Anyway, long and rambling introduction aside: FEATHERS! I totally jumped on that train before the rest of the world did this spring. I was wearing feather earrings last winter. And when I went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras this March, I ever-so-wisely spent $60 to get feather extensions. A tasteful one in beige, then two even more tasteful extensions in neon pink and turquoise-black pattern. Hey, it sounded like a great idea when I was shopping in the Quarter after pounding guava tiki drinks for “breakfast.” Putting back into the local economy! You’re welcome, Louisiana!

See? Glamourous, beautiful, yet subtle. Well, kind of subtle. Pay no attention to the tri-marg I am drinking.

The feathers were a HIT. I felt phenomenal in them. See the example to your right. Man, I rocked those feathers all over America and Mexico. Well, okay, I don’t know if they were exactly a hit back at my job, but no one told me to take them out. I just received comments like “what’s pink in your hair?” and “do you have something stuck in your hair?” or my personal favorite: “are those feathers in your hair? What, did you go to a county fair this weekend or something?” which was funny but I resented it; I am NOT the kind of person who regularly patronizes fairs. However, when you want to talk about amusement parks, my door is open.

Naysayers, let me tell you something about feather extensions: they easily crimp right in with a metal fastener, you can wash/brush/comb/curl/braid them JUST LIKE IF THEY WERE YOUR REAL HAIR, you can take them out whenever you like with some jewelry pliers*, and you can even put them back in if the mood strikes in the future! Honestly, you cannot lose with this kaleidoscopic accessory. Plus you’ll feel like a beautiful tropical bird, and everyone knows that is the best feeling in the world.

After March faded into April and I was still proudly flaunting my plumage, it started to become a bit of a joke in my social circle. “Oh, do you still have those in?” I mean yes, I wore them for like two months, but like I said, you just treat them like hair, okay?! So I felt pretty self-righteous, and then I started to get greedy. As mentioned, I already owned feather earrings, but then I got more. And still wanted more. More!!! Feathers, feathers, everywhere more feathers! Every day at least one feather, somewhere! It was spinning out of control. I felt like I was in Black Swan or something.

I knew I had hit rock bottom in my feather obsession when I was walking home from work one evening and in front of the Paramount Theatre I saw what I believed to be a piece of beautiful feather jewelry. “Aww, someone left their feathered accessory on the ground, what a waste,” I thought to myself. “Well, finders keepers, more for me.” But as I bent down to investigate/pick up the item, to my shock and horror I discovered it was just a mangled pigeon feather stuck in a piece of chewed gum. My bad.

So, a few nights after that “encounter” I decided enough was enough and I removed the feathers. Notice the asterisk I placed after the statement about “take them out whenever you like with some jewelry pliers” above… I didn’t have the patience, materials, or skills for such an activity. I just ripped them out of my head while Patrick looked on in horror. Once fixated on a task, I can get a little frenzied. Sorry. I will say I yanked out a minimal amount of hair and was able to keep all the feathers intact for future implantation, so I don’t think it was the worst way to go.

These days, I miss my feathers. :( A LOT. :( But these extensions are starting to jump the shark. I’m seeing them all over the place, even on teenage girls. Ugh. Maybe I’ll wait until the craze dies down and reapply. Kimmy is doing my hair for me tomorrow and I really had to force myself not to request anything bird-related. For now, I’m taking a step back. No promises on the feather earrings, though. I don’t have that much self-control.

BUT APPARENTLY IT DOESN’T SHAME ME ENOUGH because once the plane hit the tarmac at LAX, I started rabidly fantasizing about Robertson and all the financial havoc I could wreak in one week’s time. Something happens to my brain chemistry when I’m in California. Things I could consider gaudy and wasteful in Washington suddenly become acceptable – no, more than acceptable, they become desired! For example, take my reaction when I discovered the Kitson clearance outlet in Santa Monica; I believe there were audible screams of joy and disbelief. Embarrassing…

Finally, though, I was able to reconcile my Californian thirst for spending ridiculous amounts of money and my Washingtonian rustic, cozy sensibilities with a new boutique I discovered in the heart of Robertson, right across from celeb dining hotspot the Ivy (talk about prime real estate! We saw Ciara!): MOODS OF NORWAY!

It’s a well-established fact that I am mildly obsessed with Scandinavian culture. Moods of Norway even won over my  companions, who previously had been getting a little impatient with my wild-eyed window shopping. It was decorated like a cheesy lodge (made me happy!), had a huge golden tractor you were allowed to “ride” (made Grace happy!) and it was freaking “waffle Saturday” aka FREE WAFFLES FOR ALL (made KJ kind of scarily happy!). Those crafty Norwegians, they made it all too easy to justify spending $120 on a fur-lined jacket (see image). When I told the shopgirl I was going back to Seattle and needed something that would keep me warm all throughout our miserable, disgusting winter months, she claimed my jacket would be “warmer than a Northface, but ew, I am against Northface anyway” …ha, nice way to subtly stereotype and shoot down Seattleites. But the tactic worked, once she pointed out “these are jackets made BY Norwegians FOR Norwegians, and you know their winters are really cold!” Eh, true. It doesn’t take much to convince me, especially when I’m just begging for someone to validate my gratuitous impulses in the first place.

Moods of  Norway is so hip that is only has that one boutique in LA. Otherwise it’s only in Norway itself. Providing me with faux-European elitism at its finest! Unless you are shopping in Norway or Los Angeles, YOU CANNOT HAVE MY JACKET. Apparently most people in Seattle don’t want it anyway; the other day I was walking home, proudly displaying my new coat, and this guy actually shouted at me from his front yard, “You can’t be that cold!” …whoa, way to call me out, random dude! Wearing anything with luxurious fur (albeit fake fur) seems to alienate and anger the natives here in Ballard. Everyone keeps ogling my outfit like I’m an asshole. It probably doesn’t help that I often wear the jacket with a pair of huge designer sunglasses, to drive home the fact that I am soooo fashionable and exclusive and I care enough about my wellbeing to keep myself fashionably warm while still protecting my eyes from damaging UV rays! Suck it, Seattle. My Norwegian roommate, Linn, loves my jacket. When I brought it home, she squealed, “Ooh! Moods of Norway! They’re SO HOT RIGHT NOW in Oslo!”

Made BY Norwegians, FOR Norwegians, and apparently APPROVED OF by Norwegians. As a ghetto-fabulous graphic tee I discovered at the Slauson swap meet proudly proclaimed: Haters keep on hatin, cuz u makin’ me famous.