The Thigh's the Limit

After a summer spent predominantly choking down vitamins, popping antibiotics and hovering near the bathroom anticipating explosions of the bodily function variety, I'm ready to toss these pitiful, substandard months out my window and embrace the allergen and germ-killing propensity of fall weather as soon as humanly possible. Summer, I am dumping your insufferable ass. It's been real. Trill, even. But, it's time for the trees to shed their leaves before I'm impelled to light anyone wearing a flip flop in my vicinity on fire. Or, em fogo, for you Havaianas speaking natives.

AUTUMN IS BEAUTY AND HOPE AND FRIZZ FREE HAIR. AUTUMN IS KINDER PEOPLE AND COMFORT AND THANKSGIVING. AUTUMN IS WALKING OUTSIDE WITHOUT LOOKING LIKE YOU JUST WON A WET TSHIRT CONTEST. HEAL ME, HOARFROST!

I call this look: WHERE THE FUNK'S MY PUNKIN' PIE, MOM?

There is a return to ease and civility that comes with autumn. Humans are simply less irascible once the exhausting, persistent threat of humidity takes its seasonal bow. I would skip barefoot through an animal's steaming faeces to get to October.  I would swim naked in Lochte's urine-saturated pool if someone promised I would arrive there quicker. Backstroke. With lightening bolt-shaped pubic hair and a global audience of billions judging the size of my areola.

JEAH!!!!!

Yes, this summer has been quite the dichotomy for me - a season that begs to be forgotten, as well as remembered, for equally compelling reasons.  Notable events on the fashion/feminism/pop culture front: Nora Ephron left us; Anna Piaggi joined her; Helen Gurley Brown didn't want to miss the party, either. Can you blame her? Picture the rager: all three women gathered together in good/feisty spirits discussing Marc Jacobs vs Louis Vuitton FW'12, Billy Crystal's ominous hairline, and the most inspiring ways to tickle your g-spot. THAT IS MY HEAVEN, I TELL YOU.

As is usually the case in this space, my crazy musings eventually boil down to a sartorial jus, if you will. So, without further ado: 

All three of the aforementioned trailblazers are carried firmly within my memory as I direct my attention towards fall. What kind of season do I want to have? Well, one that focuses on empowerment; specifically, owning the power I've got up there (brain) and down there (beast). Both elements are mine to do with what I please, kids. And how do I plan to please myself? By taking a respite after the summer of my discontent. By wearing garments that are comfortable and make me feel like a powerful peach. By wholeheartedly embracing the most feminist footwear option in existence (...arguably) (......I am arguing for this). 

What do I mean exactly? To clarify, though you are all aware of my fondness for lingerie outside the bedroom and also of my penchant for that good-good fetishistic shit, what I'm referring to this time is less clothing and more accessory. A lethal weapon, of sorts. One of, if not the only, win-win sartorial situation. A look that is self-assured but polished; able to err on the side of the eccentric (or be incorporated into whatever vibe you're after); and somewhat concerned with being attractive to worthy members of the male species (or fooling one into thinking you actually care what he thinks re: the way you dress when truthfully you don't. At all. Ever). In short, it is an option that reflects all three of today's muses aptly: thigh-high bitch boots. The gift that keeps on giving.

I subscribe to the view that the higher the shaft (THERE IS NO BETTER WORD, I SWEAR), the better; but a knee-high boot can also be pretty magic.  For me: the chunkier the heel = the more comfortable = more Celine circa 1970 + less meatpacking district, but the flat, wedge and military-inspired versions for this season are badass, too.  

Of course, whip/riding crop is not included, but obviously encouraged. As are capes (but more on that later). Whether you prefer to err on the side of Parisian chic, grunge, or dress full-throttle Edgar Allen Poe heroine is entirely up to you. 

Just never forget to honour - deep in your hearts - the ultimate muse:

Follow the insanity on Twitter @CWICW or, you know, send me erotic love letters: crazywithitcrazierwithout@gmail.com.