Summer Finn is the charming, elusive love interest of protagonist Tom Hansen in 500 Days of Summer. From her playful personality to her cutesy hair ribbons, actress Zooey Deschanel's 500 Days of Summer style is irresistible. IMO, the overall look of her character is not a far cry from Jess Day's style (the leading lady of New Girl, also played by Deschanel). However, Jess' style is on the kooky side of whimsical while Summer's errs on the feminine side.

Summer's style could be described as girly, quirky, and ethereal. The ethereal factor probably has more to do with her attitude and personality, as she tends to keep Joseph Gordon-Levitt's character Tom at arm's length. (I know, who in their right mind would do that?)

The baby blue clothing that she wears throughout the movie also reflects this sentiment, since blue is regularly associated with sadness. It is almost as though Tom knows subconsciously that his relationship with Summer will not end well. This makes perfect sense in filmography terms because the movie is shot in a non-linear narrative. Right at the start, the narrator even informs the audience, "This is a story of boy meets girl but you should know up front, this is not a love story."

So here's how to channel Summer Finn's charmingly tempting style, because looking like a modern day femme fatale is one of my personal favorite things.

1. The Summery Tea Dress

Channel Summer's vintage style of decades past by with a lovely, feminine tea dress. Summer's has cute, capped sleeves, a magical swirly pattern, and it appears semi-sheer (adding a touch of naughtiness to her outfit). Whichever style you choose, make it a modest length with flirty details, whether that be sheer material or cheeky cut outs.

With its sheer sleeves, cutesy Peter Pan collar, and adorable buttons, this darling pale blue dress is just the ticket and is available in sizes S to 4X.

2. The Cat Eye Makeup

Cat-eye makeup gives off a vintage vibe while also adding a sassy feel to your beauty look. To tone down the sass and keep it less Catwoman and more Brigitte Bardot, keep the rest of your look super natural. Think dewy skin and rosy cheeks.

This vegan eyeliner has a super thin brush so you can create your cat-eye flick with ease. If you're feeling funky, you can even pick an alternative color such as white or purple to really make a statement.

3. The Alternative Workwear

Summer proves that workwear needn't be boring. Put a youthful spin on the classic, white shirt by wearing a sleeveless style and pairing it with high-waisted, tailored trousers.

This classic white shirt is a style steal and can be paired with a multitude of garments. It'll make choosing your work outfit much easier when you're bleary eyed and you've not yet had your morning coffee.If you wish to wear a more feminine style and channel Summer's gleefully girlish side, then why not wear a mini dress? As long as it's tailored in some way (like Summer's stiff short sleeves) and sports a formal flourish (like the lace hemline of her dress) then you should totally be able to get away with wearing it for work. If in doubt, throw on a blazer. Blazers make any outfit look formal.

This pencil skirt dress with its stripe detailing and capped sleeves is sure to have you looking like the best dressed in the office.

4. Up Your Hair Accessory Game

Ms. Finn is often seen sporting some kind of adorable hair accessory. She changes it up from powder blue ribbons to strappy, modern headbands to suit her different ensembles. A ribbon worn as a bow in your hair has connotations of Sandy from Grease and in turn adds a youthful naivety to your outfit.

If you're short for time on a morning, throw your hair into a high ponytail and clip this cute bow into your barnet for instant vintage vibes.

A strappy headband is nostalgic of retro Alice bands. However, the straps keep it modern and elegant. IMO, Summer has nailed hair accessories. She wears the pretty bow in her free time and the grown up headband at the office.

I could totally imagine Summer wearing this simple yet feminine headband. Plus, the pearl design will add an air of sophistication to your outfit, helping you to appear oh so ladylike and mature.

5. The Off-The-Shoulder Chiffon Dress

Seen in a completely different look, Ms. Finn looks stunning in an off-the-shoulder chiffon gown that juxtaposes hilariously with the "*****" game she plays with Tom. To me, the décolletage is one of the most sensual parts of a woman's body and exposing it can sometimes feel sexier than showing off your cleavage or wearing a tight dress. The addition of the chiffon plays on Summer's ethereal, magical side and she reminds me of A Midsummer Night's Dream characters. The key to this look is picking a flowing, fairy-like gown.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses

It doesn't make any sense how everything juxtaposes
But i'm a model that makes no poses
I don't want to be an impose
Unless it's dire
Unless someone is in danger
Then i hope i'm not the Lone Ranger
In my efforts and intentions
I hope i get some help
To perpetrate this evil off together
We seem weak now but we can become menacingly powerful against our worst enemies
This means war
Paradise is meant to stay
So try to come my way
You're going to tussle with the wrong people
We'll see the results at the end

February is brighter.
It's pale blue
aura juxtaposes
the deep purple
of January.

It stutters
in, reminding us
that the adamant doors
of winter have been closed
to ajar.

Only the thin confetti
of snow now lines
the streets in
it's final celebration.

Blue smoke from the slates
thaw the crystals
and the bluebirds
have returned
to the sycamore tree.

i know of Knausgård -  sure, and i share this concerns for
the art of taking to lumber and chopping,
  as novelists tend to do, write with an axe,
philosophise with a hammer...
          metaphor turned into imagery
counter-turned into literalism...
   i once imagined him not being there -
i once wrote ich kampf, stressing
that it was an indefinite expression
of expression, primarily due to the content
of the pronoun... and i was referring also
to the definite expression (much obliged,
atheism, a- without, and the- with,
or indefinite and definite articulation) -
the English eye sees one stance as definite,
and another as indefinite, and juxtaposes
the two interacting...
                          they duly interchange...
i can say ich kampf and say i internalise
verbs: a movement of the hand,
   a strutting or a waltzing circumstance
of owning a body... that's what it's indefinite...
that's why Sartre slithered in counter to
his expanse in philosophy: because i really loved
his novels...
                          but in terms of a mein or
a mit (including me) struggle i find not
ease... no one dares to devalue ****** as a human,
not talking about the past history in purely human
terms urges the postscript of a dictator,
it actually elevates him to a godly status...
           not realising the human is to make flaws
of what the en masse does: raises him to a godly status...
     Zeus had a beard... not a Charlie Chaplin moustache...
right now he's laughing in his grave...
                      old Aldous ******...
   and aren't dictators born because people find their
surnames a little bit funny? it starts so
innocently...          and then it morphs...
   and it becomes an unstoppable morphing...
    yes... i know of a certain number of fellow
      contemporaries... because i want to? no,
because i have to. like rewatching the 2015 film
android - some films you have to rewatch...
   what's being debated? autism and artificial intelligence...
   hyperactive autism, i grant you that...
        it dawned on me... at autistic person could
fake a normal human response treating it as
      artificial... artificial also means mimicked -
  it means that "smart" guy at a bar reciting poetry
he hasn't written... artificial intelligence or the study of it
or even creating it has nothing original about it...
it's not groundbreaking in the same sense that
discovering champagne or penicillin is...
or l.s.d., because these examples have the magic of
being discovered by chance... humanity has been
artificially simulating intelligence since time
immemorial... it's that natural consequence of not being
endowed with a peacock's array of feathers
   to create a soothing, and sickly gentle wind of a woman
resting in a hammock under the shade of a palm tree...
artificial intelligence was inherent in us...
       it's the unravelling of the historical noumenon of man,
the per se that has only crept up on us,
   and before the reality of such a foundation being
established... the humanities create the "prophetic"
citations of it being true: in the "near" / impeding future.
    if god is a noumenon, then man cannot be a
phenomenon... but he is and paradoxically the two
of mutually compatible on a basis of exclusive rather than
an inclusive naturalisation...
               we are talking nature:
  we are talking god naturalised by the medium
suggesting: for i am bound to create obstacles and test
the body, rather than the mind of man...
    as so is man, also naturalised by the medium
of the elements, saying: for i am bound by a body,
   and have to utilise the body first, to overcome the wind
and the snow and the furthermore, until i reach
the labyrinth of the mind...
  and man has done just that, he has bypassed the struggles
of the body, and created entertainment using
the body that once struggled against the elements...
   for he has created the god Minotaur: and the psychic
labyrinthe... as with the Titans whom the gods
usurped, so too comes the twilight of the gods...
but being usurped by demigods...
       Minotaur was a demigod... who usurped the gods
of the trinity that were Zeus, Poseidon and Hades...
        for only the Greeks could create a Judaic bewilderment
as to why a sign was given unto an infant...
           but that's getting technical...
the film, android (2015)? it supports the misconception,
the anguish of a highly functioning autism...
      whereby showing a woman's carelessness in the realm
of adaptability with what some would claim to be
the beginning point of: overcoming the elements...
sure the odd tsunami and earthquake...
   but there's also the tiger, and winter, and parasite,
   and diseases of so many variations...
              man has not been endowed with complete
control over his surrounding... but in becoming partially
overlord of the ones tamed, he has created a mental
labyrinth... a world of such complexity that will
inevitably produce instances of autistic genius...
                 artificial intelligence is already imbedded in us,
just as cloning and Islam has already existed
(Christianity is too schismatic to be considered a cloning
definition... and Judaism as a monotheistic principle
has a heresy embedded in its orthodoxy that it simply
ignores: reincarnation... the Malachi heresy...
  that a second Elijah comes... and god becomes a half)...
   we see artificial intelligence everywhere...
        if the myth goes that woman fed man the original
lie of Eden... then man has nothing else to do than
attempt to polymer that one single lie...
       and repeat it... a reverse intrusion to what "could"
have been an utopian splendour.
      we all see artificial intelligence rummaging about
in the choices people make... it's called lying
   to gain access to a ****** gratification...
  or as i like to call it: a way to compensate our falling short
of the norm, a norm that focuses upon creating
   the most complex startup a Silicon Valley genius
can't comprehend... a family.
    these times prescribe such a bewilderment...
              families are artefacts of what some believe
precipitated into barbarity so close to us: the 20th century...
        and all those arguments you hear that might
discourage the opposite ***, as in damning your parents
for a piece of seashore **** fest of the *****?
   probably came from a person born from a surrogate
mother... well... an incubator, a very expensive *****...
   homsexuality created the evolution of prostitution,
once bound to the genitals... now bound to the womb...
     i.v.f. kids calling natural kids ******...
   i never liked the matrix movies in all honest...
but we're seeing the reversal of the original idea...
                 in the matrix of knowledge... hearts become
piñata: chockies sweet, sensations abundant,
  the spectrum is yours.
                but this poem isn't really about that...
i can sip a whiskey and actually find these things when
i start to utilise these symbols... it sometimes happens
that they fall through... all i was really thinking about
is the "theoretical" score of 147...
                      i'll call them billiards rather than *****
to excuse a "he-he" Michael Jackson laugh at a chance
of "nuance"...
       yellow (2), green (3), brown (4), blue (5), pink (6), black (7)...
and plenty of red (1)... points in bracket respectively...
                  of course from childhood memory i sided with
ronnie... also from Romford... an obscure town in Essex
that oversees the shard and canary wharf from
a distance...                    but watching snooker as a child...
          not too bad at pub-snooker: i.e. pool...
and that game show when snooker was hot back in
the 1990s... big break, with jim davidson as host...
    and of course: john virgo as the rejuvenated
                         ghost of alex higgins... this whiskey
swiggly is on me al.
                 but this final... ****! at one point it was
a century after a century...
                     chess with mathematics, trigonometry
and Pythagoras in motion...
                                    the gods playing with saturn
and jupiter neptune planetary arrangements...
            i can't word it properly... but it'll definitely sound
better than a concussion after too much rugby and
the rough-stuff of "manhood" strutting with bulging
muscle tensions... rather than this Japanese warrior-monk
in a waistcoat and bow-tie swirling a stick in the air...
           i just thought of one thing...
15 wildebeests on an African savannah...
       out comes one lioness...
    and she nibbles at the pack... and she picks off
the weakest of the 15 wildebeests...
              she nibbles the pack before the pack breaks away...
         she looks left (red) and then looks right (yellow,
green, brown, blue, pink, black) -
                      and she picks at the pack, one by one
they fall... but there are two games going on...
   there's the no-man's land snooker where the game is
about entrenchment, and snookering the opponent
for a foul... and then there's the tsunami snooker...
which kinda looks like one person playing chess...
     with no opponent other than a chance mistake...
misjudgement on the case of instinct and how they ******
well know what angle to fudge the white lioness
                onto the billards... and with what force...
      tsunami snooker, or cascade snooker is basically
a monologue...
                             after seeing 3 centuries in a row
you get to crave classical snook -
                                       the mind games of safety shots...
   and teasing, and tempting, and teasing, and tempting,
before the Rubic cube unravels itself,
   and you find that light at the end of the tunnel...
                        and the black pops into...
i'll be honest, i haven't watched snooker for a long time...
        maybe that's why i feel so enthusiastic about it...
       it's sometimes good to be fed this mundane diet
of sport-fanaticism that football is in accordance with
religious dogma... it's a good thing...
             then you end up watching a game of snooker
and all these things start firing up your brain...
   and you end up saying:
      the Taj Mahal can be there for all i care...
the Grand Canyon can be there for all i care...
                    such things don't really require a photograph
with my gimp-face trying to make other people jealous
by actually being there: only to take a photograph,
rather than feed into the air and the thrill of being there...
        as they say... it's a small world after all...
better get used to it being much bigger inside your head.

The clouds in the sky are fluffy runs
With the imprint of skis passing through them
In perfectly rounded patterns of the experienced skier
And in zig zags of someone who may not be so inclined.

I drive to my next task, the sun burning my face with intensity
And I breathe in the cool spring air that juxtaposes the blazing star.

It's so beautiful and yet so dim.
Those memories fill my mind with a thick smoke of remorse and regret.
Beautiful images turn to ugly truths as I drive down 95.

I turn on the music to hear a good song,
Hoping that my playlist of feel good music will help to lift the burden.
And yet, I'm still caught thinking about you
Amid the overbearing wash of depeche mode.

I love their songs as much as I love you still. It's a forever love that even after weeks of not thinking and not listening, I still return to that hollow yet comfortable place.

My mind rolls on to other thoughts as I roll the window down to aid the wind in caressing it's fingers through my hair. I allow nature to substitute for you.

I only wish the rays from the sun would be as gentle as your touch once was and not harsh like the words that were spoken between us.
And I wish the clouds did not form into such shapes as to remind me of that smirk you held as you skied beside me, so proud of my progress.
And I wish the wind was you instead of simply just being wind.

But instead, as I drive and think all these wishful thoughts, there is not an element to nature that can dry my tears like you.

I sob as the sun presses and the clouds move. The wind continues to caress me and I can only accept the little bit of solace I get from it.

God bless the wind.

I focused on poetry
to write about you
about us, about our love
I did poetry cause I know we rhyme
Our behaviour alliterate
and bae you know what
In a land of poems my love for you
Juxtaposes cause I hate to love you so much

it's the old Lehman
interlace again I
wonder how many I's
might some day buy The
Daily Mirror making
David the first poet to become
rich but like so many artist long
after they're dead

we're like nerve fibers
fasciculating fine word
that juxtaposes well to fardels

we bear-- words
heavy with too much bass
restricting us to only 3
degrees of freedom: Music
Word and Color

we' ld build a higher Babble
if only unbound from
a flat syllable world

we'd settle the Prometheus score
with 4D notes like cut-red-Bminor-spin

we'd render the higher ordered
flesh with 10D swirl-syncopated-reflect-bass-kisses-Lorena-Tom-***-soft-cookware­
to a fatty shard able
to cross synaptic chasm but maybe
we shouldn't for there's the rub in our xenophobic
extra dimensions

we'd find Superman
banished enemies or Buckaroo
aliens waiting to invade they always come from that extra
dimension don't they the ones

we don't fully understand the ones
wavering on the edge of perception of curiosity of fearfulness of exploring
a neighbors yard watchful for their dog
ready to run back
to safety back
to our one dimension back
to one Word
Singularity

When she sings
Celestials dance

Her voice summons sprites
Automatons ignited by a single utterance
Writhing and shimmering
Even in the shadows

The fae emerge from beneath oak leaves
Coaxed out of hiding
By what was taken
For a druidess' song

When she sings
I weep

At what could have been
At what is

She tosses a glance down at me
And juxtaposes elation with despair

My skin revolts
In an eruption of goosebumps
Not even whiskey can suppress

Each melody
Revealing
Unspoken depths
Nourishing her unassailable spirit
Flawless in her imperfection
Tempered in her brokenness

Her breath fills my soul
With effervescent aether

All my meticulous machinations
My impenetrable nonchalance
Those incorrigible wisecracks
The implacable facade
Methodically pieced together over time

Shattered

Undone by the whisper of a seraph

No matter how or what you write
A myth, a melodrama or a mystery,
About your life or a dreadful night
In a poem, a song or a short story.

Write in a manner to evoke pathos
And in matter to mirror a tragedy,
Establish a sincere sense of ethos
Whether you write a satire or a comedy.

Either try to provoke a hearty laughter
Or to elicit a feeling of warm sorrow,
Steer them stealthily to a myth buster
Or promise them of a better tomorrow.

Write an epic, an elegy or a pastoral
With a sublime, visionary imagination,
A ballad, an ode or even a doggerel
Of a dramatic event or a silly situation.

Perceive the pulse and tone of the people,
The image, the rhythm and the sound,
The habit, custom, creed and the foible,
Develop the theme with metaphors abound.

The essence of life belongs to poetry,
It is an ever enriching avocation
Where purity of love overcomes bigotry
Where reality juxtaposes with imagination.

My secrets are metaphors.
The words are artfully arranged in alliteration
Or cautiously halted in
Enjambment so that they don't reveal themselves.

My secrets are anaphoric.
They are metonymic, swearing secrecy to the pen.
Sometimes they are synecdoches,
Begging, afraid, in rhyme for your attention again.

My secrets are anecdotes.
They write about themselves through personification.
This poem juxtaposes itself;
I've told you all of my secrets of secrecy-how ironic.

In the moment, the clarity of the seconds where the self exists I am wallowing
The now is a draining flow of self disrespect
I take what little dopamine I can find from the stories we build in new interactive and technologically enhanced ways
Because I can't seem to let go of when I spoiled the party, showing the people an abstract cancer inside myself
Maybe its the remnants of wine and revelry that juxtaposes against it which gives me reason to indulge in the bitter
Maybe the alcohol and carcinogens are a physical drain I should take into account
Or maybe showing these people that I still am behind, am weak against my personal struggles, maybe its something that I'm ashamed of

This is shame I'm feeling after all
Over something so stupid, and forgettable, yet..
Symbolic of a burning desire that scares me
Anger, the need to fight, shout, scream and 'win', whatever that means
Would I lose it if I stood in shorts and gloves and made the other man fall?
Or does it represent what I think it does?
An emasculating realisation of time lost, friends no longer friends, a face in the mirror that still isn't good enough
As much as I try to love him

I don't know
But now some people I respect know how pathetic my anger can sound so..
You'll have to forgive the self consciousness
I'm thankful for knowledge, friendship and the direction I've manifested out of the madness
I think after giving my body a push, my equals a Hello, my crafts an hour and a bit of a shaping
I'll be fine

I just I don't like being angry

My friendships
Turn to dust
As another date
I said offhand,
I failed to commit
To memory.

Trauma of the past
Has left remnant seeds
Of which I rely on
As a survival instinct
That has driven,
Like roots,
Uncontrollably through
Every friendship I gain.

I forget the most basic
Conversations and things
I’ve said,
But my past,
Made black in defense
Of my ability to move forward,
Shows plainly
That most of it I did not need;
Files have been deleted,
And only frames
Of each have been contrived
To make looking back easier to handle.

I often wish it was not this way,
And find myself apologizing
For a defense mechanism
That has rooted in the very fabric
Of every memory—
Will they ever forgive me?
Will I?—
I hope they don’t see the blank
Canvas that I see.

Will it ever be filled
With anything other than
The coffee stains
That have been left
From when I’ve decidedly
Put off trying
Not to forget?

Or will it be an everlasting
White, that juxtaposes
The darkness I see when I look back?—

It tantalizes me, truly.

First you ply me with flirtatious smiles
Then you dry me with a towel
The mundane juxtaposes
With the profane quite nicely
Misguided tangents or misleading angels
Retrograde dancers hit the wall
As I fall at your feet for centuries
But you say you must leave me for the summer
I say come back and be my lawyer or my lover
It's all in the way we blame each other
For true hunger is always a holy rolling

Nobody knows.
Reality is so verbose
Full of unintended purpose

Who are we,
Nobody knows

Lives right across the undisclosed
With many living things so close

Who are
No body
We know ?

Fictions and dreams of bygone truth
The real world juxtaposes
Stepping inside the living booth
To experience blood and roses

Who are
The body
We know ?

boyscout leftover p.s.: can i inform you over some missed conjunctions? pet-peeve... at least one...how else to other than end it all: ON... "cute" via... it's one of those moments when... you're listening to Portugal. the man... rebel for kicks... and you switch over to... blind lemon: no rain... and somehow i'm not quiet my age... and in my rucksack... there's no hitting on but there's the circus of language to at least be had... with a dozen clowns clammering into an italian expertise of the motor: gazel or... whatever a mustang is for... via the fiat 126p... because it's oh so funny... and i can't but like how this poem juxtaposes... ha! kevin and perry's: big fish little fish cardboard box... all seriousness "out of the window" if you will mind citing Wall St... but this is such a nice widow of spare time to allowed a comment... one can almost imagine fishing with big daddy W... who isn't even Welsh or a Walker... hell... i was really expecting Walter to crop up... but that's fishing for you...cuddling cod... as a fan of ***** in pictures... i can almost, certainly... understand the instant appeal... one has to desire a deaf-spot when it comes to... these subsequent operatics and arias... of the onomatopoeia... it sounds... it sounds like... sitting on a chair... or wiping one's mouth with a napkin... you can almost see... when a lay-d will require her day-d of... please! please! no sycophancy or those horrid ****** monologues! i'm out of steam on those swipes swipes swipes... i have yet to meet the Thane of Cawdor! to me Shakespeare begins and ends with Macbeth... as i ask: are you deserving of any overt-****-up words of "harking adverse" to any advice already given? ha ha... this is me attempting my best attempt at... peacoking and cuckoldry... and i can't help myself from the teenage girl giggling...  perhaps i too was a Mr W once... you really spoil him though... the "suspence" thriller! at best: in good humour... at worst: the remnants of humour...but as a delicacy for a... ahem... "goddess of poetry"... your *****-nilly slip-up for the awaited for... your highness... reply... ha ha... it would really require one to read some Charles Dickens before having the audacity to borrow some Shakespeare... and that's to mind not borrowing a ditto quote... oh the airs and the hot-air balloons of what england wishes it was had it not acquired the culinary customs of the hindu Raj... or some otherwise random worth of *******... otherwise thank you... it allowed me a giggling to feel like... a cherub massaging me... or what's reserved for some of us, when in the presence of children, one is to be left being mistaken for a donkey; subsequently being ridden on... imagine... a grown man having to shuffle on all fours for some pissy-pants napoleon shouting: fore! but i like all this "suspense" though... ahem... serious people deserve serious *** a propos mention contracts. the poem's great though... for some reason... i saw the bouquet before the words.

Matthew Conrad - you definitely sound a minor tweak off being a william burroughs': overlapping juxtaposition... then again i'm just your casual grey-area Joe and not having words bound to professional critique... because i would most certainly be happier being the next best "thing" in terms of plumbing... and leaving this area readied with grief for one of my offspring... but since that's not going to be: on the hollywood production line of "made into a reality"... for the common toastie and tea to boot... once upon a time one was somehow allowed to enterain the recycled dream oops: of my my, oh my deluded self, "self"... how else to other than end it all "cute" via: hope to hanging up those sort of dresses of yourself, which you will never wear.