Here Comes the Bitch…

 

Hi everyone. Sorry it has been a while since my last post. I have been volunteering my services to the Hilary Clinton presidential campaign and learning Mandarin. But actually, I have been doing nothing and couldn’t be happier. Recently, after only four death threats and one failed attempt to join Raya, my boyfriend proposed. I’m getting fucking married and it has catapulted me into a Bridezilla/Basic Bitch/ Existential life crisis.

While this is arguably the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me except for the time I bought something at Bloomingdales and talked my way into exchanging it at Neiman Marcus (and people think I have no talent). Since I have started planning I realized I am haunted by basic brides that have resurrected before me. Is it possible to plan a wedding and NOT be a self involved, fluffy haired, asshole? I fucking hope so. People get married and think they become the epicenter of the universe. The harsh truth is, no one gives a real fuck about your impending nuptials except you and like 8 other people. So while you hold people hostage like the fucking Taliban and ask whether they prefer ivory or eggshell, remember to stay self-aware, step away from pinterest and embrace these truths.

Just because you have solidified a life partner, does not mean you are the new authority on eternal happiness. Getting a Zale’s cushion cut diamond wrangled on your phalange doesn’t give you the right to judge your free spirited slutty friends. We get it. You have found the love of your life. Maybe your friend’s love of their life is a bag of Chex Mix and her Valtrex prescription.

Not to be a Debbie Downer but statistically almost 60% are destined for a second marriage or maybe a Goldie Hawn/Kurt Russell situation. So while your ironing your white button down polo shirts for your extremely basic engagement shoot, remember that before you express pity for your single friends that you have to clean underwear that is not yours for the rest of your life. Live and let live.

Getting hitched does not mean you have to start dressing like a midwestern substitute teacher who collects potpourri and ceramic figurines. I know people that could have been the spokesperson for Vegas attire. Bandage dresses (kill me), platform pumps and a clip in synthetic weave that could start a wildfire. Magically upon matrimony, they start dressing so “Churchy” and complaining about a heel height of a fucking tic-tac. Really bitch? You lived in hooker heels (#madeinchina) for a decade – don’t try.

If anything, you need to get sluttier after “settling down”. Just because you are on a diet doesn’t mean you can’t check out the fucking menu. Newsflash… guys have penises. Penises are fueled by testosterone. Testosterone makes men into primal animals. Animals that subconsciously WANT and NEED men other than themselves to want to bang their future wife because then they feel like they have a prized possession. I am not saying women are possessions just calm the fuck down, it’s a METAPHOR. The sooner bitches understand this biology, the sooner we will truly run the world.

Despite my grievances, I am SUPER excited to navigate the bitchy bridal rapids with a bedazzled life jacket, Dramamine (or Xanax) and an unsigned prenupt as my sail.

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In Filters We Trust

I want to delete my Facebook so fucking bad. Without sounding like an asshole, the only reason I have one is to shamelessly self promote and cyber stalk.

Instagram however, is like a slutty little sister. On one hand she drives me nuts – but at the same time makes me feel better about my life. Sure you may have to take her to planned parenthood on a weekday but she will also capture you looking your best with a protruding clavicle and a fresh blow dry #MAYFAIRFILTERBITCH. It’s an internal battle I am just not mature enough to handle. The problem with our generation is that we think what we are eating, wearing, cooking, looking at from traffic, or how we looked as babies all are both interesting and relevant to others. The truth is no one really gives a fuck – we are in this social media clusterfuck for our own benefit and publicity.

I am 100% guilty of this.

98% of photos on my Instagram have been posed, propped and assembled with perfect lighting. I will let meals get cold finding just the right angle to display my domesticity with the perfect shot of my homemade linguini and clams. Does this make me a fucking loser? Most definitely.

If I were clever enough to understand Photoshop I would let myself go and live solely through my warped reality of Instagram. I could Photoshop myself in Aruba with Adriana Lima’s body sipping a chi chi despite the fact that I am really home alone raping a baguette with butter. I would get this 5 pound weave out of my scalp and give it back to the Ukranian hooker who sold it for a pretty penny (albeit a hooker who’s been taking her fish oil because this hair is shiny as fuck #omega3).

Social media makes our daily doings seem glamorous and unintentionally pushes us to try harder. We now pay more attention to garnishing our homemade meals with basil, embellishing our outfits for a #ootd gram and have seriously upped our nail game. So in reality… it’s just making us better dressed, better housewives and better at forming relationships with the Vietnamese. “Flowa fo yo nail?” No bitch, unless I am under the age of 6 or have some type of crippling mental disability I don’t want a fucking flower.

In the real world we can’t edit, brighten, caption or add music to our moments in time. We get pimples, wear sweatpants, drink mojitos out of things other than mason jars or are only seen in a bikini after a small bout of the stomach flu. Essentially, it’s all just a curated highlights collection of our life. As much as it would be a real hoot and a half to upload a picture of an allergic reaction after a faulty bikini wax – I would much rather broadcast my new Gucci shoes I had to sell an ovary for.

So go ahead bitch, stand in front of a rustic brick wall, look out into the distance while someone “candidly” snaps a pic of the outfit you spent 4 hours putting together #fallfashion. Lose a finger in the process of julienning fresh chives to garnish your store-bought lentil soup #homemade. Awkwardly hold a kiss until you get the perfectly loving snap of you and your boyfriend of 2 weeks who has a small penis and an even smaller savings account #truelove #mcm and always remember… everything looks better with a filter.

@jackieschimmel … #iwokeuplikethis

Date Night Bitch

Thank god I have a fucking boyfriend. In the past few years I have become way too uninhibited and have officially lost any allure or social graces I once had. Just based on the lengths that I discuss my digestive system, finding someone to date me would be really difficult at this point in my life. I will discuss my issues with anyone who will listen and I get that it’s not necessarily sexy… But that shits real #punintended. I used to be quite a minx back in the day. I had serious game and have lost any shrivel of it in the past 3 years. I blame maturity, lack of social graces and Bravo- so when Valentines Day comes around (which is subsequently my boo’s birthday) I feel like it’s my God given duty to try and make myself seem desirable for the evening. I can’t do much at this point with my go-to conversation topics but I can try and look the part by leaving my flannel pajamas, robe and hydration therapy socks at home and busting out a haute outfit. Here are some fabuluxe V-Day/ Date night outfits to redeem the 364 days of Bravo marathons, public announcements of constipation, vocal distress towards people who still wear Juicy Couture and overall high maintenance disposition.v day

For info on where to score this loot comment below or tweet me @JackieSchimmel.

XOXO

Bitch on a Budget – Home Office

Well kittens, it’s official. This haute mess is moving up the non-corporate latter and needs a legit work space. As much as I love my living room turned retail shipping station – it is time for me to have an actual workplace. Since our one bedroom apartment is not Versailles yet semi-spacious, we cleared out our dining area so I can have a home office. In my fantasy world I would have Kelly Wearstler come in and decorate for me but in my reality I am my own interior decorator #whitegirlproblems. I wanted to make sure it felt true to my aesthetic but still uni-sexual since my boyf has kindly relinquished part of his home studio to give me a home office (the pink chair eventually has to go). I set up a garment rack with all my shirts/ samples, busted out an old ikea storage cube for my printer/miscellaneous shit/ locks of Heather Dubrow’s hair and gave myself a budget to make the little space I had make me feel like a boss bitch. Not that I need any help in the bossy department.

desk2

I was able to create this whole space just over $750. Hopefully next year I will have an office with sweeping city views, 30 ft ceilings and a REAL sheepskin rug or even better a tiger one (yes PETA I went there) but for now I am happy with my quaint space. Below is my super gay vision board I used to create my home office. Trust me when I say, there may be nothing gayer than a vision board…

DESK PP

#hautemessheadquarters

Haute Mess Clothing

Not to sound like a total fuckhead but I am really proud of myself. I have always prided myself for being a high functioning under achiever and with the birth of Haute Mess Clothing (and Haute Mess Life in general) have realized I may have been under estimating myself. Clearly when there is money on the line I actually do have the necessary work ethic. AND THANK GOD, these Loubs aren’t gonna pay for themselves. ???????????????????????????????

To quote one of my idols Kim Zolciak “I asked, believed and recieved.” I am not sure this is 100% fitting for this particular post but just go with it. Under some miracle I was able to create a slew of shirts, amatuerly create an online store and am now able to share with you! Click SHOP above and check out my first (of many) Haute Mess Merchandise perfect for the walk of shame, brunch with your waspy grandparents or for a night on the town. If you’re gonna act a mess, at least look haute doing it.

Please send any ideas/comments/concerns/questions to beahautemess@gmail.com or comment below! XOX