While most of my posts read more like novellas than blog updates (SORRY, guys – but there’s a lot rolling around in this disproportionately large head of mine), I’m crunching a deadline for a shoot tomorrow and just wanted to ensure that I at least offered a quick hello.

After two years of owning the URL “NoteBrooke.com,” I finally made a steadfast commitment to update at least three times per week. Whether I have thirty thousand readers or three (and by “three,” I’m quite obviously referring to my mother – who is presumably just clicking the link incessantly), I think there’s something imperative about documenting this particular time in my life and sharing it with my readers.

Musing about grandiose philosophical theories or up-to-the minute fashion obsessions (I’m convinced that the two are not mutually exclusive), I just want to document many of the things that are going on in my life right now. Maybe it’s so that when I’m seventy, I’ll be able to recall a wrinkle free existence, but I think it actually has to do with something significantly more profound than that (which I’ll expand upon in another post because otherwise, here we go again, another therapy session, blah blah).

So today – as promised on my insta (@brookecarriehil), — let’s discuss the creation of ‘uniforms.’

I used to believe that in order to have true style, one must constantly change his/her look entirely. A close friend of mine, working in conjunction with the single most versatile Helmut Lang Blazer ever to grace the face of 5F, taught me about the concept of using a basic silhouette as a template to ‘fill in’ when I go shopping.

Listen, fashion regret, or buyer’s remorse, is a very real thing, sister – and when you enter Bergdorf with nothing but nine floors of temptation before you and visions of Emmanuel Alt/Olivia Palermo/Emma Wasson enmeshed in a psychedelic trance of stylish confusion, the likelihood of investing in a pair of ill-fitting leather parachute pants becomes exacerbated tenfold– CATCH MY DRIFT?

That said, I’ve learned to spend time thinking (but not overthinking/obsessing) about what looks good on me/what I enjoy wearing/what feels like a second skin upon placing it onto the body. For me, that most frequently entails a pair of cropped skinny jeans, a slightly loose fitting blouse or t-shirt, and a well-structured blazer (meaning, anything with shoulder pads and darts – #eightiesbaby). And, while I know that virtually everyone is obsessed with accessories, I consistently feel over styled when I’m rocking a full-blown arm party, so I simply wear a watch on one wrist and two matching bracelets on the other.

Today, when I start to experience the shopping euphoria that somehow clouds one’s brain and prohibits logical decision making altogether, I already have a firmly established idea of the items that I’m looking for — pieces that can repeatedly be used to produce an outcome that I’m consistently happy with. My uniform can generally take me from work to dinner (when paired with black Manolo suede BB pumps and a quick blow-dry, that is) and while I, of course, incorporate other looks into my wardrobe, as well, my closet has become a lot more streamlined in recent years.

And, if all else fails, just remember all black everything and a Chanel bag. Every time.

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