1.0Soft Sensibilitieshttps://kimberlypearl.co/blogKimberlyhttps://kimberlypearl.co/blog/author/kimberlypearl-92gmail-com/rich600338<blockquote class="wp-embedded-content" data-secret="SU9bL31LaW"><a href="https://kimberlypearl.co/blog/the-thighs-the-limit/">The Thigh’s the Limit</a></blockquote><iframe sandbox="allow-scripts" security="restricted" src="https://kimberlypearl.co/blog/the-thighs-the-limit/embed/#?secret=SU9bL31LaW" width="600" height="338" title="“The Thigh’s the Limit” — Soft Sensibilities" data-secret="SU9bL31LaW" frameborder="0" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" class="wp-embedded-content"></iframe><script type="text/javascript"> /* <![CDATA[ */ /*! This file is auto-generated */ !function(d,l){"use strict";l.querySelector&&d.addEventListener&&"undefined"!=typeof URL&&(d.wp=d.wp||{},d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage||(d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage=function(e){var t=e.data;if((t||t.secret||t.message||t.value)&&!/[^a-zA-Z0-9]/.test(t.secret)){for(var s,r,n,a=l.querySelectorAll('iframe[data-secret="'+t.secret+'"]'),o=l.querySelectorAll('blockquote[data-secret="'+t.secret+'"]'),c=new RegExp("^https?:$","i"),i=0;i<o.length;i++)o[i].style.display="none";for(i=0;i<a.length;i++)s=a[i],e.source===s.contentWindow&&(s.removeAttribute("style"),"height"===t.message?(1e3<(r=parseInt(t.value,10))?r=1e3:~~r<200&&(r=200),s.height=r):"link"===t.message&&(r=new URL(s.getAttribute("src")),n=new URL(t.value),c.test(n.protocol))&&n.host===r.host&&l.activeElement===s&&(d.top.location.href=t.value))}},d.addEventListener("message",d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage,!1),l.addEventListener("DOMContentLoaded",function(){for(var e,t,s=l.querySelectorAll("iframe.wp-embedded-content"),r=0;r<s.length;r++)(t=(e=s[r]).getAttribute("data-secret"))||(t=Math.random().toString(36).substring(2,12),e.src+="#?secret="+t,e.setAttribute("data-secret",t)),e.contentWindow.postMessage({message:"ready",secret:t},"*")},!1)))}(window,document); //# sourceURL=https://kimberlypearl.co/blog/wp-includes/js/wp-embed.min.js /* ]]> */ </script> When you grow up with Rhea as your mother and Audrey as your icon (it’s been an at least an 18-year relationship; we’re on a first-name basis), you’re practically bred to believe that shift dresses and le smoking suits are the epitome of womanhood. Yes to black, cashmere turtleneck sweaters! Yes to highwaist cigarette pants! The black ballerinas, however, I’m still working on. Flats do no one justice. Except Audrey. When I was finally allowed to watch Pretty Woman I had this revelation. Two, actually: (1) Audrey in fact is queen, because Pretty Woman turned out to be a sexed-up version of My Fair Lady, and (2) over-the-knee boots were a thing. A beautiful, beautiful thing. My style is quite plain. Predictable, even—so any opportunity to elicit a double take is welcomed. Everything with me is two-sided: for every boatneck sweater there’s a studded d’orsay pump, and every silk blouse has a cropped tee counterpart. I love a little vulgarity in dress so long as it’s offset by something prim; balance is, after all, everything. A thigh-high boot (or over-the-knee, for the pearl-clutchers) becomes that something. That je ne sais quoi of the French, the thing that’s just slightly off in the best way possible. Anything—even the rattiest of sweaters—becomes something. And the…http://kimberlypearl.co/blog/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/4th-and-bleeker-hm-x-isabel-marant3.jpg