I've been a member of a few notable fan clubs in the twenty two years that I've been kickin' it. In second grade, I was quite literally a card-carrying member of the Arthur fan club until I accidentally tore my Arthur ID in a dramatic, plot-heavy game of make believe with my American Girl dolls. My fanatic tendencies got pretty out of hand in eleventh grade when the stress of the SATs led me to impulsively buy a one-year membership to the Jonas Brothers official fan club. It was overpriced and indirectly caused me to skip a Calculus test to buy tickets for the 2008 summer tour, but I got into college and subsequently got a job, so I don't really regret it. As Charlie Sheen would say, #winning.
Point is, I know the stuff that fan clubs are made of, so I'm starting my own in honor of the most glamorously minimalistic woman I (don't actually) know, Vogue's Tonne Goodman. Tonne mixes black, white, and beige together flawlessly. She evidently doesn't abide by the "no white pants after Labor Day rule" because more often than not, she's pictured wearing white jeans with a black turtleneck or pea coat. She accessorizes in all the right, French-like ways with a large wrist watch or a scarf around the neck.
I tried to channel my inner Tonne Goodman today. Over the weekend, I bought an extra large white button down shirt from the men's section of J.Crew (I didn't intend to buy XL--it was the only size left in stock). I planned on wearing it with white jeans to wow my co-workers with a fall wh-outfit, but (queue the suspenseful music) my white jeans were dirty. I opted for black jeans and my Vans slip-ons. I walked out the door thinking I had reached the ideal balance of chic comfort such that I would never need to buy another item of clothing. Then I got onto the subway, dropped my jaw at an effing awesome coat, and thought JK, gotta go shopping ASAP.
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