When I was in college, and the extent of my fashion sense was men's V-neck undershirts worn with cut-offs (and J.Crew roll-neck sweaters and Barn jackets in the fall—yes!), I somehow managed to pick up a Helmut Newton photography book on super-duper sale. I had no real use for this oversize tome, but I still loved it and displayed it proudly on the rickety coffee table in our basement apartment. It's now many moons and moves later, and the book is long gone, but I was thinking the other day how much I'd like to flip through its glossy, weighty pages again. In fact, I would like to start a collection of style books from the '80s and early '90s, including one with all the big supermodels—the Gias, Janets, Lindas, Christies, and Kates. Perhaps I'll start with the incredible-looking (and vaguely titled) Professional Fashion Photography, which features not only a man in a tuxedo and cowboy hat on the cover but every late-'70s model I could ever hope for—Jerry Hall, Carol Alt, Iman, etc. Or I could get the very intriguing (and more from a time I remember), 10 Women, which is signed by photographer Peter Lindbergh. And lastly, not so much eye candy, but it looks beyond juicy: Shut Up and Smile: Supermodels the Dark Side.

If I were a rich lady, I would buy a million things from designer Hanii Y. every season as soon as they came out. Her stuff is gorgeous—feminine, but not prissy; artsy and unusual, but not in a way that says "wacky." However, it's not really my style to fritter away $400 for a tank top ("not really my style" equals "I'm cheap"), and so I must resort to eBay to fulfill my desires. Which, as it turns out, is not a bad alternative at all. For starters, there's this beautiful satin dress with a rosette on the collar. I also would love to wear this amazing embroidered lace blouse with a pair of neat shorts and ballet flats. And though I can't even believe I'm considering spending more than $100 on less than a quarter of a yard of fabric, this interesting, sexy tank is almost irresistible.

Here is one of my major style challenges: I really want to become one of those women who understands belts—the ones who wear them over dresses or peeking out under a pretty shirt on a pair of jeans, and it all looks effortless and cool, not contrived and dorky. I think maybe the problem is my belts themselves. I've never really invested in a good one—this is embarrassing, but two of my three belts require the aid of carefully positioned duct tape to keep the ends from flailing away from my body. Another problem is I have no idea what to look for: Do I go trendy and colorful like this woven style? Or should I try something clean and classic like this one from Ralph Lauren? Is this '70s ring style really as "killer" as the auction claims? Or would I look sexier in a wide version, which kind of appears to be modeled by Kimberly Stewart?

I got trapped in one of those terrifying, this-must-be-the-end-of-the-planet thunder/hail storms last week, and then another hit right after that, and then another—on the beach this time, far away from a house with nowhere to hide. While I'm not really all that afraid of getting hit by lightning, the whipping wind and the sideways rain get me every time. Not to mention the fact that I'm usually wearing a soft, thickish hoodie, which, after five drops of rain, becomes about as useful in a storm as a sopping wet towel. But I am going to change all this by trading my sweatshirt for a cool vintage windbreaker like this or this or this, which will not only keep me dry, but will weirdly make me feel strong and sporty too.

Buying big-name designer stuff on eBay can trip up the best of us. From my years shopping the site I own several "Mock Jacobs" dresses, and my friend has a pair of boots that we refer to as "Faux-é" instead of Chloé (these except totally fake). It happens, and—depending on how much you care and how much effort you're willing to put in—it can happen often. I have another friend (not Faux-é) for whom authenticity matters quite a bit. After a traumatizing experience that involved a fake (and kind of smelly) Phillip Lim dress, she's sworn off eBay forever. I'm trying to bring her back by helping her follow a few rules:

1. Never buy an item that is only depicted by a runway shot or a model picture, because it sometimes means the actual piece doesn't exist.
2. Look for "authenticity guaranteed"—or similar language—in an auction's text (you can also seek out photographs of the actual tag).
3. Buy as local as possible. I don't know for sure why, but every time I've bought a fake, it's been from overseas.
4. If it seems too good to be true, it probably is. Very few people who have a real Marni piece are going to sell it for $3.99.

Well, except not quite a bikini: I am looking to buy a monokini, specifically a crochet monokini, perhaps in a deep earthy color like maroon. Look, I know it's weird—but the suits are new! And they're sexy in a '70s-love-goddess way! And imagine them with wavy beachy hair. Okay. I'm done convincing now.

Okay, I'm just going to confess: I am a little afraid of white fashion. Specifically, I am intimidated by white tops (they make teeth look yellow), white dresses (ditto), white pants (an accident waiting to happen—the array of humiliations seems boundless), and white shoes (my pasty feet plus pale shoes equals sad-looking). But here's the thing: I do like these white things and it's stupid to limit oneself style-wise. So, I will try to overcome this phobia ... slowly. Starting with shoes. I want at least one pair of white shoes that will look great with bright, colorful dresses, crisp khaki shorts, and maybe even with a jumper. Today I found these: a completely versatile huarache style, fun '80s pumps, and these amazing T-strap Mary Janes, which are so interesting and cute.

Perhaps I'm a little late to the party on this trend, and maybe you're going to think "Jeesh, that was so five seasons ago, what's wrong with this girl?" (But then you'll feel mean because you'll remember that I have a disorder—see yesterday.) Anyway, I want an embroidered, knee-length Mexican tunic. In fact, I want like five of them to wear on all days that I am ever at the beach. They're just so fun. They scream "I am having a good time," and they easily and prettily cover up the bits you don't want people to see when you're jumping up to buy the Choco Taco that probably formed those bits in the first place. Today on my favorite site in the world, I found this gorgeous hippie turquoise style, a pared-down red version, and this one, with pockets, in which to keep my ice cream money (because I'm four).

Does this ever happen to you? You're standing in front of your closet/dresser/mound of clothes and, suddenly, you have absolutely no recollection of how things are supposed to go together, as if you've never dressed yourself before and everything that once was even a favorite garment or shoe seems entirely foreign and strange. This particular type of style amnesia has been hitting me hard lately. I'm feeling dazed and baffled to the point that yesterday, like a lil' circus freak, I walked out in a purple housedress and red shoes. It's a little scary. If I were Harrison Ford right now in Regarding Henry, I would be enraged and screaming dramatically, "I DON'T REMEMBER!" Anyway, I want to cure this soap opera problem and I think I know how. I need to buy one high-style anchor piece, perhaps a chic, Bottega Veneta bag like this or this or this, and then I will remember.

For around eight months out of the year, I sort of snub my nose at the actually-nothing-wrong-with-it line  Calypso Christiane Celle. It's just that it's so tropical and resort-like and even a little prissy, and in those months, it reminds me of all the things I am not doing and do not have. However, once the weather gets all balmy, I can suddenly relate to the label's billowy, drapey, feminine pieces—in fact, I actually walk by Calypso dresses in boutique windows and think, "Now, wouldn't that look smart with a pair of woven wedges?" And I dream of wrapping myself up on the beach in one of its intricate, beautifully designed sarongs. There's still plenty of time for me to have a little summer fashion fling with Calypso, and I think I'll start with this gorgeous deep blue silk piece, move on to this perfectly versatile  white tunic, and finish off my affair with this simple, but I think I'd wear it a million times  green skirt.

When the weather outside is a balmy 96 degrees (feels like 125), it's always a little weird to think about warming up. But office air-conditioning can been oppressive and arctic-frosty, to a point that often feels inhumane (one of my jobs was so bad, grown women would wander the cubical pen swathed in blankets). This is by all means a first world problem, but a problem nonetheless. So what to do? You obviously need a cardigan, but nothing too heavy, something lightweight but still cozy. I like this excellent, versatile style by Vince; for something with a little more personality, there's this funky vintage red look (with gold buttons!); and this preppy-nautical grandpa version, which kind of makes you feel like you're on a boat. Which, let's face it, is probably where you'd rather be.

Oh man, I am mad at myself. Here's the story: I desperately needed and then bought a new pair of glasses last week. When everything shook out (with the frames, glare-proofing, and shaving down the lenses because my prescription is near-blindness), they wound up costing close to $700, some of which was covered by insurance, but still. And, because they are now one of the most expensive things I own, I've been wearing them constantly and happily—dressing up for them, pretending I am a sexy secretary blogger, etc., etc. But then I realized the following and felt a little less happy: Why didn't I just buy the frames on eBay? This would have saved me at least $200. And when I looked today, I saw an array of attractive frame options, all deeply discounted and all with measurements to help you find the right fit for your face. If I didn't already have my (rather handsome) Paul Frank frames, I'd go for these from Chanel (bidding starts at $24.99!), this fun red pair that looks exactly like something I had at 13, something shiny and black from Robert Marc, or, if I really wanted to fulfill my late '70s/early '80s fashion fantasies, I'd get this amazingly big power-lady pair and look just like the female colleague Dustin Hoffman has the affair with in Kramer vs. Kramer.

I have a bunch of weddings to attend this summer, which require, well, a bunch of gifts and dresses and clutches and earrings and, of course, shoes. For some reason, I want gold shoes for every formal and informal event I have to go to all season long. For an outdoor, daytime wedding, I'd pair a flowy, floor-length maxi dress with these Giuseppe Zanotti sandals. For something a little more dressy, I'm kind of obsessed with these gilded, almost liquid-looking Miu Miu wedges. And if I thought I could walk in them at all—and I had a wedding where I might see an ex-boyfriend/ex-friend/nemesis—I'd buy a short, curve-hugging dress and charge up my credit card for these fabulous gold python heels by Dior.

Sometimes I'll be surfing through eBay and feel completely stumped. I'll know I want a cute little bag, but don't know what brand or even, particularly, what color, and typing in "little bag" will garner an overwhelming amount of (often hideous) results. But then today, I was just vine-swinging through the site and realized that a lot of sellers tell you where they bought the item that's for sale. So literally, you can type the name of a store that you like into the Clothing, Shoes, & Accessories section and have your search considerably narrowed down. Here are a couple of shops I played with:

Barneys: 415 items, mostly things I want, like this gorgeous Aoyama Itchome tunic.

Shopbop: 64 items, like this pretty yellow top, and yes, a perfect little bag.

Intermix: 23 items—I'm really into this cute little Geren Ford dress.

Fred Segal: 14 items—I wouldn't necessarily pay $200 for bright red Acne jeans, but for $65, yes.

Top Shop: 158 items, including this striped, subtly ruched T-shirt dress.

I noticed a woman on the subway the other day with barely any makeup and her hair swept into a neat little bun, wearing a long, plain sundress with flat sandals—nothing fancy. But she had on one simple accessory that made the whole outfit look really chic: a big, earthy-colored, beaded necklace, somewhere in between a choker and a long chain. Maybe my inspirational moment has something to do with Michelle Obama's oversize pearls, but this type of necklace is my favorite piece of jewelry right now. It's tropical but also retro and summery, and it elevates nearly any dress without making you look overly fancy or like you're trying too hard. I would like one in every color (or maybe just one) like this perfectly cool, vintage golden maize-hued piece.

It's full-blown summer at last, and I've been walking on the beach on weekends and hanging out with friends on decks and making (and eating) lots of ceviche and sangria—basically pretending it will never be cold again. This is the season when I say goodbye to jeans and button-ups and tight skirts and liberate myself fully to only non-constricting clothes that make me feel like my body is a tiny thing that fits in anything. It is a glorious, glorious time. And though I've already been wearing lots of sundresses and jumpers, there's something in me that wants to sweeten this fashion freedom further still. Can I start wearing caftans? Is that too eccentric-middle-aged-lady-who-never-leaves-the-house? If it's not, I'd really like to own this or maybe this and even this.

We've talked a lot here on eBay Obsessed about becoming completely fixated on a fashion element to the point that you almost become a crazy person and must figure it out and make it your own immediately. Well, my new thing is ruffles. I want everything I own right now to be froufrou and ruffly. I would like to drown in organza and sashay and ... you get the point. How awesome would this Missoni shirt look worn casually with crisp shorts and flat silver sandals? Would you not feel a little like Blair Waldorf in this Chanel style with a red pencil skirt? How about if you added a headband? I can't believe the bidding on this sunny Tracy Reese blouse starts at only 20 bones; this gold Robert Rodriguez dress is definitely invited to the next wedding I attend; and last, two red numbers: this from Bebe, which makes me want to re-do my prom and be cool/sexy '80s princess, and this apron look, which I will don all summer long with white huaraches and perhaps even low pigtails.

I'm sorry to do this to you guys for the second day in a row—going on about things I would never buy on eBay (I promise to return to actually cute stuff I want to wear tomorrow)—but this was too good to not mention. Someone is selling Bill Cosby's sweaters from The Cosby Show to benefit Cosby's charity, the Hello Friend/Ennis William Cosby Foundation. Right now there are only three of them available (and man, are they as ugly as remembered). Each comes with a hand-signed letter from Mr. Huxtable himself, and the bidding starts at $5,000. Only seven days left! And incidentally, no bidders—why is no one out there supporting the Cos?

Okay. So Kim Kardashian is selling part of her wardrobe on eBay and she made a video to talk about how awesome said wardrobe is: "Don't I have the most amazing stuff?" On the auction's main page, KK is shown in what appears to be a strapless leopard-print jumpsuit (though I have not seen this up for sale). What is on sale, however, are lots of expensive dresses and accessories, an Obama T-shirt, and for a mere $8,100, a shopping trip and lunch with Kim and her sisters. A small portion of all proceeds go to Kim's favorite charity, the Dream Foundation, while the rest, presumably, goes to more leopard-print clothes.

This might seem ridiculous since, as discussed a million times, I DO NOT have a yard, but I have been searching eBay for months to find '50s metal lawn furniture.  Specifically, I want one of those cute steel gliders and a few ancient, maybe even a little rusted armchairs. I imagine that I'd paint them mostly white, then the chair seats and backs red. I'd find some fabulous vintage fabric with a '50s/early '60s print and make cushions for the glider and chairs, creating cool, unexpected indoor furniture until the day finally comes when I have my dream patio. The problem is I have never found anything that's even worth the shipping cost. But still I persist. Today I typed in " '50s garden," and though I did not discover my coveted glider, oh my goodness, do I have a fun party theme on my hands! At this party, my guests will sit on these chairs, and I will create a pupu platter from a recipe in this book while wearing one of these dresses, and perhaps display this guide on the coffee table, and hang up this totally random and definitely weird yard art.

People often ask me about my eBay habit, and what they basically want to know is how to foolproof the buying from an online auction process. Like "How do you know it will fit?" (Answer: Use a measuring tape), or "How do you know what to search for?" (Answer: Spend an embarrassing amount of time on the site), or "How can you trust people to send you stuff?" (Answer: You can't.) But the truth is, even though I shop and write about it a lot, I still make tons of mistakes on eBay. For example, there was the time I bought the entire 90210 DVD series from some crafty seller in England and it never came (it wasn't even out—scammer!); the incident of the dress that looked cute in the picture but in real life resembled an old lady muumuu adorned with a cartoon panther, a giant grapefruit, and a palm tree (this is the only item my boyfriend has ever pleaded with me not to wear in public); and recently, these shoes. I hate these Marc Jacobs shoes so much. The picture does not even begin to describe the hell they are on, their complete lack of versatility (or utility—they don't look good with anything), and how poorly they fit. It's all a disaster. They sit in my closet and mock me: a reminder of the mere eBay mortal I am. Sigh. Okay. Your turn. What's your secret eBay buying shame?