Poolside in Vegas with Sinatra

Grandmother Mabel once told me that most women dress for other women. She found this ridiculous unless you are the sort of women who wants other women to buy you your drinks. She urged me to dress for my man. “My Man” in this case is Frank Sinatra.

Even though it is so simple, I think this is the most glamorous outfit in my repertoire. When I wear it I practically feel like a drag queen (faded work makeup not withstanding).

The pants are Philippe Adec for Bergdorf Goodman from Revival in Roslyn. They come up very high on the waist and I didn’t think I could pull them off when I first tried them on but I was talked into getting them anyway by a dear friend. She was right, as friends usually are.
The top has no label and it was from the $5 rack at Worth Repeating. I can’t resist white oxfords.
Ballet flats are Tory Burch leopard printed pony-hair Riva.

If I can’t canoodle with Frank Sinatra at least I can canoodle with Dean Martin