When discussing possible monikers, I wasn't satisfied with the typical Aunt/Auntie Sarah options. There was something lacking. Then I remembered what I've been periodically bellowing at The Boy for the past few weeks:
I. am. Auntie. Mame.
If you have not witnessed the cinematic brilliance that is Auntie Mame, stop reading this and go watch it now. I'll wait. It's on Netflix Watch Instantly so it will be easy-peasy-don't-be-sleazy.
It may be subtle as a blow to the head and 45 minutes too long but it is also the singularly most influential film on my life and style since Roman Holiday. It was made in the 50s about the 20s, so there's bright colors, loud patterns and headwear up the wazoo. To prepare for the child-to-be**, I've put together a small list of what it takes to be Auntie Mame.
Note: I have not been sponsored by any of the following companies, nor do I own any of the following items. In other words, if you want to buy them for me, I'll be your best friend forever because I fucking love presents.
|Pants via Zara 79.90|
|Pants via Zara 79.90|
|Pants via Zara 59.90|
|Pants via Anna Kaci 26.90|
Luckily, Mame-appropriate legwear is experiencing a resurgance in the fashion world. Pajama sets, sequin pants, patterned pants, and matchy-matchy suits are all the rage. Example A: this H&M window.
Go forth and lose all sense of subtlety.
|Hat via EBay 28.00|
|Hat via Modcloth 29.99|
|Hat via Modcloth 34.99|
|Hat via ArtFire 31.90|
Every year, I (and several other magazines) declare hats to be the newest It accessory, as though it's breaking news that hats are amazing. So, I'm just going to adapt a pro-hats stance year round.
A Cigarette HolderInspiration
Every other minute of Auntie Mame. Have you watched it yet?
|Item via EBay|
|Item via RubyLane 75.00|
I don't smoke, but I do hold a fake cigarette to go with my bourbon or coffee whenever I write and now I think it may have to go in a chic as fuck holder. Also excellent for gesticulating.
All fashion related ramblings aside, though, I am so happy for the expecting parents. They are rock stars, and their kid is so lucky he chose them. They also come with a crazy big tribe of endless support and love, including this pleased as punch aunt. Now someone get me a damn glass of punch.
*And I've only had to breathe into a paper bag once. Because, you know, aunts are important. And I'm a little afraid of babies. It's the soft spot.
**Who, in honor of another idol of mine, will be known forthwith as Schlomo.