No Great Illusion

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My writing here.

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Butterfly garden inspired fashions for August.
For running only the most whimsical of errands.
An outfit the color of a root beer float on a stormy Friday. 
Country/city compromise.
Lawn flamingo colored summer. I’ll send you a postcard.
Luxury is more than how much your dress cost. It is the way you slink around a room, never rushing. It is the knowledge that you have everything, and that there is nothing worth running for.
Dress to match the color of your grandmother’s wedding dress, your mother’s ring, the pink ribbon you wore in your hair on your fifth birthday. 
"It was that kind of crazy afternoon, terrifically cold, and no sun out or anything, and you felt like you were disappearing every time you crossed a road."
She dressed like an after-hours librarian. The books somehow brought out the color in her cheeks. She hid love letters in the stacks, between books on the highest shelves, or taped under tables.
Dress like it’s 1966 and have a martini for breakfast.
Dressing like a woman is very different than dressing like a girl, and takes a great deal more skill. It is the difference between cartwheeling barefoot on a sidewalk and running, full speed, across a balance beam. In heels.
For tap dancing on bars. For drinks with cherries. For pin curls and pin wheels and pins and needles.
“In bed that night I invented a special drain that would be underneath every pillow in New York, and would connect to the reservoir. Whenever people cried themselves to sleep, the tears would all go to the same place, and in the morning the weatherman could report if the water level of the Reservoir of Tears had gone up or down, and you could know if New York is in heavy boots.”  - Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
The easiest way to figure out what to wear for an interview is to imagine what all the other candidates might wear and then dress way better.
Snow White meets the Big Apple. Or something.