Tuesday, January 20, 2015
At the beginning of December, before the seasonal mayhem of cheer, I bought these gold and pastel stone earrings as an early birthday present to myself. My lovely friend Sarah and I were having a catch-up booze brunch, with two-for-one cocktail specials at a favorite local haunt, and after some sufficient lubrication, wandered out within the neighborhood to peruse the vintage shops and the Brooklyn Flea winter market fort. As the holidays have flew by, and the air has transformed to a deathly chill, that late afternoon seems eons away, another dimension, another person. The sun shone warmly, my naked hands not numbed to stone by frigid winds. Sarah has since moved west, California, a huge move. She is the latest of many friends to abandon the seductive cruelty that is this city. I am proud of her, excited for her, but miss her desperately, and selfish wish for a quick return, or at least a frequent visiting schedule. With her family firmly planted here on the east coast, in our childhood city of Baltimore, I am sure I will get that last wish.
Before that delicious, fun brunch, I had been lusting after these earrings for awhile. A score from Prospect Heights boutique 1 of a Find, a regular stop on my vintage shopping crawl, I had always devised some reason to leave them be on earlier visits. While a tad pricey, the soft asymmetric design paired with the soft colors was unique and, that day, I decided to treat myself. While the earrings certainly match, or dare I say reflect (purposeful pun; see the unintentional self-portrait above) a sort of bombastic and decadent style that most of my accessories imbue, they were profoundly different from anything else I owned. Always eager to display a shiny new glint of gold, these became my holiday staple for the various parties for the season. Worn with simple black silhouettes, my holiday look was simultaneously classic and bold.
Friday, January 9, 2015
(image taken from Irregular Choice)
I unearthed an intense love for the shoe brand Irregular Choice while traveling in London awhile back visiting a dear friend; while meandering through Camden, she led the way to one of their boutiques. Since that afternoon, I have learned that, despite no store in New York, I can peruse their wares at a slew of various online fashion purveyors, including ModCloth. With bombastic embellishments, featuring sculptural elements, dyed lucite, emblazoned embroidery, these shoes are certainly not for the meek, the mild, the mute.
During an antiquing excursion, on the Friday following Thanksgiving, a sort of tryptophan and pinot noir-cleansing ritual, I stumbled on these adorably funky vintage wedge sandals at the back of a dusty stall in an antiques mall in rural Pennsylvania. The conceptual resemblance is uncanny. Slender fingers clutch a small sharp knife, carving each detail, the veins of the bright green palms, chisel minute openings for the windows, the door. I imagine these shoes are handmade, hand painted. Decades ago, amidst sloping dunes, rounded mountains of millions of miniscule diamonds of sand, a tiny house, made immortal, dwelling soul dwelling in the soul of a shoe.
Friday, November 14, 2014
I, and my feet, are beyond grateful that the sartorial sphere is pseudo-psychotically Francophilic-obsessed, and therefore, is ready and willing to embrace and propagate any trend adopted by Emanuelle Alt. My sincere thanks, Madame Alt, for reminding the masses, or in some cases convincing the masses, of the virtues of kitten heel. This pair, a delightful and robust burgundy suede, are a recent favorite of mine, and have already elevated a few uninspired and lazy denim-sweater outfit combinations in the office. A bit run down as of late, exhausted from client demands and internal chaos, it is a relief to have a reliably elegant and comfortable pair of shoes to kick it in.
The week has been long; my brain, near collapse. Tonight, some actual wine, though unlikely a Burgundy, to assuage the soft wear of the days.
Friday, October 10, 2014
I often wish I had both the body type and the lifestyle to warrant skipping about the town in silk pajama pants, each and every day. A loose and soft flow. This particular pair reminds me of a craggy geode, smashed, revealing that slick slice of beautiful stone within, plates of brilliant color stacked. Miniature tectonics.
(image taken from Little Nudges)
Friday, October 3, 2014
After a delightfully mild summer, the warmth somehow pleasant and tamed, so uncharacteristic of the typical unwieldy and oppressive New York heat, autumn has descended. Sartorial signals have flashed: I have already worn tights a few times and a few of blazers have left the dark confines of my cramped closet. This season, the thought of wrapping my body in a thick cream sweater and donning tight black socks, perhaps with some penny loafers or my favorite leopard booties or a classic black flat, sounds comforting. Elevated simplicity, perhaps some soft cashmere. For a full fall fantasy, I would love to find an infinity pool, isolated mysteriously in a desert landscape, remote and rustic and pristine.
(image taken from A Well Traveled Woman)
Thursday, September 18, 2014
At the beginning of the summer, I journeyed up to Montreal for the annual jazz festival; it was my first time in the bucolic yet metropolitan city and I was seduced by the warmth of the people, the energy, the delicious food. Wandering around on foot, I also discovered a few great shopping spots, my favorite of which was a rockabilly-roaring and taxidermy-touting vintage corner where I scored these pearl beading earrings. An explosion of strands, dangling and flailing like wild opalescent tentacles, they are that ideal synthesis of classic glamor and bizarre funk. They shout from my lobes, a contained shout. The adorable shop girl, mirroring the vibe of the joint in her 50s-inspired pin-up look, was delighted that I purchased these, a favorite of hers in the store. Since returning home from my long weekend of music and meandering in Montreal, I have worn these earrings regularly; most recently, I paired them with a striped cream and metallic skirt.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
I have never bought a mix-and-matched outfit, head to toe, straight off the display mannequin of a store, and I can say with very, very near certainty that I never will; a firm background in both science and early James Bond films have taught that it is risky to firmly commit to "never." Although I am an independent shopper and enjoy constructing my own head to toe looks, without the aid of a sales associate, a brand look book, or style editorials of the latest seasonal trends hot from the catwalk, I still often use some type of theme, even a very loose one, to unify my look. This could be purely mood-based, aesthetic-based, memory association-based, anything. Yesterday morning, I extracted this cream and polka dot patterned vintage Oscar de la Renta skirt from the cavern that is my closet; it has not been worn in many, many months and was the ideal alternative to my recent denim rut.
The nuance of the classic polka dot pattern of this piece, stripes varying in width, oscillating between black and yellow, the sultry just below the knee length perfect for a tall woman, and the movement of the pleats have always attracted me. Playing with the polka dots and further accenting the subtle black in the pattern, I paired the skirt with a black top embellished with three strands of muddled gold medallion dots along the neck. Pushing the trope even more, I selected this lucite bangle encasing raised dots of gold, like bits of metallic dew. The circular pattern repeats, but the texture and tone vary, offering, to me, greater interest than a precisely complementing set of pieces. Finally, to polish off this polka dot parade, I wore a pair of black and gold earrings, a mostly recent acquisition and wonderfully practical for my wardrobe resplendent with gold and black pieces. Rather than the smooth, clean geometric lines of the perfect circles, these earrings offer a rugged, organic kind of mimicry to the dot, as though they were chiseled straight from some stone, or perhaps grown in a field, like a crop of cabbage.