Super Secret Spy Style

The Mission: To recreate Sydney Bristow's first and most timeless spy look from Alias Season 1, Episode 1: black pants, black turtleneck, black coat, black toque, black gloves, black shit-kicking boots, a truckload of black eyeliner and one very, very bright red wig.

How hard should this be? One would think that, of everything on this list, that neon red wig would be the trickiest to find, right? It has to be a certain length, not too curly, and come without bangs if at all possible.

mAc found the wig first.

The rest of the ensemble was a little trickier. I had the boots, the coat and the eyeliner, so I needed the pants, the turtleneck, the hat and the gloves.

I went to no less than 8 stores to assemble these 4 things. I'd hit 4 stores before finding even one thing. And don't even start with the, "Oh, did you check____?" Because yeah. I did.

What was amazing was how these very basic items turned out to be so, so specific. For example, I already owned black pants and was in fact wearing them while I shopped. But their dressy, flow-y crepe-y style was just too dressy for an outfit that needs to convey that I could totally pound your ass if need be. I needed a more jeans-like cut and eventually found it. In velvet. As for black turtlenecks, there were plenty--with cowl necks, 3/4 sleeves, little green flecks or a nice crocheted cuff detail. All features that I'm sure are lovely for any other purpose, but it's impossible to get into super secret spy character in puffed sleeves.

Which got me thinking--how exactly does Sydney Bristow create her outfits? Being a spy, does she order her black spy-wear in bulk? Is she at target.com with a shopping cart that says, "Black knit skull cap, Qty 10"?

I doubt it. I'm thinking that somewhere in the CIA there sits a super secret style maven in a tastefully decorated office figuring this shit out. Named Stuart.

Stuart is the one who knows where to find that perfect blue rubber tank dress for "Slutty Barbie" Spy, or the silk kimono for "Geisha Spy" or even your basic all-black ensemble for "Classic Spy." Stuart's the one running all over town assembling this stuff, only you know that when he buys pants in bulk they are Prada, sweetie. Nothing's too good for the girl who kicks a little terrorist/arms dealer/drug smuggler butt, is it?

Stuart is also the one that works with Marshall on all of the high-tech accessories. Like Marshall is going to know what Chanel sunglasses are this season or last? Please. "Alright Marshall, these new Dior frames are hot hot HOT, come in a fierce titanium metal and can hold a camera, a laser and a lockpick. Do not let me catch you destroying them like you did with the Guccis I gave you last week, mmmkay doll? Now beat it toots, I have Donatella on the phone trying to talk me into the most ridiculous dress. All feathers, sweetie. I'm so sure."

Rad.

I'm totally psyched to finally have my blog up and running, by the way, although not nearly as psyched as you are, you lucky reader, you.

It's almost Halloween, which has me all kinds of giddy. I finally figured out a costume last night, which means I have today to pull the whole thing together. Not that it's all that original or exciting, but it was my idea alone AND it entails buying a new wig, so big fun.

Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. I don't remember my exact reaction the first time I realized what was going on with Halloween as a kid, but I'm sure it was something along the lines of, "You mean I get to dress up in a costume? And wear it in public? AND eat tons of candy! Kick ass!" Even Christmas could not compete, as the joys of receiving a(nother) Cabbage Patch doll and putting on a velvet dress pales compared to traipsing around the neighborhood dressed as Princess Leia/Strawberry Shortcake/the Statue of Liberty, then eating my weight in candy until I either a) barfed, b) made my teeth fall out, c) got the sugar-crashing shakes or, one year, d) all of the above. Ah, to be a kid again.

And let's not forget the tricks! A couple weeks ago when I was in Minnesota, where the trees were adorned in all their colorful autumn finery, I saw one particularly spectacular tree fully decked out... in toilet paper. Meeeemories, like the corner of my mind...

Now, of course, I am an adult and yet not above all of this nonsense even a little tiny bit. The fiancee and I have lined up a couple parties (i.e. "costume-wearing/drinking opportunities) for Saturday. On Sunday we're hosting a horror movie marathon, featuring Alien, The Thing, American Werewolf in London, and yes, oodles and gobs of candy.

Before I wrap up, I had to share this. My darling friend Amanda is a funeral director, recently licensed. This was in my inbox this morning:
"On my way to my first SOLO DIRECTING service yesterday (which went swimmingly, if swimmingly means really sad and I had to pull over to get it together for a second on my way back to the office, sans Mrs. L), I'm driving Mrs. L over to the crematory and Oingo Boingo's classic "Dead Man's Party" came on. It was rad."

Thanks.

Ever notice how the word "Thanks" has multiple meanings, depending on the punctuation? For instance, put an exclamation point behind it and it's totally sincere: "Thanks!" Put a comma behind it as you sign off an email, and it's a substitute for a polite farewell or, in some cases, an unwritten expectation that you will be doing whatever was requested in the email. "Could you please send that list over by 2? Thanks, D."

Put a period behind it? Now, "Thanks" just got nasty. "I already sent that list over and your manager has a copy. If you need additional info, let me know. Thanks." Is it just me, or did that "Thanks" suddenly become "Fuck off"? They're interchangeable in the message, I think.

Just wondering.

And so it begins...

If you learn nothing else about me while you're here, gentle reader, then know that I started this adventure to tell you one thing, and one thing only: