John, I'm Only Dancing

Like the earthworm called out of the soil by a warm and gentle rain, like the dusted white moth pulled from the depths of darkness to the heat of a fire, like the humming honey bee following her sisters to the sweet nectar of a bright red flower patch, Saturday evening I found myself once again drawn, willingly and magnetically, into Brooklyn. This time, the occasion was a bit of a reunion, with a group gathering to pay homage to our dear and lovely friend Hartley, who has fled the metropolitan trap of the area for the frozen, winter-barren lands of her birth, in true upstate New York, and who returned to the glitz, glamor, and grit of stoic, silent skyscrapers for a weekend sojourn. Some of these social acquaintances and university friends I had not seen in quite some time, since leaving the welcome, exciting folds of academia and trudging through earning a living as a responsible adult, so it was a pleasant and surprising evening of catching up. We met at a cozily popular bar, highlighting vintage cocktails such as Tom Collins and mint juleps, as well as Southern fried nibbles, of the breast and thigh variety.

After some early evening drinks and conversation, my beau the filmmaker in tow, he and I wandered over to Union Pool in Williamsburg, to meet up with some of his lady friends, celebrating a recent dumping of an undeserving and dastardly boyfriend. Union Pool is best described as a textbook example of a hipster Lek mating ground, with males and females alike gathering to display for potential partners, however, hoping to not overtly exude any enthusiasm or interest in the typical and mundane. Nonetheless, it is a fun place to dance around and the outdoor area sports a glowing fire pit, offering some solace from the fierce competition of obscurity within the sweating walls of the joint. Favorite partners of crime, Becca and Peter, along with his lovely lady and dear friend Danya, arrived on the scene, as well as some other university characters, creating quite a crew for our dance round.


Someone, a certain poet and philosopher who will go not named, enjoys watching my normally intimate moments of bathroom preparation. This photograph has an interesting flow, however, and truly captures the shape of the sort of kimono-style sleeve of my 1980s purple silk top. I nabbed this funky little number up in Ithaca, at a church sale if I recall, during the all-items-must-go-for-a-dime day.

With the recent hair cut, I actually have been blowing my hair dry, artificially, with appliances, rather than allowing the wind and other elements to have their way with my head.

Close up of my lucite chandelier necklace; I do not think I will ever tire of wearing this out and about. Particularly with solid colors, or more simple drapes of fabric, it adds immediate notice and welcome crystal-like texture and opulence to the look.

My roommate and one of my best friends, Katherine, gave me this vintage 1960s lucite bangle; as with the chandelier necklace, I never tire of it. Encased in the early version of decorative and functional plastic (bakelite and lucite were utilized as insulation for early appliances, such as vacuum cleaners and radios) is some aluminum foil, ever so artfully crunched.

This vintage 1940s black patent leather pocketbook is very long, with a sort of pyramidal rectangular structure; my father teases that I could hide a rather large gun in there, and deceive anyone on the street with my seeming girl-like, ingenue naivety. As a long purse with short handles, it is not conducive at all to dancing; something to keep in mind next time I go trotting up to a place like Union Pool.

These shoes are almost flats, suedes with a subtle kitten wedge, perfect for traipsing and dancing because of their great comfort. I wanted to create a uniform look on the bottom, to highlight the necklace, as well as color and shape of the top, as well as elongate my legs, so donned the black dress, as a skirt here, with opaque black tights and all black shoes.

Lately, I have been inspired by the bright jewel colors popping up everywhere, like in the Diane von Furstenberg Fall 2011 show in New York and the impeccable Gucci Fall 2011 show in Milan, and am trying to emerge from my monochromatic black winter rut.

Since the top is very loose and unstructured, like many items and people stemming from the late 1980s, featuring cascading wide sleeves, a boat-type high neck, and loose chest and bodice, detailed with a non-descript tie off to the side, I wanted to make sure my bottom was very fitted. Once again, I found my trusted American Apparel scooped back and front dress, which I own in a number of colors; though the night was warm and inviting, I resolved myself with the black, so the purple would shine.

Casual Friday: Cowboy Banker Blues

I have found myself rather melancholy lately, perhaps a bit imbalanced with black bile, if dear Hippocrates were to provide a proper diagnosis. A long-running personal joke has been that I will, in these times of professional strife and general life frustration, flee to the open plains of the American West, overcome my metropolitan sensibilities and morph into a blood-filled, sanguine cowgirl. But, as Mr. Tom Robbins has so eloquently reminded me in the past, even cowgirls can get the blues. To match my humor, and this dreary, down pouring, cloud tears weather, I picked a selection of blue pieces this morning, introducing casual professional to my cowgirl fantasy.



I have had this dark denim, almost pencil skirt for ages; eons and eons. If I recall correctly, it was snatched up at some intense Gap sale, for maybe something like 7$. It has not worn thin, either physically or within my style consciousness. It fits my hips well and I can literally toss it on with anything, from this type of collar shirt to a turtle neck to a plain white v-neck tee in the summer. Because this skirt hugs the hips in a flattering way, without pinching or squeezing, I can pair it with a more loose, men's styled shirt as I did today.

This collar shirt is amazingly comfortable; I found it at Gap as well, last season, however, despite loving the look and the soft cotton fabric, almost refused to purchase it. Normally, my refusal to purchase something I love the look of stems from an exorbitant price or a sneaky infiltration of synthetic fabric. In this instance, my hesitation was born from the ridiculous shirt name: the banker boyfriend shirt. Although, indeed, the casual, almost alluring hint of throwing this on in the morning and strolling to work, without a care that it is a men's shirt, is the appeal, having it so obviously superficially constructed and marketed was initially off putting to me. Though many women, myself included, have fantasized about a relationship with a high power, Machiavellian Wall Street executive, most of us, myself included, are also reluctant to admit it. Upon further reflection, perhaps this fantasy is less appealing after the intense stock market dip a few years back and subsequent cultural disdain for anyone in finance by the general populous. Anyway, I digress. Clearly, though, my repulsion to the actual name subsided, and I learned that no one else would ever know or care how Gap advertised this look.

The front features two breast pockets, and the white collar with the white sleeve cuffs create that quintessential banker look. I wear this shirt regularly, sometimes tucking it into a camel pencil skirt with a back slit, sometimes donning the casual untucked look, like today, with a pair of cream sailor slacks.

These cowboy-inspired, camel ankle boots have certainly seen better days, however, the rugged, worn in look of the leather connotes some good, hard, hands on work wrangling cattle and sheep out on the ranch. Although they have a cowboy look to them, they are not explicitly or immediately recognizable as cowboy looks, and so avoid being a bit kitsch. They are extremely comfortable, and since the leather is already worn, can be worn trudging through puddles in the rain without too much worry.

To balance the masculine edge of the cowboy and banker look, I choose some vintage costume rhinestone earrings and a few of my favorite rings; this sterling spoon ring was my first official enduring piece of jewelry, seducing and intoxicating me towards a long and pronounced love affair with baubles and bangles and beads. After showing me a drawer of old jewelry when I was in third grade, my mother allowed me to pick one piece for my own; I immediately picked up what I had thought was a thick purple ring. When my mother applied some silver polish and handed me back this twinkling ring, I was delighted. It had belonged to her as a child, and thus had a sentimental charm to it, which I was cognizant of even as a young girl, and I always took care to keep it clean and not misplace it. I wore the ring everyday, for years, through high school and the beginning of university. I have in more recent years acquired a few more rings, so this spoon is not worn on the same daily basis, but I still wear it very, very frequently.

These oval rhinestone earrings offer sparkle and shine to my blue outfit, and again, I love the contrast in style and texture between these and the worn, coarse boots, the interplay of bygone refinement with sportsmanship, blisters, and independence.

Friday morning commute soundtrack: "Parentheses" the Blow; "Someone Great" LCD Soundsystem; "Wendy" and "Fun, Fun, Fun" the Beach Boys; "Never There" Cake; "Roadhouse Blues" the Doors; "I Love Rock-n-Roll" Joan Jett