About Praying for Prada

I’m not quite sure how it happened, but somewhere between the years spent sitting in an airless corporate office and those spent wiping the spit-up off a pajama-clad infant with a kitchen towel, I fell in love with fashion.  And fashion is the furthest thing from what I went to school to do.  There was a point at which my occasional guilty pleasure of an Us Weekly became a meticulously-perused copy of Vogue.  I forewent parenting blogs to troll sample sale sites for the latest affordable indulgence, whispered to my girlfriends in a darkened theater that SJP was carrying a Timmy Woods bag, nudged my husband at dinner that those were the YSL Tribute pumps I so desperately wanted, and well…you get the idea.

What is it that I love about fashion?  Maybe it’s fashion’s chameleon quality, the uniquely transient nature of the industry (one season, equestrian chic; another season, rocker glam).  Maybe it’s fashion’s allowance for experimentation and who we are able to superficially embody with each new trend.  Maybe’s it’s fashion’s artistry – the paillettes, the colors, the heel height, the very care and intention taken with every deliberate stitch.  Or maybe it’s simply how wearing it makes me feel – like my three-year-old daughter does when she puts on her Sleeping Beauty costume and hits the hardwood like a pink taffeta top.  Which is to say, utterly magnificent.       

But this isn’t your typical fashion blog.  The internet’s already overrun with taste-makers and trend-setters; those that dissect celebrity fashion choices, those that herald the designer sample sale, those dedicated only to purses, or “mommy chic,” or both.  But me?  I’m a Christian.  I don’t just struggle with finding the money for a new pair of shoes, or fitting into a designer size.  I also struggle with questions of stewardship, vanity, egoism, worth and envy – all within the framework of my love for this glittering, mercurial industry.   Am I a big, fat sinner because I love exotic handbags?  Does my collection of designer denim give cause for rebuke?  I’ve devoted as much time and thought to this as any mother is able to, but the short answer, and the one that I hope motives, inspires and encourages you would-be fashionistas around the world is this: No.

Did I miss the memo at Bible camp that the Christian woman’s uniform is a pair of sweatpants, an appliqued sweater, or a denim skirt? 

This blog is not designed to make its readers love fashion, but rather, to give them permission to pursue it.  Sacrifice is an integral part of our lives, but I don’t believe Christians are called to asceticism.  Death to self need not be the same as to style.   

Let me also be clear: this blog isn’t about spending a lot of money.  I’m a stay at home mom.  How much disposable income do you think I have to indulge my sartorial predilictions?  Not a lot, I assure you.  But I can stretch a dime by a country mile at H&M and Gap.  And I’m what my husband likes to call a “natural mimic.”  That means something I see on Sienna Miller I can usually replicate for about 10% or less of what she paid.  I promise it’s not as hard as you think.  

By way of background, I’m the mother of three children ages five and under, and have been married to my husband Matt for nine years.  He can still remember what I was wearing the night we met. 

Fashion talents?  I have a couple: I can spot a fake handbag from 30 yards, I’m in a fedora more often than a ball cap, and I haven’t paid full price for an item of apparel since 1996.     

I’m a freelance writer for BMoreMedia.com, a fashion writer for Charmed Magazine, a Baltimore fashion writer for Examiner.com, a Vogue.com panelist, a Shopittome.com “Trendsetter,” a style commentator on “The Talk Lounge” cable television show and a contributor to Stacie Donaldson’s ”Sense of Style” column for the East Wichita News. But before all that, I received a Bachelor of Science in Journalism, and a Juris Doctor from the University of Virginia.  So clearly, my professional aspirations have taken a left turn.