Outfit for a Wednesday: Inspired by Mary McCarthy

I have been intending to read the short fiction of Mary McCarthy, among other works, for quite some time; this outfit stems rather literally, all connotations, from the now oft-quoted and well-remembered title "The Man in the Brooks Brothers Shirt." McCarthy is quoted on the cover of my worn, loved paperback version of Pale Fire, which I finished at the end of last year, a visual reminder for some new year reading goals. Hopefully this weekend, I plan to officially become a citizen of Brooklyn and join the public library, a mere four blocks from my apartment.

Transitioning traditionally gaudy sequins from evening to day is an increasingly popular, now mundane topic among fashion publications, digital and print. The list of styling recommendations nearly always includes some iteration of pair with a plain tee shirt, an obvious and intuitive strategy that can successfully tone down nearly any bold blazer. Let the sequins shine solo; pare down the rest of the look. In keeping with my theme of casual sparkle, I wore a pair of plain black denim. Rather than opt for my steadfast and true white, or my perpetually reliable black, I donned this gray men's undershirt, a relic from my university days, borrowed, never returned.

Bidding Adieu to 2013

Either a product of getting older and wiser, or a product of mounting cynicism, or both, the two not often mutually exclusive, New Year's Eve, the event, capitalized, does not hold the same titillating promise of fun, excitement, and drama, to which it once, briefly, clung. Tempering my capacity for exponential expectation, I am content spending the evening with a few close friends and a few chilled drinks, dancing and laughing and making merry. While I no longer care whether my party that evening is trendy or ground-breaking or even particularly memorable, I still like to make a sartorial splash, spilling forth sequins and sparkle whenever possible. Just before Christmas, while strolling around Park Slope and completing some last minute party planning for an impromptu seasonal soiree at my new apartment, I stumbled across my good friend Sarah. She then introduced me to a local antiques market, where we both stumbled on some pretty incredible finds.

Opulent silk sequin blouses offer an ideal shimmer for a party; I have a few with gold and bronze gilded glitz, so was pleased to find this silver and black variation. There is so much texture, so many detailed facets, it is quite effusive, from the cascade of pearl tears to the almost ragged pirate, almost icicle-like hem and sleeves. With such a frenetic top, I, obviously, kept the bottom simple, pairing this unique find with a long, flowing black maxi skirt. Coincidentally, it seemed there was an unspoken Stevie Nicks-theme to the New Year's Eve party hosted by my dear friend Lauren; long black skirts were running and shimmying amok. I was glad to have a belligerent amount of shine to stand out on the living room dance floor.

While I kept my look simple and prudent with my plain maxi skirt, I could not help but debut these disco-era vintage rhinestone earrings and mirror the shimmering spectacle of my silk blouse. I found these gems at a darling and exceedingly well curated vintage boutique in my neighborhood, Rosebud Vintage; while I paid a more handsome price for this pair of earrings than I would in the rural stores in Pennsylvania and Delaware, the quality and intrigue was worth it.

Hello, Late 20s

Last week, I celebrated my champagne birthday and officially entered the waning years of my roaring twenties. The day itself was rather unremarkable; I coaxed my parents and younger brother into joining me for a jaunt around the Baltimore Museum of Art, and we then enjoyed a late lunch of crab cakes at the adjacent Gertrude's Restaurant. That evening, my parents departed for an annual, reunion-style post-Christmas party, hosted by a dear close friend of my father from childhood, so my brother, Adam, and I passed the evening quietly, competing in a fierce game of rummy. He heated up plates of Cincinnati chili spaghetti for us, a delicious bit of nostalgia, the spicy-sweet, almost Indian-like seasoning harkening back to the birth city of our mother. I sipped a lemon drop, my wine-colored lipstick staining the rim, leftover from our afternoon out.

Three years ago, I created this little corner of digital self-indulgence, in a frenzy of fear and a type of anxious, unbridled excitement, quite the departure from my other, private project of cataloging my prose poems, a sort of literary sketch pad. Three years ago, just before the Christmas season, the partners of my former company laid off the entire staff, at the time around thirty or so of us, citing some fabricated financial fiasco. As we all entered the new year, contracted to work part time, as hourly employees, supplemented by state unemployment benefits, it was later revealed that the true root of the situation was a schism between the founding three leaders, two buying out one, amassing fees and jumping through legal loops to achieve this feat. A time of utter uncertainty, that beginning, later revealed itself to be one of growth and opportunity and learning; I would not be the woman I am today, without this trial and the adventures that unfolded after. Sticking around in the suburbs of New Jersey, even in the wake of being falsely fired and totally duped, did lead to cultivating some powerful relationships, partnering on some important professional projects, and traveling to an array of new cities that I would not otherwise have had the chance to see, at least not in such quick succession.

Still, with the wise and comprehensive view of retrospection, I cannot help but revel in how different, in certain major ways, my life is, from then to now. A still relatively new job, at a new company, in New York, working with a dedicated team and with senior leaders who adhere to professional and personal integrity. A loving, committed relationship, started in that time of tumult and unhappiness, the first relationship where I am respected and supported, unconditionally. A new home in a vibrant neighborhood, close to my beautiful family and my dearest of friends, where not a single day passes when I do not see, hear, smell, try, experience something new and unknown. Now, these changes do not mean that my now is always certain, always steady far from it. Mistakes, tears, anxieties, heartaches abound. But I have spent these three years growing.

While originally, this space began in the aftermath of shock, a bit of despair, it evolved to a space of irregular routine, the purpose rather simple: a space to write. To write unabashedly and, hopefully, to encourage and inspire those other avenues of language that, usually, intimidate. That I procrastinate or avoid. For this to be a space free from that intimidation, the subjects are for the most part superficial but not without relevance, style, fashion, aesthetics, bits of culture I find fascinating or amusing, occasional ramblings. Overall, with these objectives in mind, to write and to encourage further writing endeavors, I have met both success and failure. I am not one to create exhaustive laundry lists of resolutions, but nonetheless, with a pervasive sense of fresh start surrounding a new year, I cannot help but shake up my fortitude and seek to work harder in the coming months. Most likely to the relief of my dear filmmaker, this project has decidedly less tedious outfit posts accompanied by my desperately awkward modeling, but I still enjoy the haven it provides, a canvas for vehement verbosity on whatever I feel like.

Cheers. To another year.   


Snowy Friday afternoon soundtrack: Jon Hopkins Immunity

(image taken from Rare Vintage)

Christmas Gold

For Christmas, donning a bit of gold is always festive. Lately, neutral shades have been my default decision, and with a bit of flashy earrings, tend to lend a polished and sophisticated to even a basic, classic cotton v-neck sweater. These funky earrings were an awesome find from one of my favorite hidden boutique gems in Millsboro, Delaware, a few mile drive from the beach vacation home of my dear family friends. As summer waned, welcoming the cool autumnal winds, I joined my friend Sarah for a long weekend there; we enjoyed the feast of crabs, but totally indulged at the Millsboro Bazaar. Living in New York, we are well acclimated to steep prices, for vintage and contemporary goods. Being inside such a large, well-stocked shop with reasonable prices generally means any type of self-restraint is abandoned. This gold pair, a series of gilded concentric circles, evoke the almost-oblong shape of clams, bivalves that are popular in our Mid-Atlantic region. Similar to some of my other favorite pairs, these earrings have a great balance of shape and texture, of simplicity and intrigue.

Christmas Eve: Purposefully Festive

For the Christmas Eve celebrations the other evening, I once again donned a tried, true flannel, this time in a deep hunter green motif, and my cascading multi-strand costume pearls. Rather than risk becoming a bit of a hackneyed holiday trope, I decided against a matte red lip, opting for a bright, cheerful redish cherry pink. This Pendleton wool flannel was a treasure scored from a consignment shop somewhere in suburban New Jersey. Most likely, it is intended for an adolescent boy, which for me, means it nestles the hips and my waist in a more flattering fashion than boxy men's and even women's cuts, though, admittedly, the sleeves are a bit short.

Our tradition for years has involved commemorating the spirit of the day with dear, cherished family friends, my childhood best friend, her older sister, and her parents. We eat much, drink too much, and laugh. While in some cases, the movements seem route, acted in a trance of memory and nostalgia, it is comfortable and has a sort of beautiful rhythm. In a tumultuous time, and in the wake of growing inevitable older, I like that some things, at least not yet, do not change. My birthday is tomorrow; I cannot help feeling a bit wistful at the passing of the years, remembering the old adventures, looking forward to the new.

Post-holiday lounging soundtrack: Dream River Bill Callahan

Accidentally Festive

Last week, it was not until I was in the office when I realized that my plaid paired with pearls, prep-influenced, was inadvertently very festive: the prevailing colors were inevitably seasonal red and green. Though the undertones of blue and yellow almost salvage this very comfortable and classic plaid from novelty, I still felt a bit as though I were a younger, J. Crew-frequenting mistress to old Saint Nicholas himself. Always my own harshest critic, honestly, I probably could have donned some cream furry vest and a red lip and appeared in a plethora of popular catalogs wishing consumers good tidings and happy spending. 

Making a List, Checking it Twice

As usual, the Christmas season of gift-giving, good cheer, and eggnog-induced stretch pant proclivities has crept up on me, silently stalking like some graceful cat and now ready to pounce. Also typical, I have yet to purchase any presents and, when posed the fundamental question of "what do you want for Christmas" by my mother, found I had not even thought about it and was speechless. Spending a moment or two today considering, I realized what I want is either intangible and abstract, say, a lifetime of challenge and utter contentedness, or is utterly ludicrous, say, a fainting goat and an enormous citrine cocktail ring. Or an island, populated solely by a personal cabin. Or for my darling, beautiful niece to, magically, never make any of the mistakes I have made. This list of impracticality could continue for quite some time.

With eyes fresh, new, in a metabolic whir of constant amazement, shopping for Winona by far is the easiest and most enjoyable. In an absolute worst-case scenario, she would be delighted unwrapping a box of sticks, relishing ripping the paper, and using said detritus to antagonize the dog. Or build an imagination cabin, on some far off island of her own making. 

(image taken from A Well Traveled Woman)