Down in the shadow of the penitentiary Out by the gas fires of the refinery I’m ten years burning down the road Nowhere to run; ain’t got nowhere to go Born in the U.S.A., I was born in the U.S.A. Born in the U.S.A., I’m a long gone daddy in the U.S.A. Born in the U.S.A., born in the U.S.A. Born in the U.S.A., I’m a cool rocking daddy in the U.S.A. – Bruce Springsteen [Brief programmatic pause to wave a red handkerchief for Bruce Springsteen’s backside.] Sami New York purple silk camisole – $3, ReStyle thrift store | hand-knitted (the word “hand-knitted” is the only extant label) turquoise vest, $3, ReStyle thrift store | Rampage woven brown leather belt – $2, Idaho Youth Ranch thrift store | Jones New York rust silk skirt – $4, Idaho Youth Ranch thrift store | Kate Spade nude wedges with gold studded bow – $70, ROSS Dress for Less in Portland (originally $300) | Gold leaf earrings – gift to the girls from the bride, Linnae, at her beautiful wedding this weekend | Green agate stone three strand necklace, 8,000,000 Turkish …

“The city is crowded | My friends are away | And I’m on my own It’s too hot to handle | So I got to get up and go  It’s a cruel, cruel summer | Leaving me here on my own | It’s a cruel | It’s a cruel cruel summer | Now you’re gone | You’re not the only one” – Bananarama Amulet black and dried-blood-colored dress, gift from BFF (She bought it in Berlin from “Marcello, my vintage Italian dealer,” which is one dealer you want to have on speed-dial) | Banana Republic twisted black and tan leather slip-on heels, $4, Gold Mine thrift store (Ketchum, ID) | WCM New York genuine python tan belt $4.75 – Idaho Youth Ranch Cheep!

It’s pitch day at the ad agency. For a tire company. I wear the brand colors, and represent. Word up. vintage Liz Claiborne black & rose print silk jacket,  $11.99 at 20% off, Lux Fashion Lounge | tagless black sheen tank, $1.99, ReStyle thrift store | Vivienne Westwood red skirt, $20, Lux Fashion Lounge | Steve Madden red leather kitten heels, $7, ReStyle thrift store Cheep!

I realize I’m such a privileged white lady asshole, co-opting first a veteran’s rallying cry and then a Beyonce anthem about slavery and its consequences to talk about fashion, and like, my career and stuff. But ever since I decided to get a real job, right after I got my $8,000 self-employed tax bill, I’ve had that song stuck in my head… “Freedom! Freedom! I can’t move. Freedom, cut me loose. Singing freedom! Freedom! Where are you? Cause I need freedom too. I break chains all by myself. Won’t let my freedom rot in hell. I’ma keep running cause a winner don’t quit on themselves.” A real job. Talk about sweet, sweet lemonade after lemons upon lemons for years upon years. People talk about freedom. But freedom isn’t free. You have to fight for it every single fucking day. And that version of freedom became a tiny little island of hell, for me alone, because I was always afraid and overwhelmed. And always somehow failing in some baffling business-y way. And surviving by the skin of my teeth. I …