Wednesday: Prada lizard T-straps

I never took Home Ec in middle school, so maybe that’s why I’ve been embracing my inner domestic goddess as an adult. (Okay, so I don’t really cook and clean — details.)

It started with knitting about six years ago. My mom (herself a domestic goddess and working woman all in one) had taught me the knit and purl basics when I was about 10, and since ponchos were in that season, I decided to try to make one myself. Many hours, sore fingers and hundreds of dollars later, I had me a poncho. And then an alpaca cardigan . . . and a V-neck pullover . . . and endless scarves . . . and more sweaters. No doubt buying these things would’ve been less expensive than my investment in yarn and needles and knitting bags and patterns — and that’s not even taking into account my sweatshop labor!

Since then I’ve moved on to making jewelry. While it’s cool to be able to whip up a new necklace to wear the next day while watching Top Model, this hobby has led to a rather nasty bead addiction. (It’s quite possibly as expensive as a meth habit — and it keeps me up all night too.) I’m even planning next summer around a week-long intensive goldsmithing class. Yes, that’s me playing with fire, figuratively and literally!

What’s next? Maybe shoemaking? Well, there is a studio near me that offers a class . . . Oh, can you just imagine the trouble I could get myself into with that?

Monday: brown suede Prada boots

This weekend I got some tough love. My mom was visiting, and we did all that mother-daughter stuff like cooking and eating and chatting — oh, and cleaning out my apartment.

And that’s when she laid down the law. First, I had to admit that I was a pack rat, and fight the urge to keep 99.9% of my stuff. (Though, I have to say, sometimes when she forced — oh, sorry, “encouraged” — me to throw something out, I’d ask her if she wanted it and that ever-so-slightly-too-long pause before saying no revealed to me that she too had a tendency toward pack-ratdom. Ah, genetics: I learned it from you, Mom! I learned it from you!)

I wasn’t leaving my apartment till all those shopping bags filled with stuff, just sitting there against the far wall of my bedroom, were gone — whether I chucked all the contents or found new places to store them, it had to be done. (Do I even need to say which option my mom preferred?)

At one point, probably after she discovered that I had not one, or two, or five, but nine winter hats — or maybe when she found that my sweaters alone filled two-thirds of my armoire — she decided that she needed to invoke her Five Commandments, which she wrote down on a notepad and left on my nightstand, as if I should incorporate a reading of them into my daily ablutions.

Mom’s Commandments:

$$ needs to go to housing foundation!!! [That would be a down payment for an apartment, which as we’ve discussed here, is a lost cause. Funny how my mom makes it sound like a charity!]

I’m still shaking in my boots (apparently the last ones I’m gonna have, ever). I’m one day sober — and oh my god, the minute the loot I ordered last week arrives, I’m probably not only going to fall of the wagon, but also get dragged half-way to Bergdorf’s by it.

Friday: Tods snakeskin loafers

I’ve been on vacation this week, and I’m vacationing in . . . New York City. Fall is my favorite time of year, so I was envisioning bringing out my cozy Lainey sweaters for crisp sunny days walking through the park, hitting the boutiques downtown, whiling away the afternoon outside. I sure as hell wasn’t envisioning rains of Noah’s Ark proportions. This week has been pretty much a washout.

Luckily, my mom taught me to save for a rainy day. Save shopping for a rainy day, that is. Thanks to the miracle of e-commerce, I’ve done the next best thing: stayed in bed in my pj’s and shopped online with my laptop. I took my American Express and didn’t leave home with it. How did I live before bergdorfgoodman.com? (Not to mention high speed internet access.) Sunshine? I’ve been watching the Laguna Beach Season 1 DVD. Walking around Manhattan? I suppose I could just watch some Woody Allen movies instead. (On second thought, maybe not.)

So all it took was a little rain — and desperation for something shiny and new, and delivered directly to my door — to break out of my buyer’s block. Somehow it’s so much easier when you don’t have to lug home the shopping bags (my doormen think I have a problem — of course, the number of boxes that arrive for me by UPS every week also tips them off). So what’s on its way to me?

Gucci Guccissima embossed chocolate pumps: A little futzy, but I kinda like the old-school vibe. At least I didn’t buy the matching bag.

Catherine Malandrino blouse: Ooh, that was a mistake. I can tell you now that’s going straight back.

Prada grommet belt: Because that’s about all the grommets I can handle despite the trend.

Blue Cult jeans: Buying jeans without trying them on? Am I crazy?

Bottega Veneta woven slingbacks: These kilties make me feel a little country — the Lady Madonna mistress of the manor sort of country.

Prada Sport army green nylon trench: If only I had it this week.

Tracy Reese silk top: “Ochre” was definitely one of my favorite Crayola colors.

M Missoni hoodie: It was either this or the $1890 cashmere cardigan from the orange-label Missoni line. That took a lot of restraint!

Um, did I go a little overboard? Good thing I can save the returns for a sunny day.

Wednesday: burgundy tweed Prada mules

Someone take my temperature! I must be coming down with something, because try as I might I haven’t bought anything in, um, at least a week. Bergdorf’s and Barneys are both having gift card promotions, and Saks is offering double points this week. It’s prime time for shopping. So this weekend, credit cards burning a hole in my pocket, I set out to buy something, anything. I was not in “just looking” mode; no browsing for me. And yet . . . clothes, shoes everywhere, and not a drop to buy!

Am I just uninspired? Do I need a new muse? (Maybe I need to run out and watch In Her Shoes, so that Toni Collette’s character’s closet full of 200 pairs of never-before-worn shoes sends me into an envy-driven spree.)

So how do other people get out of slumps? Do I need a new good-luck credit card? A different pre-shop meal? Maybe I should vary my route at Bergdorf’s — hitting Shoes on 2 first and then going up, rather than starting in the Lainey department on 6 and going down?

Hmm. Now here’s a thought. Most of the time I shop alone (and yes, I know what they say about people who drink alone) so do I just need a new shopping partner? For some reason, whenever I go shopping with a non-shopper or a neophyte, I never buy anything and she ends up spending tons of money. So maybe I need to find someone who shops more than I do so that some of her luck can transfer over to me. But wait, does such a person even exist?

Monday: mauve Prada slingbacks

Six years ago — back in the day of the strong dollar and weak euro — my sister and I went on a shopping trip together to Paris. We each ended up buying a Louis Vuitton Petite Bucket bag (which, by the way, I’m shocked to find, is now priced at $790; after the VAT refund I swear we didn’t pay more than $375). In any case, she takes hers back to L.A. and I take mine to New York, and when we see each other again like six months later, mine looks like it’s a vintage item and hers could’ve been right off the store shelf. So my sister’s horrified that I let my things get so dirty and I’m saying it’s not me, it’s my city!

I have enough of a hard time wearing new shoes or handbags for the first time — I’m scared to break anything in. Combine it with life in the grimy city, and the highest level of vigilance is required. Like with my new bag for fall, a dark caramel colored Boston bag by Celine (a.k.a. the Boogie that zips closed).

One, I waited till the first day of fall. Two, I watched the weather forecast every day until I was sure there was 0% chance of rain. And at the end of the very first day I carried it — so carefully, resting it on my sweater-covered arm, to prevent any perfumes or oils on my skin to seep into the virgin leather — what did I discover?

A pen mark??? My heart stopped, my veins ran cold. I racked my brain: Could my bag have gotten marked by an errant pen at the cash register at the hair salon? Did some evil-doer see my shiny new bag and decide to go out of her way to deface it? Was it the man sitting next to me on the subway, who was marking up an OTB form? Where can I report this crime? This crime against fashion? And then this horrific thought occurred to me — oh, a dagger to my heart — was my sister right all along? Am I the only one to blame? I’m cursed!