Never Man Repeller





When I first started blogging, I wasn’t particularly thrilled with how the overwhelming majority of my personal style photographs came out. Upon scouring the websites of other fashion bloggers and analyzing the outfits of girls who confidently pranced through the streets of cities worldwide, I surmised that I could simply emulate that same (seemingly) effortless inspiration and place it onto the pages of NoteBrooke — incorporating my own flair, of course, but ultimately realizing the harmonious outcome that they all managed to ascertain.

But I consistently came up short.

Through a great deal of trial and error(s), I’ve learned a few simple truths, which have played an enormous role in shaping both my personal style and the way in which I share it with my readers. Friends, bypass the moments of hair pulling frustration and the tears of utter desperation (because a puffy eye never photographs well on anyone — I don’t care who you are or what secret syrums you swear by):

You are NEVER going to be the Man Repeller. When I first started blogging, I would look at Leandra’s blog and fawn over the way she somehow managed to incorporate a slew of mismatched layers and accessories into one perfect look without appearing to be even the slightest bit over styled. I, too, took a page out of her book, tried to pair boyfriend jeans with a flared mini, open toe Miu Mius, patterned socks, something flannel and three sweaters. I emerged looking like…
an unmade bed (as my mother so eloquently refers to anything that she believes to look distasteful on me).

I love Leandra’s style – we all do, but I’m not her.

I’m me.

You’re you.

While I do ascribe to the philosophy that imitation is the highest form of flattery, and I constantly draw inspiration from a number of skilled fashionistas, I never photograph something that I wouldn’t actually wear out of the house myself. For awhile, I didn’t know what my style was (or who I was for that matter), but I wanted to ensure that my blog had its own luster — and that I could maintain a strong readership base, so I’d color block, throw on a Fedora, track down Olivia Palermo’s silver oxfords, combine the whole ungupachka and then appear as if I was wearing a costume because, in essence… I was.

Remember this, hermana(s) – costumes don’t photograph well, except on Halloween. And even then…I mean, come on, ladies…boobs in.

Of late, I’ve taken the time to study the kinds of looks that I like and those that are most conducive to my true personality. I’ve paired down my wardrobe enormously (shout out to the RealReal and half of the consignment shops in New York City for purchasing my mistakes, dusting them off and allowing me to have some semblance of a savings account), and recognized that it’s okay to rock similar silhouettes on repeat.

To realize the mystical/magical/intangible “effortless look” that style icons often refer to in magazines, I simply thought about who I was as a woman – and how I could reflect that to the world.

It really is just that simple.

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