So this Malia Obama Deauville look popped up everywhere on my feed yesterday, right? Felt like diving deep into recreating that vibe on my budget. Started simple – opened Twitter search and just typed her name with “Deauville”. Bam! Dozens of red carpet shots staring back at me. Her fit? Sleek black blazer with zero lapels, cream shell underneath, killer wide-leg trousers. Understated but sharp as hell.
The Blazer Hunt Disaster
First mission: find that blazer. Hopped onto my usual thrift app filtering black blazers under $25. Scrolled forever until my thumb cramped. Most had tacky shoulder pads or weird buttons. Found one kinda close at Target but they wanted $45? Nah. Ended up digging through my own closet and – score! Pulled out this old H&M boyfriend blazer from 2018. No lapels, slightly boxy. Ironed the hell out of it til the wrinkles screamed surrender.
Trouser Terrors & Hemming Nightmares
Okay, the pants. Malia’s were this flowy dream fabric. Mine? Found these linen blend wide-legs at Goodwill for $4.99 last month. Problem? They were flood-ready ankle swingers. Measured against my longest pants – needed like 3 extra inches. Cut open an old bedsheet for matching fabric and got sewing. First attempt? Crooked as hell. Ripped stitches while cursing. Second try looked passable if you squint. Ironed them stiff enough to stand on their own.
Accessory Apocalypse
Her minimalist vibe murdered me:
- Shoes: Black pumps? Only had clunky wedges. Sacrificed comfort and stuffed feet into these cheap Forever21 heels
- Bag: Tiny clutch? Used my niece’s play purse. Emptied crayons first obviously
- Jewelry: Literally wore a single chain necklace backwards because the clasp broke
Saw Malia’s slicked-back bun. Laughed bitterly. My baby hairs would never. Soaked hair with half a bottle of gel. Still had frizz haloing my head. Called it “artfully messy” and moved on.
The Final Face
Her makeup? Barely-there glowy perfection. My skin decided to rebel with surprise breakouts. Drowned pimples in concealer like I was spackling walls. Contoured till I looked stripey. Used the lightest nude lipstick I own – still looked like I drank coffee with clown lips. Blotting saved my life.
Finally threw everything together. Blazer swallowing my shoulders? Check. Pools of fabric at the ankles? You know it. Stumbled around the living room pretending to pose for paparazzi. My cat judged hard. Took mirror selfies using three lamps for lighting. Editing involved merciless cropping to hide crooked seams. Final verdict? Would Malia recognize it? Nope. But my version’s decent from across the street. Total cost? Like $6 plus my dignity.
