First: Using espresso beans and brewing with barely any water does not espresso make, mother.
(Just kidding, I love you, you're the coolest.)
Second: So sometimes, I'm kind of embarrassed to tell people that I have a fashion blog. Or that I "write about fashion." It's because I think many people have this certain image in their head of someone who's "into fashion" - polished, chic, perfectly well-coiffed and styled. And then there's me, and I'm wearing like, a five dollar men's white t-shirt from Uniqlo and J.Crew jeans. Also, I was probably wearing that last time you saw me, too. Also, I probably have mascara smeared under my eyes. I guess I could say "I totally know how to dress awesome but I just don't feel like it," which is essentially the truth, but that seems kind of humblebraggy and disingenous. Or just like, total bullshit.
The truth is, though, that I dress the way I do for some pretty specific reasons. I'm looking for clothing that reflects my life, that works for the way that I live and the person I am. I'm not looking to mold myself into something else. I will never wake up more than 15 minutes before class and, except for those six months I was blonde, I could not give less of a fuck about my hair. But I also think a lot about clothing and identity. I try to reflect something really specific, really honest. Clothing is language, clothing is communication. And so I kind of wish I could just ask people to trust that I'm saying what I want to say.
In a lot of ways I think honesty of expression is far more important than say, style. Maybe I'll write a real, big kid post about this one day. But I think you can kind of compare clothing to art in that way, like if it says what it's trying to say, and you get it, is it successful?
I need to go back to school because my abstract thinking skills are rusty.
Third: Thursday evening, I accidentally - no seriously, accidentally - walked from my apartment on 60th St to Canal St. And then I went to McNally Jackson. And then I went to Brooklyn via Union Square. I haven't had a solid, buried-in-my-thoughts, solo walk like that since Paris. And holy shit, was it cathartic. Because you know, sometimes you want something, and you get it, and you don't even realize that you got what you wanted because you're too busy looking at the next thing: "What is happiness? It's a moment before you need more happiness," etc, etc. But sometimes you take a long walk and remember yourself a year ago, who did the same thing, this time last year. And you realize that what you wanted was to be someone, and you actually are that person and you have been for a long time, and you're going to keep going forward and keep getting better - maybe not always in a straight line, but eventually.
That's the first and last time I'll ever get that personal in this space, but there it is. Good shit.
Fourth: Here's some stuff I'm loving right now. Seriously, am I the last person to know that Margaret Howell is amazing?
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