Have you ever noticed that, for a lot of people, ‘dressing up’ is synonymous with laundry day? As in, there’s nothing else to wear except for the beautiful dresses that languish in the back of my closet, because everything else is in the wash? The other day I was racing to and fro (as I do) and a woman stopped me on my way from Point A to Point B. She complimented my floral dress and laughingly inquired whether it was laundry day. I winked back, “Nope, just Tuesday!”
There are few things in life that incite emotion more quickly than music. And it doesn’t even have to involve any words at all. The very best theme songs or movie scores are gripping specifically because there are no words. Think about the dread the iconic two tones from Jaws evokes. The uplifting feeling of adventure from Indiana Jones. And you say “Pink Panther” to just about anyone from my generation and you’ll be treated to a chorus of, “Badum. Badum. Badum-dabdum. Badum-dabdum. baduuuuuuuuum!”
I have been lucky to work with some pretty amazing small businesses in my time at the helm of this blog. True artists and entrepreneurs who are trying to release good into the world through what they create and how they make women feel. And the best kinds of collaborations (in my mind) come about where I get to work with an artist and know instantly that they simply ‘get’ me, with no explanation needed.
I remember when I was just starting out in science as a fledgling PhD student, I used to sit and worry about running out of research questions. It was inconceivable to me that I would have enough words to say or things to explore past my PhD, so focused was I on my singular task. How can it be possible to sustain an entire career, I wondered? Is there a point in every scientist’s life where they simply have exhausted their lists of possible projects? Naively I thought there must be.
Things don’t always work out according to our plans. And now in my 30-somethingth year, I’m learning to be okay with that (for a Type A person who likes control and order, this is a tough one for me). As you’ve guessed by now, I’m a bit of a planner. I love lists and spreadsheets and checking things off with gusto. Sometimes I write things down I’ve already done just so I can check them off. And of course, I always plan my outfits for my events (even moreso since I started the blog) down to the last rhinestone encrusted…
When I was younger I was obsessed with candy buttons. You know what I mean – the dots of candy stuck to the long strip of paper, in a stream of rainbow colors. You would systematically go row by row, peeling them off with your teeth and convincing yourself they had different flavors. In truth, they basically amounted to little more than sugar and cornstarch, and you always ended up eating more of the paper than the actual candy…
Although I am an equal opportunity 1950’s huntress, there are a few things in particular that make me weak in the knees. Uber full skirts. Border prints. Appliqué. But, I cannot deny that vintage trompe l’oeil (or prints that deceive the eye) steal my heart every time. 2D prints designed to look like ribbons or ruffles and bows – I will literally start salivating. I knew I loved this style of artistry before I even knew it had a name. I have been lucky enough to slowly add trompe l’oeil prints to my collection over the years (case in point…
If you haven’t already guessed it, I have pretty strong feelings about my personal style. I know what I like and what I don’t like, and generally go with what makes me happy. I actually prefer to shop alone – spending as long or as little time in a shop as I like, never looking for an outside opinion on whether or not something suits me. It took awhile for me to get comfortable in my shopping skin. So, you can imagine my feelings when it comes to someone else shopping for me…
There is something so crisp and fresh and zesty about summer. The downside is, the humidity makes my hair do one thing and one thing only: lie straight and flat. Like a seal coming out of the water, it falls in sheets around my face. As a now-mature 30-something-year-old woman, I have decided to stop fighting City Hall and embrace the state my hair prefers to be. For the next few months, I predict fewer curls will grace these cyber pages. But, I’ve chosen to pick my battles and appreciate that my hair is its own independent woman. Cause when…
In many ways, I feel that vintage carries with it stories of the past. A bit of the woman who wore her before me. Like a friend who has known you your entire life, there are secrets in every swath of fabric, every stitch of leather. And as I reach for a particular piece on a particular day, I feel as though I’m reaching for that woman. Taking her hand and letting her know that I remember her. That I carry her in my daily life and have become part of the story.