.

Although this is not a full-fledged outfit hijack, there is definitely some taboo revolving around instances of repetition like this within such a close proximity of time. 

For this I am genuinely sorry. There is little that can be done to repair the broken trust springing from a mirrored, slightly altered outfit on a fashion-y blog such as this. You’re expecting novel discoveries on how and why to wear exciting new things and all I have done IS RECYCLED OLD, CRUSTY LOOKS. 

Why don’t you take this time to gauge your disappointment in me. 1-100. Have a number? Good, now add fifty to that. Multiply that sum by one billion and you’ve got a rough approximate of how I’m feeling about the whole situation. 

Actually, the more I look at it the bigger of a fan I become… That wine-colored shirt looks phenomenal with those pink pants I have on. And that duster jacket? SOLID. 
This outfit is honey. It is a warm chai tea on a brisk winter morning. It is they joy of motherhood, sexual relations, and one billion dollars. It is sugar, spice, everything nice, AND CHEMICAL X.
This look was divinely relayed to me. It transcends time and space. It ends war, corruption, and world hunger. 
So you’re welcome–I just solved fashion.

Minimize: Burberry Forever and Always

Minimize: Burberry Forever and Always
There are few things as thrilling to a fashion fanatic as the excitement of fashion week(s).  There are fewer things as exhausting… even to those who are only participating via Instagram or the well-formatted slideshows made possible by
Though it can be exhausting, it is essential to have a handful of shows that you are looking forward to. These provide you with the determination that is essential for your survival.
Transmogony has it’s handful of those shows, and while we wish that we could be good and fair and give all shows the same amount of undivided attention, we quite honestly do not see how one could not privilege Burberry above all.
Christopher Bailey makes it impossible not to sit on the edge of your seat. Overshadowing NYFW altogether, Burberry steals the show before the tent is even set up in Kensington Gardens.
There are certain “always-es” that have been established by Bailey’s Burberry that make me bite my nails in anticipation even harder than usual: live music performed by an up and coming British artist, the beautiful tent in Hyde Park in great proximity to Kensington Palace which serves as it’s show space, the theme of the décor in the venue and the high likelihood of there being items intentionally falling from the roof of the tent.
These cause fashion lovers to shiver in delight when these mysteries are unveiled.  SS15 had rose petals gently falling during the finale of the show.  Maybe AW15 will have snow or fall leaves. If amazing acts like Paloma Faith and Tom Odell have already graced the stage with their musical abilities, who else could they get? What will the floor be like? An ice skating rink?
Last Monday we all got the answers that we were begging for. Patchwork, Patterns and Prints were displayed on models as they walked a tile runway that could have been taken from a fabulously elegant lobby restroom in a five star hotel.  It was intentionally simple, but you can’t help but marvel at it’s beauty for at least a few seconds before getting back the the stunning fringe which demands all of a someone’s attention.
Claire Maguire serenaded us, reminding the world of Burberry’s intense nationalistic pride in being “British.” It’s a tight-knit community, being British, and part of that is indulging in a spirit of collaboration and uplifting. As the finale approached, a choir which spanned the perimeter of the tent erupted in a chorus of hallelujahs as the most elegant thick strips of metallic silver confetti drifted from the sky as if the fashion gods were announcing their complete approval of this collection.
But the most impressive part is always when Creative Director Christopher Bailey comes out at the end of the show.  Instead of taking all the attention for himself (as is often done by his colleagues at other shows) he walks out facing the stage where Maguire is wrapping up her performance, claps for her and then turns around and takes a timid little bow before running off.  Yeah, he had to be fully aware that he completely revamped Burberry and brought it back the the attention of people everywhere, but it’s with acts like these that he acknowledges that even he can’t put this on all by himself.

Who couldn’t adore that?

February 9, 2015          

It’s the middle of winter and if you are like me you will agree when I say that all this dressing warm is getting a bit tedious. Layers, layers, layers. I feel as if it has been tattooed into my mind (speaking of mind tattoos, I suspect those will be a big deal this spring). I get it already! So I partnered with a Random Sponsor to bring you a feature on my favorite trick for staying warm this winter, which happens to be oozing with trendy goodness: buttcoats.

Seriously, je’aime buttcoats this season. They offer so many positives beyond just warmth. If you need to cover your bottom for any embarrassing reason, the buttcoat provides you with great coverage. Sometimes you might need to sit down somewhere that is cold (I sure know that I really dislike when that happens), but buttcoats make it so that the cold isn’t as nippy. But best of all, buttcoats are so universal in ways that they can be styled. To help illustrate that, a Random Sponsor and I created this great lookbook for you.

Happy winter! Stay warm!


February 9, 2015

If laid out correctly, the life of a pair of pants can be truly inspiring. It’s journey with us begins at the point of purchase, but the span of a well-made pantaloon’s life stretches far before and often after its time with us. From the weaving of its fabric to its eventual decay, the Story of Pants is one of Fashion Literature’s most triumphant. 

I’ve had affairs with hundreds of pairs of pants in my lifetime but have grown to love only a handful. With the exception of three pairs of pants (a pair of indigo jeans from J. Crew, red-and-white, tribal printed Topman capris, and, until last week, a pair of basic navy blue, skinny cut chinos passed down from my brother to me many (three) years ago when I attended high school) all of my beloved pants are altered–by me–in some way. 

I write altered, but I think what I really mean iss “painted.” When a pair of expensive-ass pants are lathered in liquid normally said to “ruin” a pair of pants the average citizen would likely cringe. I, however, garner a sick satisfaction from the action, which is why no less than 5 pairs of my pants, a jacket, and countless shirts have undergone this process under my supervision. 

But you already know this seeing that I’ve devoted a whopping three posts to this subject on this website… At this point when you Google Transmogony, @AdditakOfficial, or even just Addybear all of the results catapulted on the screen probably (definitely) include the phrase “painted pants” in the first couple lines. 

Two weeks ago my beloved hand-me-down navy chinos developed a hole in the fabric–and not even in a cool, trendy spot like the knee or upper thigh. No, thanks to my luck the hole presented itself in the danger zone… smack-dab on my right ass-cheek. 

This isn’t the kind of blemish that can be glossed over with a nice, thick coat of acrylic paint… If I dared go out in public my underwear (or the shocking lack thereof in some instances) would scream to the world “LOOK AT ME. AN UNFORTUNATE HOLE HAS APPEARED ON THIS MAN’S REAR END AND I CAN NOW SEE THE WORLD AS IT WAS INTENDED TO BE SEEN” or something like that. 

This problem needed a longer-lasting solution… 

But before I get to that I feel it necessary to point out that my DIYing doesn’t always turn out the way I intend it… I keep a hamper tucked away in my closet that is specifically designated to hold my many casualties. Too many (meaning two) of my favorite shirts have found themselves there after botched de-collarings and half-assed dye jobs. Until now I was never quite sure why I kept these… for nostalgia’s sake, maybe? It’s just hard for me to throw things clothes away. I’m a hoarder when it comes to fabric.

As you probably guessed, after a quick brainstorming session last Sunday I deduced that the best solution to this embarrassing problem was to PATCH THE HELL OUT OF THESE PANTS. 

Which I did

And you can now see…


(You’re Welcome)

February 2, 2015

Park City, Utah: the wooden cultural oasis deep in the plains of the Western United States. The shimmering, nippy air harnesses a magical quality as it envelops this factory of venerated filmmakers. Making it here is the first big step on an indie film’s long road to success. People go to great lengths to take part in the Sundance Film Festival every year, often traveling thousands of miles and sacrificing entireties of life-savings to produce their interpretation of cinematic gold. The goal? To get it picked up by a major production company and shown to the rest of the world.  

For the youthful inhabitants of the Salt Lake Valley, however, Park City fulfills the innate human need to crowd celebrities, aggressively photograph pretty people, and impersonate the rich and famous for a glorious ten days every January.

Naturally, Kelsie and I saw this as the perfect opportunity to flee to the beautiful Utah mountainscape* and feast our eyes upon they type of street-style that just doesn’t exist in our natural habitats. Dressed to the nines and camera-ready, we made the forty-minute trek up the canyon early Saturday morning with the giddiness of a boy just before his 6thbirthday.

Kelsie had on a beautiful green puffer-coat with a fur-lined hood. One layer down was a short sleeve sweater with a bejeweled neckline and under that a railroad-striped denim button-up. Her oxblood motorcycle jeans topped (or I guess bottomed) off her outfit, and her wavy hair was pinned in an adorable ponytail. I was wearing my infamous paint-pants with a mustard-yellow oxford shirt. My finishing touches were a dark-brown tie-turned-ascot and a heavy brown coat.

Now, before I go any further I just want to clarify that enjoying the fruits of others’ gilded creativity was in no way on our agenda for the weekend—we made the trip to Park City knowing fully well that we would not be watching any films. We are absolutely not ashamed by this. We yearned to see what Lena Dunham described on her twitter as “bazonkers snow fashion”** and that is that.

Rolling into the resort town had excitement bursting from our seams. What decadent furs would cross our paths? Would the rich coloring blind us or uplift our spirits? How many times would tears be shed as sartorial inspiration bombarded us?

The neon-blue sky promised us a day of utter delight as the crisp air captured the perfect degree of chill. To avoid paying for parking (a form of torture crueler than waterboarding for poor college students like us) we parked Kelsie’s splendidly dinky sedan in the parking lot of a strip mall a few blocks from the head of Sundance excitement. In a matter of minutes we would be strutting down Main Street, snapping pics of the well dressed and feasting on the decadent fashions of famous faces.

Arriving on Main Street, we immediately sought an adequate stakeout between two brightly painted buildings and set up base (which for us means pulling out my DSLR and setting down our box of Goldfish to munch on between takes). Peeking through the viewfinder had us buzzing.

Minutes passed and we saw nothing. A handful of fur caps graced our presence, but so far our excursion left us bone-dry.

“So, are we even going to use this camera today?” Kelsie inquired, breaking the awkward silence our depravity left us in.

“Everyone is just busy right now,” I assured. “Once they’re done with whatever movies they’re seeing they’ll pour out! JUST YOU WAIT.”

“Let’s get a move on. We aren’t gonna catch anything waiting around back here.”

So we set out down the street, my eye glued to the camera and my finger resting neatly on the shutter ready to attack. Before we could process it, we hit the bottom of the street with nothing to show for it. “There’s a lot of dudes in Patagonia coats,” I said, pointing out the obvious. “Maybe we could make this post about that!”

“Nobody cares about Patagonia coats, dude,” Kelsie affirmed. Not wanting to cause a ruckus—I was raised in a family of hardcore Patagonia fans and am prepared to defend the brand to the death—I accepted her assertion and moved on.

“I’m seriously not seeing anything, Add. Maybe we should just head ba—“


I spotted a gaggle of straight-haired fashion girls clad in cozy fur hats, fuzzy coats, and skinny jeans. Their effortlessly assembled outfits of luxury fabrics meant we had struck gold.

I clenched my camera in my hand as Kelsie fumbled to secure our Goldfish in her shiny green coat. We ran as fast as we could toward the flock, weaving through the swarm of plainly dressed intellectuals, until we reached the spot of their sighting.

We hastily scanned the surrounding crowd with our hearts beating fast from our sudden jolt of cardiovascular exercise. No fur to be found; the girls were gone.

“Damn it, Kelsie.” We were heartbroken and out of breath. “WHY IS THIS SUCH A HASSLE?”

“Because, Add. This is Sundance.” We were still fighting for air. “What were we even expecting?”

Just then, those girls with their perfectly smooth faces emerged from the boutique we were leaning on to catch our breath, giggling and gossiping about their lives at home. From up close their ensembles were far less impressive. Expensive fabrics, yes, but their unity of beige furs and denim was definitely not the kind of “bazonkers” we were looking for. Out of obligation, I raised the camera to my eye, but before I could snap the picture Kelsie stopped me by grabbing my hand. “Not worth it.” After a deep breath she continued, “We can’t celebrate that. It’s nice, but boy is it boring.”

I looked back up to the girls. Their heeled riding boots clacked on the cement as they slowly walked away.

After taking a couple of snapshots of passers-by, we began walking back to our car. Once there, Kelsie asked a simple yet completely fulfilling question. “Nachos?”

“Nachos.” I echoed. She started the car and we set off to the nearest Mexican Restaurant. 

Kelsie and I may have been the best-dressed people we saw that day, but with our A+ outfits and a tummy full of cheezed-up tortilla chips, guac, and sweet-pork we were happy.

*            *            *

For the record, street-style photography is absolutely terrifying. A lot of respect has been gained for the art form :’) . Here are our sad first attempts at capturing it: 

* A word that my computer insists doesn’t exist. I SAY SCREW THAT IT IS A GREAT WORD.
** I also must make note that this phrase was used in the context of mild disappointment in notseeing the bazonkers snow fashion. We should have done our research before heading out…

February 2, 2015

Here at Transmogony, we don’t like to leave you hanging. You see, we actually want you to be informed on all the small (and often insignificant) developments in all the little things that we should have gotten over by now but haven’t.

You guessed it! It’s another installment in Kelsie’s quest for colored hair.

I pulled it off friends! I colored my hair pink! I took a test in the TESTING CENTER! I checked out a book from the LIBRARY! And I did it all with a lovely, soft pink tint to my tresses.

“Wait, how did she pull it off?” is you are probably all wondering (mentally acknowledging that the testing center is the ultimate testing battleground for the university and opposing students simply trying to have a little facial hair or shorts that don’t look like you should be a boy in some pretty school uniform with a blazer and knee-high socks) and if I did that then I am officially queen. Well, loyal subjects, I shall share my secret with you:

Roots. It’s seriously all in the roots.

As one who applies touch-up bleach to my own delicate scalp every month (very frequently with the assistance of my, surprisingly-talented-given-her-age, ten year old sister), I have become quite talented at applying hair dye to the source (as has Ellie), so I took it to the next level and I applied the creamy pink dye to the origins of the top part of my heavily admired mane, because guess what! If you dye just the roots you can cover it with an intentionally sun-distressed baseball cap, take your test and nobody will know that your hair is an ‘unnatural’ color until you walk out of that testing center, take the faded cap off, do one of those hair shake-out things that is always in slow motion when included in the movies, and have men (or women) of all relationship statuses staring at you with drool dripping down their chins.

My experience as an outlaw hiding in plain sight (that’s my metaphor for the whole having colored hair where it is not allowed) was magical. The compliments were flowing; people admired my guts and envied my ambition.  Charli XCX would be proud, for I went to school and I broke the rules simultaneously. Every single person wanted to know how I pulled it off (some were unaware of that desire).

We Built a Zoosays something about five seconds of bravery or maybe it’s courage. All it took was five seconds of bravery and I did it, I applied the dye to my hair and the results were magical and very ego boosting and I truly understand now why colored hair is so great. Colored hair gives you magic powers in the form of UNSTOPABLE CONFIDENCE.  But I also get that people may not have the same, excessively burning, desire for ‘unicorn’ hair but there has to be something that you want but are slightly afraid of going for.  DO IT! FREAKING GO FOR IT.  Don’t let anyone with a differing opinion keep you from going through with it because who cares, it’s your life!

**DISCLAIMER** There is a line to officialkelsieb’s advice, and that is the law of the land, please stop there, do not try anything illegal as a result of reading this.

January 26, 2015

The beginning of the semester is always a tough time for exceptionally fashionable college students. Picture New Year’s on crack (Or acid… or even paint thinner!) Should I stick with what I already have going or reinvent myself completely? 

If you didn’t already know, @officialkelsieb and I are really really terribly fashionable people, so  the New Semester Fashion Worries (or NSFW, for short) barely even faze us anymore. After surviving the first two weeks of boooooring classes (three for @officialkelsieb because her college is secretly an internment camp), @kels and @I thought we would be charitable and share with you some nuggets of our infinite wisdom:
  1. Wear a beanie! Nothing brightens back to school blues like a warm hat.
  2. Layer your clothes! As you can see, I wore three layers. A shirt, another shirt, a collared shirt with the sleeves chopped off, and a blazer. This keeps me snuggly and warm when it is cold out!
  3. Carry around massive headphones! Tired of the functionality and storage capacity of a handbag/backpack? Toss it out and replace it with some headphones! They will keep your ears warm, give your look a fun retro vibe, and can even play music!
  4. Treat every sidewalk like a runway! Because everyone (who has too much money and is  also jaw-droppingly beautiful and equally stylish) deserves to feel like everyone is snapping photos of them to post on social media with the caption “I would literally assassinate the first lady to get this look (A-Ok emoji)(dancing twins emoji)(heart eyes emoji) JK ily Michelle U know U my boo (kissy face emoji) But not really… (gun emoji)(poop/chocolate ice-cream with eyes emoji).”
Just follow these tips to get the perfect New Semester Look and finally give @kelsie and me some GD competition! :)

Luv U Guyz! SO MUCH!