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.