Brooks Brothers non-iron shirt. Button-down shirts are hard to avoid in my world. Good thing I love them! Shopping for them, however, is a royal pain at times, since many shirts either gap in the front or need to be ironed religiously. Brooks Brothers shirts have solved all my problems. They are roomy in the bust but still form-skimming (I go for the tailored or fitted style rather than the classic) and, best of all, they really are non-iron! Plus, you can get some styles on clearance for about $35 dollars, which is considerably better than the $90 sticker price!

While we’re on a preppy note, I can’t help mentioning my beloved Sperrys. I have two pairs, one in the classic tan and one in navy, and the navy are by far my favorite. I’ve gushed about them before, but seriously, the leather is so soft (the tan ones are stiffer)!

And speaking of leather…I’m a Brooks saddle devotee. I have the B17 on my mixte and it feels like I’m sitting on air, since the leather conforms so perfectly to my bum. I am considering getting a Brooks Swallow for my road bike, just to see if their athletic saddles are just as good…

It’s pretty safe to say that I like most kinds of food available to me, and I’m certainly not a stranger to hummus, but spinach and artichoke hummus in particular is a recent obsession, probably because it reminds me of my friend Caitlin’s amazing spinach artichoke dip…

And last, but not least, my guilty pleasure! Glam rock in general, Bon Jovi in particular.

Dress: H&M

And what’s a gal to do when she looks like an overgrown ladybug? Why, take pictures in front of the federal courthouse, of course!

A special shout-out to Boston Legal from me and B.!

First of all, I agree with Katy that we are much more than labels; we are, first and foremost, just people. Doesn’t matter if the label is positive and self-selected, neutral and descriptive, or downright negative. Nonetheless, there’s no denying that people heavily rely on labels in everyday life, for all kinds of reasons — and these labels come to the forefront in diversity discussions.

I’ll leave my own general thoughts on diversity in the workplace for another day. (Don’t worry, I think diversity is a great thing! I just don’t necessarily agree with certain ways in which it is defined, discussed, and sought after). Instead, let’s talk about identity. My identity.

I’m entering a profession that has traditionally been dominated by white males, so it’s perfectly understandable that a) the local bar association hosted a diversity panel and b) at the panel, someone asked if the panelists thought about their own most “distinguishing” (for lack of a better word) characteristic every day in the workplace. Did their environment remind them every day that they were black? Homosexual? A woman? And as the panelists shared their experience, I couldn’t help noticing how many females in the crowd were nodding in agreement.

I simply could not relate. By virtue of being a white female in America, I haven’t been the victim of discrimination, but I’m no stranger to feeling like I’m in the minority: in various social settings and situations, I’ve been “the young one,” “the white one,” and “the foreign one,” and even though my “otherness” wasn’t necessarily to my detriment, I was nonetheless painfully aware of it. However, that occasional feeling of being “the other” has never, ever been tied up with my gender identity — or rather, my lack thereof. I work at an office that’s heavily male-dominated. I took advanced math courses where females are as rare as albino tigers. I’ve been the only female in my social circles (shout out to my laser tag buddies!). Yet I’ve never felt like “the woman.”

If I had to jot down a list of labels that identify me, “human” would undoubtedly be the first word. Other things, in no particular order, may include: “student,” “daughter,” “friend,” “significant other,” “lover of penguins,” “future attorney,” “notoriously bad dancer,” etc. Someday I’ll probably add things like “wife” and “mother” to the list. Now, some of those words indicate my gender by virtue of being gender-specific terms. However, never in my life would I identify myself as a “woman,” “female,” “girl,” what have you.

Am I a female? Last time I checked, yes. Do I embrace my femininity by wearing skirts, heels, and makeup? You bet. (Whether those things should be associated with femininity in the first place is a question for another day.) But would I ever participate in something that expressly has the label “women’s” tacked on? Women’s bar associations? Women’s bike clubs? Women’s volunteer groups? No. Whereas many of my friends and classmates find women-specific groups to be liberating and empowering, I find them to be restricting and limiting. I am a future lawyer, a lifestyle cyclist, and a volunteer — not the female version of those things.

Anyone else ever feel that way?

Tee: Sneaky Penguin | skirt: Gap | belt: Express | shoes: Ballistic

It never really crossed my mind that my waist was an asset until my mother pointed it out to me a few years ago. I’m a bit ashamed to admit this, but I’m somewhat of a slave to my mother’s opinion when it comes to body image. This time around, however, it was a good thing. To this day, one of my go-to ways of making myself feel good about my body or making an otherwise blah outfit more flattering involve a wide waist-cinching belt. Yes, even when the resulting color combination is more fit for Halloween than Independence Day weekend.

All kidding aside, today is about pencil skirts and legs. Many of my peers dislike pencil skirts for their implications: in a conservative workplace, women are sometimes expected to shun pant suits in favor of good old-fashioned pencil skirt suits. (I guess Hillary’s style hasn’t fully caught on quite yet.) Consequently, pencil skirts are seen as a sign of male oppression rather than a flattering garment that’s a sign of femininity.

Well, I embrace pencil skirts for what they are to me. And, as I discovered about two years ago, what they are is flattering — namely, flattering for my butt and legs. I don’t count my legs among my favorite body parts, but damn, I like the way they look in a classic pencil skirt! And what’s more classic than black?

Cardigan: Ann Taylor | skirt: The Limited | shoes: Circa Joan & David

Shirt: H&M | skirt: Banana Republic | shoes: Alfani | tote: Coach | sunglasses: Bvlgari, c/o Sunglass Hut

Bonus photo of the day: a hurdy-gurdy player by the old state house!

This was also my chance to temporarily break free of my weekday pencil skirt uniform and jump on the Academichic Dress Your Best bandwagon. So today, I’m featuring a much-neglected body part: my ankles. Ankles don’t get a whole lot of attention nowadays. They are either covered up by long pants or overshadowed by all the leg that shows when you’re wearing a skirt. A single cuff at the bottom of skinny jeans solves the problem. Those Victorian ladies must be looking at me like I’m some brazen hussy. My, my, don’t I feel risqué?

Shirt: Gap | jacket: BCBG MaxAzria | jeans: Express | shoes: Sperry Top-Sider

But today, I’m celebrating. My papers have been submitted, and my professor has significant plans for one of them. I finished two exciting projects at work, both of which I’m quite proud of. But most importantly…it’s $1 oyster Monday!

Top: Ann Taylor | cardigan: LOFT | skirt: the Limited | pumps: Nine West | sunglasses: Bvlgari, courtesy of Sunglass Hut | there’s also a purse back there somewhere…

On my way to treat myself to some oysters and bubbly, I walked past this delightful sight:

Because the sign is unreadable, I’ll explain: these Electra Amsterdams are hotel bikes for the use of the guests. What a great idea! Instead of calling a cab, you can just take off on one of these! Well done, Charles.

James had a little surprise for me.

Fresh clams, caught on the coast of Assateague Island. These suckers were huge: each one was roughly the size of my palm, and my hands aren’t exactly what one would call small.

Size, however, comes at a cost. Because they were a little tough, we decided to make them into delicious clam stuffies! (Well, James decided. We all know that I don’t cook, unless it’s in the most extreme of circumstances.)

My roommate tried one and described it as “very Martha Stewart.”

As an extra bonus, we had these guys, too:

It’s official: I can’t ever move too far away from the coast.