Tennis, Anyone?

March 26th, 2015


{Sweater, pants and hat c/o Lacoste, Tory Burch Drea wedges (old) and Valentino handbag}

Maria Tettamanti

Maria Tettamanti

Maria Tettamanti

Talk to me about the cuteness that is this Lacoste polka dot number? It makes me want to fly up to the North East, grab cold brew (or ten) and head for the closest clambake. In the meantime, the postcard-perfect Lido Restaurant & Bayside Grill at The Standard (pictured here) will do. The steamed mussles here are so good… make you wanna slap yo’ mama. 

Speaking earlier of Lacoste, they were kind enough to ask me to tell YOU (yes, you!) that they’re giving away 2 court-side tickets to the Miami Open via a very cool social media campaign. All you have to do is: 

Snap a picture of the Lacoste crocodile and upload it to Instagram or Twitter and tag @LACOSTE #SpottheCrocMIA for a chance to win court-side tickets to the Miami Open

Good luck!

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Petal Pushing & Puppies

March 22nd, 2015


{Mink Pink dress, D’Orsay flats c/o J. Crew, Vince Camuto hat, Balenciaga bag, Céline sunnies}

miami fashion blogger maria tettamanti

JCrew shoes

miami fashion blogger maria tettamanti

This look? Easy. From this dress‘ feminine midi length and  floral print (a huge trend for spring AGAIN and again and again) to the comfort of these suede flats, well, this ensemble is uncomplicated with a capital “un.”

Proving to be not-so-easy? My puppy! Every time I scoop up one of her poops (typically atop my favorite Calvin Klein rug OF COURSE), I have meltdown à la Amanda Bynes (but I’d NEVER die my hair entirely purple like she did. Nor would I start a fire in some strangers’ yard for that matter). 

As I feverishly scrub the floors on all fours with Clorox wipes and light yet ANOTHER nag champa incense stick (so now the house reeks of some heteromorphic trilogy channeling poo, bleach and sandalwood — which is totally GRODY), I keep telling myself it’s going to get better. 


Photographed at The Standard Miami Beach



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An Open Letter To Christian Louboutin

March 15th, 2015

Christian Louboutin

{Christian Louboutin Pigalle Follies pumps in rose}

Christian Louboutin

{The maverick/masochist, Christian Louboutin, and moi}

Dear Mr. Louboutin,

Like a meth addict in the cough syrup aisle at the local CVS, I’m all over your designs.

But your affinity for comfort could use much schooling.

I’m quite certain I speak on the behalf of millions of red-bottom buffs when I utter this fact: Wearing your 4.5″ stilettos for mere nanoseconds is akin to consuming shards of glass. Guzzling Clorox bleach. The throes of child labor. Watching football. Denailing. Traffic. Breaking bones. Internet-free zones. Kneecapping. Listening to wailing babies. Chinese water torture. Passing kidney stones. Drowning. Abacination (a form of corporal punishment in which the victim is blinded by having a red-hot metal plate held before their eyes). Eating bland salads. 

In a nutshell: Sheer, unadulterated misery. You red-soled masochist, you.

With the aforementioned said, I haven’t procured a pair of your shoes for years until THIS. Comprised of the perfect shade of blush pink patent leather and replete with a pointy toe allowing just the right amount of toe cleavage (yes, that’s a thing), I just couldn’t say no. 

Yes, I caved. These car-to-door stilettos (Definition: A pair of shoes so painful one can only manage hobbling/shuffling from one’s mode of transportation to the front valet) have my name written all of them.

So thanks for bringing the beauty… and pain,



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Moonbeams and Meltdowns

March 12th, 2015

Mara Hoffman

{Mara Hoffman dress, Edie Parker clutch, Zara heels (old), B-low the Belt belt (old), Céline sunnies}

Mara Hoffman

Mara Hoffman

Much like my rapport with Nutella and episodes of Locked Up Abroad, I have a love/hate relationship with prints. For the most part, I adore patterns but sometimes (like when one guzzles half of the jar of hazelnut-laced heaven), I feel like prints can be too much and a bad lewk. You know what I mean? 

But designer Mara Hoffman always knocks prints out of the park because they always exude an Egyptian warrior/Tribal chick/Aztec princess/Astrological magic vibes which equates to total bad ass-ery (yes, I made that word up). And so I love this dress.

Items currently not on my love list? The cystic acne (see photo exhibit number 2 above — 9 o’clock on my chin) on my mug. What the fuck? How is it humanly possible to develop this crap 25 years post puberty? Am I being Punk’d? Are my children coating my chin with Crisco when I’m in a deep slumber in a unified front against eating brussels sprouts? 

Either way, this shit is whack. But at least my dress is cute! And I’ll always have Nutella and trainwreck television.


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La Isla Bonita

March 7th, 2015

blu moss

{Bathing suit c/o Blu Moss}

Puerto Rico

{Palm tree porn}

St. Regis Puerto Rico

{St. Regis Bahia Beach, Puerto Rico‘s Plantation House}

St. Regis Nature Trails

{Nature trails teeming with teensy chirping frogs called coquis}

Puerto Rico

{This Mara Hoffman dress is on sale here!}

St. Regis Puerto Rico

{I basically never left my room. Except to get a blowout, play tennis, dip my toes in the sand and forage for seared scallops, of course}

St. Regis Puerto Rico

{My inner nerd loves this library}

Hola! I’m blogging at you live, freaks! I’ll tell you where, someplace warm… A place where the rum flows like wine, where beautiful women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano. I’m talking about a little place called… Puerto Rico. And, yes, I’m quasi-quoting Dumb and Dumber because it’s one of my all-time favorite flicks. Judge all you want.

This is my second jaunt to La Isla del Encanto (the island of enchantment) and I’m staying at the uber luxe St. Regis Bahia Beach. I’ve relished some real fancy schmancy places in my travels and this spot most definitely ranks in my top two.

Why? For starters,  I love the Plantation-style architecture/design aesthetic of the property. It’s plushy but not pretentious. Secondly, my favorite chef, Jean-Georges Vongerichten (try to say that three times in a row, overachievers), operates the on-site restaurant, Fern. Thirdly, the hotel is situated inside a lush, tropical forest rife with fauna (think really cool lizards, gorgeous birds and crooning tree frogs). Hello? This place is majestic. Like a unicorn, I tell you!

I’ve enjoyed heaps of time to myself and when this happens, well, it’s easier to hear the Universe talking to me. For example, I was running on the treadmill yesterday morning (b-o-r-i-n-g times 1,000) and 6 minutes into my jog, my ADD kicked in and I wanted off. But then all of a sudden…an iguana the size of my 5-year-old tiptoed into my line of vision. I was wholly mesmerized by this rad reptile as it sunbathed and chewed on leaves as though they tasted like chocolate molten lava cakes. It was like a damn National Geographic episode in the living flesh! And guess what? By the time he traipsed out of the garden, I ran a whole 30 minutes. In other words, the Universe provided me with some pre-internet/pre-Kardashian entertainment because she’s good like that.

Another sign? I was locked up in my room for hours (reading Tina Fey’s Bossypants, watching E!, Facebook stalking, checking emails, the usual crap…) and like a complete asshole, I accidentally locked myself out of my hotel room while placing my room service tray outside my front door. Did I mention all I was wearing was a bath robe and wet-hair turban? And the front desk was a loooong walk away. And there was a WEDDING GOING ON IN FULL SWING? Yes, I crashed a wedding dressed in a bath robe and pink Turbie Twist. TOP THAT.

But the beauty in this blunder was the barefoot moonlit walk to and from the lobby — I could relish the sweet sing-song of the coquis. I smelled the damp earth. I viscerally felt the dew on my skin. I even found myself madly chirping back to the frogs with wild abandon like a complete mental case from One Flew The Cuckoo’s Nest (another stellar film in my book).

Ah, the little things. 




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