Girl in the Afternoon

To My Valentines

2012-02-14T11:07:00.001-06:00

And to all the (seemingly) irrational, persistent romantics:

Don't ever give up.

And Happy Valentine's Day from me to you:

(You gotta click the envelope to see the card.)

(images c/o Paperless Post)

P.S. Check out Google today!

Friday Friyay

2012-02-10T13:33:00.001-06:00

It is most definitely the weekend. Because it's 1 p.m. and I am red-day to get outta here!

I've been entirely negligent of my baby (sad face) due to busy, busy weeks at work and working on posts for "It was love when", so here is a boatload of images I've been hoarding and meaning to put up. Cause inspiration is the best of gifts, am I right?

And what's been on my mind? Valentine's Day. Most definitely.

And if I had a really great pair of trousers at my beck and call:

Oh, hands down I would wear this on my Valentine's date.

I took a little departure from masculine-feminine, and I've definitely been channeling 3rd arrondissement-Parisian chick -- light, dewy make up with fringe-y lashes and wide eyes and lots of sleek polka-dots a la Stella McCartney. Photos of Valentine's Day to come after the 14th!

(images c/o Organized Clutter, Smallest Forest, bibbity bobbity boo, Just Cool Kids, Dizzying Dreams, Matte & Sequins, Vogue Gone Rogue, Vogue Gone Rogue again, Take a breath, A-sh, voguelustys, freeyourrmindd, and my own via Tumblr. Whoo! You made it through the credits!)

Bloglovin

2012-02-08T10:45:00.000-06:00

Girl in the Afternoon on Bloglovin
Sorry about the spam. I'm just trying to get connected on the interwebz.

The One

2012-01-26T11:54:00.000-06:00

And I thought finding a dress would be the hard part, and yet, here it is. I would get married in this Phillip Lim dress faster than you can say, "I do." I'm actually really excited to look through non-wedding gowns for my nuptials, because it's a good deal cheaper than actual wedding dresses and it's an excuse to make my first "real dress" purchase. Plus, I'll be able to wear and enjoy it as a part of my permanent wardrobe instead of storing it in a vacuum-sealed box in a temp-controlled room. (Please don't do that -- beautiful dresses are meant to have adventures!)

Although on second thought... it might not look as amazing on me as it does on the six-foot, size zero model. I just don't want to look like an inverted hot air balloon when I'm wedding the love of my life, you feel me?

(image c/o la garconne and very cool wedding blog a.k.a. Rosebrook Meyer NYC)

P.S. Yes, I've noticed the same million and a half stories on "single women planning nonexistent weddings." (I've only read four. There's just too many.) Let's be honest, this isn't a new phenomenon at, all. It is now a publicly displayed phenomenon thanks to the Internet. And besides all that, when did it become a crime to look at stunning couture gowns and impeccably hosted celebrations? Chic is chic. Ain't no shame or desperation in that.

And speaking of chic, a Valentino and Prada clad couple and a Ralph Lauren bride.

When I grow up...

2012-01-25T16:53:00.003-06:00

This is happening in my life. Forreals.

(image c/o Refinery29)

Christmas Came Late

2012-01-18T15:54:00.003-06:00

I know, I'm more than a little late posting the Rory Beca Holiday collection, but more than the clothes (which are awesome), I love the story this tells. You get to know the Rory Beca girl, and I don't know about you but I want to be her!

(images c/o Shopbop.com)

Girl in Love

2012-01-17T22:23:00.000-06:00

I have to admit something. I have been silently experiencing a lonesome, devastating heartbreak. You know when you fall deeply, absurdly in love with someone, and after mild flirtations, then heavy, then infinitely less fun define-the-relationships, you end up empty-handed and empty-hearted. That is what I've been going through ever since this Burberry Prorsum cable knit trench hit the fall runways. I looked up everything I could on it, saw every celeb and model du jour wearing my beloved, and after I saw the price tag, cut off my flirtation cold turkey. I decided if it just stopped existing, I wouldn't miss it -- the coat I would never have. Yes, this is the twisted logic of a deluded girl in love.

If I had to define my style to someone (which I can't even do with words, funnily enough), I would literally shove this coat in my questioner's face. It's structured with touches of femininity and toughness -- to me, a perfect blend of masculine and feminine (with the right trimmings, duh).

It's everywhere now. There's no hiding. I just have to watch it sell out on burberry.com, and neimanmarcus.com, and farfetch.com, and leclaireur.com, and justshootmenowdontbleedmedry.com.

(images c/o Burberry.com and The Fancy)

Matchy Matchy

2012-01-12T14:39:00.000-06:00

So I've been wanting a really great casual jacket and short suit set for years. I mean years. Ever since I got this issue of Elle.

Actually, I really wanted that (DVF) jacket and shorts set, but unfortunately, it was thousands of dollars. Hmm, I'm sensing a life theme here...

Some trends (especially RTW runway trends) take something like minutes to translate to the average girl's retail stores, but others take foreverrrrr. Example: I wanted a really great boyfriend utilitarian jacket I think a full year to nine months before they really started hitting full stride in stores. Don't get me wrong here. I am totally not on trend and off the mark sometimes, and I'm completely fine with that, too. But sometimes, it can be a little frustrating when the only options you have are spending $$$$$ (which isn't really an option) and waiting a year.
Topshop had a pretty cool knit suit that Susie Bubble picked up:

It's pretty cool. But it's knit. And printed. Translation: my butt's big enough already thanks, I don't need an extra three inches.

And then I found this one on Asos:

It's a little girly, but I liked it. That is until Asos posted it on its Facebook page, meaning good luck finding my size. Eh, I didn't like it that much.

I'm missing the point. The point is: I need to stop spending money. LOL. Yeah right. But really -- I've been pretty good this month! (So far...) And I'm saving to invest in some really great, comfy basic tees and go-with-everything Chelsea boots. Here's lookin' at you Aritzia and Topshop.

Wahh I wish I wasn't so lazyyyyyy about my personal blog! I guess having two writing jobs kind of makes me want a break from computer screens and CMS (gasp).

(images c/o Topshop tumblr, WWW, Asos)

"It was love when" the Blog

2012-01-07T17:36:00.004-06:00

I just solved a coding crisis I've been trying to figure out for weeks. I feel pretty effing sexy. And yes, I actually did just say that.

Finally...

Launching on Monday!

xxxx

P.S. If anyone ever needs help creating two dynamic pages (aka the impossible on Wordpress), I'm pretty sure I just owned the interface.

A New Girl New Year's Eve

2011-12-29T16:21:00.000-06:00

Amazing.

Please Date Me. Love, Schmidt

2011-12-17T00:17:00.003-06:00

I mean, I had to.

I'm not passive aggressive

2011-12-11T18:34:00.001-06:00

Okay, maybe I am a little, but you can't blame me. Blame the times; it's the way of our generation, the zeitgeist, l'air du temps. Blame the Internet -- now I can call you out on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Google+ and my twenty-plus blogs without ever writing your name thanks to this handy hashtag: #youknowwhoyouare. Like, totally, right? Or I can always fall back on the fact that I'm Asian, and if that's not good enough for you either, there's the classic excuse of my female birth. Passive aggressiveness is practically social survival.

I'm not self-absorbed either. And if I am, well, it isn't my fault. See, I chose to be in a line of work that sells little more than glorified personal opinions for $15 a pop. And I ended up there because I was born with a soft voice and people just assumed I had nothing to say (unless I resorted to yelling) because they had to work harder to hear me and I had no choice but to express my ignored sentiments turned to pent up judgments because there was no other way for people to listen to (not hear) me and I need people to listen to me because I was born the oldest and everyone knows the oldest always ends up with some kind of self-important, vainglorious neurosis. So, you see, it isn't my fault at all.

I'm not short-tempered, am I? Getting mad at you for choosing him over me isn't silly, is it? Well, if it is, I can tell you I'm probably going to be moody for the remainder of this week and possibly into the next because I'm on the rag. And I know it isn't an excuse, blah, blah, blah, but actually it is because did you know my hormones are raging inside of me and the imbalance is causing me to produce legions of little red armies all over my forehead not to mention I crave (and eat) like I'm pregnant? In fact, every time I read a period-related article in one of the six women's magazines I'm subscribed to (which averages out to one period story a month), I swear I have PMDD and should go see my gyno soon, but then I don't because I forget, and I also swear I have some sort of ADD because this spiel started out with why it isn't my fault that I'm short-tempered, and actually, it ends my argument nicely because I obviously can't remember that life is actually good and much worse things have happened, which makes me think that something silly like you choosing him over me is actually one of the worst things that ever could've happened.

And I'm not ruthless. Maybe you'll consider this online reality check ruthless, but I can tell you to blame yourself and my ex-boyfriends and frenemies because I've done the nice thing, and again and again you people take advantage of me and I swear to you I'm the victim in all of this and I know everyone says that but I'm telling you that's just how it is 'cause I didn't ask to be, and it's not like I've ever hurt anyone like that in my life. And sure, maybe I can be a little more empathetic to people, like when a girlfriend is going through heartache, but it's so hard for me to remember what that's like! Refer back to previous ADD mention.

Maybe I am all of these things, but I don't think I should have to change myself because well, that's just me. I'm not always sure how I ended up that way, but I did and that's who I am. And frankly, I just don't feel like it. And everyone knows the key to happiness is to be accepted as your true self, right? Isn't that what we're told? Just be yourself.

And maybe, I am a little passive aggressive.

Did you buy my excuses? Yeah, I don't buy yours either.

Shameless

2011-12-08T16:00:00.001-06:00

This online retailer cracks me up.

Balenciaga

Isabel Marant

Celine

Burberry Prorsum

Miu Miu, the darlings of the fall season (for a gajillion dollars less)

Isabel Marant

(photos stolen from JessicaBuurman.com)

Rhodes to Perdition

2011-12-03T20:23:00.001-06:00

Nate: "So, you still love her."

Chuck: "I can't imagine the day I won't."

Gawd, last week's episode was pretty friggin good.

StyleNanda

2011-12-02T16:27:00.001-06:00

Some of the coolest styling (and the prettiest models) I've ever seen. (Except for the excessive use of Jeffrey Campbells. If I see another Lita bootie, I'm going to have a physical reaction.) Stylists take note: this is good business. Like, a pink furry jacket? Really? How often would I wear that thing? But the styling makes me think that pink fuzzy thing is the new key must-have addition to my closet. I'll be wearing it every single day! I need to have it, right? (The answer is no. No one needs a pink fur coat.) It's the perfect mix of Korean and American retail, as in not too fobby but definitely more exciting than, say, Zara.

(photos and clothes found at StyleNanda.com)

Dear Santa

2011-12-01T15:22:00.001-06:00

Zara vest

Topshop blouse

lurex dress from Topshop

This is so cool. Too bad it's, like, $90 for a phone case.

Burberry Brit wool coat

(Christopher Bailey! Why do you do this to me every, single, time?!)

Chako clutch

(luuurve the shape -- very vintage Dior)

Pucci ankle-strap pumps

(and while we're on the subject of ankle straps, how about those Celine sandals I've been dying for?)

cross necklace from BCBG

(I actually like this one better than the original)

"Blessed" necklace from BCBG

Michael Kors Bradley watch

DITA aviators

And at the heart of all my wishful thinking, the Celine luggage tote. Or, you know, ANY Celine bag is fine with me. (Oh hay, Shu Pei!)

Christmas shopping is dangerous business. Like, how did I end up at ShopBop while shopping for my brothers. It's my version of YouTube! To be fair, I think I've figured out a good number of gifts for the loved ones on my list despite my, ahem, distractions.

I can't believe it's December already.

Love from afar

2011-11-17T11:45:00.001-06:00

I'm seriously trying to figure out where in my budget I can squeeze these in. I mean, food is overrated, right? Kind of?

The Tsumori Chisato (La Garconne) dress is more likely to never happen in my lifetime. But that jacket. I could live off of cereal for a few weeks.

Donatella, Hennes & Mauritz: An Affair

2011-11-10T15:46:00.001-06:00

Versace is never my if-I-had-to-wear-one-designer-for-the-rest-of-my-life choice. It's flashy, unexpected, sexy, completely over the top and risque in every way. Versace is The Italian Woman. It is what it is, which is completely sick and fantastic in its own right. I think I just naturally lean toward London (with a dash of American a la Francisco Costa's Calvin Klein). But this. Do I really need to say anything? No, I didn't think so.

Is it sad I can't even afford the H&M version of Versace?

(videos via Refinery29)

P.S. Is anyone else miffed they didn't air the VS Fashion Show live? I don't know if that was VS's decision or CBS, but I think they got a little confused -- Victoria, you are not Donatella.

Hair and Beauty

2011-11-04T15:13:00.001-05:00

perfection @ Paris Fashion Week

(photos via R29)

It was love when...

2011-11-03T11:37:00.001-05:00

I knew it was love when even during the hard times (which are few), it still felt so easy.

--E

Postscript: To celebrate the easy 18 months we've been together, we're going on a date tonight. And it feels like the first.

----

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Submit a short, 100-word story to http://itwaslovewhen.com/share/ in the above format.
Or send it to me (dearestherhan at gmail),

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Resort 2012: Loeffler Randall

2011-11-03T10:06:00.003-05:00

Ridiculous.

Chivalry, An Obituary

2011-11-01T22:54:00.000-05:00

A conversation with a friend led to:

"I get slightly annoyed at chivalry is dead comments, when girls talk about the past like it was some golden age where men treated women awesome cause they held the car door open or w/e."

And I'm a girl, a girl that's had more than her fair share of chival-less boys, and I get it. I get that girls want to feel special, to feel valued. (I hope you guys are taking notes. No, really. I think you should.) We want to feel like priceless treasure because that's certainly how we feel about you (forgive our pride and forget what we say out loud). Why else would we feel heartbroken when we end up feeling as valuable as dirt instead?

I digress. The point of this post is to bring the "chivalry is dead" vs. "chivalry is dying" vs. "the deterioration of chivalry is emitting noxious fumes that will turn us all into monkeys" debate to an end. Because what's really going on is the "chivalry" in that clause is no longer relevant. What these "girls" think of chivalry is men in suits and pocket squares, red lips, hands that help wasp-waisted women out of the back of 1960 Ford Falcons. Yes, ladies proceeded first and men removed their fedoras in a woman's presence, but it was also this:

Chivalry came at a price, and if you ask me to choose between a pulled out chair and the choice to be 27 and unmarried without being considered an old maid or suspected of marrying my soul to the devil -- or the choice to be anything you can imagine for yourself -- well, need I say more? Look beyond the surface folks. Because if what I get for a little tip of the hat is a grouchy despot in the morning expecting a four-course breakfast, then no thank you, sir. I wouldn't trade the present for anything.

I'm not saying that we have to pay that price now if we want the same kind of civility, but I believe this is the new question: Do you still want it? Is a pandering smile and him walking on the street side of the sidewalk because his mother "told him so" enough to satisfy you?

Because for me, chivalry is a man who will give me his coat during the sub-zero Chicago winter because he wants to show he cares for me, and he's the same man that will be there when I impatiently switch career paths four, five, thirty times. Isn't this what we want? Not a habitual creature who is programmed to carry a woman's bags, but someone who does so because he cares. The chivalry I seek today is beyond the superficial. This is the heart of the matter. (Note: Actions speak louder than words.)

He will view me as his equal, not his baby-making coffee-maker. I want to make coffee (delicious or disgusting, I can't promise anything) for him in the mornings to show him my own brand of chivalry because I love him, not because he's a parading tyrannical oaf.

A chivalrous man will listen when I speak, digest what I say and value my opinion. And more importantly, a good man will do all of that with a complete stranger, too. Opening doors does not a good man make. Don't get it twisted.

And at the end of the day, that is who I want to come home to: the good man. The man who is chivalrous in character, not by default.

The lesson? (Anything I say, take it or leave it. We're two-cent creatures by nature.) Girls, no more romanticizing! This was the 1960s (see the above videos), and we have got it way, way better. Present-day chivalry -- there's nothing like it. And appreciate it! Nothing kills chivalry faster than ungrateful presumptions.

And guys, it's pretty simple -- show you care. I'm pretty sure that's the most valuable piece of advice an insider could ever give to you. And if you don't know how to show, ASK.

It's kind of a lame ending, but sometimes, I just have to let those slide.

Halloween Ho-Down

2011-10-31T21:27:00.001-05:00

I was never a huge fan of Halloween (besides the obvious excuse to stuff my face with fun-sized Kit Kat and Crunch bars. Which I can't do anyways because I just got a root canal today. If I ever needed to use a hashtag, #Thisismylife.) because it never seemed worth all that effort just to make myself look like a ho. It's not really my aesthetic -- I think I missed that trend.
But I was wrong:

You can look fabulous on Halloween.

How to Be Cool

2011-10-21T11:28:00.001-05:00

The mother of all girlcrushes.

I think my "extensive research" is now legally considered stalking. Probably turned that corner around page 23 of Google search.

If I ever believed in the word "cool," it'd be spelled "Zanna Roberts Rassi."

(photos and other stalking material thanks to sart, StyleCaster, Erika Thomas, Style Du Monde, The Provocative Couture, Miss Walker, RDuJour)

The Burberry Body

2011-10-16T20:33:00.003-05:00

MAJOR girl crush. Rosie Huntington-Whiteley for Mario Testino.

And no, the parfum doesn't smell as great as she looks.

Bergdorf, Bloomies, and Bendel

2011-10-15T20:01:00.002-05:00

I saw this today while I was coming down the escalators in Water Tower. I literally had to stop in front of it and process the magnitude of this sign, which proved to be a bad idea since it was situated right in front of the escalators. But reason left the building five minutes ago. This is big. Bendel big.

Sorry Topshop, you ain't got nothin' on Henri.

The One That Deserves a Post

2011-10-14T16:04:00.000-05:00

Context: A reader's comment on an op-ed about a lesbian couple in San Francisco allowing their boy to begin the process of a gender switch. If you want to read the whole thing, it's here and it's short.

"I guess it's no coincidence that all these lost souls are gathering on top of a major fault line." Really?

Well, then I guess Alabama will be flooding over soon to make a mini Gulf of the United States because everyone living there is obviously an ignorant bigot.

I know he isn't trying to make it personal (really, how can I not take it that way -- that's a real concern for people living there), but sometimes, I can't understand people that won't understand.

In Paris with You

2011-10-10T16:40:00.000-05:00

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful
And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.
I'm one of your talking wounded.
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.
But I'm in Paris with you.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled
And resentful at the mess I've been through.
I admit I'm on the rebound
And I don't care where are we bound.
I'm in Paris with you.

Do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre
If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,
If we skip the Champs Elysées
And remain here in this sleazy

Old hotel room
Doing this and that
To what and whom
Learning who you are,
Learning what I am.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,
The little bit of Paris in our view.
There's that crack across the ceiling
And the hotel walls are peeling
And I'm in Paris with you.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.
I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,
I'm in Paris with... all points south.
Am I embarrassing you?
I'm in Paris with you.
-James Fenton (1993)

No fluff, no sentimentality. And still, in love with love.
Everywhere is Paris with you.

Staryh

2011-10-06T21:30:00.001-05:00

People often ask if you feel older on birthdays, and as those years add up and friends get married, we rhetorically ask each other, "Don't you feel old?" And to those I answer no and no. Sure, the numbers always look higher each time, but it never fits right (am I the only one that feels like my brain is four years behind, older and none the wiser?); and all weddings seem to do is emphasize how not old I am. In all sobriety and no means of morbidity, nothing makes me feel older than funerals.

For those of you who are confused, I went home (San Francisco) last week. And trust me, I'm just as confused as you are, which is probably why I told barely anyone where I went and why. (Frankly, most people probably didn't know I was gone. Welcome to the self-absorption of working life.) What can be said in thoughtless conversations with interval friends?
"Hi, how have you been?"
"Oh, actually my aunt died yesterday from something that had to do with a stroke and the leukemia she found out about two weeks ago and I found out two days ago. I'm going to California tomorrow to attend her funeral."
I don't mean to be cavalier about it, but I don't think (don't think) I realized I was talking about a dead body. And not a dead body, a dead person. And not a dead person, a dead aunt. A dead sister, mother, grandmother. My aunt. Dead.
It wasn't until the wake that it sunk (maybe that's why they call it that -- a wake): she's not going to be there anymore.
"Were you close to her?" is the inevitable question. Does it matter? She was there for as long as I existed, but she wasn't a part of my day-to-day life.
And now, she isn't. Won't be. Now, her powdered remains lie there in the open casket with glued lips. All I think is, open caskets are stupid. (I know what they symbolize, but symbolism isn't immediate in the minds of those in bereavement.) My grandpa and my dad's sister also had open caskets. The made-up cadavers look strange and foreign, a mockery of our loved ones, a sad imitation of the living, the real person. Like a sick joke. Like they're simply hiding in the closed part of the casket, waiting to spring out at you, laughing. Surprise! It's the laughs you miss the most and remember the longest. So laugh a lot.

When we arrived at the burial site, my family noticed she was being buried right next to my grandfather. We took time to say a prayer after the service, me, my brother, my parents, the pastor; and afterward, I stayed behind with my dad for a minute.
"Dad, I miss Grandpa." And I did. I think it was the first time since his passing that I really felt that ache: the I-haven't-seen-him-in-a-year-now kind of missing, and slowly, the I'm-not-going-to-see-him-here-again kind of missing. Does that make me inhuman? Or more so? I cried at my aunt's funeral in surprise, for my mom and her sisters, for my cousin and uncle. I love her and my family will never be what it was without her, but certain kinds of mourning turns out to take its bitter time.

I've never felt older because death has never felt closer, or more visible. Twenty-two is not old by any measurement of life or death, but I no longer have delusions of this body's immortality. I know it is inevitable, unpredictable, and its clammy claws take with no consideration of our plans. I see it and it exists.
When we passed by my grandfather's stone, my parents and their close friends stood around me and pointed to their plots down the row: "Look, this is where I'm going to be buried!" Yes, in exclamation. I can't say I've accepted it to that extent, but my recognition of the Styx is the marker: I'm not a little girl anymore. Twenty-two is not eternal. Twenty-two is twenty-two.
Everything feels a little more trivial and bigger at the same time -- the paradox of growing up.

They all said it was a beautiful funeral and that they'd never seen so many attendees before. Maybe they were being appropriate, but there were nearly as many people standing, spilling outside of the chapel doors as there were sitting in the pews, a total of 300-something people. To have loved that much is all I could pray to do until I'm called Home.

Who knew I could be so Russian?

Something Old, Something New

2011-09-23T16:24:00.002-05:00

And may I say, wow.

See Tony's other duets on YouTube. (Carrie Underwood, I am now a huge fan.)

A Prayer from an ENFP

2011-08-22T16:32:00.002-05:00

Sadly...mine is pretty accurate.

What's yours?

Comfort Zones

2011-08-19T15:28:00.000-05:00

Pushing myself -- hm, actually it's more like impulsive flinging -- out of comfort zones is not unfamiliar territory for me. While it's true that in some respects, I cling onto the confines of my familiar construct, I also went to college in Chicago without knowing so much as the difference between Midwest and East Coast, let alone a person, and then continued to take my sorry, to-be-bed-bug-bitten tush over to Jerusalem (as in Israel) without knowing hivrit ("Hebrew" in Hebrew -- at least I learned something). I can look at pictures and think fondly of Northwestern and about how I'd like to visit Israel again, but the reality was it was painful and very, very lonely, especially in the beginning.

From Sloane Crosley's How Did You Get This Number?:

While the emotional sum total of my trip would eventually add up to happiness, while I would feel a protective bond with the few objects I acquired in Lisbon — a necklace from a street fair, a piece of cracked tile, a pack of Portuguese cigarettes called "Portuguese" — hidden between the cathedral and castle tours was the truth: I have never felt more alone than I did in Lisbon. A human being can spend only so much time outside her comfort zone before she realizes she is still tethered to it. Like a dog on one of those retractable leashes, I had made it all the way to Europe's curb when I began to feel a slight tug around my neck.

How does she say it so well?! I love writers that can bore into my soul.

And she makes me laugh.

Four Hours to Mason

2011-08-19T12:14:00.003-05:00

It was late on the blackened stretch of road that led to his Ohio suburb, and my threshold had clearly been crossed, when he asked me, "But don't you love writing?"

I do. I love it. But let's face it -- my chances at success are...slim. Which is a euphemism. (And whatever chance I had I probably just imploded with that euphemism; real writers don't use euphemisms. So excuse me if I sound a little bleak in the upcoming grafs, because I really don't feel like that on most days. Most days I'm just happy to have a paycheck and a place with a roof to sit in with a magazine and a bowl of cereal.)

"So, what. You would stop writing?"

No. I'd never stop. I wouldn't know how to do anything else, at least not without it, and even if I did something else, it's my way of logic (or whatever twisted semblance of it). Life would make even less sense and I would become an eggplant; tough on the outside, mush on the inside, wholly useless and unappealing. It's a good thing you like eggplants, because at least I'd still have you. And I'd also be a really nice shade of purple.

"Then that's what you should be doing."

How can I keep putting all of my energy into that when there's no chance of success?

"Does that matter?"

I dont know, would you keep doing what you want to do if no one listened? Let's say you were a teacher, but no one showed up to class, ever. Are you teaching? It's the proverbial tree.

This is the truth -- and I'd hope the other writers out there would be honest enough to admit this to some extent -- it's really, really hard to continue to motivate yourself without getting published. Writing is as much about the sharing and the conversation as it is about creation.

"So, what are you going to do?"

I dont know. I'm just hoping my tree falls.

(photo via pinterest)

For the Broke

2011-08-18T12:23:00.001-05:00

In my search for headboard alternatives:

I'm not huge on decals (sometimes, a girl just needs dimension), but this would be the one I would get.

How cool are these?! Lots more to look at here.

All About the Desk

2011-08-17T22:57:00.004-05:00

"It's all about the desk. If I find the desk, the writing will come." - Carrie Bradshaw

Random corner of stuff I haven't figured out what to do with yet.

I fit this couch into my Honda. That car never ceases to amaze me.

Craigslist find of my life! Why would anyone want to get rid of this?! It's so beautiful, even the chips in the marble seem like they're right.

There's still a lot of work to be done -- art, rugs, a whole room, the ugly TV stand to DIY (somehow). But it's a good start in the right direction. I'll post up a whole list of things I'm thinking about doing soon!

Girl in the Fall

2011-08-17T22:30:00.002-05:00

Fall's a-coming. I feel it in my bones. And in my clothes.

Recent purchases from H&M, TopShop, Forever 21, Craigslist and my closet. I completely forgot about that last Rodarte for Target raincoat, and it's become a part of my regular rotation in addition to my HALSTON DRESS. That was the Craigslist steal (of that week :P). AND more exciting news: I fit into my little little black dress. The best part of post-college life -- a regular diet and sleeping schedule.

Black leather panelled pencil and floral chiffon skirts from Forever.

The H&M motorcycle boots at the far right -- it was love at first sight.

I love you, Summer, but when it comes to fashion, Fall is the beginning and end of my year.

P.S. If any of you know where I can get a coat like this one:

Send it my way. Don't you hate it how TopShop doesn't sell 90% of the stuff in their lookbook?

Breakfast at Tiffany's

2011-08-12T16:45:00.001-05:00

For some odd reason, I've had these pangs to watch this movie (...for the x time) again, if not for style/interior inspiration (it does have the most iconic dress in Hollywood history), then just for some romantic (is that the right word?) inspiration. You know -- that feel good intrinsic...thing (gosh, I'm being incredibly articulate today) that comes from a story that takes two characters with real-world flaws and gives them unreal love. I just need my new loveseat (which I'm picking up this weekend!) to curl up on and a bottle of white. And time -- that's important, too.

How is it that every shot of this film is a friggin poster? It's ridiculous.

The Twin Cities

2011-08-12T12:30:00.003-05:00

Last week, I got to tag along to an event my company was hosting in Minneapolis a.k.a. City of the Strangest Names (Minnehaha) and the Sweetest People on the Planet. Everyone calls you "lovey" or "dovey" or "lovey-dovey," and every time I heard that off-kilter Minnesotan accent, I mean, how can you not smile? Maybe I've just been in Chicago too long.

The point is, we stayed at the W Minneapolis at The Foshay, and it was...kind of incredible. The last time I stayed at the W was at the Times Square, New York with my mother, and from what I remember, it was too much, sleazy, and all wrong. But take a look at this one --

You can't really see it, but there are little welcome letters on the desk. Details, my friends!

Lobby

Foyer -- maybe the sleaze-lessness and charm comes from the building being so old. The Foshay is an art deco building from the 1920s.

I can't get a good photo, but these high back chairs were paired all along the foyer, and they were my favorite part.

Yeah, it was still a little too much, but sometimes more is more.

P.S. I studied for the GREs last night. The things Norman gets me to do...

Leaked

2011-08-11T15:40:00.001-05:00

My personal favorites:

Missoni for Target throw blanket (This. Is. Mine.)

Missoni for Target scarves

Missoni for Target ties!! I'm gonna buy one. And I don't wear ties. (Surprise BF!)

Missoni for Target pillows

Yes! Missoni for Target houseware!

And finally...

The bike. With Missoni stripes. And turquoise tires. I don't know how to ride a bike, but for you, I'll learn. Or I could just leave you in my apartment and stare 'cause that's fine, too.

How, how, can they expect me to wait until Sept. 13?!

(photos via fashionologie)

On Ikea

2011-08-11T15:19:00.002-05:00

"IKEA is a retail tower defense game where you are the enemy trying to navigate the maze without losing all your money before the exit."

(via apartment therapy)

Missoni + Target

2011-07-25T23:02:00.001-05:00

Yup, you read right. Actually you probably already know because I decided to fall off the face of the planet when it was announced a few months ago. I found out from reading this month's Vogue, and after extensive research, I can tell this is going to be a problem. I can't restrain myself from reaching for my wallet, and the items aren't even on sale yet.

The partners gave Vogue an exclusive sneak-peek into some of the product they're working on -- and that's a big deal. They're guarding this stuff with the same security assigned to a classified government sector's nuclear bomb. A mini-tour of Margherita's Milan home, and most of the items in the spread are a part of the Target and Missoni collab (the biggest one the retailer's done -- over 400 items), including her clothes (!!!). And they want me to wait until September!

P.S. Yes, that is Missoni furniture.

P.P.S. Yes, that's a Missoni bike ($400).

Chicagoan

2011-07-12T22:27:00.000-05:00

...finally.

And I know it's been like a month, but did I mention what Norman gave me for my birthday?

Yeah, I actually thought the box was the gift. Lanvin flats?! Are you kidding me?! I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

Confessions of a Craigslist-aholic

2011-06-25T02:58:00.002-05:00

Any good blogger knows poor blog maintenance means death. Oops.

But I swear I can't believe it's been a month since I've posted -- life is sneaky like that. And I-cannot-tell-a-lie I'm processing the last three weeks as I am writing this post.

I've graduated. High school. Wait, no, college. High school. College. I've graduated from something.

I've had ~~two~~ ~~five~~ ~~eighteen~~ ~~one hundred and sixty four~~ a lot of crises (involving the who, where, what, bills and other monkeys that come with graduating and starting a job two weeks later and finding the time to get the remains of my life in California all wrapped up somewhere between Northwestern and Real Life).

I've gotten a chance to reconnect with my family after six months, and I never even knew how much I missed the insanity that gallops in the family.

I finally got a Macbook (!!!).

And lastly, I've been cheating on fashion with furniture. (Don't reread that -- you got it right.) Yep, I've been so excited to move into this new apartment that I've become a bonafide Craigslist/Apartment Therapy/DIY blog/Etsy/West Elm nut job. You must understand -- I'm not just giddy about our amazing newly gutted space in Logan Square, I'm looking forward to finally having a space I can call my own with some kind of permanence (or semi-permanence...more permanence than undergrad). For the first time, I have a place I can start really investing in. (Stay tuned for a follow up post on "home".)

I still can't really visualize the apartment since I haven't seen it in a while, but here are a few things I'm really loving:

West Elm duvet cover

UO sham

A union jack something is a non-negotiable.

I mean I can take this room, too. That could be a non-negotiable. I can settle.

Coffee table on casters! Probably out of my price range, but the sheepskin rug is also a non-negotiable.

Awesome mirrors that are also out of my price range.

Acrylic lamp! Also out of my price range.

Acrylic bench

...that is also out of my price range.

You know what. This is my blog. I can dream.

Goodnight.

The Weekend Post

2011-06-03T16:28:00.000-05:00

God after my own heart -- He always provides in the most unexpected ways.

A Girl's Best Friend

2011-05-31T22:42:00.004-05:00

A friend of mine introduced me to JewelMint, which is the subscription jewelry site started by *STYLE IDOL* Kate Bosworth, and I'm obsessed! I'm not a jewelry hoarder, but I do love - love - finding really great investment pieces that work with everything (also known as shower jewelry). A few well thought out necklaces or a really great watch changes that cute H&M top your wearing into your individually styled ensemble (and could make it look worth $$$ more). And each piece is only $30!! (And that's a bargain cause if I'm buying jewelry, I better be able to wear it all day, errday.)

I just received my first purchase (the Soulmate Bangle), and needless to say, it's going into my rotation immediately.

And if that isn't convincing, just get it for the pretty box.

I am clearly not getting paid for this promotion since I have a total of five readers, including my mom, my boyfriend (who thankfully doesn't wear things like "Soulmate Bangles") and myself, so I'm telling you as an honest and good friend -- give it a shot.

Spring Fever

2011-05-22T01:45:00.000-05:00

I helped plan a little event today for our college fellowship, and we were having some trouble coming up with a theme for our decor. I came up with a last-minute indoor picnic theme inspired by paper flowers, ball jars, and twine, and when I came home and made my blog rounds, guess what I found:

A photo from the 2011/2012 Chanel Cruise. Look at their theme. Not to toot my own horn, but sometimes, I really do think I should go into trend forecasting (or maybe event planning).

(photo via The Vogue Diaries)

BAMFs

2011-05-16T17:03:00.000-05:00

You don't get more badass than Jason and Rosie.

(photos via The Vogue Diaries)

If only it were sunnier

2011-05-16T16:43:00.003-05:00

Ever since Chloe and Ray-Ban came out with folding sunglasses a couple of seasons ago, I've been obsessed! And these spankin' new Burberry foldables I spotted a few weeks ago while traipsing around State Street certainly doesn't help.

The yellow-greens are the ones on my wishlist (and the purple and the aqua...).

Modern Love

2011-05-16T10:09:00.002-05:00

I figured it might as well get published somewhere.

(This version is edited slightly at the request of the NBN editors.)

(photo via pinterest)

Mother's Day Intervention

2011-05-07T14:08:00.001-05:00

In case a few of you have forgotten to send you snail mail...

It's not too late to send her a Paperless Post! You only get a limited number of cards free of charge, but for those special occasions, it's my favorite e-card service.

To all you mothers out there -- I don't know how you do it. Happy early Mother's Day!

The Only Red Carpet Better Than the Oscars

2011-05-06T00:18:00.000-05:00

The Met Gala. I know this is a little late, but I've kept this email in my inbox for the past week because it is that inspiring. I feel the need to share:

The Language of Lovers

2011-05-03T16:31:00.000-05:00

"Anyone can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly." -- Rose Franken

It used to be my expectation that romance isn’t required and the language of love is one of settlement. It wasn’t because I’m bitter and crusty (you’re free to disagree), but it’s more because I’ve always been afraid of disappointment. If I don’t expect anything, if I never allow myself to hope for more, then I won’t ever get the feeling of a ten pound weight punching a hole out of the bottom of my gut. But for the sake of honesty, I did want it – the flirting, the courtship, sweetness, passion – all of it. I wanted the beautiful Audrey kiss in a New York alleyway, in my tailored trench, in the arms of a beautiful man, under the perfectly timed spring rain whose drops only made that fragile face glisten even more delicately.

I used to be one of those people who needed the “I love you” to feel secure. I needed to hear it; I needed it to be said to me, and sometimes, I would say it to the other person just so I could hear it back. It was never enough. I learned somewhere along the way “I love you” starts to mean something else and at the worst of times, nothing at all.

I learned “I love you” isn’t so valuable when I abuse it, and in the case of true intimacy, lovers use it sparingly.

I used to want “I love you” and “I miss you,” but what’s special about those phrases besides the very facts they state in so straightforward a manner? Billions of people in different places and different times have used those phrases and many to no avail, but how many people know what “the chocolate incident” is?

Or what “Max” means?

Or “little trees”?

Or “President of the United States”?

Or “telling you in my head?” I forget when Norman coined this little catchphrase, but it began because of the many instances I began a story with,

“Didn’t I tell you…?” (when I hadn’t)

“No, you told me in your head.”

My lacking memory makes him laugh, and this, to me, is “I love you” in a language that only I understand.

These inside jokes aren’t purposed to be exclusionary, rather they create a language of familiarity between us (it’s the same way writers use repetition to establish intimacy with their readers); so that even when we’re in a crowded room, just one glance and we have our own world.

No one would believe me if I told you what a nut job Norman is (and I mean that in the most endearing way), but I love that. I love that I’m the only one who knows the extent of his quirks. It’s this intimacy that defines the love stronger than any straightforward “I love you,” and it’s not that we feel hampered from saying “I love you” to each other, but there are so many other ways we could say it, ways that say, “I don’t want to be generic. You’re too special for that. My love is too great for that.”

In the beginning, all lovers are sweet to each other, call each other “baby,” kiss, gush. But if this is the default state of our love for the rest of our lives, I’d get a cavity (and Lord knows I don’t need any more of those). And of course there are passionate loves, the kinds that get made into bestselling novels and then silver screen flops, but it’s hard for those to make it to the end. Passion is a desirable element in the ideal relationship, but when it’s the foundation, it’s tiring and eventually, it isn’t enough. You realize later on, the truest lover is the one of humor rather than one of passion (although the two are not mutually exclusive). Silliness is the language of love.

So Norman, I hope you know I’ve already told you in my head, but I’ll say it again for your poor itty bitty ears:

I love you – and happy anniversary.

(photos via pinterest)

On Looking Forward

2011-05-01T22:52:00.002-05:00

"Obama: The US has killed Osama bin Laden."
"Ding Dong the Witch is Dead"
"OBL is dead, thank you men and women of the US Military."

My Twitter and Facebook feeds have exploded with the SAME EXACT thing, so I don't feel a need to be redundant, and there isn't much I can say in 140 characters that wouldn't be repetitive.

I understand the magnitude of this kind of success, and the celebration is well deserved. But now, we have to look ahead. Now, it's more important than ever to ask the right questions and to search for the answers, to be vigilant; for it was in our false security and confidence that 9/11 happened in the first place. Osama bin Laden's death is doubtlessly a large detriment to the Al-Qaeda organization, but that doesn't mean it will disappear.

What exactly does this mean for the future of Al-Qaeda?
How will we continue to carry out the war on terrorism? Do we know where we're going? Do we know what we're doing?
What will this do to the perception of American power in the world community? How will the Obama Administration handle the change?
"We will be relentless when it comes to the safety of our citizens." - President Obama during his address.
What will this mean for America's perception of itself?

What now?

(photo via NYT)

Happily Ever After

2011-04-29T20:14:00.001-05:00

The most televised event EVER, and I MISSED it! As much as I love to be on top of things, I just could not get myself to be awake at 4 a.m., partially because I was up until four the night before, but I'll tell you all about that later. Anyways, I didn't really matter because the second I woke up, I googled "kate middleton wedding dress," and from then, it was only a matter of time before I probably knew more details about that wedding than the people who watched it live. I'm shameless (yay for Medill education!).

And yes, this will be a Kate+Will photo orgy. Don't say I didn't warn you.

A few things of note:

+ The official wedding program if you'd like to see it.

+ Photo 7 -- THE LITTLE GIRL

+ The Brits sure love their hats.

+ When did Alexander McQueen go all Grace Kelly on me?!

+ It couldn't have been more perfect. She couldn't have been more perfect.

Congratulations and Best Wishes to Their Royal Highnesses!

(photos via the world)

The Pie Song

2011-04-28T22:21:00.000-05:00

Have you guys seen the movie Waitress? It's one of my favorites--not in the Martin Scorsese kind of way, but it's really sweet and surprisingly hilarious. There were many laugh-out-loud moments for me. (Maybe it's cause I wasn't expecting it?) Well, I watched it again cause I felt like it, and I forgot how much this movie makes me want to bake PIES every time I watch it. I don't actually have anything to bake a pie with, so I'll just post these pictures instead (oh, and they have really cute names):

Earl Murders Me Because I'm Having An Affair Pie

Marshmallow Mermaid Pie

I Can't Have No Affair Because It's Wrong And I Don't Want Earl To Kill Me Pie

Falling In Love Pie

A few other places to find recipes:

Lonely Chicago Pie

I Don't Want Earl's Baby Pie

Baby don't you cry,

Gonna make a pie,

Gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle,

Baby don't be blue,

Gonna make for you,

Gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle,

Gonna be a pie from heaven above,

Gonna be filled with strawberry love,

Baby don't you cry,

Gonna make a pie,

Hold you forever in the middle of my heart.

What The Cool Kids Do

2011-04-27T22:24:00.001-05:00

MY LIFE IS FINALLY BECOMING NORMAL AGAIN. Well, almost.

And yes, that's a vague quasi-excuse for my negligence.

I won't get into the details of what I've been busy with because it would bore you to tears, but I have a post coming up about post-college worries anyhow, so wait you will with bated breath. (Yes, I'm taking a poetry class and I am most definitely not a poet -- can you tell?) In the meantime, I've been the busy bee collector I always am, building up links and hoarding magazines, etc., and I've been feeling very literary lately --

E.B. White's Writings from The New Yorker 1927-1976

And while I was visiting the Religious Studies Department I found a "FREE BOOKS" bin. It kind of made my day cause I found these jewels:

Andre Dubu's Selected Stories

The Best American Spiritual Writing 2005

The Shack by William P. Young

(A jewel, maybe not so much, but a close friend recommended it to me.)

NY Mag's The Apartment issue -- read this one! And loved every minute of it.

NY Mag: Around the World in 50 Pages

I just found this quarterly which just launched (it's on its second issue), and I love the concept! Complete lack of writing, but hopefully they'll get that sorted cause a culture-based magazine needs good writing.

And I'm currently reading:

Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking

I could not wait to get started on this one so I'm working through it right now. And so far, it's everything I thought it would be and so, so, so much more. Which is what I say every time I read a piece by Didion. I'm telling you...this woman...she...okay I have to stop myself because if I don't, I 'm going to say something heretical, but you get it. She is that good. And this book is just -- UGH. It's grief on paper. And tell me, how in the world is that possible? Love and grief -- the two worldly phenomena that can't be explained, and she's done it all.

Some literary food on the internet:

+ How sweet are these wedding slideshows from NY Mag?

+ I need this. Like, now, immediately, maintenant, jikeum, (how do you say it in Chinese?).

+ I just found out about Denizen Kane. And where are all of these amazing lyrics/short stories?! (Not on the Internet)

Do I sound like a geek yet? Good.

Oh Chicago

2011-04-19T23:47:00.002-05:00

My dear friend Jen came to visit this past weekend, and she always introduces me to the most wonderful people! I had the pleasure of spending a few days with my new (ridiculously talented) friends, BK and Jeremy. Sometimes, I feel like talent just aggregates where Jen exists.

Jeremy (artist name, Passion) was nice enough to give me a copy of his EP, Paper Airplane (which all of you should immediately get because it is just--beyond. Really. It's been my ONLY study music for the past couple of days). And my favorite, FAVORITE, song on it is Oh Vienna. It's just--sweet--lip-curling, chest-tingling sweetness; it's lilac and honey and baby powder. (That's what I get when I think 'sweet'. Is that strange?)

And the first time I listened to it I realized something I probably latently knew, but never worded it out to myself. It really isn't about the time or place it all. That's nothing at all. It's about who you're with and not even who you're simply physically with, but who's out there in the inky blackness; that even in the middle of thunder and lightening during a night like tonight, there's someone out there loving you. And though it's forty degrees and thundering, the coldness can't get to you. Whether it's Vienna or California or whether its in the midst of stormy Chicago, you find every place has its own perfection because the love helps you see the world, in all of its beauty, a little more clearly.

(photo via pinterest)

The Difference

2011-04-18T23:44:00.000-05:00

You know what it is? Even when I'm doing absolutely nothing, I'd rather be doing nothing with you.

(photo via pinterest)

Perfect Days

2011-04-10T13:24:00.001-05:00

It's been a while since I sat down like I am now on my virgin-white sofa on a day like today. (I was too cheap to get a color other than white.) It's beautiful outside. I felt full and fed from church, and I thought company would make today the perfect day. When I couldn't find it, true to my pathetic, self-pitying form, I completely forgot about my fullness and happiness and grew angry instead.

The truth is there have been many things that would've made many perfect days. If I just got that grade, if I just had a job, if I just knew what I was doing, if I had someone I felt free to talk to, if I just had ____. When did God stop being enough?

I've known it for a while now, but writing things down and out is always the hardest for me. It makes things concrete, real, and then I have to deal with that ish. I pushed God off the stage and made myself the center of my universe. Clothes, fun for fun's sake, writing, getting published, accomplishment, fame, recognition -- when I am dead and gone, what are these good for? For my children to remember my name? They will die, too. For this world to know of my delusions of glory? Only to feed their ignorance until it's too late. This world is temporal.

God is more than my conception of "more than enough."
God is my God.
God is good.
You are all that is good.

Two in the Morning

2011-04-07T02:20:00.000-05:00

I rarely stay up this late, and I remember I don't do that because I start to look up things like

A Sur la Table Mini Doughnut Pan is not a luxury. It's a necessity.

This is why I am 'Girl in the Afternoon.'

La Parisienne

2011-04-03T21:02:00.002-05:00

C'est parfait. Je voudrais etudier le francais a nouveau...

P.S. How do you do accents on blogger?

(photo via Style Essentials)

In Black and White Print

2011-04-02T00:21:00.005-05:00

I turned something into the NYT Modern Love contest yesterday. I turned it in at exactly 11:58 p.m. eastern time. The deadline was 11:59 p.m. And unfortunately, my chances aren't lookin' too hot. True, I only found out about the contest two days before the deadline, but I've cranked out personal essays with less time before, ones that I ended up loving. And this was supposed to be an essay on modern love, for crying out loud! I had a whole blog devoted to the topic! I should've been trotting all over that damn park.

I don't even know if I can call it a funk? Because I've had those -- where it's just a really ugly road block, one that's only there to make you take the longest possible detour, to your convenience, of course. But at least you got there. I wrote two completely different essays, settled on a third, and hated all of them. I would read them out loud to Norman (reading out loud is essential for me), and I wouldn't even finish before I said, "Is this boring? This is boring, isn't it? Ohmygod, it's boring and you know me."

I would write them, and yes, there would be moments of pretty prose, but at the end of it, I would just stop and say out loud, "What am I doing?" I had no idea what I was trying to say. What am I trying to say? What's the point? The "so what"?

It's something that's been really bothering me lately. My professor said writers should always have a point of view. It's best to know what you're trying to say before, but you should definitely be somewhere at the end of it. But what if I don't have anything to say at all? What if I'm a creamless cannoli?

I don't expect anything. (That's a lie: I expect the NYT editors to scratch their scalps with their valuable fingers. That's a lie, too. I want this. I want(ed) this badly because for the first time I felt like I really had a shot at it. Maybe I wanted it too much. Is that wrong? To want it too much? April is going to be a long month.) I did it for the sake of the opportunity because that's what I've learned I have to do, and if I'm better because of it, that's all I can ask for. (Okay, yes, another lie. I'm in a fragile state, and I just need some validation that this is what I'm supposed to be doing.) Now, does anyone have any Funk-B-Gone?

(photos via pinterest, vi.sualize.us, a glamorous little side project)

In case you haven't heard

2011-03-30T13:04:00.000-05:00

I can't believe I've lived long enough to see a major trend come full circle. I officially feel old.

P.S. I want

2011-03-29T20:57:00.003-05:00

a french press. I saw an ad outside of Peet's as I was passing by, and I'm planning on stopping in later this week.

Yup. I want one bad.

On Cowardice

2011-03-29T20:50:00.001-05:00

I have a problem.

I'm scared of the blank page of MS Word, that large, white, relentless expanse that evaporates my words into dilapidation. And while this is a pretty common fear, it poses a particular problem when my entire college career (and future one, I hope) is dependent on writing.

You see, regardless of how I come off, I'm actually a huge coward. I'm scared of my own freaking shadow. And I think the reason I avoid the wordless .doc like the plague, more than anything, is that I'm afraid of what I'll end up with, or more specifically, that what I'll end up with won't be good enough or worse, good at all. If I don't try at all, then I can't be bad. Unfortunately, I can't be good either. I would be nothing at all.

I'm scared of the judgment. Your writing is a little convoluted, Esther. Your writing could do without that paragraph. You could do without that paragraph. You sound contrived. You sound archaic. You are unoriginal. You are just not good enough.

Where do I get my value from?

Time to buck up and write that essay.

(photos via pinterest)

The Weekend Post

2011-03-26T01:19:00.006-05:00

Hey lovelies. There's a wedding happening tomorrow! And while I'm not attending, it's exciting all the same to see old faces back in town, and I'm kind of embarrassed to admit how much I'm looking forward to the pictures. I love weddings. It's a celebration of love, and dancing, and candles, and flowers, and handwritten vows, and a ridiculously indulgent, big, white dress, and everything beautiful -- what's not to love?! So in the same spirit, here's some weddin' lovin'. Congratulations Grace and Nate!!

Natural. And perfect.

"Spread the Love" wedding favors. How clever is that?!

Forget diamonds.

Well, unless it looks like this.

Or this. Actually...diamonds are fine.

Loubies are fine, too.

Or better yet, Wellies.

Tons of votives = Completely romantic

And these things are all great, but we all know the most important thing in a wedding is

the dessert table. Kidding! (sort of)

It's the bride and groom...

and family and friends and champagne and celebration and laughter and love.

Wedding gift for the newlyweds

My future hubby and I will be doing this after our wedding. You can quote me.

I'll leave you with a photo from one of the most unreal wedding shoots ever.

And me? I'm pretty busy this weekend, too. Norman's parents are visiting, and we're gonna show 'em the town! (The parts with central heating systems.)

Have a love-filled weekend.

(photos via pinterest, stylemepretty, oncewed, kreativekloset, Patterson Maker, Delphine Manivet)

A girl named Mary Jane

2011-03-25T14:54:00.003-05:00

I understand Manolo Blahnik Mary Janes are like the holy grail of shoes, but I'm kind of falling for these, and at a fraction of the cost, well, they sure know how to get a girl.

Little Things

2011-03-24T16:16:00.002-05:00

My spring break has been full of little indulgences, like...
Trying on shoes I can't afford:

like these Balenciaga shoes I found at Nordstrom Rack, originally $1200 and on sale for $300. I don't normally feel this way about shoes, but I was contemplating selling old clothes on eBay, taking up extra babysitting gigs, giving up my firstborn to get my hands on these shoes.

And $2 gold kiwis:

I know paying $2 for a kiwi is a little psychotic, but trust me -- for those times when you want to treat yourself, these babies are worth it.

And there's the $(too expensive) magazine I don't normally buy myself:

I'd say it was a pretty successful spring break, but way too short! Spring break, where did you go?!

I almost forgot

2011-03-23T23:35:00.002-05:00

One last thing I'm desperately rummaging for:

The perfect little everything clutch, like Carrie's vintage Dior. I'd also like that bustier, too. And that trench. And the skirt. In fact, there's just nothing wrong with this entire picture.

F/W 2011

2011-03-23T16:36:00.003-05:00

Can we skip summer? Maybe it's the weather, but instead of skirts and sandals, I'm dreaming of really fantastic boots and Fall neturals.

The perfect wool coat I've been looking for this entire past season. Too bad it's sold out everywhere. [Endeavor coat by Sunner]

Considering this alternative to my current headband (consequence of a terrible cut). [Rust Turband at Nastygal]

Isabel Marant substitute? I think so. [Mixed Knit Sweater at Nastygal]

That hat...is everything. [Madrid Wool Hat at Nastygal]

But the real stuff I've got my eyes on:

Lace-up Buckle Boots by Jacco

and this:

How freaking fabulous is this Elizabeth and James coat? And how terrible is it that I rediscovered the joys of eBay?

This doesn't have anything to do with the real F/W 2011 collections, obviously, but I can't wait for Vogue Collections to come out!

I love you, Chicago

2011-03-22T19:00:00.003-05:00

I slept for thirteen hours. Thir. Teen. Hours. In my body's defense, I had a pretty rough day of travel yesterday that started at 4 a.m. (eastern time). But still, that's pretty obscene.

New York was everything. (Besides the whole getting-my-wallet-stolen thing, of course--sigh--but c'est la vie, my friends.) I just kept thinking to myself how incredible it would've been to go to school in New York. It would've been beyond (and yes, I realize I would've been broke -- that isn't the point). But I did come to the conclusion that the only way to truly enjoy New York for everything it has to offer is as a non-New Yorker (meaning living there for less than 10 years). People there need to lighten up. The entire planet and everything it has to offer is in Manhattan, but New Yorkers don't know how to enjoy it. Live a little!

And I'm back in Chicago. It's funny -- I never realized how much Chicago felt like home until I left it. I've only been here for four years, but it's become a pretty special place to me. Now, we just need to work on this weather...

(photo via pinterest)

Photo Diary: New York

2011-03-19T21:37:00.008-05:00

"This is what happens when there's a recession!" -- my cousin in reference to the cupcake size

Crumbs on Broadway (right in my cousin's office building!), Alice's Tea Cup (my cousin's favorite cupcake), Chelsea, West Village, Soho with...

my cousin, Sue Jean! She's one of the most fabulous people I know, and she always takes such good care of me when I visit. I love you, Sue Jean unni!

I __ New York

2011-03-18T23:31:00.003-05:00

I got robbed today. Oh, "robbed" makes it sound so much worse than it is. I got pick-pocketed. I had to kill some time while waiting for my cousin to get off work, went to a Starbucks and got robbed. Praise the Lord I didn't bring my camera or any other valuables with me. They only took my wallet, and I hope they had fun with that because I had a dollar to my name and I cancelled all my cards the moment I found out it was gone (which I confirmed weren't used).

Well, I can definitely say it was an experience. I've never been inside a police station before. I always thought those Brooklyn police scenes/gags were complete cliches, but it turns out they're for real.

Thanks New York. Hello to you, too.

(photo via pinterest)

Cool Girl

2011-03-18T15:18:00.006-05:00

I must've missed the memo. It's summer in New York. It. Is. Stinking. Hot. And I love it.

Another memo I must've missed: tough + girly chic. The thing I've always loved about New York (not that I've been here more than a few times) is everyone's utter fearlessness when it comes to style. People are so open and free about expressing themselves through their personal style. Cropped harem sweats, combat boots, and over-sized sunnies? Okay, that's cool. Black head-to-toe (in this weather) and five-inch platform heels? No problem. A man with rolled jeans and pennies? How neat is that?!

There's nowhere else really like New York in that sense. Except maybe Europe, but that's a completely different continent. (Example: when I find a really fantastic fur coat, I can't justify buying it. When would I ever wear it? I always say, "If I were in New York, I would totally get this." But I'm not.)

I digress. My point is: even amongst all the individualism (oxymoron not intended), you can definitely pick out the fashion junkies, and I've been seeing a whole lot of tough girl leather jackets (yes, in this weather--you New York gals are fierce!) over pastel girly girl chiffon.

I would pair this:

with this for day:

and for night:

Voila! Instant cool girl vibe.

New York, where have you been all my life?

(photos via pinterest, this is glamorous)

Potato, Potahto

2011-03-17T14:22:00.001-05:00

Two days ago, I caught an episode of Man v. Food and on this particular episode, there was a three-and-a-half pound cinnamon roll. You think I'm kidding:

Yeah, that's right. That is a thirty-pound three-and-a-half year old girl and that's a three-and-a-half pound cinnamon roll. And man, oh man, did I have an intense (and unfortunate) craving for cinnamon after I saw this gorgeous thing. After I convinced myself that booking a flight to San Antonio to get this cinnamon roll was going a little too far, I remembered I was meaning to make Irish Potatoes for St. Patty's Day (which has cinnamon!!!)!

I'm not Irish and I'm not huge on St. Patty's Day, but anything with cocoa, coconut, and cinnamon is enough for me. And Joy the Baker (my favorite baking blog) just posted an Irish Potato recipe! I'm telling you this is the universe telling me to make these cute little potato-looking goodies.

Don't worry, there aren't any potatoes involved, but don't they look exactly like tiny potatoes?? Adorable! And super easy to make with basic ingredients (I hope you're already on your way to the pantry). Happy St. Patty's Day!

(first photo via yelp)

The Entitlement of Pretty Girls

2011-03-17T00:15:00.004-05:00

"The coldness overwhelmed us and forced us to move inside on the day my friends and I saw a very pretty girl in the Water Tower Place food court. She was pretty enough to cause all three of us to stare mid-cannoli as she walked out of the elevator, and she was pretty enough for me to remember three weeks from the sighting, but I’m not sure how vividly I’d remember her if it wasn’t for what happened next. We stared at first because she was stunning, and then we kept watching – frozen, affixed, like a bad horror film we couldn’t look away from – as she lifted her foot onto a chair at the table next to ours and continued to text as the boy who was with her bent down to tie her shoelaces. She didn’t even give a glance, not a trace of acknowledgment. In fact, I doubt she was even aware she was with anyone, except when her shoelaces needed tying, of course. Our eyes trailed the two as the girl walked out of the mezzanine with the boy faithfully following behind her, and then my two friends and I stared at each other, gaping, not knowing whether to laugh or, well, what else could we do?"

It's just the intro to an essay I wrote for my creative nonfiction class this past quarter, "The Entitlement of Pretty Girls" (and don't worry -- it was more than just a bashing of the beauties). The point is this whole story that makes up my intro never happened. Well, it did happen, just not in that way. But I decided to write it like this (as if I was there rather than in the bathroom) because this is the way it had to be for me to get my later points across.

This issue of truth is something we dealt with a lot in both of my writing classes, fiction and nonfiction. I feel like every writer has their own stance on where the line is drawn between the genres, or if there's a line at all. My nonfiction professor probably sees it as a dotted line: if you would please, sirs and ma'ams, stay within the lines, but you won't get crucified if you cross. Or maybe you will.

Take James Frey, for example. Absolutely torn apart very publicly by America's de facto dictator, Oprah Winfrey. Because in these modern times, when we slap on the terms "memoir" or "nonfiction" it has to be that way, down to whether or not The Brady Bunch was actually on the television during the time of day that author claimed it was on. Um, hello? That wasn't the point! (This actually happened in one of my professor's other classes.) The point is whoever is enough of a lifeless, pompous windbag to point out something like that is completely missing the point. If the writer knows what he's doing (and if he doesn't, then just stop reading), then the choices were made knowingly.

And the mind is fickle. Especially if you're writing something like a memoir, literally "memory" or coming from the memory, the wrong-ness of the details is actually the truth isn't it? The memory and its lack of accuracy is just as real as the experience itself, and in fact, I'd argue it's more real because while that experience affects that person for just that amount of time, it's the memory that remains.

In the end, true, false, real, fake, the truth is that important to people. We spent a few discussions on this idea of truth and what it is, and I just found it really sad and affirming at the same time. God placed this desire, this hunger for what is true at the core of every person, and the intense yearning of the world is affirmation for me that God is in everything. There is truth; He's the truth. And so many people spend their lives determined and lost, when their answer is in the very question they ask.

(photo via pinterest)

The luckiest kinds of people

2011-03-16T00:05:00.004-05:00

Norman and I got in a... scuffle today. And by the way I handled it, I think I've got a ways to go, but I also think I've come a long (looooong) way.

I won't disclose the details of the fight because it's irrelevant, but the fact is we had our first disagreement in a while. And we sat down and talked about it. And I said how I felt and he said how he felt. And then I apologized. All of this occurred after I gave him the cold shoulder for a few hours, but nevermind that. I felt very adult.

It showed me how much I've learned from just life without even realizing it. Can I let you guys in on something (based on my extensive dating experience, which sadly at 22, I can actually say)? It's never worth it. It's just not. Whatever you're telling yourself you deserve or how he/she wronged you, and while you're in the middle of your self-important indignant internal tirade, let me stop you. You. Do. Not. Want. To. Go. There. Most fights come out of our self-centered tunnel vision -- when all we can think about is ourselves, the madness is unending because who wouldn't want to fight for their idea of a perfect world?

This obviously has more than a few exceptions:
+ This isn't for those times when it's something real serious, like, let's say... domestic violence. If that ish goes down, you need to talk to someone and take some action ASAP.
+ It is for those times he leaves the toilet seat up when you asked him not to, or when he doesn't say hello in the exact way you saw that playing out in your head, or basically, whenever he can't read your mind. Everyone has neuroses. Just let it go.
+ This is for those relationships with the security of love; when you know these fights, these whatevers don't matter because in the end, you know the love is there. The fights are miniscule compared to the love. (This applies to family, friends, any kind of relationship. And I imagine that's what marriage is like, too, although you couldn't take my word for it.)

It's the end of the day, the turbulence has subsided, and all I can do is look at Norman and think, "We are the luckiest of people."

(photo via pinterest)

Marant Haunt

2011-03-15T17:33:00.002-05:00

I swear this Isabel Marant sweater is haunting me.

It's following me. I see it in magazines, in ads, on celebrities, on blogs, in stores. I went to the Water Tower Place to run a few errands today, and I saw this sweater there. In Water Tower Place. Tell me where in this tower I would find an Isabel Marant anything, and yet, there it was in Cusp, taunting, Look, but don't touch. I've been looking for a decent replacement sweater but no luck yet. Maybe I'll find a good one in New York (!!!). That's right, you gorgeous people -- I'm going to New York on Friday!

Jet-setting and job-hunting. Catch me (this spring break) if you can!

Girl in the Afternoon

2011-03-14T23:15:00.007-05:00

I've been personal blogging for as long as my digits have known how to type, and my wordpress is really my baby. It was there for me to listen, to sympathize, to be a blank page when I needed it most. It was there when I thought no one else would be that for me. And I've grown immeasurably from that, and I owe a lot to it, really. I know it sounds not...sane -- insane -- but I know it was God-given, to be there to help me find myself when I was hopeless, to remind me of what grounds me, who defines me, and what I love doing. It reminded me of how much I love to write and extract the beauty out of everything I see. And I've been caught up on reading all of my old posts. All of them.

That's the thing with me. It's near impossible for me to arbitrarily stop somewhere. If I find a new blog (which I can do pretty much everyday), I have to go back and back and back, and I want to go as far back as I can to see what I've missed during my time of ignorance, but at some point, I have to pull my head out of the virtual pages and say, "Enough. Live -- right now. Come back to the present, and look forward."

And I've been so stuck in the blogosphere and things like pinterest (I'm a woman possessed), that I'm in danger of losing my own point of view, not only on visual life, but on real life. I typed this to myself:

“You’re so busy looking at beauty through other people’s eyes, you’ve forgotten how to use your own.”

"love, esther" was a one-of-a-kind period of my life, but I'm in a different and equally exciting place now. All of these different reasons and circumstances have converged, and I can't think of a more appropriate time for the start of a new blog. This is my online little black book of notes, scribbles, photos, excerpts, half-baked ideas, sprinkles, and anything else that inspires me. I decided to title it "Girl in the Afternoon" because as I get older, I'm sleeping earlier and consequently waking up earlier (yes, I'm being completely serious), and my writing/inspiration time has been moved up to the early afternoon around one or two. Coupled with the fact that I've always tried to have the one cup of coffee I allow myself around that time, it's the prime writing situation.

It's a special part of the day, when the morning haze has worn off, the half-caff has kicked in, and there's a clarity unaffected by the tired dimness of evening. And haloed in the light of a just-waning sun, everything is beautiful.

(photo via pinterest)