BDDW and Lindsey Adelman

Since I last visited their sites, both BDDW and Lindsey Adelman have redesigned their sites. Both make products that have been consistent fixtures on my ultimate home wishlist for at least five years. Any excuse to round up some favourites then!


All images from BDDW and Lindsey Adelman

Friday!

There’s a new moon in Aries this weekend.

I always feel the full moons more than new ones, sometimes finding myself fragile and volatile for days in the build-up to them. When the moon's new, though, I'm lifted from that that wax and wane, a moment of respite and clean slate, a new year in miniature. The winter has been long and difficult, the weather, the feelings — it all weighed heavily. So this new moon feels in particular like a chance to draw a line under all that (seriously, how many more -15C days can there be?!)


I'm one of those people who does favourite things over and over. I can eat the same dinner for nights, I listen to songs and albums on repeat for weeks until they become so entwined with that time that whenever I listen to them, it's like uncorking a bottle of perfume. I reread certain books over and over (Unbearable Lightness, Middlemarch, Great Expectations, The Moon and Sixpence among my favourite rereads) and my bookspines are often cracked on a poem I reread even though I know it by heart and the words form in my mind before my eyes meet them on the page.

I've often thought that this joy I get from routine and repetition is connected with feeling generally unrooted. Or, perhaps it's because I'm always slightly nervous with new things. When things feel part of me rather than just being on a page or in the world, there's a sense of belonging, of melding with the material, that I don't get from things brand spanking new. But I never thought of it as childlike.

Sometimes, though, I bring routine and repetition to a deliberate halt. I've told you already I'm not going home this year. And this abstinence, it's making me see home and homesickness differently again. This intriguing evolution of my relationship with place, with the place I'm from. And Felicia is in Ireland right now and it's funny: I have this sense of ownership when I read her posts. My Home. My Turf. But knotted up with this feeling of letting it go, not needing to be there... I guess it's not the book I need to reread right now. But I also know it's there on the shelf, and I'll reach for it when I need to.

New moons are a good time for thinking about what should end and what should be embraced and what might be worth pausing to look upon differently... a good time to think about what you really want and need, whether that means going back to something old and familiar, or thinking about a new and perhaps scarier prospect.

Happy weekend, you guys!

Inspiring women: Agnes Martin

I was so happy to see Saturday's Google doodle was for Canadian-American artist Agnes Martin. Born in 1912 in Saskatchewan and raised in Vancouver, Martin moved to the U.S. for university and studied with the Zen Buddhist scholar D. T. Suzuki at Columbia. She famously claimed to have painted "with her back to the world". When she died at age 92, she was said not to have read a newspaper for the last 50 years.


Martin was based in New York in the early part of her career, running with Ellsworth Kelly, Barnett Newman and Ad Reinhardt, among others. In 1966, her work was included in the exhibition Systemic Painting at the Solomon R. Guggenheim as representative of the Minimalist art current in New York. Her works were distinguished by square formats, grids, lines drawn on canvas, and monochromatic colour with subtle variations in hue.


Following Ad Reinhardt's death and the condemning of many of her group's studios to demolition, Martin relocated to New Mexico and quit painting for a many years, distancing herself from society. However, she returned to painting in 1975 and produced a number of works in which she replaced her characteristic neutral tones with brighter colour.


"When Martin stopped painting in 1967, Glimcher [Pace Gallery founder] says, “she brought her canvases and brushes to Fred and me, and said, ‘You know a lot of young artists. Just give them away.’” During this period, Martin, who suffered from psychotic episodes throughout her life, lived in a house on a mesa in Cuba, New Mexico. The rivers around the mesa would sometimes swell with rain, and there was no way out. “She would be stuck there months at a time, and that’s what she wanted,” Glimcher says. When she took up painting again, in 1975, she produced “exuberant works in blue and pink,” he adds. “It’s like the grids opened up and this is what was behind them. Probably being back in New Mexico, away from people, suddenly gave her a level of security again.” - Artnews


In an essay accompanying the catalog for a 1992 Agnes Martin retrospective at the Whitney Museum of American Art, Barbara Haskell, wrote:

"For Agnes Martin, perfection is neither otherworldly – something separate from and transcending the temporal process – nor is it a holiness that inhabits physical matter. It is the intensity of absolute beauty and happiness experienced when our minds are empty of ego and the distractions of the everyday world. In these flashes, worries dissolve and we feel enormous exultation and peace, not unlike the state of grace in Christian theology. However elusive and fleeting these experiences are, they are nevertheless available at every moment to everyone. The task, as Martin defines it, is to further our potential to see perfection within life." - The Christian Science Monitor



"There are so many people who don’t know what they want. And I think that, in this world, that’s the only thing you have to know — exactly what you want…  Doing what you were born to do… That’s the way to be happy." - Agnes Martin

More reading:
- Agnes Martin: Paintings, Writings, Remembrances by Arne Glimcher
- Agnes Martin by Barbara Haskell

Images
1. Agnes Martin, portrait by Charles R. Rushton
2. Mountain,, 1960 by Agnes Martin, via MoMA
3. Untitled, 1977 by Agnes Martin, via The Guggenheim
4. Untitled, 1977 by Agnes Martin, via The Guggenheim

Aesthetic lives and the economic taint

I blogged fairly recently about authenticity and how it's not a look. The fact is that I have to tell myself this over and over. Like when a small independent designer launches a collection and I want to support it. Or when I want to improve my fitness but it all seems to come with some kind of expenditure. I know this isn't true, necessarily. But unpacking that is a slow process that sometimes my days don’t leave space for. It’s very easy to get caught up in some spending cycle, believing there aren’t alternatives, because our cities peddle the beautiful life and convenience for a price.

So much so, that it’s easy to think that goals - even non-material goals - are tied to income. It’s easy to believe that everything is just more attainable for those with the cash to spend. It’s easy to talk yourself into spending more and convincing yourself that you’ll be better off for it, in some warped way. I believe part of this is because we’ve knotted up the concept of authenticity with goods and services. And in many ways, we’re right to: It is better to shop at the farmers' market than at the supermarket. It’s better to spend more on one beautiful dress, made locally by a creative talent you know and support than to buy 5 sweat-shopped items for the same price. But, making those either/or decisions is different from being sucked into spending money you wouldn’t otherwise spend, driven or justified by a pursuit of authenticity.

Our blogs and social media can compound these problems and pressures. We Instagram weekend flowers and brunch, lattes and new purchases. (Of course, we also Instagram walks in nature and the light hitting a favourite armchair at the right angle; it’s not all or nothing.) But I reckon it’s fair to say that many people feel the need to find fodder for blogs and social media by spending money. And I don’t mean that we’re walking around weighing up every purchasing decision in terms of Instagram. I mean that from a lifestyle perspective we’ve now incorporated a certain awareness of being on display and that that awareness may be one driver of our decision-making structure.

One of the many reasons I stopped being a lifestyle journalist was because of the way it simultaneously necessitated and devalued product consumption. Even in my small corner there was implied pressure. You couldn’t go to Fashion Week without having a certain outfit, a great purse, make-up just so. But, on the flip side, there was a lot of free stuff being thrown around without reflection. Most of the time, the freebies weren't things I needed or wanted. It was difficult to hold onto a sense of the worth of things when products were being tossed easily into swag bags for you. Objects held so much significance and yet their value was completely washed away.

Easy as it is to be scornful of those who get trapped in this life, it’s worth reminding ourselves that even as readers we’re part of it. Look at the most successful bloggers and the high-consumption games many of them are playing, no doubt driven in part by the appetite their readers have for it. Now, I don’t know if they can all afford it, if their hidden partner is an investment banker, or if they spend some of their time feeling trapped and overwhelmed by what readers want from them: Vacations and Kate Spade accessories, handwritten letterpress cards, weekly flowers, freshly subway-tiled bathrooms, $200 fig trees as a finishing touch. No wonder, then, a right rail full of ads, the giveaways, the selling out to affiliate programs, RStyle, Sulia (whatever the heck it is) and native advertising. And much as I can say I opted out of lifestyle journalism and these blogging decisions, it’s also true that I never quit the cubicle for my blog. Maybe if I had made that jump (a jump we all lauded), I too would have justified doing “whatever it takes” to pay the bills and to grow my business. And, still, even though I chose to opt out of those things, I too feel the pressure.

Some things I remind myself of when I'm in the money spins:
- Every time my income has risen, my expenditure has risen too. Small luxuries are quickly normalized and then those special things lose their special place... and it's pretty sad when that comes to pass
- Some of the work I’ve done for extra cash - mostly freelance work I wasn’t particularly invested in - meant that both the money and the work was all sort of easy-come, easy-go. I was really no better off with it than I was without. Not all dollars are the same... and it's important to me that mine are earned in a way I stand behind, with work I'm proud of. Wiser purchases seem to stem from a solid work ethic.
- And most important: I just wouldn’t be me still if I had the kind of money I sometimes fantasize about. It wouldn’t be just the same me but with a nice house and garden and the perfect sofa and that free-standing tub. It would actually change me. Money changes more than the ease of certain decisions, it changes how others perceive and react to you, it changes one’s own priorities and wants too. It brews further expectations. It creates its own offshoots, some ripe with possibility, others carrying an economic taint.

I’ve been thinking a lot about all of this and about L’Wren Scott. Of course, I'm not a bit like L'Wren Scott. 
But I also believe that all of us bloggers, life aesthetes, authenticity-pursuers, can relate to this article in the NYPost (yup, the Post) to a certain extent. We like to ignore the fact that there’s a price-tag on so many of our pursuits. But loving the “beautiful life” (even the normcore or rustic kind) is not free. Even when we think we’re not materialists, that we like second-hand rugs and flea markets and potted plants, there’s money tied up in all of it. And there’s pressure to complete the look, to finish the room and to share the results.

Pretending we’re immune, too smart and self-aware to be susceptible to these kinds of pressures isn’t doing us favours. It’s true that I sometimes feel like I need things I patently don’t need. I often convince myself that I’m one modest windfall away from utter contentment. I sometimes feel like my own blog carries pressure to look a certain way, build a certain kind of life, even though I try to keep things honest here and come at the stuff from a standpoint of “abstract appreciation” rather than implied consumption. I sometimes buy things I can pay for, but perhaps can’t afford. And I often worry about money in ways big and small. I’ve always been interested in “stuff” and therefore always somewhat preoccupied by money. However, I don’t think the answer is to pretend that I don’t care about design, or that I don’t love beautiful objects because that’s patently untrue too.

And there’s no pithy conclusion to this post, no magical ah-ha moment. Part of the reason I wanted to blog this is because I think it’s perceived as ugly or unintellectual to even raise the economic taint, especially in creative circles. Like my relationship with food and exercise, this is one of a constant reflection and revision, outlining of goals, sometimes adhering to them and sometimes erring into extremes (both of ascetic restraint and devil-may-care indulgence). I don’t expect I’ll ever arrive at a constant state with these things and, to be honest, I don’t want to. After all, it’s fun to let go sometimes and just book that trip or buy that pair of shoes or eat that slice of cake. But I do want to carry more awareness into even those moments and to open my mind to alternatives I may not always perceive in the rush.

Somewhat related posts I've had rattling around:
- We need to value material things more, not less (I agree. I also think that anti-materialism, reverse snobbery etc. are dangerous, dogmatic mindsets. But I also think we need to leave more room to care about non-material things)

- The kabillion blog posts that have been written about working for free, especially those in "cultural" jobs, less comfortable with plain business talk, e.g.. Also, Doing What You Love (a post I that I'd argue against in many ways, but think is worth considering)
- Ben's rent versus buy post, which I've linked to before. I don't know Ben, but I suspect he'd be different in some way if he were financially free to buy both his homes. I've really come to believe that these decisions, these compromises, shape our characters in deep and persistent ways
- The Primitive Accumulation of Cool
- A food take: OMG and Kale

Sunday best: Keeping it simple

I feel like I gave away all of my favourites in last week's round-up, so today's Sunday best is plain and simple. And my day will be too. I'm off work for another couple of days so there's nothing hugely pressing today.


I'll probably just take myself to the coffee shop and put in a few hours with Middlemarch, swing by the flower market on the way home, watch Hannibal again (best show on TV, watch it!) Hopefully, somebody will let the weather know that it's spring now! Lazy spring Sundays...

Have a good one!

Products: Victorian Necklace from Annina Vogel | Current/Elliott jeans from Net-a-Porter | Sunglasses from The Row | Nina Cardigan from Toast | The Row Sabeen Tee from Net-a-Porter | Jil Sander Oxfords from Shopbop

Friday!

I've had the last week off work and it has turned out to be just what the doctor ordered. I caught up on chores, visited the dentist and went blonderer at the hairdressers. I also did this (eep! a first!)

There's something about Spring. What's that Anne Carson line? "Spring opens like a blade". It feels like a time of year not to bask or to ease into things, but to leap. And given the winter I had, the winter we all had, I need that sudden jolt. The shock of doing something new, that feeling that you can still surprise yourself even.


I've been reading Rebecca Mead's My Life in Middlemarch. It's turning out to be the perfect thing for me to read right now, little bits of my own present reflected back to me in a way that makes sense of some of the things that I haven't been able to put words to.


"Reading is sometimes thought of as a form of escapism, and it's a common turn of phrase to speak of getting lost in a book. But a book can also be where one finds oneself; and when a reader is grasped and held by a book, reading does not feel like an escape from life so much as it feels like an urgent, crucial dimension of life itself. There are books that seem to comprehend us just as much as we understand them, or even more." - Mead

Some links:
- I'm in love with Bandido. I'm still not sure I can make sense of my life with a dog but I really love this scruffy chap!
- I'm not a fan of all-or-nothing. It reeks too much of my religious upbringing and ultimately I'm sure it all results in much handwringing hypocrisy. I much rather a gentler balance, an ebb and flow, letting oneself go and gently pulling back and always taking responsibility rather than hiding behind an extreme set of rules. So I liked this piece about the pointlessness of unplugging
- I really like this purse because it's shaped like a saddle and I'm predictable like that
- Mark never writes anything not worth reading
- "...most creative people are continually making associations between the external world and their internal experiences and memories" - The Neurological Similarities between Successful Writers and the Mentally Ill
- And on a lighter note: Updated skincare advice from Lisa Eldridge
- Tumblring

Happy weekend!

A poem for Thursday & spring equinox

This winter is not letting go easily. Still, I walked around today and it was as if everybody has just opted to believe spring is here. The pavements outside shops held buckets of spring flowers -- the impossible yellow of daffodils, a colour that might be garish if it were not for its unabashed joy, its devil-may-care abundance. And these are lines familiar to all, memorized in my youth, but oldie and goodie applies to Wordsworth.

Happy Spring Equinox!

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Horses Atelier

A dress from Horses Atelier has become one of my regular seasonal updates. This season's basics are prime to replace some of my worn-to-death dress-tunics. I'm leaning towards the Sack Dress, but the Peasant Dress also has my name written all over it.


Background image (fragment) by Sigmar Polk, via Horses Atelier on Tumblr

The wolf

I saw a wolf once, walking along the road somewhere between the Columbia Icefield and Lake Louise in winter's depth. We were driving south, having driven all day, stopping only to make photographs. Coupled ravens had followed us up to the icefield, but not back.

We had reached the point when our cameras were spent, our hands heavy from lifting them, the turn of lenses, the pull of advance levers. That mechanical ka-chunk filling the whiteness of silence and snow. So we just pulled over and watched the wolf, nonchalant, making his way down the highway.

He didn’t look at us. I strained for the moment to be something it wasn’t. A moment when when my eyes met wildness and something magical transpired between us. A standoff. Something. The wolf didn’t give a damn what I wanted, and kept up his casual purpose, just as ours waned and we headed home.

And like so many unrecorded and wordless memories, this one has grown. The idea of him and of our crossing paths as something that held more than it did. A deeper significance, a filling presence. But, really, he was a wolf walking down the road. We were a couple driving the same direction. And nothing stopped for us.

Sunday best: My uniform in thirty pieces

Many years ago, I did a post about my “uniform”. I think it’s probably one of the posts that’s been pinned the most from my blog. And although the notion of a uniform is still near and dear to my heart, I think that old post is due an update.


While some of the pieces here are exactly what I own, others are more generally meant to represent ideas — shapes, silhouettes and palette. I don’t, for instance, own these Hermes scarves, but I do almost always wear a scarf... my one stab at colour and pattern. And although I don't own any Cathy Waterman jewelry, my favourite ring and necklaces are similar in aesthetic. It's important to me that all jewelry be very personal and somewhat talismanic.

But this isn't simply an exercise in cataloguing what I already own and wear. Some pieces include here are straight up missing (like a cocoon-y winter coat I love) and will help me focus on what I need to shop for in the next twelve months. Others, like Everlane Ryan tees and the Aritzia cardigan (despite it being totally ubiquitous in Toronto) are things I own in multiples and buy season-in, season-out. My dresses are always sweater or tunic-style. If you ever run into me, odds are I'll be wearing one of these over leggings.


Regarding palette, I do wear mostly black and grey. I also love the pinkish, biscuity neutrals that accent this collection, especially now I'm blonde again. Of course, I'm not this strict always... I too buy ad hoc items that don’t really fit with this script. However, when I think about what's in my closet, those straying purchases are least likely to be worn. And when I line everything up like this, I really wonder why I ever bother deviating!

Tell me, do you wear a "uniform"? Any must-have pieces?

Products:
Set 1: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17
Set 2: 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30

Friday!

Just some links.

- On repeat: Days of roses
- Zadie Smith, Leanne Shapton and Georges Simenon in a new Five Dials
- Contortions
- A letter Beckett wrote the year I was born
- I love it when these two bits of home land in my mail (there's a special St. Patrick's Day offer!)

Happy weekend!

A poem for Wednesday

Somebody said this week, at least you're laughing now. But it was only because he'd said something funny. We hadn't talked about what's been happening, but my mood glows on me I'm sure. The laughter came easily, devil-may-care. But it's like I know we'll never fix this, so it's easier somehow to laugh at the funny things. And it echoes in me like a memory from childhood I can't put a pin in — a jack-in-the-box, a peekaboo, a song about a wandering star.

This is by Jack Gilbert.

Trying to have something left over
There was a great tenderness to the sadness
when I would go there. She knew how much
I loved my wife and that we had no future.
We were like casualties helping each other
as we waited for the end. Now I wonder
if we understood how happy those Danish
afternoons were. Most of the time we did not talk.
Often I took care of the baby while she did
housework. Changing him and making him laugh.
I would say Pittsburgh softly each time before
throwing him up. Whisper Pittsburgh with
my mouth against the tiny ear and throw
him higher. Pittsburgh and happiness high up.
The only way to leave even the smallest trace.
So that all his life her son would feel gladness
unaccountably when anyone spoke of the ruined
city of steel in America. Each time almost
remembering something maybe important that got lost.

Moisture surge

Yes, the polar vortex has been brutal, depressing, endless. It's also done such a number on my skin this winter. My usual routine of careful cleansing and minimal, meaningful moisture and ample sun protection was not what this winter called for. Razing arctic winds left my face, lips, hands, elbows, legs dry, itchy, sensitive and irritated.

I watched Lisa Eldridge's SOS video and decided to give Avene's Skin Recovery Creme a try. Within a week, my face was my own again. From the same video, I also tried La Roche Posay's Lipikar Baume AP. Admittedly, I've always felt that my biggest problem with body moisturizer is the discipline to apply daily. But this stuff is really great. Anything that makes my upper arms feel so smooth gets big points.


The other products shown here have been included in past round-ups, but they were used in much higher rotation this winter. I don't know if I could live again without Lip Slip by Sara Happ (for those in Toronto, I get this from Gee Beauty). It is the best lip balm out there, and the prettiest... one of those products I buy for my friends because I feel so evangelical about it.

Rodin's Olio Lusso is usually a bit rich for my skin, but this winter I'd sometimes apply it before a bath as a mask almost. Similarly, Nuxe's Huile Prodigieuse is for those evenings when you have time to sit around letting something work its magic. I've also been spritzing a bit of it in my hair since I went blonde, just for some extra scalp and hair nourishment.

Finally, I'm at last including Egyptian Magic. I've used this product for years now. When I'm patient, it's the best hand cream out there (when I'm impatient, I use L'Occitane's Shea Butter on both hands and feet). Sometimes I use Egyptian Magic as an eye cream, an elbow cream, a cuts and bruises balm, a cuticle cream... all of this despite its hilarious branding, which says a lot.

As always, my recommendations come with a big asterix: We all have different skin and yours might not respond or react to these products the way mine does. I nearly always get sample sizes before I commit to a full-size product - it won't prove efficacy, but it at least gives you a chance to see if you like the smell, texture etc. and to rule out a sensitivity.

Products: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Illustrations done with Waterlogue.

Sunday best: Wispy

Everything here strikes me as a cozy and inviting antidote to everything harsh and complex and overwhelming. Happy Sunday and springing forward, if you sprung.


Products: Cancer zodiac necklace by Brooke Gregson | Current/Elliott The Fling jeans from Net-a-Porter | Cooper jumper from Sezane | Lip gloss from NARS | Nail polish from Deborah Lippmann | Primrose bag from Mulberry | Mimi Holliday by Damaris Sticky Toffee bra from Net-a-Porter

Friday!

You know that moment when you take a deep breath before launching into your story and then you decide it's too much to say and you're not quite ready and perhaps you don't have the words? So you just shrug or shake your head or say something pat or altogether different. That's been me all week.

Maybe next week, or next month, or next year, I'll be able to write the post I can't today. But I don't have it in me yet. And, in the meantime, it feels like I've nothing much to give to anybody here or in the real world.

So, just some Friday links so:
- My blonde and blurry selfie
- We should love material things more, not less
"...remedying our troubled relationship with material possessions is no easy matter. One knee-jerk response is to cultivate a sort of blanket disdain for consumer goods. I catch a whiff of this in my own inverse snobbery about my battered, second-hand bike, or my disdain for designer clothes – a hangover from childhood Christianity, which historically painted the material world as corrupt and in opposition to the soul."
- The Wild Ones
- "Amn’t I with you? Amn’t I your girl?"
- Hermes delights and some beautiful shelving

A poem for Monday

When I was little, and I suppose still now, I struggled with those ideas that we're all part of the same thing, one whole, connected in some deep and mysterious way. I wanted to be autonomous. And it didn't mean that I didn't care for others or for the world, but I suppose I wanted to be a singular too. I love this poem because it looms so large and thunders out, but there's such a sweet surrender to it. We're all the Mississippi. It's by Aram Saroyan.

I'm the Mississipi
I'm the Mississippi. Nothing
Can stop me. Everything goes my way
Or I flow over, around, or under it,
Changing my dimensions as I go.

Trees, rocks, the animal and human kingdom
Are all passengers of my will. I treat them
As they treat me, loving the way I go on and on
Until I meet the sea. I'm the Mississippi.

Men sail me as I sail them, no better and
No Worse. I'm a river, in the end, not a destination.
Nothing comes between me and my own motion.
I embrace it, and it becomes me, the Mississippi.

Sunday best: Change & the new moon

Change happens whether of our own volition and not. Moment to moment we change. Small invisible changes that only become noticeable over time. Mundane decisions that domino effect. Causality is one of the most complex and devastating of philosophical concepts. We may seek to sufficiently define cause and effect, but it doesn’t mean we’re really close to capturing and controlling it. And most of us loll between feeling we are free-thinking, free-wheeling, self-determining individuals, and that we’re at the mercy of things, sometimes tough, sometimes lucky, and that the entire thing is a fucked up cast of arbitrary characters.


I went blonde yesterday and it reminded me that even when the I feel caught up in all that flux, there can occasionally be a sharp sense of control over small things. And my appetite is whet for it. I walked back up the hill, shocked by my own reflection, which I sought out with some strange urgency. And I looked at my own querying face and my strange new hair mirrored back at me, trying to determine if I looked okay, good even, marvelling at how a few hours in a chair can result in transformation so superficial but so completely un-ignorable.

I wrote on Friday that I’ve become bored with myself lately. That’s partly true. The other side of the story is that I may have become a little paralyzed. Paralyzed because of broken hearts and failed attempts, because I’ve tried things and feel lately that I always fail. I’ve been scared of just adding to all of that, of throwing myself back into something that would be more of the same. And much as I love Beckett, right now I can’t get into the "fail better" approach. So I’ve gone turtle, protecting my damaged heart, my weak will, my feelings of failure.

It’s not that I think hair colour is a big deal. But there’s something about change; it’s hard to change one thing in isolation. It starts to cascade. My hair is different and everything looks different — my clothes and make-up, my complexion, my eye colour, even my eyebrows! So, going blonde isn’t a big deal, but it feels like a small step in throwing myself back into the game of change. And what better time for that than on the first of a new month and a new moon?


Happy Sunday!

Products: Runwell watch from Shinola | Brett shirt from Equipment | Peggy bag from Mimi Berry | Current/Elliott jeans from Net-a-Porter | Les 4 Ombres eyeshadow from Chanel | Horse ring from Conroy & Wilcox | The Lip Slip from Sara Happ | Jodphur boot from Joinery