Style File: Mischa Barton

Mischa Barton wearing everything she packed for her holiday in Miami.

Dear Mischa Barton,

I would like to let you know that I am contacting you as I was floating in my hovercraft, gracefully drifting about Florida's southeastern coastal region, and I could see you from space, which has caused small-to-medium-small levels of concern on my behalf.

I'm not even sure where to begin, so we'll go bottom up and see where the mood takes us:

1.  You're in Miami.  Miami, Florida.  Not Miami, Ohio.  With that out of the way, I think we can safely determine that your excessively laced-up leather granny boots and the houndstooth wool-cashmere blend blazer are not necessary, and, more pointedly, need not be worn in tandem.  You know what?  That whole "in tandem" thing goes for anywhere on Earth, not just cities that trend above 65 degrees in wintertime.

2.  You're wearing socks.  Socks do no one any favors unless one is shoveling snow or walking on a rather coolly-surfaced tile of sorts.  That said, let's elongate the leg by not cutting if off at it's skinniest point.  Ankle sock class dismissed.

3.  You should've bought the belt a size or two or three or four smaller.  I could hang your blazer from the excess.

4.  Speaking of things that do you no favors, simply looking at your biblace (That would be a bib-necklace hybrid, and yes, you did hear it here first...) is making my neck hurt.  It's unnecessarily weighty, and I'm not sure why you're putting even more strain on your precious neck when it already has to hold up....

5. ...your newly dyed head of red.  What compelled you to do that?  Did your parents not hug you enough as a child?  Do you intend to jumpstart your 2012 with an evolution into a chili pepper?

Let's discuss what might be some super-productive resolutions for your new year after my desperate attempts to help curb your voracious appetite for blechy-ness.  For onesies, ditch the onesies.  I have a really unpleasant vision of you trying to wrangle yourself about a public restroom 100% naked with your entire outfit dragging along the ground just south of your ankles and your hands full of bibs and belts and blazers and coppery hair dye.  For twosies, never wear a pair of shoelaces that would be better suited for a quick game of cat's cradle.  For threesies, I know it's hard to do when you're overheated and really uncomfortable, but try to smile, because life is short and your hair will, in time, grow out.

Sending you hugs that are bigger than Peter Gallagher's eyebrows,

Mistress

© 2012 Liz Shields for BagPoor/I Have A Walk-In Closet But It's In New Jersey...

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