Winter is Coming

Joined by throngs of other weary first-world workers, hungry for entertainment and for some shreds of human truth in an alternate reality, some place resembling our world in color and light and shape, but entirely different, I spend my Sunday evenings devouring the latest Game of Thrones. While I am certainly not one of those fans to emulate the pseudo-medieval ethereal gowns and stark flowing robes, looking like I stumbled off some knight's horse, I do admire the brilliant, and beautiful, costuming. Political intrigue, historical allusion, and intricate morally ambiguous characters make the show worth the attention and the acclaim; wonderful wardrobes are a bonus. The female characters, especially, are so strong and fascinating, generally the fabric draped around them is the least interesting facet.

Long skirts and layers of capes are not my style, but the bold, heavy metal detailing of much of the jewelry certainly is; just like the battles and the political arguments, the jewelry borrows from reality, from stories of now partly forgotten human cultures. These deep green and bronze earrings remind me of something Daenerys Targaryen would wear, perhaps when she returns to Westoros, triumphant and vengeful and wise, a hybrid of tenacity and harsh elegance. A sort of wild sophistication. I found this pair amid an array of junk in a small shop in Ithaca; they had lain dormant there for some time, and have been sitting in my jewelry box, idle, as well. Spring may be here, in this world, but in other fantasies, winter is coming, so these may be worn more, like amulets, protecting.

Rambling Pearls

Sometimes it feels as though change surges forward, in a profound cascade, overwhelming and incredible; nearly always, though, the forces behind change start as some microcosm, droplets, small beads of something building and gathering momentum. Constant pressure of those smaller bits, until some catalyst, real or imagined, pushes an event. So, though it can be perceived as stagnation, there is something there, latent, underlying, shaping and priming. It is frightening and beautiful. And so it manifests, as a cascade, or as some mounting stalagmite, slowing growing tall and grand.

Spring Cleaning Creative Spaces

With the spring thaw, windows are opened, winter dust shaken off, and closets and wardrobes are passed through a discerning sieve; the annual clean. For me, while my clothing certainly needs to be sifted through, older pieces assessed again, what I would really like to achieve is a clean, open space for writing. Stacks of papers, old files, towers of books generally collect around my desk area, my dining table, my bureaus. Any flat surface becomes a magnet for detritus. E. B. White is usually most frequently lauded for his Elements of Style, essential dogma for many contemporary writers. Peeking into his typical writing space, austere but warm, it is unsurprising that he was able to coalesce such simply profound advice for other authors. I do not live in the bucolic countryside and, unfortunately, I do not possess a typewriter, tool explicitly and only for writing, without distractions or indulgences. Nonetheless, I hope to be able to adopt some of this tranquility, for focus.

(image taken from BuzzFeed)

Ruby Red Slippers

Tapping the heels three times does not send me home, but, still, I adore red shoes, their bold simplicity and their effusion of cultural connotations, positive and negative. As a friend from South Africa used to chuckle and tease, a former client and colleague, red shoes can be the mobile signal for a good time, at least for her back home; here, old Hollywood sweetheart Judy Garland will always be my first association. Amid a week of tension, the desire to click, once, twice, three times, and to be magically whisked away, transported home, not necessarily my childhood home, but some idea of it, more nostalgic and more fanciful, is so very strong. Someplace safe, warm, comforting.

Last night, thick black storm clouds stampeded across the sky, a herd of horses surpassing the blank gray field; it was beautiful and frightening. I left my window open to watch the violence in the sky, the black clouds illuminating in a bright clash of white light at irregular intervals, followed by low growls. When I was a little girl, during the spring storms, I would sit in front of a large picture window in our family room, and silently watch the fury.

Outfit for a Tuesday: Mad Men Revival

After an agonizingly long hiatus, television's famed program has returned, so, in the spirit of silly theme dressing, I decorated myself in 1960s office staples: the pencil skirt, the fitted sweater, and the silk scarf. Cinching my waist with just enough tension to enforce a strict ballerina-inspired posture, one that would make even my mother proud after her years of reminding me to stand straight and proud, I could not help but feel powerful and confident strolling through the office aisles, not unlike one of my favorite characters and sartorial inspirations, Joan Holloway. Sadly, my full day toiling in the office yesterday did not end with some whiskey on the rocks or an impromptu martini, but, likely, it was all the more productive.

While I typically stay true to more classic black and white or cream and black houndstooth patterns, something about the deep emerald and the rich blue was enticing, the colors of some faraway and fantastical forest. Green shades generally do not flatter my skin tone, so, when I have the opportunity to wear a jewel-toned emerald, without shame or reproach, I seize it.

In true 1960s fashion, my scarf, wrapped almost as a soft necklace, perfectly complements the color scheme of my skirt and sweater; more modern, the two bold patterns, seemingly jarring, are united in their chromatic palette. I found this incredible scarf, which weaves seamlessly well with so much of my wardrobe, given my recent addiction to anything navy or cream.

True integrity to my Madison Avenue advertising adventures homage, I wore lucite accessories. These large earrings were in dis-repair for a number of weeks, and I finally took the initiative and my nearest bottle of tacky glue to fix them. Similar to television, and really all forms of photographic media, the clear convex shape distorts reality, contorts images that could be there, or maybe once were there, and captures something else entirely, reminiscent perhaps, but its own beast.

Iconography: Lilly Pulitzer

While I am neither a Southern sorority belle who wastes my afternoons with rich mint juleps at the horse races nor an intoxicated lady of a bygone era who leisurely lunches with her closest friends as well as enemies, toes slightly stained with white sands from the beaches of North Hampton, I have always admired the brazen and cheerful sensibilities of Lilly Pulitzer. Like those archetypes, made more notorious and recognizable for their identical costumes of tropical greens and pinks, her designs were sweet and charming, elegant enough, and never demure. At times seemingly juvenile and pedestrian, or at least superficially so, for me, instead, the exude an air of whim, and in some cases, a sort of devil-may-care exuberance in the face of taste and refinery. The bright neons and outlandish tesselating pelicans and flamingos have never been quite my style, but I do love the perpetual lazy summer life of decadence and daiquiris that the quintessential dresses seem to promote. Today, swathed in prototypical black, I give pause; she will be missed.

(images taken from Pinterest)

Lucite Heels, Encore

For those who were born and raised in a generation where jellies sandals were a plastic force to truly be reckoned with, the continued and evolving popularity of lucite adorned sandals and pumps is expected; frankly, a wane in the trend and the drooling lust that it incites would be disappointing. This season, the much lauded and  repeatedly showcased purported trends are what I could consider classic staples: lucite accessories, shoes included, and elegantly combining black with white for a composition in contrasts. I both recognize and admit, though, that most do not greedily collect fine plastics and harbor arcane knowledge about their histories and production; for those, lucite is a novelty. For others, more of an aesthetic way of life. 

The simple and sophisticated design of these Diane von Furstenberg heeled sandals could make me cry. Pale, pale turquoise is not the color I would inherently choose, for myself, but it is just so ephemeral in touch, it mirrors the clear heel, and just works.

(images taken from Zappos)