There comes a time in every girl's life when she just starts to want nice things, when the pilled-up, wool-like sweaters and three-wear discount-bin bras somehow no longer feel right, when she suddenly starts to want quality—even if it means she'll have less, and potentially more boring, stuff. This happened to me recently. I was packing up for a short work trip and I realized that the only overnight bags I have are a button-strewn backpack from college and an ill-shaped, awkwardly zippered pleather weekender (reminiscent of my enormous pleather couch—when I purchased this item I actually thought it was the real cowskin deal). Anyway. It made me start thinking about how I'd like a sophisticated travel bag, the kind that will weather beautifully and make me feel adult and even glamorous when I carry it. Right now, I've spotted this and this and this on eBay. They're all gorgeous and well-made, and best of all, if I buy any of them, I know I won't have to deal with this problem again for years.

[OK. This is my third and final D.D. Ryan post. I swear.] Among the many, many beautiful pieces in D.D. Ryan's collection (she favored designers Halston, Pucci, and Ossie Clark), you'll find tons of bold prints, unusual textures, and super-bright colors. These were quite clearly clothes intended for play (one can only imagine the event that required an outfit like this three-piece gold lamé number), but there's also a selection of classic, clean-lined items that were made to last, like this red Halston work suit and these beautiful, equestrian-chic Mainbocher jackets. You can also check out rolls of original '60s fabric.

I don't know what's come over me with this D.D. Ryan auction. Usually I'd see something like this, think "too rich for my blood," and move on. But instead, I'm completely intrigued. The first time I looked at it, I felt totally like a voyeur, like I was walking through the rooms of a house of a person I wanted to know. There are hundreds of pieces of jewelry in this estate sale, mostly costume, all I imagine worn to fabulous New York parties where serious fun was had. Among them, I'm fixated on these pretty, oversize Chanel brooches.

For those of you who don't know (I didn't), D.D. Ryan was a '60s photo editor and fashion designer who worked with Diana Vreeland, Halston, Richard Avedon, and Stephen Sondheim and whose social world included Andy Warhol and Truman Capote. From all accounts, she was one of those stylish New York legends, a cool lady who dressed impeccably and had lots of amazing friends. She died in July 2007.

I discovered D.D. a few days ago when I was searching for Halston on eBay. Her estate's collection of nearly 1,000 pieces of jewelry, art, furniture, clothes, and ephemera is currently being auctioned on eBay, and it is beyond, beyond amazing. In the art section alone, there are original Warhol screenprints, Warhol wallpaper by Richard Bernstein, a few Lichtensteins, and even a Picasso. But I especially like her less showy, less expensive stuff, like these quiet botanical prints. The live auction starts on March 1, so start sorting through your picks or at least taking a visual tour right now.

Last week I was deeply, entirely obsessed with winning this delicately embroidered floral top from the excellent eBay boutique Spanish Moss Vintage. I watched it every day for six days, waiting to pounce, until the price entered what was for me a completely unacceptable realm ($189 for a vintage top?  No, no, no.).  But I was miffed.  I'd wanted that shirt, I'd even done that freaky shopping mania thing with it, where you fantasize a movie-love-story-like montage of all of the places you'd wear it and with what pieces in your wardrobe.  Anyway, I had to let it go. Then, I was in Urban Outfitters the other night, and I saw this cool woven blouse, which is a similar idea to the original I'd lost.  Sure it's not as intricate, but it's got the same '70s-flowers-and-fishnetting effect, and at just $58, I could buy it in nearly every color and still not pay as much as I would have for the one on eBay.

I'm what they call "hard" on my clothes. I'm an accidental stainer, ripper, breaker, and I knock off buttons as if I'm leaving behind a Hansel and Gretel bread-crumb trail. Because I buy a lot of vintage clothes, these buttons can be awfully hard to track down, but without them, the pieces no longer look cute and old, they just look old. There are so many thousands of button options on eBay that you'll need to narrow your search down by texture, size, and color.  For example, I recently found these 5/8-inch brown woven-leather buttons, which are almost identical to the ones I lost on a vintage fisherman's cardigan. Another bonus to buying new buttons on eBay is the right set can upgrade something you already own (I'm right now desperate to add these red matte ones to my pinstriped button-down). The best part is, sewing on buttons requires the most minimal of thread skills, or—even better—your dry cleaner will do it for really cheap.

The Grateful Dead were still touring when I was in high school, which means that in addition to skaters and metal heads and jocks and drama dorks and AV crew, we had early-'90s-style Dead heads. The three to 10 of them were everything you'd expect: They wore tie-dye and patchouli and told (possibly tall) tales of acid trips at shows. They also wore these outrageously comfortable (and I still think, in the right circumstances, cool) Minnetonka fringed suede boots. Because every single item of fashion you've ever loved or reviled will someday come back, I've been weirdly seeing these boots around town for the past couple of weeks. The black versions look great with dark matte tights and flowy (they don't even have to be overly hippie) dresses. I'd wear the orangey-brown style with skinny jeans, a long fitted tee, and a grandpa cardigan.

Whenever I see otherwise stylish celebrities getting ripped apart for an outfit they obviously just threw on to get coffee, I feel a little sad. (I also feel like "What are you people thinking?  You're famous! You get a gazillion dollars worth of cute free clothes! It's your job to look good!)  The truth is, we all own and like to wear at least a few of these comfort-shame Fashion Police items, the ones born out of I-just-don't-want-to-deal laziness. I know I have them. In spades.  Recently, however, I've wanted to spruce up my downtime wardrobe, and edit it exclusively to those pieces that I wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen in by an ex-boyfriend. This means investing in staples that are still soft and easy, but also well-cut and flattering. It's bit of a splurge for a hoodie, but I imagine I'd throw on this Vince cashmere piece at least once a day.  Instead of a ratty old sweater, this pocketed James Perse tunic would look sexy with almost any kind of jeans. And once the weather warms up, these American Apparel T-shirt dresses would be ideal with a cute pair of I'm-even-too-lazy-for-laces Vans.

There's an older woman who lives on my street who's got hand tattoos, an I-just-turned-62-it's-time-to-give-up lady's short haircut, and a voice so growly and deep and laced with fire it makes me want to quit my sometime cigarette habit (for real this time) right this second. I see this woman every day—either walking her Yorkie or attending to her elaborate front garden of gnomes—but I'd never really thought about her style.  Then today, out of nowhere, intimidating neighbor lady was sitting on her stoop with the prettiest scarf wrapped and tied artfully around her head. Though I'm nearly positive this fashion statement was not intentional (that the situation was actually more like, "I need my head to be warm. Screw it.  This will do."), the effect was offbeat beautiful and Fellini-heroine-esque. The scarf was navy and red and looked kind of like this, but a swirly or abstract patterned version would work nicely too. I imagine copying this trick in the spring on rainy days with a classic trench.   

A few weeks ago, I had one of those Nights That Should Have Never Happened: the kind that start innocently with wine—and end diabolically with tequila—and could never possibly have enough food in between. The next morning, in a state of emotional and physical disarray, I called my sister.

"Okay, this is what you need to do," she said. "You need to take a shower, drink a ton of coffee, and make sure you figure out a good outfit."

"But I'm already late for work!"

"It doesn't matter. If you feel like you look pretty, the whole day will be better. Just stop whining and pull it together."

So I did. I took an extra-long shower, I exfoliated, I moisturized. I found great earrings and tights, pulled my hair into an elaborately neat bun, and put on some black heels. Then I picked out what is for me the Holy Grail of confidence-building fashion: the red dress. I threw on a short-sleeved style with a dark gray cardigan and felt fresh as a daisy, like a woman with a secret past who was getting away with something. Surviving the day still required the aid of waffle fries and kindly coworkers, but things could have been so much worse. In case of emergency, you can also find some cute (and completely affordable) red dresses here, here, and here.

How, oh how is it possible that there are nearly 600 "psychic reading" auctions on eBay and, until this moment, they have all escaped my notice?  I'm not much of a believer in the mystical or paranormal, but for $7.99, it's incredibly tempting to "get control of my destiny" from a woman who advertises with what looks like a photograph from her very rockin' '80s prom (she will not, however, read for pregnant women or minors). There's also the option of a more-in-depth experience with "Phoenix/Cassandra/Trusted Spirit", who for $60, will give you an hour-long phone reading complete with an e-mailed MP3 recording of the exchange. Enlightenment seekers can additionally find eBay "spiritualists" to work with them on IM, or if you're feeling nervous about the whole thing and just want to dip in your feet, for about 7 bucks, there's "a man in Australia" who will answer one question, any question, over e-mail.

I interviewed the incredibly cool and laid-back Rachel Bilson for our March issue, and ever since I can't stop thinking about the sailor pants she wore to our shoot. They were high-waisted and wide-leg (but not too much so) and had the cutest, flattering silhouette. They were also, unfortunately, extremely vintage—Rachel told me she bought them at an Army-Navy store years ago. Through some sleuthing, however, I discovered a few replicas on eBay (type "sailor pants" into the main search and then look for your size). This red pair from Alberta Ferretti would be perfect with a tucked-in gray tank and some super-high wedges. Or how about this Mayle version with a ruffle-front top and metallic sandals?

For the past six months or so I've been in a one-sided, in-my-head (though still kind of aggressive) fight with Marc Jacobs. Thing is, he'd hurt me so much. First there was the two-hours-late show debacle, then came the Arena Homme Plus cover, and seriously, how could you forgive anyone who made these shoes? But last week, I saw his two pretty fabulous shows and I watched the great and at times even inspiring Marc Jacobs & Louis Vuitton documentary, and my position started to soften and shift. I suddenly remembered all the things I loved about MJ: the playful intensity, the cheeky details, the really feminine clothes. And it made me want to begin collecting some of his older designs—a goal that's excellently achieved on eBay.

There are more then 3,000 Marc Jacobs items on the site today; among them, I like this ladylike, pink-and-gray sweater, this unusual velvet-trim tulip skirt, and this dainty little ruffled top.

The other day I was surfing through the truly great home design blog More Ways to Waste Time, came across this post on Latin American textiles, and completely lost my mind. OH MY GOD. I love the bold pillows, playful plates, pretty shawls, but especially these hand-embroidered Otomi throws (which I found on eBay for a little less money) like I've maybe never loved any household decor items before. The blankets are bright and fun but also classic-feeling, and I'm crazy about the fact that they're made by women using an intricate, centuries-old technique. It gives them an awesome, I'll-pass-this-down-to-my-grandkids vibe. You could easily use them in a nursery, over a couch, in the guest room—anywhere really that you want to give a full blast of color.

There's something about this short-sleeved color-block sweater that I actually find irresistibly sexy. It's got a cool new wave vibe, and I like the cut—formfitting but not so much that you'd feel self-conscious. It also seems like a perfectly versatile piece for spring: I imagine wearing it with skinny jeans and pointy-toed heels and maybe a little blazer, or really casually with shorts and huaraches and a long, thin-strapped, across-the-shoulders bag.

So I tried to work from home on Monday, and I spent hours at my wobbly kitchen table sitting on an array of bad wooden chairs. I woke up the next morning and felt like a geriatric pretzel, like an already-clumsy gymnast who had somehow acquired rapid-aging disease overnight. This is the way it goes in my apartment, workwise: You're either stiff from the bad chairs or achy from sitting on the couch and hunching over to type at the coffee table. We need a real, practical, ergonomic solution, but not something that looks like "office" furniture. Does anyone know anything about chairs that are good for your back but not hideous? Right now I like this, this, and this, but I'm also considering getting one of those weirdly-yogic-but-just-might-work physio balls.

The obsession started last week. I was standing by our special sections editor Liz Kiernan's cube, performing that obnoxious bad-office-etiquette ritual where you pick up objects from another person's desk and, without asking, begin eating them, trying them on, moisturizing your hands with them, spraying them, etc. Anyway, on Liz's desk was the prettiest, sturdy-yet-delicate gold cuff. And every time (a lot of times) I slipped it on my wrist, I felt instantly glamorous and grown-up. Then, this morning, I saw a woman wearing chic yellow heels and a cool gray coat and peeking out from her sleeve was another extra-sophisticated gold cuff. So, today on eBay I found three of them. This pleated version has a perfect little '60s-cocktail-party feel. Or you could go more tribal and exotic with this carved style. And last, this curvy, solid look totally makes me want to bust out the shoulder pads and heavy-duty eye makeup and channel sexy '80s power lady Donna Mills from Knots Landing.

It's the time of year, fashion-wise, when everything gets kind of jumbled and confused. The women in our office are going to shows to look at next fall's collections while wearing last fall's collections and yearning for spring weather so they can buy new spring clothes. Leaving work at night means dragging your big winter coat past racks of bikinis and tank tops and shorts—items that at this moment seem unimaginable as garments. It's the time of year when I start craving something, anything, that I can be excited about that's not the same boring sweater/skirt/tights combination. My solution? I'm going to start rocking some serious blue lumberjack plaid. I know. I'm late to the game. Even worse, this fashion choice is kind of weird and bad '80s and also bad '90s. But honestly, how could anyone not love this adorably tough wool motorcycle jacket? I also want the girl in the picture's sunglasses, lip gloss, and hair.   

You know how sometimes you'll be walking down the street or, possibly, standing in the elevator at work and you spot a woman so absolutely perfect (hair/skin/outfit/body, etc.) that you immediately think, "Ugh," and feel mad and then ashamed of yourself and think that this is exactly the kind of attitude that's really damaging between women and you really should not hate another girl just because she's pretty, and this mental anguish lasts about 23 seconds but leaves a tiny bit of a sad stink all day? Well, I've been seeing a lot of these women lately, and they've all been wearing chic all-black outfits with cool, punk rockerish, ultra-thick silver chains.

There's a big football game this weekend, obviously, but the only football that matters to me these days (or, quite honestly, ever) is the football played by the Dillon Panthers on the deeply, obsessively exceptional NBC show Friday Night Lights. I'm not proud of the fact that I'm a late adopter—I just started watching the first-season DVDs last week—but now that I've seen it, I never want this television program to end. It's well-acted, well-written, and beautifully shot.  It reminds me of everything great and horrid and raw and pure about high school: the scary delight of kissing a boy for the first time, the incessant trenches-of-hell gossip, the hopefulness, the arrogance, the beer. If you haven't, start watching this show. It will make you cry. It will make you wish to be 16 again so Matt Saracen could ask you out and Tami Taylor could be your guidance counselor and one night you could make a big mistake and fool around with the greasy-dangerous Tim Riggins in a pickup. In the meantime, I'm going to stock up on these soft, flower-strewn long-sleeved tees from Free People, which look exactly like something my favorite FNL character Julie Taylor would wear on a date with the quarterback.