I don’t know what it is about summer, but I swear the months conspire to move at different speeds. I always seem to glide lazily through June, sipping mules from copper mugs and meeting friends for outdoor BBQs. July is always on a mission, moving forward with a blink-and-I’ll-miss-it ferocity, and August barely even seems to exist, her eyes already on autumn and the start of a new school year.
I’m an 80’s baby, which was all about color and exuberance and some seriously poor fashion choices. There is something about stone washed jeans and puff paint that makes me both nostalgic and horrified at the same time. And I must admit I was definitely one who gleefully joined the splatter paint phase, unapologetically adorning my clothes, my version of “art”, and even my bedroom walls with color.
There are certain kinds of fabric that just call to you. As someone who is all about the clash of geometrics and florals, with a particular penchant for border prints, it should come as no surprise that Gertie’s latest Hopscotch Gingham in cotton sateen would steal my heart. The tricky part: which color to choose??
Things have certainly been pretty busy of late. And whenever this time of year rolls around, my eye can’t help but cast to some sort of greener pasture. Be it next week once that paper has been submitted or that deadline has been met. Next month, once the semester has passed and there are no longer undergraduates flooding my inbox. Or next year, when we might see the end of this long line of bone chilling weariness at the state of the world.
There is nothing more important than self-care. After the kind of semester I’ve just had (and let’s face it, the kind of 2 years we’ve all just had), I’m looking for it more than ever. And self care can take a variety of forms: either spending some time to yourself getting lost in a good book, heading to the beach for a girl’s weekend, or a splurge on the cutest new handbag range from Vendula London.
I’m not quite sure how, but these last few months have managed to feel harder than any other through this whole pandemic. Is it just me, here? I was trying to explain it to a friend the other day…and the best analogy I could come up with was that it’s as if I experienced that surge of adrenaline that instinctually happens in a crisis for the last 2 years. The one that enables you to outrun a bear or lift a car off the baby. And collectively, we’ve been holding the car off the baby for 2+ years. And once you…
I find inspiration for my skirts from all kinds of places. As many of you know, this often comes from the vintage stylings of Juli Lynne Charlot and Marjorie Montgomery. Or from dresses I never quite got my hands on. Dresses that in their original form would fit my pinkie toe (if we were lucky). But, every so often, I get a crazy, whimsical idea. And I just run with it. Or oink with it, as the case may be…
There is something truly captivating about a city skyline at night. Looking out across the sea of buildings, feeling so far away from the world, but somehow still seeming connected to everyone and everything. I always loved how the lights blinked on slowly as the sun set, hinting of the lives within those windows. Both mundane and magical.
Isn’t it funny the way nursery rhymes stick in your head? I mean, I know they’re designed that way…and never mind the fact that when you’re a kid, your synapses are strengthening rapid fire, so we remember all kinds of crazy things with alarming specificity from our childhood. But, it is still kind of remarkable to me that I remember every word from the Farmer in the Dell, even though upon further reflection, I realize it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.
I’ve never had much of a green thumb. Without ever meaning to, I am an enemy to all plant life, a horticultural assassin. Your ferns and rosebushes aren’t safe around me. I even killed a cactus in my pitiful gardening history (a feat I’m told you actually have to work at). And while basil plants wilt and grass shrivels in my presence, a flourishing wardrobe: Now, that I can cultivate…