the world according to sherimaven

Good afternoon, Friday. Welp I went back to work today and it's busy, busy in that September way that many of you in advertising know all about. Being busy is never bad, and what's even better is not feeling like a wrung out q tip. I'm alive, I'm not feverish, and being able to work after feeling so terrible just a few short days ago is pretty miraculous. I'm happy to be back.

Hiya, Wednesday. As some of you know, I got pretty sick after I landed back here in NY. Some sort of travelers virus but I have been bed ridden and tired and just broke a very high fever...it was scary but suppose it's the price one pays for having so much fun. I hear there was an earthquake in Tokyo about two days after we left, so if the big guy had me miss that, surely this scourge won't kill me? Oh, well. Hope you're all feeling lovely and to my Jewish friends, Happy and Healthy New Year. Here's some more thoughts on my new favorite city:

It’s very rare in life that you get to actually take a journey, and not just a trip. Yea, your college philosophy textbook would beg to differ- that all of life is a journey and that every day is a step on that path. I’m not disagreeing, but most days I feel like more of a commuter than a journeywoman. I shuttle from place to place, task to task, and all the connected points along the way.

And I’ve been many places, and on many trips. But this week was so much more than that- it was a journey to a place I could never imagine, even in my dreams. If you’ve been to Tokyo, you’ll know exactly what I mean. It is a city of great balance and symmetry, but its many neighborhoods recall so many places in my mind- I’ve never been to a city that feels like so many places but is all its own at the same time- Dakanyama,  a beautiful neighborhood with upscale and amazing shopping felt to me like Venice or Santa Monica- it was a mixture of wood, glass, and windy streets that had the laid back chic of LA. Then lovely Nakameguro, a magic jewel box of a district whose twilight beauty touched me with its dusky realness. There’s beautiful shopping (all of Tokyo is a serious consumer paradise), great cafes, and a vibe not unlike Amsterdam- its built on a canal and I couldn’t help recall some amazing times on the Prinsengracht many lifetimes ago. The Aayoma district, with its Herzog and de Meuron designed Prada stores (a chic multilevel spaceship with fluffy pink carpet) is like a treasure box for luxury goods- with a quiet elegance that makes you forget you may be spending next month's mortgage payment on your purchase.

And then there’s parts of Tokyo like the famous Shibuya that feels much like New York- its neon lights, enormous streets, and dense crowds are not unlike Times Square. And then there’s other moments in the city, when you’re walking through it and continually having your mind blown, that there’s whiffs of Paris or London. Yet some things feel so uniquely Tokyo- like the incredible alleyway full of bars with 5 seats or less with themes like the Cremaster Cycle. You have to walk through the red light district to get there- full of shady characters (weird dudes with long lady hair)  but once you find this little pocket of greatness you feel so very at home, and that the local essence here is way better than anywhere else.  I can’t recall being in any city ever that has so much going for it all at once. In many ways, it’s perfection. 

And after spending a week there and falling under the spell of Tokyo’s delicate lushness, I realized something about Japanese culture I’m not sure I would have stumbled upon had I not been blessed with the opportunity to visit their country. Everything, and I do mean everything, is about balance, and a deep rooted protocol that keeps everybody honest. As an American, it may seem strange that there are rules for just about everything there- from the way you hand a credit card to the cashier when buying your incense to the way you eat your ramen to the decibel of your voice (Hushed. My favorite part). As you spend time there, you begin to come to the conclusion that all of these things are necessary to keep order, peace, and a respect for your fellow human being. 

When you see someone with a mask over their face, it’s not because they’re worried about pollution. It’s because they may have a cold, and don’t want to infect the general population.  (One must have slipped away with me, no doubt a fellow Westerner) When someone bows to you, it’s not about being formal. It’s about showing your respect for others. In America, we know nothing of this respect. In New York in particular, I often feel like the chaos and noise is simply deafening. Many times, I find myself, as I turn my key in the door to come home, exhaling for the first time in many hours. I found Tokyo to be bustling, but the sound of silence was one of the most beautiful things I have ever (not) heard, or not heard for that matter. In America, we consider ourselves rebels, and rule breakers. In Japan, there’s 40 year old women walking around clutching blink-eyed babydolls and wearing knee socks, but their manners are impeccable. I think the Japanese are a highly evolved lot- they know that if one person starts paying for things the wrong way or honking horns or talking too loudly, the price society pays is a steep one. If one person screws it up, the balance begins to unravel, and chaos sets in. Oh, hi New York.

I often feel as Americans we are steeped in a rebelliousness that I have always related to, but if everyone is doing things their “own” way and not following any rules at all to help their fellow man and woman find their way, then what good is it?

I guess what I’m saying is traveling 13 hours on a plane may seem like an insane idea, but wow it’s worth it. Every day I woke up with so much gratitude- leaving the western world for a few days is just good for the soul- I’ll never forget the city that rocked my world by getting the balance right, and making my trip there a journey with many valuable lessons.  And though I hope to shake this illness stat, I’m not going to shake Tokyo any time soon.  Maybe that's why I got sick- coming back to our unbalanced country just threw me right off. What a lovely journey and magic place. Cause that’s what’s up this (hopefully) on the mend kind of Wednesday in the 212. Next few posts will also be Tokyo tinged- from wanting to move into the Park Hyatt to the genius and joy of drinking highballs and why shabu shabu is fairly overrated, at best. XO

Good day, world. I just woke up here on the other end of the universe and am ready for another fantastic day. 

As many of you know, I like to buy a thing or two when the work is done (even when the work is happening) and I am free to scout a city for some choice retail opps. As many of you also know, Japan is a place filled with a petitaphilia that can feel a little jarring to a more than bite sized human. Especially when you are looking for a gift for husbands and every elegant button down, every cool new silhouette, every handcrafted sock is made for much smaller men. Let's not even get started on myself. I'm not sure they've ever seen a woman with as much going on up front as I have, but needless to say, the whispered silhouettes and aforementioned elegance are probably not going to work. There's also this small thing of language barrier that has me wondering what they're saying as I pick up this or that. It's clear they're just trying to show me something, but they have a bit of an odd way of doing so. There is a pervasive submissiveness here- and I don't mean that in a disrespectful way. It's just that when you pick up an item like a handbag, what is probably happening is the sales girl is telling you to open it up and explore its features, but what's intriguing is she won't show it to you herself. K.

But small sizes and submissive sales techniques aside, you'll be happy to know there's a big winner in these proceedings, and that's my Khan man. At 10 pounds and with neither breasts nor expansive height, he will now enjoy a stellar new wardrobe, thanks to a hyper brand of dog mania that sweeps this town. I bought him a kimono (I know), some sort of Samurai sweatshirt, a watch plaid nylon raincoat, and a striped Saint James type of sweater/sweatshirt onesie in red and blue that is just so I can't handle it right now. (I'm sorry, David. I truly am. I won't expect you to ever walk him in any of the above). But as I figure out how to make some version of the insanely delicate and gorgeous food here, Khan's going to need an outfit when we invite friends over for cold udon or miso ramen or tofu done a million ways, all great. It is unfortunate that he's the only family member that benefits from the smaller lens you must use to navigate Japanese style. And by smaller,  I mean only in size not scope. 

I was treated to an awesome tour yesterday of two neighborhoods that reminded me of Brentwood and Amsterdam all at once. Daikanyama is about a 15 minute lovely walk from my hotel in Shibuya and feels in style (wood, glass, modern) like Southern California but is loaded with stylish shops with chic French designers.  It's also home to NY's Saturdays surf shop- a super trendy thing here is that American sensibility dappled in optimism- more on that later.Naturally every store is lovely and filled with Kitsune tee shirts, midcentury furniture, and elegant dresses in my favorite neutral colors. It really is a great area- if you are ever here you will instantly fall in love with its upscale shopping but also its laid back vibe.

Next came Nakameguro, whose canal location instantly took me back to Amsterdam and warm nights of mischief on the Prinsengracht. Nakameguro is a beautiful sakura lined area (pics above- ps its not cherry blossom time but found these photos to provide the best of context) which also coincidentally had more small pups walking around than I've seen my whole time here. There were little fluffy guys all over the place, once again, a great town for a wee one like Khan to pop around and see the sights. But back to the shopping- this area has loads of little boutiques with independent designers- I saw beautiful cashmere coats with built in scarves, mens shirts made of a fabric that were somehow both thin and crisp at the same time, and oodles of amazing canvas totes and simple flat heeled boots that could take you just about anywhere. This area feels a lot like Europe to me, and I found it impossible not to go straight to Fantasy land and imagine what it would be like to live in such a beautiful place. We hung out a bit at a bar that had a Hawaiian theme and drank ice cold Kirin, then met up with the rest of our peeps for dinner at a jewel box of a resto that had delicious cold tofu and some sort of fried rice mixed with lovely raw egg. After a good amount of excellent sake, we ended up in search of a nightcap and came to a spot called The Thunderbird, a bar upstairs from a 7-11 (they are everywhere in Tokyo) that you'd miss if not for the lovely server at our resto didn't tell us about it. She also chased me for a block because I forgot my phone on the table. This really is a lovely country...oh and the light in this area in the evening is just transcendent- the stores and shops and restaurants are all somehow back lit from the street- making them whisper instead of shout. If you want shouting, there's plenty of neon to be found in Japan, but this neighborhood is more for us shhhhhhh types.

But back to the Thunderbird. One thing you must get used to if you are a gaijin from America is the fact that although smoking outside is restricted, smoking indoors at bars is very much encouraged. As we walked into this one, the smoke was thick but the vibe was so good. Think awesome rock and roll bar with Japanese people dressed sort of East Village but without the annoying hipster thing. There's a big thing happening here where men are rocking long hair and looks suited for being in a band. I love it.  The find of a rock and roll bar in Tokyo is not lost on me, and though the smoke got in our eyes (in a bad way) and all of us squinted and shimmied our way over to the exit (there's about half an inch of room to move in most cool bars in Japan- bulls in china shop types be warned), I had a feeling I could most likely never emulate that amount of coolness ever again. But what I love more than anything is that even though the news of the world is beyond disturbing (terrifying really), we do, as a country still have something very special, and you see it when you come to places like this. Our pop culture is still our premium export. Almost every cool spot I've been to in Japan has been playing a combination of Motown, American rock and roll, or 50s era Kerouac channeling jazz.  As I stood in smoky bars, very conscious of my otherness and outsider status, I somehow felt comfortable because there's a respect for where I come from, and it's the same stuff I respect about where I come from. The young Japanese are obsessed by American sportswear (for the boys) and are having a full on frontier moment. It's striking to me that even though we all know that very same moment is so very Brooklyn laced, it's more telling about our currency as Americans- trading in memories of a time when the road was wide open, the beer was cheap, and the possibilities endless. I'm going with that vibe for a while- and I feel grateful to Tokyo for reminding me how cool we can be as a country. But for now, I'm still fantasizing about living here. I suppose I'll have to bring a lot of clothes- because even though the clothes won't fit, the lifestyle seems just about right.

Cause that's what's up this I may not fit in the clothes but I love the style kind of Thursday in Tokyo. At least Khan fits into the couture here, that lucky bastard.  Feeling very blessed to enjoy all of this and share it with all of you. Respect. XO

Good day to you. It's the morning here in Tokyo and the dizziness is setting in. I've been here since Sunday and I'm weary. Besides feeling like I could fall asleep standing up, I'm in love with this city. From bygone seven seat bars that play Chet Baker in dusty and silent alleyways that  to the incredible shopping (split toe Margiela boots on my mind)  to the weird girls with crazy contact lenses, this city has its own way and I can see a time when it could very easily become my way. 

I adore the grace of being a human here- from a small bow to a sense that everything is done the way it is done so as not to disturb the order, I'm down. And though many may find the endless rules and customs confining, I find them extraordinary. Everything here is done with respect and a sort of quiet compassion. I like that the decibel of conversation never reaches garish proportion, that the food is prepared with beauty and care, and that the subcultures here of Harajuku girls and bars where you can pet cats and the quiet din of traffic that never feels overwhelming is every day life here. There's a beauty and elegance that pervades at all turns, and though I am most likely going to start speaking in tongues and succumb to the cruel bitch of jet lag, I'm humbled by this experience and the magic powers of this expansive urban fantastic. Of the old, the new, and something other that is as balanced as the Meiji Shrine- a perfect and delicate mix of life, as it should be lived.

Feeling very lucky to be here and looking forward to more rounds of ice cold delicious beer,  well ordered chaos, and seeing things in a very different way. I'll catch ya later- from Tokyo, with love. XO

Good morning, darlings. I'm in Tokyo and excited to begin my adventure but wanted to share something I wrote last night on the plane as I struggled with a wakefulness that would not leave me...enjoy.

When I was a little girl, my father worked for a life insurance company called Colonial Life and Accident. As far as my deal goes, there’s nothing terribly significant about that in itself- but what was life changing for me were the white tablets they used to make with their logo on it. Plain, pure white notepads- pages stuck together by adhesive at top- and those notepads were the canvas for my dreams.

From before I can really remember living, I was drawing. I sketched pictures of everything, mostly figurative things. I drew Betty and Veronica from Archie comics (a love of mine), and then more importantly, I drew pictures from my mother’s fashion magazines. I drew from Vogue, I sketched from Bazaar, I admired all of those beautiful images as I sat with one leg tucked on the blue carpeted stairs on the landing of my living room. But no magazine was more significant to my artist beginnings than WWD-  which was crammed with photos of society women. I drew those women and imagined them at all sorts of event- parties, safaris, trips to town, trips to the country.  Even though I was barely old enough to make sense of these things, I was so very inspired by these glamorous women with expensive haircuts and gorgeous clothes. Is it normal for a 6 year old to understand that Geoffrey Beene was a fabulous tailor or think about how fabulous Talitha Getty looked in that caftan? Some of  you still don’t know what either of those things has to do with anything. It’s ok, cause I do.

And as I fly to Tokyo and just this second finished watching “Scatter my Ashes at Bergdorf Goodman”, surrounded by my September issues, I had a bit of a fashion epiphany. It’s not that I drew those ladies because I wanted to be them, it’s because I wanted to dress them. I wanted to make magic for them. I wanted to cater to them and help them and inspire them. All I wanted when I was a girl was to be a fashion illustrator/designer- making things that would make women the envy of everyone and give them the perfect pieces for their fabulous lives.

Watching this outstanding film about this storied retail heaven in Manhattan, I couldn’t help but get choked up. From the incredible gentleman who does the windows to the eccentric personal shopper who lives on her own (chic) planet to the countless designers whose dreams were made by Linda Fargo saying “yes” to their dress, the incredible passion these people have for their career and for style is just transcendent. It’s hard in this day and age to not feel in some way that a store like Bergdorf’s is out of step, that as the world struggles to feed itself and so many are going through the worst of times, there’s no place for an expensive designer dress.  But guess what? I don’t shop at Bergdorf’s. Never have. Can’t afford any of that stuff but what I can afford is to watch those incredibly gifted people preserve creativity, artistry, taste- all of those things that spoke to me as a little girl in Philadelphia. As I watched this film, I realized the people I admired in fashion were not just those who wore it well, but those who made it well, from top to bottom. These are the people that yearned to break out of their boring lives in boring towns where nobody really got them and strived to go big. Yea, many in fashion have built in pedigrees, but many do not. It’s not an easy road being that creative and self expressive, but so glad there are still people in the world that lead the way and continue to do what they do despite all of the challenges.

I suppose in some small way (or big) why I ended up as a producer for a living. I like to make stuff. I like to be creative. I like others to enjoy something I have contributed to or stayed up all night helping put together. But as I watched these fashion types talk about BG in that reverential way, I’m wondering- what’s my Bergdorf Goodman? Where would I want my ashes scattered? What feeling in the world is equal to that fabulous shoe floor, where women come to spoil themselves day after day after year after year?  Where could I be (all of these questions are for you, too by the way)that I won’t get tired of the pressure, the rush to top the year before when it comes to putting on a show like above (those windows with their paper sculptures, elaborate themes, and elegant genius), the ability to recognize true talent and then bring it to the world to see? I realize that my love of fashion is not just about buying expensive shoes or handbags- it’s the making of the stuff that really gets me excited, that makes my heart race- when I watch a runway show it’s the staging of the show, the energy, the beautiful clothes that get me- not necessarily the fact that I have to wear them.   I think most of us will find our lives searching for our Bergdorf- our place that never disappoints or fails to challenge us to make something better, more beautiful, or more filled with blood, sweat, and above all, love.

And in one of my favorite lines from the movie, Linda Fargo says that the way they judge whether or not a collection can make in it BG is the following- when looking at a would be designer’s outfit and thinking of potential customers, you have to think “where is she going in that?” I think it’s a valid question- not just when it comes to clothes, but to life. Where are any of us going in that, when “that” is life? It begs the question…I’ve always adored helping people get dressed- it’s validating to me that people would want me to help them express themselves, so I can only imagine how it feels to put people in those fantastic clothes. It’s one of the few things I’m not cynical about in fact- regardless of how tired or jaded or exhausted I am, there’s something insanely energizing about fashion. It just gets me. It makes a girl (well, this girl anyway) feel good, and it's something I have always been able to share with my mother- through the years we have disagreed on many things but very much enjoy reading the September issue (of which she calls The Bible) together and looking at all the new clothes. Her mother had a clothing store in her own right and was one of the chicest women around, so I suppose it's just in my plasma.

So if you’re still reading this and wondering how I ended up not being a designer or illustrator or something creatively linked to my first love, fashion, the answer is: I have no idea. All I know is that somewhere when I was in my teenage years, I decided I would never be as good as my idols, could never dress those beautiful women of WWD, and would never sell my duds on the floor of Bergdorf Goodman (long before Wayne’s World, that persistent mantra of I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy just would not leave my brain). Somehow that dream slipped away, but perhaps now is the time for me, (and maybe you if you’re vibing on this) to ask myself- where are you going in that? It’s never too late to create and outdo and inspire. I feel blessed to be on this plane to Japan and make some amazing photos with one of my favorite teams- that’ll do for now but wow wouldn’t it be nice to live a life that way looking at a holiday window on a chilly afternoon at Bergdorf’s feels?  People come from every walk of life to see those windows- and there's no way they won't change your focus for at least a few moments. Because regardless of what the outside world is throwing down, peering within these hallowed scenes is full of promise, genius, fantasy, and true artistry. 

It’s never too late. And that’s what’s up this bless those who make stuff kind of Saturday over the friendly skies. I’ve got work to do, and I’m out.  Oh, and ps. Barbra Streisand, walking into Bergdorf singing  in that full length leopard maxi coat only to reveal that leather dress underneath only to throw on that insanely fabulous gold medallion of a necklace? Gets me every time.  Because even though things did not go according to plan, I can always count on great style to make me smile from ear to ear. Beyond.  Oh, and yea, fashion can be a superficial, trite, and evil business full of scary people giving you the stink eye. I prefer to think of it the way it’s portrayed at Bergdorf Goodman- full of wonder, excitement, and dreams. And for those of us who can’t afford to even think about that store, I guess we’ll have to make our own dreams, won’t we?  Now  why are you still here? Go find your Bergdorf's. I'm going to look for mine too, right here in Japan. XO

PS- since sleeping on planes not really an option for me, I watched "Funny Face" after the Bergdorf movie. What a fashion classic...between the two films and all of those September issues, I'm glad my insomnia felt so very chic.

Good afternoon, Wednesday. A girl in my line of work is a lucky one- all day I get to look at pretty pictures, here's one right now that came in a promo pack (or a variation thereof) by Scott Lowden, who also happens to be a really nice guy I met many years ago at a portfolio review in Atlanta. I was feeling stressed about all sorts of crazy and then paused to look at this. How chic and pretty, right? Gave me pause, and made me remember that looking at pictures always makes me feel better, so its a good thing I get to do that a heap of a lot. Just need to get on the plane and go already. But for now, I'm loving this image and wish I was wearing this and enjoying an nice little feathery pink/leopard spotted twirl as well.

Cause that's what's up this snapshot of a Thursday in the 212. XO

Good morning, Tuesday.  I'm not even thinking of the intense packing situation I'm facing, because I'm too caught up in some thoughts swirling in my frontal lobe this morning. Is it me or is womankind under an intense microscope these days? (I feel so exposed).

With so much talk of leaning in, opting out (and then back in), I can't help but feel we women are being scrutinized in ways we have never been before. There's so much to say about this of course- but top of mind to me are Kim Kardashian and Christine Quinn- admittedly two very different women in every way, but all eyeballs are on both of them.  As you all know, KK had a baby recently and has not left the house since. Sure this week one photo of her surfaced, hiding her body for all intents and purposes and looking very freaked out. Now Kim is not a poster child for women anywhere- I've made it quite clear how idiotic I find her. The fact that she is literally hiding because she is not the Jessica Rabbit she once was is sickening, and disturbing.  The message she is sending to other women is beyond disgusting- guess what, ladies? Most people get BIG when they are pregnant. Real big. And guess what else? After you have a kid, it's pretty tough for a lot of women to lose all the weight in less than two days. I'm not sure when this insane expectation was heaped upon women- that being skinnier than you were when you got pregnant is somehow the goal. Did we think about this when our mothers had babies? After women had babies back in the day, it's not that they didn't care about how hot they looked anymore- it was just that something superseded the need to wear size 26 J Brands- the need to be a MOM. The intense pressure women face to be "back to normal" after baby really bugs me. I know I have not had children, but I'm well aware that I may never again look the way I looked when I was 25, and I'm ok with that. I'm not giving up, I just realized that nature takes its course and I'm ok with it. Why isn't anybody else?

And then we have Christine Quinn, the fiery mayoral candidate for the city of New York. Before we go further I'm going to tell you straight- I'm not a fan of hers and really never have been- her agenda is not my agenda and her party line is not one I tow. But damn if I don't find it so interesting that what people are reacting to beyond her POV is her look, and her mannerisms. With her fake red hair, ill-fitting clothes, and sailor mouth, it's hard to take her seriously. Sure she's "salt of earth" and that's refreshing after years of a mayor who was rich beyond comprehension, but her every woman-ness is turning most of us off. So I wonder- are women under a different lens when it comes to politics and how we present ourselves? I mean- Chris Christie. The man kisses babies and shakes hands and is not exactly the picture of physical health. Yea, he's a big guy. But somehow, his size and brashness is somehow endearing, yet when a woman shows some saltiness, it's unappealing. I think that's why most of us love Hillary- she's tough, brilliant, fairly average looking, but somehow put together enough (and wicked smart enough) to convince us of her prowess. The whole notion of appeal is one that's endless fascinating. Take Lena Dunham on "Girls".

Last season, we endlessly debated on all of our social media whether or not it was possible that Hannah could score a hottie like Patrick Wilson, let alone sleep over at his posh townhouse in Brooklyn. I found the argument incensing. Yea, it's not every day that an awkwardly dressed hipster girl pulls a hot Ivy League doctor type, but who gives an ass? Have you ever watched "Louis"? He pulls the hottest girls around and he's not exactly Brad Pitt. But you know what's sexy about him? His wit. His wit makes him hot. So why is this not the same when it comes to women?

And with shows on TV telling us to wear this, not that, and "real" housewives clawing each other in the proverbial face to the delight of millions of viewers, it's really a strange moment for us women folk. Perhaps it's all of our successes and achievements that make us so closely watched as to whether we can lose the baby weight or whether or not we're capable of catching the big fish- albeit politically or romantically.  Who cares what you look like to drop your kids off at kindergarten? Isn't it enough that you get there at all despite all the meshugas we deal with on the regs?

And that's what's at the apex of all of this debate is, in my mind, a disturbing bottom line. It's women who are judging each other and are each other's harshest critics- we judge what each other look like, what handbag we carry, and whether we are managing to have it all. We judge mothering styles; we judge each other silently as we walk down the street. In fact, it's not men that are wondering if Lena Dunham is hot enough (my hubs recognizes her charm), it's other women that question how it's possible that a made up character can pull hotter men then they can in real life. So what's the answer to this chronic myopia when it comes to seeing who we really are and what we stand for, regardless of what we look like and how much we weigh? We need to stand together, ladies and get over all of this judgment. If you're cool, your man is going to love you no matter what, and if he dumps you because you've gained five pounds, um- WTF are you doing with him anyway? Oh, and if you had a harsh mother like I did who constantly picked you apart, you're probably just Jewish. Don't worry about it. In all seriousness, I remember my mother telling me how evil women were, and how my life would be chock full of arguments and cattiness if I chose to have them as friends. Now that I look back on that moment, I realize something now my pig tailed self could not have known. My mother had a tough time with women because it's very hard for her to not judge- I've listened to her pick apart her friends, be jealous of them, and notice when any of them gain an ounce. That's messed up. But that's why women were (and are) difficult for her to deal with, including her own daughters. My sister and I have been through enough in this life to know that harsh words and criticisms from other women is about as far from cool as you can get. Doesn't do much to boost one's confidence, does it?

I urge this next generation of women to not only be kind to themselves and their choices, but to each other. It seems like a tall order, but with all of our choices and options in life, let's get past the labeling and insanity and stand as one. I myself am guilty of such harshness, and I can't promise to ever approve of the actions of the Kardashians or the Real Housewives of Miami, but I'm hoping to help women realize they're fine whatever they choose, however they look, and whomever they choose to love.  Perhaps we could use some better role models, but I guarantee you men are not as hard on each other as we women are- and if we really want equality, we've got to stop judging and start supporting- regardless of who we are and what we do. After all, we're kicking major ass in every way- so isn't it time we stopped kicking each other's?

Cause that's what's up this proudly imperfect female kind of Tuesday in the 212. So let's start this chain right now and bring some confidence and good vibes into the world-  you're beautiful, and that's a fact. XO

Good morning, Monday.  Damn if I'm not a nervous wreck.

Last night found me super restless- I couldn't fall asleep because I couldn't quiet my mind. Much going on in life and the icing on the cake is a trip to Japan this coming Saturday- I'm super excited but also struggling to figure out how I'll fare on a plane for 13 hours. I'll be in Tokyo for a week and can't wait to get the lay of the land there- and of course, the packing anxiety begins. What on Earth does one pack for Japan? I'm hoping to not tip the scales and pack in a responsible way, but man. What on Earth should I wear there? Feel free to offer up suggestions. I doubt I'll be rocking anything remotely Harajuku, though I'm contemplating a pink wig- if it's good enough for Scar Jo and Sofia... 

I know I've been remiss on this blog of late- I feel like I'm neglecting it but I have been so busy and buzzy it's been hard to focus. Lost in Translation? Perhaps. Let's hope I don't get lost in Tokyo. I'm a relatively good traveler but feeling ill prepared for such an excursion. I need to get on the stick. I can only hope to be a fourth as cool as the duo above.

Cause that's what's up this trying to be a world traveler but really just want to go back to bed kind of Monday in the 212. Ohayou gozaimasu. XO

Good afternoon, all. Two posts today. I KNOW. 

But I totally forgot about something- it's the tenth anniversary of the New York blackout, and man do I remember that.

I was working at a Broadway ad agency and up on the 36th floor of 1515 Broadway (the MTV building on Times Square) when the lights went the fuck OUT. After 9/11, we were all a little itchy in New York- needless to say, the lights going out and Times Square going dark, albeit in the afternoon, was a real moment of panic for all of us. Once we found out (and it was quick) that terrorism was not at play, we started cursing the energy grid and hoofed it down 36 flights, which is way better than hoofing UP 36 flights I suppose.

Down I went to Times Square and walked all the way home to Soho. In typical New York fashion, people were cracking jokes, helping each other, and getting through it. I remember David telling me he walked all the way down to Soho from his midtown office next to Phillip Seymour Hoffman. It was a super hot day too- and as I crossed Houston Street and was close to home, I have a wonderful memory of Le Pescadou, which used to be on Sixth Avenue and was a fabulous local hangout, giving out free cocktails because what else would you do in a blackout when everything would otherwise go bad and all of that ice would melt? Genius. I remember having a few Spalding Grays (the house drink) and enjoying the buzzy camaraderie of my fellow Manhattanites. Many came in for a cold beer after walking blocks from work. It was a great neighborhood moment- and though Soho is more designer theme park than artist enclave now, it's still very much a neighborhood and I feel lucky to have lived there until we left for Miami. So many fond memories there. That's one of them.

As night fell and the humidity rose, the party really began. The only food available was pizza (brick ovens, no electricity required) and the line at Ben's was around the block. We happily ate in the dark and I happily continued drinking, alone. David fell asleep as he does, leaving me to sit in the darkness, pace in the heat, and try to cool off with intermittent showers and glasses of wine. Little did I know that across town, there was a full on party going on in Tompkins Square Park- with dancing, revelry, and awesomeness. There were no real incidents, and little did we know that many years later, most of Manhattan would yet again go dark, this time due to a hurricane. It's a weird thing when Manhattan is free of light- there's still so much energy happening but it's contained- I feel like the blackout was more of a celebration of all of us coming together, while the hurricane blackout felt frantic, panicked, and sinister. There was not a lot of partying going on as people lost their homes, and some lost their lives. A blackout we can handle. (Just don't let it happen again). A catastrophic natural disaster? Terrible beyond words.

But back to the blackout. I remember that next morning so well- we woke up hot as hell, and sauntered our sweaty butts around downtown trying to cool off by eating popsicles paid for with limited funds (no ATMs) on shady stoops. After wandering for most of the day, we retreated to our (very) hot fifth floor walkup, and when all hope was lost, the power magically came on, and the a/c sputtered to life. And all was wonderful again. I'll never forget that feeling of going through yet another event with my beloved city- though you can't compare a blackout to 9/11 it was another bonding moment for me with this town I once again call home, and I'll never forget the wry resolve of all of us as we waited for the lights to come back on.

And though this city has become even harder to live in than 10 years ago (the provenance of the 1% for certain), I once again look forward to the lights coming on (new mayoral regime), but while we're still in the dark, I'll raise my glass to all my mad ones living here in New York- we go through shit together and we always come out shining.  I feel blessed to be back here- ten years later I can look back with pride and fondness and know that this is once again my city, that we will always come together, and that nothing can take away our ability to get on with it. On this 10th anniversary of darkness, I put my lighter up to you, my love. My New York.

Cause that's what's up this I love New York in the light and dark kind of blackout anniversary in the 212. XO

Good morning, Wednesday. It's such a beauty in New York today- feels like Fall and all is right with my constitution. I am such a chill in the air kind of chick. Love myself a crisp morning. Feeling inspired. And speaking of inspiration, my deliriously well styled friend (and hairdresser extraordinaire) posted some pics from photographer Billy Ray, who infamously cozied up to the Hell's Angels back in 1965 and took some fantastic pictures. Looking back at that amazing era, loads of things were happening in the States that were about to completely change the game-  LBJ orated on the "Great Society" we sent our first troops to Vietnam, Malcolm X was assassinated, we marched on Montgomery, and Bob Dylan plugged in. That's just a small snapshot of that incredible time (coincidentally the year my sister was born)- and one thing is clear as I looked through these amazing photos- change was afoot in this country. And though the Hell's Angels had a stormy and often violent approach to being American, they did represent something very different- a sense of danger, a middle finger to the establishment, and a love for the open road with a heaping dose of attitude and swagger. I would tear off both limbs to own a photo from this amazing series, that and Danny Lyons work on Kentucky bikers always got my motor running.

I love these photos for a million reasons but what struck me were the ladies of the gang. Damn. How amazing are they? As someone who has always related a little bit more to Rizzo than Sandy, how can you not love the tough, sexy vibe of these lovely ladies? After all, deep down we all love a rebel, and I have a feeling these ladies were almost as tough as the boys. Oh, and I'm not at all suggesting I approve of the way the Angels treated said ladies (many terrible tales there), but capturing these exquisite moments displays not only their snarly feline awesomeness, but also a style moment that resonated even years later- think Amy Winehouse, young Joan Jett, Balmain, even major fashion photographers like Peter Lindbergh, who shot one of my fav fashion photos of all time and made all the best supers Angels for the day in a September 1991 story for Vogue, photos below. Amazing and incredibly iconic, with a huge nod to Billy Ray. 

And damn if I don't want to pour a bottle of peroxide over my head right now and go platinum after looking at Ray's photos of that awesome blonde unkempt/done up do in that first pic above. Love. So glad my pal posted those this am on Facebook- with this gorgeous day, I'm fantasizing about getting out on the open road and being a lil bit wild, looking chic, naturally. What's sexier than motorcycles and bad asses? Nada. Cause that's what's up this tough chicks rule kind of Wednesday in the 212. I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation...XO