When I think of berets, the first thing that comes to mind is my mom. While there are soooooo many other connotations – beatniks, Rerun from “What’s Happenin'”, the men helped fight crime on the subways in the 80s…
But, I think of my mom first because a black beret and a red lip was totally her thing in the mid-90’s. Growing up in the least alternative, white, Republican suburb of Park Ridge, IL, most people’s parents were the typical cookie cutter human. No style.
At the time, I didn’t appreciate my mom’s uniqueness. My friends ribbed on me for it. Looking back she wasn’t that weird. She just didn’t give a shit. I love that about her. She still gives zero fucks to this day.
Fast forward to 2016, to me living on the border of Greenwich Village where
*WHAT I’M WEARING:
*SHOP MY OUTFIT:
Rebekah Schott Photography