I consider myself a fairly savvy, old-hand eBay shopper, so when I discover something I haven't seen before, well, I become beyond jazzed (did I just say jazzed? Apologies. My excitement has clearly overtaken my semantic taste). In any case, about a week ago, Sunflower Vintage left a comment on my Spanish Moss post suggesting I take a look at the eBay store Mama Stone. And so, today, I did. When I saw it, I had this thought: "Are these people for real? This stuff is AMAZING!" Honestly, I would buy almost everything in this vintage boutique at a real store, maybe even for full price. It has a lovely, earthy-cool aesthetic, and its stock is filled with soft leather jackets, flowy floral-print dresses, and neat shrunken blazers. I love this (virtual) place. You should check it out as soon as you can.

Forgive my possible idea theft. I know I've seen this cool decor project in some (perhaps multiple) magazines or catalogs at some (perhaps multiple) times before. However, it just sank in: I very much want to take a boring wall of a small room in my apartment, paint it a fun color like robin's-egg blue or burnt-marigold yellow, and then hang a bunch of different-size mirrors in a looks-random-but-
was-actually-thought-about-for-days pattern. While I could scour every vintage furniture store and mirror shop within a 1.5-mile radius of my home and lug home all my finds, this seems like a perfect project for eBay. This morning I found five items that are ideal to start me off: this round art deco style, this enormous distressed Victorian-looking piece, an oblong curvy model, a carved look, and this one, my favorite, which looks?and opens up?like a porthole.

I kind of have a massive crush on New Zealand designer Karen Walker's clothes. They're feminine but still really interesting and offbeat. The cuts are often unusual and, somehow, simultaneously sharp and soft. I wish I could wear things like this every day. But as is the norm for the things we truly covet, this line is bit pricey for my budget. So today I wanted to see if I could fulfill my Karen Walker fix on the cheap, went on eBay, and found some really fantastic, perfect-for-right-now items. I love this classic-with-a-twist puffed-sleeve trench, these fun wooden star earrings, a bow-front tee, and especially deeply, this insanely good navy-and-white dress.

Sometimes I'll be surfing eBay and I'll see something, click on it, and love it so much that I become like a crazed drooling wolf. "OH MY GOD," growls my internal monologue, "THAT IS SO CUTE! I MUST FIGURE OUT A WAY TO OWN IT RIGHT NOW." Then I plot out my bidding strategy, visit often, and hope and pray that I win. What I do not do with these special, turn-me-into-a-wolf items, I must guiltily confess, is write about them. Which somehow seems really wrong, greedy, and not the correct behavior for a woman who has a daily blog about eBay. So, here it is, my truest pick of the day: a pristinely beautiful, unbelievably inexpensive vintage Lanvin bag.

You know how sometimes—even though you probably shouldn't, even though your mother and your grandmother and maybe a random not-nice stylist told you that you can't, even if it makes your skin tone look pallid and sad—you just want to wear something, and you kind of don't give a damn about all the rest? Well, this season—even though I share the same coloring as actor Philip Seymour Hoffman—I am going to wear yellow heels (like these and these and these, and maybe if I'm feeling really reckless, these). And I'm going to wear them with fitted (tight) jeans and fun patterned blouses, or with a billowy, earthy-hued minidress and big dangly earrings, and I am going to be happy.

I've been a little obsessed with convertibles lately (an odd fact considering my license has lapsed and because of this the state of New York basically treats me like a 15-year-old who has never driven a car, but I digress). I've been particularly fixated on vintage convertibles—of which you can find hundreds of truly stellar options on eBay. I imagine if I bought this cute red '71 Mercedes convertible I'd drive it from Florida, head straight to Louisiana, pick up a hot Zydeco singer, and travel the country wearing tank dresses, playing the accordion, and learning Creole French. Or maybe I'd take one of those empowering-lady trips, abduct my sister, and we'd wrap our heads in beautiful vintage Hermès scarves and roll through pastoral New England drinking champagne and occasionally stopping for a lobster dinner in some salty-fisherman town. But the true, true deep reason I need to have a convertible (and somehow transport it to Paris) is to overcome what I like to call the "Ballad of Lucy Jordan" curse. The first time I heard this Marianne Faithfull song ("At the age of thirty-seven she realized she'd never ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair..."), I thought, "Gosh, that's depressing. That is so not going to be me." It's time to buy the sports car. Or, well, at least rent one for a day.

Dear Spanish Moss Vintage eBay boutique,

You don't know me, but it's time to come clean: I think we might be in love. Thing is, you are everything I've been looking for in an eBay vintage boutique. You're well organized, well-stocked, and well-priced. You carry the kinds of pristine shoes and dresses that I always want to find on my own, but rarely can. I've bought a ton of stuff from you. Keep up the good work.

Sincerely,

Jennifer

Ever since the chevron stripes incident, I've been addicted to the randomness of eBay—the idea that, with just one or two key words, you can uncover tons of amazing stuff you'd otherwise never think to search under.   So, this morning, I typed in "mushroom," and will you look at all the goodness?  In lamps, there's this classic Laurel stand-up style and this pretty table version. For my kitchen, I found an intricately painted, super-clean-looking Kaj Franck bowl and a playfully retro '70s cookie jar. These vintage mushroom-printed hankies are something I feel like every lady should have in her purse (or fold up and place under a plant pot—pretty!). And did you know that there's a shoe brand called Mushrooms? And that they make perfect red pumps and woven-heeled sandals?  Oh, and, of course, while it's not anything I would imagine one could buy on eBay, you can also purchase the real, dried-morel deal.

So the other night I had a big party to go to, and 13 minutes before I had to leave, I did something that any beauty editor at any magazine in the history of printing on paper would tell you not to do: I tried an entirely new makeup look. More than that: I tried bright purple eyeshadow. Now I am a lifetime red-lipstick-thick-mascara girl—I don't even know how to apply eyeliner, much less the nuanced art of eyeshadow—but I had on a lavender-gray dress and a colorful new Fresh shadow compact and I just thought "What the hay?" Perhaps this grooming error wouldn't have been so egregious (and not elicited the "Wow, your makeup looks special" response from my boyfriend) if we had just one decent mirror in our house that was illuminated with something slightly brighter than mood lighting. So, lesson learned. I'm taking a page out of my mother's beauty regimen, buying a certified makeup mirror with magnification and a "true to life" light feature, and using it any time I attempt a new cosmetic stunt. Next up: a pretty vanity to place it atop. **CORRECTION (from my boyfriend): "When I said your makeup looked special, I meant special. This makes me sound like a jerk."

One of my favorite experiences on eBay is when I can get myself into kind of swinging vine rhythm: An initial search leads me randomly to another search, which leads to another and another until I'm not exactly sure where I started, but I'm happy with where I've landed. (I also enjoy conversations that follow this pattern.) Anyway, the other day I was looking for vintage Biba clothes on the site and found this adorable sweatshirt which taught me a new term, "chevron stripes" (how did I not know this before?), and helped me find (and buy) this outstandingly cool dress. From there, I linked around to this gorgeous spring evening coat, and discovered a sleek white clutch, a too-expensive-but-still-beautiful Miu Miu tote, and this simple '80s-style belt, which I'd wear over a long, slim tee with skinny gray jeans and flat earthy sandals. 

We need a new clock in our apartment—not the cable light-up screen, not the bedside alarm, not the stovetop range. I want a real clock that I can hang on the wall, serves as a design element, and reminds me how to read analog time. The problem is, I don't really know what I want. The last wall clock I bought was in a 99 Cents store in Kutztown, Pennsylvania, in the summer of 1994, so I'm a little out of touch. Is it horrible to think about a cuckoo clock? How about one that's sleek and silver? Maybe this retro-barbershop look? And though I'm trying to get us away from all midcentury modern all the time, this classic George Nelson style is really well-priced.

My great-grandmother was one of those petite ladylike women who always had their nails done and always had clothes that were perfectly coordinated, feminine, and neat. She had been a tailor before she had my grandmother and was extremely particular about all of her wardrobe details. I remember her purses, her pretty shoes, and especially her pins. She always wore one, either bright or fancy, on the left side of her coat. I've been thinking about these kinds of accessories a lot lately, and today on eBay, I found a bunch of bright enamel flower pins that would give the coat I just bought a perfectly fun, early-'60s feel. This yellow one is sunny and offbeat; I like the mod-ish corsage vibe of this red and blue style; and this white and gold pin brings the whole idea to a more dressed-up, elegant level.

All right, here's an embarrassing confession: The other night I was home alone and there was nothing on TV, so I turned to HBO on Demand and started watching old Sex and the City episodes. It was the first season, I think, and SJP looked so pretty and bouncy and young. In one scene she went to the opera with Stanford and was wearing the most awesome bright-but-not-too-bright blue coat with an all-black outfit and red lipstick. Even nearly a decade after that episode was shot, the outfit had me entirely obsessed. So then I went to bed. And this is where it gets really embarrassing: I DREAMT ABOUT THE COAT. Then I woke up and I bought this on eBay, which I can't wait to wear on rainy-ish April days with sleek black rain boots, bare legs, and little dresses. You can find others of the same ilk (including a well-priced version from Burberry!) here and here and here.

High-end cobbler Pierre Hardy is known for his super-creative, super-expensive, and completely in-demand shoes for Balenciaga. Last week the French designer debuted a mini-collection for Gap— made up of six styles that are practical, versatile, minimalist, and apparently, already sold out in my size. (Grrr ... I knew about this line forever and then, well, I just forgot.) Anyway, once again, eBay comes to the rescue. Granted, though I feel sure they will, no one has yet placed any of the Gap shoes up on the site. But right now I can get my Hardy fix with a handful of options from his personal label, like these gorgeous bright blue peep-toe heels or these cool black patent leather flats.

Over the weekend I met the truly awesome and stylish Mai from the San Fran blog the Fashionist. We were at a crowded event, in a group of 100 or so bloggers, and what made Mai stand out right away was her chic, longish, vintage '80s floral dress, which she was wearing with a low side ponytail and pointy pink suede flats. The outfit was really good, one that you could imagine working for a variety of occasions and since meeting Mai, all I can think about is how to replicate her look and how many '80s dresses I can squeeze into my closet. This robin's-egg blue number has a cute slashy pattern that kind of reminds me of Built by Wendy. I love the graphic (though stealthily feminine) look of this puff-sleeved floral style—wouldn't it be great for spring with bare legs and round-toe boots? And finally, I kind of need to wear this ruffly version to every party I'm invited to until fall.

File this under something I don't need but I absolutely need to have: a pink clutch. I want a hot pink clutch that I can wear with a little black dress and heels or slink under my arm with a fitted tucked-in T-shirt, pencil skirt, and ankle boots. This came to me yesterday when I was watching a cute girl walk down the street (I say girl because she had on the kind of crazy-great outfit—a foofy pastel dress and polka-dot tights and high-heeled oxfords—that only really works when you're 23) who was carrying the best oversize pink clutch. It was textured and feminine and also kind of punk rock. I loved it immediately. Here are some options I'll be choosing from: a sleek Arden B. envelope style, this ruched '80s version with a strap, or this soft purple-pink suede look.

I'm beginning to have really fun fantasies about what I want to wear for spring (in them, I am somehow so slim that I can pull off anything and so rich that I can buy anything, which is why, of course, they call them fantasies). One of the looks I'm envisioning is going completely earthy-safari, with tailored khaki shorts, a brown belt, a linen blouse, gladiator sandals, and chic wood earrings. While the rest of the outfit will probably be left behind in a fashion dream journal—or awkwardly replicated with pieces I already own—the wood earrings are an easy, quick wardrobe update. I've already found tons of amazing options on eBay, including handcarved Balinese hoops, Kenneth Jay Lane danglers, and a pair of pretty, delicate wood discs. They're all versatile—great with both floral dresses and jeans—inexpensive, and might even make me feel more excited about my old spring clothes. Which is, honestly, my biggest fantasy of all.

Okay. Things are looking really weird on eBay today. When I opened up the homepage this morning there was a big box that said, "Meet Scarlett Johansson," and next to that, "Keith Urban Backstage." With a little clicking, I found that both of these items are filed under something called "experiences." (Seriously—who knew you could buy front row seats to the Pussycat Dolls concert on eBay?) There are around 1,700 auctions in this category, ranging from VIP passes to Vegas clubs to the chance to become a roadie for the band Panic at the Disco. There are also a lot of ski lift passes, Disney World tickets, and even orchestra seats to the New York Philharmonic. As for the celebs, a backstage pass to meet Nicole Kidman's husband costs at least $1,600, and an evening, er, five seconds with ScarJo will set you back somewhere in the realm of 19 grand.

I am about to describe an experience that, I hope, has happened to everyone. But if not, it just serves as further evidence that I am a freak: I don't know which sunglasses to buy. It's not only that, though. I find myself paralyzed by this retail decision. I can't stop thinking about the fact that I don't know which sunglasses I want, what kind of sunglasses woman I am, what my stupid sunglasses say about me, and how terribly outdated and smudged and scratched all of the sunglasses I currently own are. Everything about this is feeling terribly contrived and weird. Do I want to look like a glamorous movie star? Or a not so glamorous one? Should I go tough? Or really girly? Something that says I don't care about any of this at all? The only criteria I've been able to narrow down are no super-dark sunglasses (they make me stumble around like Mr. Magoo) and I don't like anything sparkly. And the search forges on.

My boyfriend and I are both periodical freaks. I think between the two of us we have subscriptions to more than 30 (not the lightest carbon footprint—I know, I know). This may make us interesting conversationalists, but it's also making our apartment a cluttered mess. Though I wish we were the kind of people who recycle them as soon as we're finished, or even put them away on shelves in those cute linen-covered boxes, we are so not. Instead, we're attached to them like security blankets, and there are glossy covers everywhere: in stacks by the bed, on kitchen counters, dressers—I even found one in the laundry basket the other day. To solve this paper siege I am going to take the lazy man's organization path, purchase a bunch of old-school magazine racks like this gorgeous mid-century style, and place one in every room in the house.

After an entire season spent wearing boots (either snow or stylish), this is the moment when I start thinking about real shoes—any kind of cute flats, little heels, or full-blown pumps. Spring is also traditionally my most experimental season fashionwise—after months spent under layers, I'm truly ready to break out and try new things. Right now I'm obsessed with any kind of loaferish, pilgrimish shoes, like these vintage pairs from Ferragamo. I like them in black, white, and navy. I know they're a little bit odd. But I'm imagining them with crisp jeans and a girly tie-neck top. Or a really severe-looking, almost institutional dress with a khaki coat.