Da Fashionista.com

The Scene

Wake up to one of the most spectacular views I've ever seen.

The sparkling lake, lush trees, and snow covered peaks - all stunning. Reminds me of Montreux, Switzerland.








Enjoy a breakfast of champions - MChu's signature egg/sausage/cheese casserole

And more than a little Bailey's in my coffee since I am very very nervous for today's skiing episode.

It didn't help that all morning, our friends were speaking a language I've never heard. It was "shredding" this and "black diamond" that. Quite frustrating for an old lady whose thing is language and words and communication. Felt like speaking Spanish back - make em feel as confused as I did.





Everyone kept emphasizing how awkward walking around in the ski boots was going to feel as well as the importance of stretching. Gulp. I find it's never a good sign when sporty people who are five years younger tell you that.

But Mr. D was as always my rock. Kept telling me everything was going to be OK. When we got in the car. When we rented our boots and skis. When we took the tram up to Northstar. When we parted ways with our friends. When we booked an individual lesson for me.

And I believed him up until we got into the gondola. That's when I saw people actually skiing. When I saw bodies hurtling down the mountain avoiding trees and I thought of Sonny Bono and the fact that I wasn't ready to die. That's when I had a full blown panic attack in my head.


I thought about my childhood. How everything athletic I ever tried ended in tears. How a long long time ago I decided it was ok that sports weren't my thang.

I had mad skillz at joke-telling and writing and empathisizing and being girly. Why in the world was I doing something that was going to make me feel not good enough, weak, stupid, or worse yet, seriously injured. I felt like turning back. I felt afraid.




But then I remembered the 5K mud run I did back in April. I remembered how nervous I'd felt that morning. And how much fun I'd had by the end of the day. Being silly and getting over myself with good friends. Letting my ego go. I focused on the pride I felt in myself after that experience. Pride in myself for doing something so thoroughly not me. For maybe even redefining what "me" is.

Decided to just breathe and make it about fun not judgment today. After all, that's the key to life, right?




Also helped focusing on Mr. Diabolina. In the 12 years I've known him I have never seen him ski. Love any chance I get to see him in a new light, to glimpse a different side of him. Even after so long.

Turns out he is great at skiing. Even after not doing it for over a decade. And like most things he does, he makes it look so easy.

Between his encouragement and my wonderfully patient instructor, I manage to get the hang of things.




I got my pizza wedge down. Helps that I am naturally pigeon toed.

Ended up liking the sensation of skiing much more than I thought I would. I am also much better at it than I thought I'd be. Which doesn't mean I'm good. At all.





Most toddlers could kick my 31 year old ass. For shizzle.





After nearly 90 minutes of working muscles I never knew I had, it was time to do one of my specialties: eating. Tacos drenched in salsa were exactly the comfort food this brown needed.



And a tall Pabst Blue Ribbon was exactly what this skinny white man wanted.

After lunch, Mr. D kept teaching me little tips like bending my knees and leaning forward and carving the snow. Lots of fun. Only fell down a couple of times compared with the dozen tumbles I sustained before lunch.












I hung out and people watched while Mr. D went off and skied on his own. Rode the gondola down alone, feeling very proud of myself. For trying. For learning. For being kind to myself.



And for sustaining only one injury. A cut wrist. Interestingly symbolic, I thought, since I can be so self-flagellating.

Were going to meet up with our friends for happy hour on the mountain but one of the boys separated his shoulder and MChu was feeling sick. Yikes.

So Mr. D and I stopped by a restaurant with a gorgeous view and relaxed before dinner. Enjoyed a big Italian dinner at the cabin and a few drinks before retiring to read my Obama book while the kids watched a movie. Needed to feel more like myself after a day of so much newness. Nothing like disappearing into a good book to help me do that.








The Outfit
Old Navy fleece turtleneck
Mr. D's long johns
Say ski jacket
North Face ski pants


The Accessories
Black Uggs
Sports Chalet hat


The Grade
A



The Commentary
So not only was the sporty spice part of skiing destabilizing today so was dressing for the skiing. Ugh.



Hate not knowing how to attire myself. Happens so rarely. My way with fashion is so central to who I am. It's like a security blanket for me.










Thank god for MChu's best friend Lauragami. Since she couldn't make it, she let me borrow jackets and pants and goggles and mittens.


















Today Da Fashionista learned about long johns and unflattering high waisted ski pants.



Magical McGwyver ski pants that you can hook your gloves onto. And that are designed to tuck just so into ski boots.









Also learned that I will never ever complain about how painful teetering around on heels can be. Because if you've never walked around in ski boots then you don't know shoe discomfort.


We are talking EXTREME discomfort.












Must confess that being the Internet stalker/starfucker I am I prepared for the trip by perusing the fashion at this year's Sundance Film Festival.




Realized head to toe in one color was probably the sleekeest way to go but not realistic given beggars can't be choosers.











Would have loved to rock puffy black and white though.







Ideally Chanel.














Did you know Chanel makes ski gear?









Neither did I until I googled "ski fashion"

And there was Victoria Beckham, drenched in Chanel even in the snow.










She's a good reminder that one can be a posh and sporty spice.
That the two aren't mutually exclusive. I always forget that.

One thing I will never forget is how HID so many outfits were out on the slopes. Seriously, grown men in head to toe lime green???????????

Thankfully our boys rocked more subdued palettes.

My only regret today satorially: not having a bit of fur in my outfit other than inside my black Uggs. A fur hat ala Lily Allen would have been fab.

But the hat I wore was cute 'nuff. Haven't worn it in ages but it will always have a very special place in my heart.





You see, I bought it the January I was 18. For a USC retreat up in Big Bear. The retreat where I met Mr. Diabolina. Love.