A not-ugly UGG

Generally, I am not a fan of UGGs (or the ubiquitous knockoffs, pseudos and wannabes). I think it is because I have big feet and the standard UGG silhouette makes all feet look bigger than they are, like you are wearing cast. Or a cement boot. Or a tree trunk. The winter version of a Croc. But the weather has been so atrocious, with more on the way, and my vanity is getting the better of me. I really, really, really want to wear some of my stylish leather boots, and Mother Nature is not cooperating. I am sick of wearing my LL Bean let’s-go-hike-the-tundra snow boots. I want to wear things like my high-heeled, cognac leather, un-insulated, you’ll-break-your-neck-on-the-ice boots. Function vs. Form. Sarah Palin vs. Sarah Jessica Parker.

I think I have found the answer in these:

 

Yes they are UGGs but they are not ugly. Note the slim vamp and wedge heel. Note how they look more like a boot and less like a Smurf’s foot. I think they may be the answer to my warmth-vs-fashion prayers, and none too soon, as I will be headed to NYC this week for biz, and there will be lots-o-snow there. Also there? A bloggy meet-up instigated by The Queen of Boho-Contempo Snarkaliciousness’ trip east for decor/fashion-related biz , as well as a few other fantabulous NYC-area design bloggers. I can’t wait to meet them IRL!

Getting in touch with my roots

Let’s talk about gray hair. I gots me some. I gots me a lot actually. And by gray hairs I don’t mean a bunch of long ones mixed in with the rest of my hair, or in a cool stripe, a la Lily Munster:

And I don’t mean steely-gray-almost-mousy-brown. I mean bright shiny gray. Noticeable gray. You know when you see photos of Jessica Simpson and it is clear she needs to touch up her brunette roots?

Imagine that but with the lights and darks reversed (I’m showing only the top of the image because the rest of the photo reversed is downright creepy):

 

I can go no more than four weeks before my roots need a touchup. In fact, four weeks is kinda pushing it, I could probably do three but I actually pay a professional to do this and when I think about what I already spend annually on my hair… well, I get another gray hair. Come Day 22 or so, I am pretty much relegated to wearing my hair in a ponytail and touching up the hairline with eyebrow powder to hide the evidence. Yes, I am that vain. The roots are so glaring you could probably see them from where you are.

 

My grays started when I was in college. Not a lot, just a few here and there, and I used to (gasp) pull them out. I didn’t believe that old wives’ tale that for each one you pull out, seven more grow in its place. They started growing in a patch just north of my ears and back a bit from my temples. Then they migrated to the top of my head, and just kept on going. Yesterday morning (Day 28) I made the mistake of looking at the back of my head in the medicine chest mirror via my makeup mirror to see how far back they went. I instantly regretted it. The only part of my hairline that is not gray is from the nape of my neck up about three inches on each side.

The Devil Wears No Miss Clairol

At 43 I feel I’m too young for Meryl Streep’s “Miranda” look, but I hope that when the day comes that I am ready to stop dyeing it, my hair comes in this white so I can sport this haircut. I think it would be pretty chic, and very freeing (not to mention cheaper!). In the meantime, to quote my friend Christine (who is very blond), “the grayer you get, the blonder you get”. So buh-bye grays and hello increasing number of blond foils…