I really, really love me a good windowsill. Probably because I love staring out windows so much. The view from moving vehicles is by far the best--I'm always desperate for the window seat when booking travel on trains or planes or buses. Back when I lived in Santa Cruz, I used to take the Greyhound up to Mt. Vernon, WA on my way home to visit. It's a good 20-22 hour trip, and I definitely met my share of freaks, recently released felons, and pervy old men with Popov vodka on their breath. But as soon as that big hunk of metal would lumber out of a station and start barreling down the road, between green rice paddies or through endless stretches of nondescript highway nothingness, I'd be in absolute heaven.
Someday, obviously, I will live in a home with enormous windowseats that will allow me to sit, read, ponder life, and take cat naps all while breaking frequently to peer out onto the world in comfort. Dagmar's Pa pretty much had it figured out when he included a huge wrap-around sofa bench all along the windows in the livingroom of the house he built. For Julia and I, our modest sills are only able accommodate plants and candles and various flotsam, below which lurks the requisite ancient radiator--tragically, only wide enough to accommodate approximately 5/8 of the average human posterior.
These photos by Todd Selby from Gidon Bing's Auckland studio have me jonesing something fierce for a stroll by the sea. Every time I'm home in the islands, I make a point of taking a nice, long, solitary walk along the shore, stooping to pick up the odd piece of beach glass or puzzling detritus from the deeps. The beaches at home are as beautiful in winter hail and gentle rain as they are at sunset in the summertime: the salty smells, the stacks of a cargo ship far across the channel towards Canada, the cries of the gulls or the sudden screech of a Great Blue Heron, interrupted.
I always return from these walks with a shell or two rattling in my pockets, but I never seem to know just what to do with them when I get home. Eventually they are lost in the yard, underfoot, in some dusty corner, or perhaps sent to a watery grave in the washing machine. Seeing these drawers upon drawers of carefully sorted specimens gives me all sorts of dangerous ideas. As if I needed something new to hoard! (All photos by Todd Selby found on theselby.com, please give credit if you repost)
December is one of those times of the year when I find myself simultaneously wishing for a few new things (it's suddenly so cold! All my clothes have been worn--and sweated in--to death through the summer and fall!) and painfully unable to follow through on even the most practical of my desires (new underwear will definitely have to wait until the New Year. OVERSHARE!) With Christmas shopping, sweet treats to be confected and fancy cheeses to be bought for housewarming parties, I've resorted on more than one occasion to counting out dimes and nickels for toilet paper and really exploring the (finite) possibilities of the humble lentil.
Two nights ago, I broke down and selfishly sprang for a couple things that are currently in the post, on their way to my anxiously-awaiting arms (and feet.) Beautiful black leather Etienne Aigner loafers from Parkrose Vintage and the prettiest, oversize cotton blouse (which was actually paid for in trade from Pistenine, hallelujah!) I actually ordered that Phillip Lim bralette from the previous post as well using a giftcard, and it arrived lightning fast--which sadly means I can already tell you that it was much too small and will have to be returned, as it is now completely sold out. Hopefully I'll have more luck with the rest of my purchases, as I know I will cry salty tears should those loafers not fit my stubby stub feet.
Every year as winter approaches, I begin to feel like all the color is slowly being sucked out of the world. We've been lucky with the weather lately, but I know there will be weeks when we don't see a clear sky, no sun, no blue. Just a flat grey underbelly as far as the eye can see.
A "fashion forecast"? The coming Spring will be a season chock-a-block with cornflower, vermilion, citrus and goldenrod. Now, however, is a time to find the perfect pair of black oxfords and the perfect pair of brown oxfords, the perfect pair of brown boots and the perfect pair of black boots, the perfect white sweater, the perfect grey sweater, the perfect black sweater. It's true that layering is a lot easier when you're working with a whittled down palette--being adventurous is so much more complicated in the cold. If it were up to me though, I would have a winter coat in every color of the rainbow. And a nice tartan plaid for good measure.
When I was a kid growing up in the Washington, my rad hippie school spent months studying the many Native American tribes of the Pacific Northwest. We made paint from charcoal, clam shells and mushed up salmon eggs (mmmmm haha) and learned about crafting diapers from cedar bark and moss. The whole thing culminated in a two week fieldtrip up the inside passage on the Alaska Ferry, during which time we toured many a sweat lodge, photographed many a totem pole, and bought endless tiny jars of salmonberry jam.
I feel like this dress by Lindsey Thornburg is another item that could easily enter into the endlessly frustrating "native appropriation" debate, and there's certainly a part of me that understands why. I do think it's interesting that, while the Pendleton fabrics and feather headdresses of the Southwest and Plains Indians have long been part of the fashion-consciousness (for better or for worse), the PNW seems to have been largely left unexplored (Un-exploited? Un-tapped?)
That said, I can't deny that I find it to be an absolutely gorgeous piece of clothing. Fortunately, the mini costs $400, so I wont have to wrestle my own mixed-up morals any further than gazing longingly at a computer screen requires. Plus, to be totally honest, seeing it on Erin Wasson hasn't really increased the appeal. Phew! Dodged that bullet...
Phew, ok, it's almost two in the morning, my flight for the West Coast leaves at 6:45am, and I've still got a list of things left to do! I'm so excited to be packing for a place with actual weather (instead of just a constant, brain-stew-inducing level of HOT.) I'm bringing shorts--and pants! Tank tops--and sweatshirts! And yes, a lot of stripes.
Today was a pretty tortuous day, with a long list of errands and temps in the nineties. However, I did make a particularly exciting purchase: one tub of Manic Panic Cotton Candy Pink hair dye. I plan on trying out pink tips while I'm home because, hell, WHY NOT?? Woo, summer vacaaaaay!
Is it wrong that I feel a little twinge of victory every time I "beat" Fashion Gone Rogue to a beautiful editorial? One thing's for sure, it's proof positive that I spend way too much time on the internet. Guilty as charged, heh.
Anyways, these photos are from a series titled Afternoon Stroll, shot by Max Farago for Muse #22. What I love is how absolutely bare bones simple they are, highlighted even further by the black and white tones, while still being absolutely gorgeous. I get so tired of eds that shove clothing down your throat, especially this time of the year. When it's too dang hot to form coherent sentences, it's no time to be overthinking things!
(you can see the rest of the editorial over on the Fashion Spot)
Oops! I went a little MIA over the weekend, but all will be explained imminently, I promise...
In the meantime, I wanted to show you a clip from that Super8 footage I talked up so much right after I got back from my time in Japan/Australia/New Zealand with The Pains. Five months later I'm still working on putting it together, due to laziness and technical difficulties (mostly laziness.) This is a little snippet from our time in Melbourne, and it's totally unedited and uncut so apologies if it's a bit choppy. I'm also going to be uploading the finished product to Vimeo in hopes of preserving a bit more of the quality. Can't wait to show you the real deal when it's all finished!
P.S. The winner of Tabio giveaway was Katie of Are You Awake! Congrats!
I've been getting a few freelance gigs as a styling assistant lately, which means some very, very long days, but also means a little bit of cold hard cash in my pockets for once. Last weekend was another work weekend for me (hence all the returns on Monday), and as usual, my first urge was to go out and buy myself some flowers as a reward for a job well done (and, most importantly, DONE!)
I was so exhausted Saturday night that I was dead asleep by 11:30 (which NEVER happens), and when I woke up the next morning (ahem, afternoon?) the bedroom was full of the scent of these peonies that had fully opened up over night. I can think of no better way to wake up than to the smell of fresh flowers...except maybe to the smell of freshly baked bread? It's a toss up, for sure.
In conclusion: I will probably end up taking this exact photo about two thousand times. Only the flowers will change (and the knick-knacks might shuffle around a bit.)
Being as my birthday is in June, roses have always held a dear place in my heart. They are my birth flower not only in name but in practice, as witnessed by the beautiful birthday bouquets my mom would always pick for me on the morning of the 22nd, carefully selecting a few heavy-headed blossoms from her bushes to tuck in amongst peonies, pink poppies and canterbury bells.
Today, though I've still got a good month to go before I turn a year older, I would very much like to take a stroll through a rose garden, stopping to sniff every last one. They all smell so different, some very rose-y and some more like fruit or even licorice sometimes! And, in this candy-colored fantasy land, I would be wearing this outfit. And would escape without a single grass stain on my ass. Likely story.
I love the styling and tone of these photos from the May issue of L'Officiel Paris. They really speak to the way I'd like to dress these days: comfortable, simple, with some sharp accessories, and most importantly, involving nothing too flashy, fussy or frilly.
If I could throw away all my skinny jeans and wear nothing but trousers from here on out, I would in a heart beat. Sadly, finding the perfect pair of trousers is proving no easier than finding the perfect pair of jeans...bugger it.
(full editorial by Beau Grealy found via theFashionSpot)
Even though this magazine cover is a good two years old (looks like it came out on my birthday!) the photo feels just right for a day like today. Here's the article that I think originally accompanied it.
Saturday I was so sad because we just missed out on nabbing some lilacs from the Union Square farmer's market. I bought some really pretty tulips instead, but they weren't quite the same.
Lilacs are such an important part of Spring in my mind. There's a big bush behind my parents' house, and every year I would wait and wish and hope that they'd be blooming enough by the 1st of May to make May Day crowns.
Anyways, today on my walk back from Beacon's Closet I spied two enormous bucketfulls of big purple flowers outside Khim's Grocery Store. All afternoon the breeze coming through our window smelled the way sunshine feels on your legs the first day of the year you wear shorts.
Unsurprisingly, I love this shot by Tim Walker from the March issue of Vogue Italia. That rose looks just like the ones that grow on the buses surrounding my parents' farm.
Spring might be the time I miss home the most (well besides summer!), since it's when all the little flowers and green leaves start to bloom, and each time you go outside it seems like you discover a new patch of activity. Not so much of that here in the city. Anyways, you can see the rest of the editorial right here.
Snow Leopard! It's like regular leopard print, only kinda chilled out and stuff. Also, is it just me or are baby snow leopards even cuter than baby regular leopards? I think it's the blue eyes. No doubt you can see the family resemblance??
2)
So I am reeeaaalllyyy not supposed to be doing any shopping before my trip, but today my resolve imploded like the Kingdome and I bought these crazy-ass shoes. I mean, come oooooon. They're canary yellow, they're hairy, and I had just enough credit at Beacon's to make them technically free. Funnily enough I think they're by a Japanese brand? Also:
They make me approximately one billion feet tall (which in my case actually means just, like, normal amounts of tallness.)
Speaking of travel...airports are one of the very few places that I allow myself to buy just about any domestic magazine I want. I deem it a necessary indulgence. On my return trip from Washington last week I found myself staring forlornly at a wall full of issues I'd already had my way with, save the February edition of Vogue US. With three hours to kill, I had little choice (if nothing else, I figured it might help me sleep...)
That aside, I actually thought this last little bit on "borrowing for the boys" was pretty cute. I love the last outfit with the cape and desert boots. Sometimes I get so tired of people who only seem interested in getting all bent out of shape over editorials since, more often than not, it's the rest of the content that I really enjoy, the little features and collages and whatnot. Maybe it's because I see so few editorials in general that really get me going, that I've come to take the time to appreciate a magazine for the smaller things?
I have a modest collection of ancient magazines that I leave sitting on the little coffee table in my childhood room--some choice issues of JANE, a copy of ID (the streakers issue!), and a Nylon or two, all of which played various roles in my development from sad nerd to the suave taste-maker I am today.
This time, my attention was caught by a piece on Karen O and Christian Joy in a rusty old (read: still totally amazing) issue of Nylon. This is how I first can recall finding out about her and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. I remember thinking what a crazy badass she seemed like. Also I just reeeaaally wanted to party with her.
Eventually, I got to see them open for The White Stripes somewhere in the mid-aughts. I mostly just remember a bunch of drunk dudes yelling about how they wanted to bone her, which was uncalled for, but also understandable because I kind of wanted to bone her too.
(all photos by David Yellen for Nylon June/July 2002)
