the world according to sherimaven

Good morning, Monday- waking up in Los Angeles is always nice- after so many days of heat in New York, it's great to wake up to temps in the 60s- I don't have to be anywhere till much later so very much enjoying the morning, my favorite time of day (yea, I know that's annoying).

I've been thinking a lot about how sites like Pinterest are turning us all into editors, curators, and style setters. I know this has been going on for a while with blogs and the like, but seeing a funny spoof called something like "You Know you're addicted to Pinterest if...."  made me realize something- we have become a bespoke little world of mason jar candles, firefly motifs, chevron prints, and adorable shots of shoes. I always loved the title of Jonathan Safran Foer's novel "Everything is Illuminated" (which, incidentally, has nothing to do with Pinterest) and thought of it for the title of this post- because nowadays, and simply put, everything is art directed.

Go through your Facebook feeds and notice how many people got married with quirky handmade place cards, vintage automobiles to drive away form the wedding in, "non set up" set up photos of the cool bride and groom, winking towards a vintage moment and definitely setting tables with mason jars full of flowers. Look- let's pose with funny moustaches, and ooh- over there- a prohibition era speakeasy complete with sawdust and men in vests.  Go into any shop in Brooklyn and observe the cabinets of curiosities- a large dose of general store chic is pervasive in my neighborhood, and most likely coming to yours soon. There's salted ice cream, dog teepees (you know I wanted one), and places to get a seafood dinner in Red Hook that feels very much, and carefully orchestrated, like a restaurant from your youth at the Jersey Shore or wherever you may have felt the salty air growing up along the East Coast. I'm beginning to feel like I live in some sort of old timey, overly quaint theme park, and I'm ready to get off the ride- it's making me a bit queasy. And lest you think I'm forging my own way, I too fall victim to the sweetness of a quirky artisanal moment, after all I'm only human and a bit of a retro type myself...but the cute overload is begining to get under my skin and very much on my nerves. Show me something completely new, please. I'm tired of this overly curated "life" and wish you would put away your hot pink wedding shoes (you know who you are).

It's not that I'm super anti all of this adorability- I'm just wondering- are we substituting things that feel real and genuine because real and genuine no longer exists? I'm not sure this is as much about nostalgia as it is setting a mood gone steroidal- can't we simply sit at a table and eat a meal and not fall victim to some sort of "vision" that somebody has of what's cool? I'm sure if you travel to other parts of the country, you'll find real stuff- diners and bars and small shops that still look the way they did many years ago, and are not set up by some would be hipster looking for his piece of some weathered  American pie. And if you go to a place like Paris and find the likes of say, a Bar Lipp charming, it's because it just is charming, and was charming when Hemingway went there too. It's not fake, it's completely real and genuine and the vibe is still preserved, and probably will be forever. Listen, I myself have gotten sucked in many times by some cool Americana that no longer exists- I like weathered leather, bourbon cocktails, and vintage pieces. But I don't want to feel like my whole life is one big photo op- and that's what it's all come to, hasn't it? At least in certain circles of design minded types? And though I'm a huge fan of non editorial types having an opportunity to have a public point of view and show the world their take on things and the fact that all of these social sites allow us to have a bit of democratic, creative confidence, the vast sea of possiblity of what could be in terms of new ideas and new things to share feels way too shallow.

I'm not sure all of this living in the past and yearning for some notion of America that no longer exists is the way to go. I'm growing weary of the art directed version of what we think it means to channel places like Nantucket or Nashville. And though nobody loves a 70s moment more than me, Rachel Zoe and her boho thing have all but fizzled out, just like Studio 54, Halston, and the marriage of Mick and Bianca. I just saw a photo of Jay Z in what was called a Pee Wee Herman suit, and yea, it was a bit Playhouse mixed with Malcolm X, but this cat has such great style and somehow manages to take a vintage look and make it fresh to death.

That's what I'm wanting- let's respect what's real because you can't recreate and art direct everything in hopes of getting repinned on Pinterest or selling more waxed denim. I'm just over this super studied, hyper art directed approach to living, and wondering who will pave the way for something new and modern and altogether in step with the times in which we live. I'm all for a nod to the past, but I've got  one foot in the future and am simply looking for something real. If everything is art directed, how are we to know what's true? I think it's time to get real, don't you?

And that's what's up this looking for the next big thing/trying to keep it real kind of Monday in sunny Los Angeles.  XO

Hey Freaky Friday. Yea yea no post. No fiver. No nothing. I'm swamped and thrilled and stressed and grateful and tired and hot and hungry and thirsty and relentless. And I had a great idea for a post but it will have to wait. But for now, ladies and gentlemen- THE ROLLING STONES.

50 years of these guys- my favs, my heart, my style inspiration and musical lovefest. If these boys can keep rockin', I suppose I can do. And that's why I gotta go- have a rock and roll weekend cause that's what's up this Exiled on work street kind of Friday in the greatest city in the world. Love to love you all- and I'm about to pop on something a little bit Stonesy to get me through the rest of the day/night/what the fuck time is it? All the love- now won't you guess my name? Oh and in terms of five spots, is there really a better one than these sexy blokes? Nope. Yow. XO

Good morning, Wednesday. It's one of those weeks where I have no idea what day it is- so thank goodness for my computer teling me we're almost over the hump. I'm off to LA on Sunday for the work week as yet another birthday will be spent in the city of Angels (it's a bit of a theme in my life). In the meantime, I'm vexed by the pictures I saw yesterday of Ralph Lauren's designs for our Olympic athletes, who will march into the stadium on July 27th and do us all proud.

And though I am all for Ralph's classic aesthetic, I can't understand why he decided to make our young heroes and heroines look like flight attendants trapped in a bad Gatsby remake. It's been a few rough years for our nation and I for one find the Olympics to be inspiring, uplifting, and a great distraction. And as someone who follows fashion and pop culture like a junkie, how in hell could anyone think that today's young people should wear outfits like these? America may no longer be the bright, shiny thing it once was, but our heritage of being a pop culture leader and steward of all things cool should not be overlooked- instead our athletes are going to look like super dorks. We have so many amazing young designers on our shores ( Alexander Wang, Phillip Lim, Billy Reid to name a few)- why can't we celebrate our coolness and effortless style by outfitting our athletes in something a bit more modern and stylish and with some good old American swagger? Why are we squandering an opportunity to show the world our style?

My pick for the Olympic designer would be Billy Reid (looks pictured above)- his attention to traditional American looks retooled for a new generation would be so perfect- if you have to rock red, white, and blue- do it right. I can see women in simple shifts and belts showing off those beautiful athletic bodies and the men in something cool like seersucker or lightweight navy suits- or even better, jeans and a button down with a stylish tie. And like all things these days, the choice of looks and designers should have been given to all Americans to decide- would have been fun to vote for the best looks and then see them at the opening ceremonies. And though I'll be watching and most likely wincing through the procession, I so wish we could let our future champions look the part- and if you know anyone under the age of 60  or is not a sailor who wears white pants like these, please bring them to me. It just feels so out of step with who we are, and who we want to be.  You know who else would have rocked this? Jena Lyons and J. Crew- and then they could have sold the outfits in store. Would love to see what her quirky yet classic American aesthetic would yield

And that's what's up this make it cool kind of Wednesday in the 718. I really do wonder what Mr. Lauren was thinking. And what up with those berets- since when are they the mark of a champion?  I so wish we could look the part, and be cool about it. XO

Good day Monday...have not much to say today but just wanted to show you this dress by Atuzurra because it perfectly suits my wanderlust and need to rock my gypsy soul- I was late to the party this am and now have much catch up to do so ta ta for now...how amazing is this piece from his resort collection? I would wear this to all tomorrow's parties...cause that's what's up this sometimes you only have time for one dress kind of Monday in the 212. XO

Good morning, Friday.  I know I always do a five spot for ya on days such as these, but I was just laying in bed checking out all the coverage from the Paris couture shows and as I was going to post my five favorite looks, I found myself completely swept away by Raf Simon's first collection for Dior Haute Couture. Simon's last collection for JIl Sander nearly had me in tears, for its sublte beauty, nod to the midcentury, and endlessly beautiful wearability. Surrounded by flowers and fashion's creme de la creme, Simmons new post as head of Dior did not dissapoint, and left me breathless as I checked out all of the looks on style.com .

Having just visited the Met yesterday to check out the Prada/ Schiaparelli show at hte Costume Institute, I felt inspired to write a post about high fashion. The show was fantastic by the way- and I adored the contrast between Miuccia Prada's belief that calling fashion art is a bit off base, and that conversations on fashion should nod to the fact that fashion is indeed democratic- after all, we all wear clothes and many of us can relate to the notion of fashion- regardless of whether you're a Saudi Arabian princess with couture appetites and a wallet to match. Schiaparelli, however, was deeply entrenched in the other camp- that fashion is an art form- and her collaborations with the likes of Dali certainly proved her point- a hat made to look like a shoe is certainly an art moment any way you slice it, and not for the more fashionably democratic types who would never think of putting such a thing on one's head.

Which brings me to the couture collections, and Mr. Simons in particular- I'm not sure if you have ever seen the rather fabulous documentary on such matters, "The Secret World of Haute Couture", but it's well worth a watch to see how incredibly intricate and exclusive this world is. Does the very notion of haute couture seem out of step with our times? Yup, it sure does. It's hard to think about dresses that cost five or more digits when so many people are wondering how they are going to feed their families. But is it a lost art, a world of beautiful extravagance and crafstmanship that can hold its own indeed- after all- people buy paintings for millions of dollars, so perhaps that very audience expects the same from their wardrobe- an art form that is worth every penny, for those privileged few that can afford to support and keep employed the tailors, seamstresses, and design houses that still subscribe to the idea that couture, although insanely inaccesible, is an art form that can even be enjoyed by those that may never own a single piece.

I suppose that's where I fit in, and as I looked at photos of the collections I was wowed by the usual big dresses, beading, and hyper detailed silhouettes that are beyond beautiful. But Raf's collection- wow. And wow again. As I checked out each look (see album above for my favs) I realized that there were very few pieces I wouldn't put on my body if I could- what I adored about his collection was the wearability of the pieces- the unfussiness, the modern take on a very old fashioned tradition. I think Raf's genius is steeped in the fact that although most of us could never afford to wear these looks, we can admire them and see their importance and amazing Belgian restraint- they are accessible and sheerly modern and next generation and so very right now, and those big dresses at the end will well satisfy those couture types looking for something confectionary to wear to next season's parties. And yes, the thought that there are people in the world that can afford to pay upwards of  a down payment on a house for a suit seems insane (moreover to show that you can in such austere times), the artistry and genius of these pieces and their democratic extravagance are inspired perfection. (Very expensive) chapeaus off to Mr. Simons for making the couture something we all can appreciate- I myself am imagining a trunk case or ten filled iwth every piece from this collection, and in this admittedly dismal world we live in, what's wrong with dreaming a little?

And that's what's up this not fived F but Raf Simons deserves maj props kind of Friday in the 718. All the love. it's hot as hell outside so why not catch up on your fashion this weekend in air conditioned comfort? Oh, and dream a little- if not of dresses than whatever you fancy- perhaps a bike ride through Paris as captured by Tommy Ton, or an appreciation of those bits of magic that may be out of reach, but make you happy to be alive. XO

Good day, Wednesday and Happy Fourth to all my country folk. The title of this post is not meant to mislead- I am 100% Americano, baby. I love Guns N Roses, Southern rock, Jack and Coke, and the stars and stripes. I'm every bit the American girl, and though I have a healthy dose of New York cynicism, living somewhere like France where pessimism colors every day life (pourquoi? it's so gorgeous there) would mess with my mojo. I root for the home team, watch the World Series, pay my taxes, and support my President. I speak my mind, love a parade, and pledge allegiance. But here's what I don't do- I don't watch fireworks on the Fourth of July, at least not in person. In fact, I can count on one hand how many times I have done that, and most of the time it's been from up high and indoors where noise was not a factor.

And since we're in an age of full disclosure thanks to Wikileaks and ponzi schemes, I'm going to share why that is- since I was a very little girl I was absolutely terrified of fireworks, lchampagne popping, gun shots, and balloon pops. I am not afraid of thunder or loud music or city noise- but a car backfire. Forget it. I'm toast.

Perhaps something happened to me way back in the womb to cause this distress, but all I know is I can't be within several thousand feet of an explosion without my heart feeling like it is going to pop out of my chest. And when the rest of you are at picnics and bbqs and look forward to the evening of the Fourth of July, I am generally trying to talk myself off a ledge, since roman candles and M 80s and all of those things that go boom completely freak me out. And that's another reason I know New York City is the perfect place for me- despite the great food, witty and smart people and fabulous fashion, New York is one of the few places in our country where fireworks are completely illegal, and of this, I am most thankful. Pyrotechnics and me will never be pals.

Living in Miami was troubling for many reasons, but the Fourth of July and in fact any holiday worthy of celebration was full of seismic explosions that would shake my house. They sold them on the streets, they set them off on every corner, and I would put in ear plugs and pray for the best. And for this I somehow feel guilty- isn't it my duty as a patriotic American to watch fireworks- to love explosions of color and light and salute our troops and our history and our heritage? Not to mention that I'm from Philadelphia, the nation's birthplace and where all of this Fourth of July business first went down. Needless to say, I am not sure my poor parents ever had the pleasure of a good fireworks show, because they always had to take me to a double feature movie on the 4th and miss out on all the fun. There was a family around the corner from my childhood home that had quite the show each year, and would yell "fire in the hole" as they set about lighting up the skies with some of the loudest fireworks I have ever heard. This was more traumatic to me than getting braces or realizing that John Taylor would never be mine. I simply hated every minute of the 4th, and heaven forbid I was anywhere near that madness- year after year they set them off, and year after year I ran for cover.

So although today is a day to celebrate (it's also my dear sweet nephew's birthday) and rejoice in our red white and blueness, I myself salute the troops and my country and my love for American culture, but I'll be putting in ear plugs first. My reluctance to fully embrace July 4th comes not from a bad attitude or lack of respect, but because the rockets red glare and bombs bursting in air make me reach for the Xanax. And I suppose as an American, that's my right- the freedom to choose whether to watch the lit skies or not- so if you ever wonder why I decline an evening invite to a July 4th party, you'll know why. It has much to do with my reluctance to be around that booming which makes my heart jump and my stomach drop. It's just the way I am, and today I am grateful for being an American, reluctant as that gratitude may be. G-d Bless America, but keep it down, would you? Cause that's what's up this grand old flag of a Wednesday in the best city in the best country in the world.  I'll be watching the Macy's fireworks all right, but from the comfort of my own home with the a/c blasting to drown out the noise. Happy Fourth of July to everyone...be safe and enjoy- and come to my house if you love the holiday but hate the noise.  XO

Good morning, Monday. It's still hot as Hades outside but the humidity is on the wane, so it feels a touch more comfy outside and not nearly as schvitzy. This weekend was absolutely lovely- since I've only been back since December I find myself not wanting to flee the city like I used to on Summer weekends when I lived here years ago- I'm so enjoying the solitude of my neighborhood on balmy weekends and the ease of pace which envelopes all of New York City with its sultry and slow gait. Friday night was spent with two lovely female friends, drinking wine and having a laugh over how none of us could figure out the DVR. Saturday night had me catching up with one of my favorite people on Earth, my friend Eric who I have not seen forever and whose friendship is a real gift. We had a lovely meal in the West Village at Jeffrey's Grocery and then went on to a few spots for drinks until we could drink no more. It was a lovely night and the whole weekend made me realize that I feel grateful for being back home, surrounded by all the people and places I care about. Thank goodness and G-d and whoever else is responsible for this happiness.

In other news, as I sat around with my two girlfriends on Friday night, who are both beautiful, stylish, and successful and wicked smart, (oh and single) I realized that what women want from men is so very different than what men think we want. Or rather, I can speak for a certain class of females that, as my husband often says, are "chicks". Chicks are women who are urban, smart, funny, and can talk to you about every genre of music and are up for a road trip to Nashville and can use the bathroom in a dive bar. Chicks are girls who are not afraid to curse, can drink their keep, and are not in any way fussy, girly girls that play by the "Rules" (remember that book? Ewww) but don't play games. In short, chicks are cool and can take care of themselves and are not looking for you to save them- and really the only kind of women I can really hang out with. And as I sat with my two chick friends as we two bottles of rose in  fumbled with the remote to figure out how we could watch the season premiere of Louis CK's show on FX, it hit me- all of this time as men, who are post metrosexual and not the type to wear skinny jeans and a moustache, were looking for a poster child, and that poster child is Louis, who all three of us admitted we somehow find super attractive. (PS we also mentioned that the type of man who is super into house music and has DJ decks yet is not a DJ is not at all attractive, and you know exactly what I mean, and if you don't, you're pretty cheesy yourself...)

Now you all know Louis- he's not exactly Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp or one of the Hemsworths or Edward or Jacob or anything remotely like that when it comes to looks, but that matters not. And I've said it before and I'll say it again- a man that can make a woman laugh is by far the most appealing trait and cancels out many other flaws. And that's why I feel Louis is the new ideal for men- because he's a celebration of the every man who is hyper smart and hilarious but also average at the same time and makes no apologies for simply being himself.  For instance, if Louis was a banker, would he be as endearing? If he suddenly lost a ton of weight would we still love him? I somehow doubt it. And I must admit that when Louis first came onto the scene with his HBO show, I absolutely hated him. His character was vile and loathsome and in no way likable- but cut to now, because this time around, he got it right- and his reluctance to be a grown up while still being a great dad resonates with all of us- relationships are hard, career growth is hard, and getting older and chubbier is pretty tough too. But wow, do we all love him. Men love him because he's funny and real and women love him for the same reasons. 

And I'm amazed at how widespread his appeal is- from selling tickets to his sold out stand up performances on his website to cut out inflated prices to talking about taboo topics in a way that is not offensive, I just love Louis- our new American hero and somehow sex symbol to all of us "chicks".  He's the man for all of us that hated the last decade of  crisp button down shirts and hair products and eye creams. Give me a real man any time, friends, and I know I'm not alone in that opinion- I've got a dear friend who is also gorgeous and single and successful that is in her mid 30s (like my other two pals) and claims she is unable to find a man in New York who does not wear smaller jeans than hers, let alone know how to fix a sink. Perhaps we're all tired of that hipster thing and looking for someone a bit more real?  There's a load of cool girls out there that will listen to "Exile on Main Street" with you and drink a beer or hang out with you and just laugh, even if you have never done P90X or have a square jaw. Just be cool and normal and not a douche and realize the lunacy of this thing called life and you're all set. So on this Fourth of July week, let's celebrate the good old American man, cause there ain't nothing like the real thing. Oh and one more tip for you- we'll love you forever if you remember to take out the trash- maybe we can take care of ourselves but trash should not be our domain- it belongs to men and men alone, and it's almost as sexy as making us laugh (or we want you to think so so you'll just do it).

And that's what's up this funny is sexy please take out the garbage chicks are cool kind of Monday in the 212. XO

Good morning, Friday. My dear sweet Khan decided he had to get up at 5 am and go take care of business in a lightning storm. Yup, that was fun. Needless to say, I've been up for a bit now so decided to be productive and hook you up with your weekly five spot, and here it is because if I don't write this now I'm going to fall back asleep- so here goes:

CHRISTIAN LACROIX NOTEBOOKS- One of the benefits of doing a freelance gig in Soho is the opportunity to stroll around in the very lovely Kate's Paperie- always a treat for those of us who are sartorial about our paper needs- with everything from greeting cards to lovely wrapping paper to stationary. I have always loved treating myself to a notebook from here- and this Lacroix number is feminine, beautiful, and feels indulgent at $20 for a notebook, but its ability to make me smile  and admire it every time I look at it makes it worth every penny. Plus, it's Lacroix sweetie. LACROIX.

http://www.katespaperie.com/store/category/her/item/0011778/christian_lacroix...

PHILLIP LIM LARK MESSENGER - You know me, always on the lookout for the NBB (next big bag). Phillip Lim had me at the 31 Hour Bag, but this new Lark jobber is completely fabulous beyond belief and perfect for walking in the city- not sure you can stuff it with a myriad of goods like a computer and such unless you have a Macbook Air- but man- it's so pretty for Fall- it's a classic shape and feel like this is a forever bag, that needs a forever home. Like, my home, for instance.

http://www.saksfifthavenue.com/main/ProductDetail.jsp?PRODUCT%3C%3Eprd_id=845...

EXPRESS EXTREME STRETCH JEAN IN SKYSCRAPER- Yea, I said it. Jeans from Express. I know how most of you are out there- snobby when it comes to jeans with your J Brands and such. But for me, buying jeans is akin to getting a double root canal, so when I find a pair that fits, I care not who makes them. On my way to the office the other day Express happened to be open and since I was a bit early, I popped in because I coudl. Express is a store I have long since forgotten about- to me it was a go to when I was younger but then its star fell in the shadow of cooler options like H&M and Zara, and somehow Express reached cheesy Bebe status. But wow- these jeans restored my faith. I am loving the Extreme Stretch line- which comes in everything from a legging type jean to boot cut to my favorite, the skyscraper- which is a skinny leg with a slight flare at the end. I am a huge fan of stretch in jeans as I find most jeans super uncomfortable- these move with you, are comfortable in the waist, and are chic as could be and at under $100, you really can't go wrong. Check them out- I'm a fan. I'm bummed you can't see the cool grey ones I got (loving grey denim these days)- they're not on the website but are in store- oh and these look better in person so go to the store:

http://www.express.com/stella-extreme-stretch-skyscraper-jean-46265-991/index...

POPPY LIPSTICK IN MEDIEVAL- This is the color I have been waiting to find for years. I'm not a big fan of vibrant lips on me- it just looks funny and since I am prone to go heavy on my eyes, I tend to keep the lip a bit more neutral. I came across this sheer little tube of wonder in Bloomingdale's and think it may be the best color I have ever used- it's literally that bee stung natural lip that you've been looking for and is sheer enough to work with whatever lip color you've got- think those lovely little bee stung, rosebud lips you see in Renaissance paintings. It's a must for those of you out there who just need a little somethin' on the lip but not too much. Divine. Oh and a bit of history- this lipstick is supposed to replicate the ideal in medieval times of a touch of color on the lips, achieved by using lemons to get the lip to pop a bit- as opposed to all over color which was considered sinful- so not only are you buying a lipstick, but you're also getting a history lesson. You're welcome.

http://us.spacenk.com/Medieval/MUK200003404,en_US,pd.html?start=1&q=lipst...

DRIED MANGO DEAN AND DELUCA- If youv'e been reading lately, you know I have a big thing for Dean and Deluca and it's bounty of deliciousness. Lately I've been noticing a big mango trend going down- mangos seem to be everywhere- on street corners in New York you'll see women cutting fresh mango and selling it to the masses. Never one to turn away from a trend, I was a big fan of Trader Joe's dried mango offering, until I tried D&D's version and oh. wow. Think great textured mix between hard and soft, lovely large pieces of dried mango goodness, and the right sweetness for those late afternoon slumps. I love love love this stuff. You must try it. There are no pics of it so you will have to trust me. This is close to the look of it, and dried mango is just about the perfect beach snack for the 4th- enjoy.

So that's all I've got this morning for you...I hope wherever you are this weekend you have a great one- my in laws are coming to town and I'm looking forward to some good old New York fun...cause that's what's up this fivey Friday in the 212. Going to be hot in the citay this weekend so hope you are all keepin' it cool. XO

Good morning, Wednesday. I was so sad to read the news about Nora Ephron's passing last night, and indeed it was a shock, since I had absolutely no idea she was sick, and what's weird is because we all felt like we knew her from her open and warm writing style, I found myself saying- "oh isn't that just like Nora? To keep an illness private and not tell anyone until it was too late?".  Sigh. We lost an amazing talent on this here planet yesterday- Nora's writing style was an endless source of inspiration for me and I'm sure millions of other women- she "got it" like so few and although she lived a posh life, she somehow managed to talk to us all, and that's what I loved about her.

The thing about Nora for me is that although I was not a huge fan of some of her films (When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, You've Got Mail), you can't deny that what she did for women in the film industry, particularly behind the camera and of course Meg Ryan, was absolutely transcendent. It's hard to think of these movies now and not find them a bit cheesy, but maybe it's because their rom com status is so iconic in the genre that it's hard to see them for what they were- sappy, sure, but altogether smart- for a new generation of women that could be vulnerable, strong, sexy, and hilarious all at once. Remember that Meg's loopy goofiness came long before Carrie Bradshaw, and suddenly we had a new "every woman" who fake orgasmed in public and fell in love with a very non leading manish type like Billy Crystal, because his character was the type that women actually do end up with- someone who makes them laugh and "gets" them more than any Brad Pitt type would. Plus, Nora was married to Carl Bernstein and claimed to be one of the few people who knew the identity of "Deep Throat". How cool is that?

But what I absolutely loved about Nora were her books of essays, one of them having one of the greatest titles of any book written by a woman- "Wallflower at the Orgy", a book of essays Nora penned back when she was a journalist. Funny as hell, urbane, and altogether smart, Nora's take on womanhood was beyond brilliant- I have always loved a woman who can laugh at herself and her shortcomings instead of trying to hide behind them. My favorite book of hers is "I Feel Bad about My Neck",  her last book and one that struck a chord with me as I approach an age where I too, may soon feel bad about my very own neck and I pray I can laugh about it. Many people who have read Ephron's books critiqued them as dated and too "mature", but I completely disagree- what I loved about Nora is that she didn't pretend to be hip or cool or any of those things- she just wrote about the people, places, and life she knew, and it was a life I found endlessly entertaining. Perhaps it was her early years as a journalist that gave her such an amazing ability to observe, see, and report on life in such an accurate and sarcastic way. 

And speaking of sarcasm, Nora was 100% New York born and raised- and her humor and rapier wit and love of black turtlenecks made her the prototypical New York woman. When I read her books, I often pictured her strolling around uptown (naturally), picking up provisions at Zabar's for a fabulous dinner party she'd be having with even more fabulous and witty New York quests. I think I always wanted a seat at that table. She is somebody I very much admired as a woman- her genius was in her accessibility and relatability and understanding of womanhood as a crazy, hormone filled ride full of love, laughs, and sometimes disappointment, which often ached to be made fun of and poked full of holes. We women folk need to do that more often, but now, who's to guide us through it? 

Rest in peace, Nora, but knowing you, you'll probably have way too much to say up above to do so. The world will miss your very real take on what it's like to be a human and a woman and a New Yorker, and now you no longer need to feel bad about your neck. Thanks for all you gave us.  And that's what's up this sleepless in Brooklyn kind of Wednesday in Cobble Hill. XO

Good afternoon, Monday. I have to say this is my first Monday back at home in a while, and instead of vegging out like I wanted to, I ended up doing a ton of work around the casa- including a full scale closet invasion and clean out. As many of you know, I have more clothes than I should, and although my home style is a bit minimalist, my clothes hoarding is anything but. I have a really hard time getting rid of stuff- I'm attached to my clothing like crazy but comes a time when you can no longer see what you've got that stuff just needs to go.

There are all those Calypso dresses that I collected like baseball cards, the sea of tricky vintage pieces that are not terribly valuable but somehow very cool, and a hot mess of skirts and dresses that I will never, ever wear again, no matter how thin I get, how fat I get, or anything in between. It's funny how my style has once again evolved since being back in New York- my tendency to wear dresses is slowly going the way of the Hammer pant as so least summer. Suddenly, I'm drawn to simple tanks by Alexander Wang and James Perse and lightweight jeans or leggings, with some sort of cool sneaker or flat. With these pieces, I've been wearing a few layered necklaces or a simple strand of pearls, just to keep it all from getting too toughskins and not cute. For some reason, I'm feeling ridiculously low key this summer, like I want to blend in and simply be dressed for anything- looking a bit rock and roll, cool, and entirely comfortable. Thus the tricky vintage dresses and cheery and bright dresses were not quite cuttin' it.  They represent Miami for me and 7 years of being too hot to wear pants. Sure it's hot here in the city, but that's besides the point. We all know New York is the most fashionable city in the country, but it's casual here, subtle, and not at all over the top when it comes to being chic. Especially when you live in Brooklyn.

So armed with three large duffels full of clothes, I checked in to my local Buffalo Exchange to see what I could get a small amount of money for, with hopes of donating the rest. I was not in this to make money, mind you, but since I've never done the Buff before, I thought I would give it a shot. The deal is they give you about 30% of what they plan to sell your stuff for, or you can get a percentage as a "credit" on trade so that you can buy some stuff at the store. (Yea, I know). Give away stuff to only get more stuff. Oy. So as the cool young girl looked through my years of clothing, I felt strangely vulnerable, naked, and defensive. I found myself telling her how cool that cropped linen babydoll dress from H&M was, or how that Halston Heritage purple Indian gold flecked dress was unbelievable and never worn (my boobs didn't fit in it, and I never got around to returning it to GIlt. Damn side zips. Enemy of chesty girls everywhere). Here was this young chick going through my clothes, and I must admit, she did so with kid gloves, because somehow she sensed my monkey nerves as I parted with many of my treasures. 

As she told me she was overloaded on dresses and tallied up what she wanted to take for the store, she shoved another pile in front of me and begged me to take them home and bring them back in the Fall when they'd be looking for more items like these. The store simply didn't have room for them, but she wanted them. Thinking about it, I realized that although I loved the idea of holding stuff for some young buyer at a cool store in Brooklyn, I too had no room for these pieces anymore, and decided that donating them was the only way to go so that someone else could enjoy them who was not worried about their seasonal appeal. My young friend understood and reluctantly put the pile in the donation bin, but decided to keep an Ann Taylor black and white bias cut long sleeved dress for herself.

$93 and about an hour later, I walked out of there, feeling free and light and a little bit more liquid. I'm trying hard to detach myself from the things I feel I need all the time- more clothes, more shoes, more stuff. This is not going to happen overnight, but as I slaved away in my closet this morning wondering how all this stuff got there, I noted that all of these pieces most likely add up to a nice chunk of change- and thoughts of owning some property upstate or having enough money to start a clothing line or write a book would be better than having to clean this stuff out twice a year. Baby steps, I say. Baby steps. And now, I have to leave you because I'm going to deposit my earnings at the bank. Every little bit helps, right? Getting rid of stuff can be really emotional and a pain in the ass, but somehow I know it's worth it. And that's what's up this purge of a Monday in the 212.  It's about to start raining and I'm happy to report because of operation closet purge, I'm more than able to find my raincoat. XO