God I'm lazy about ironing. And by "lazy" I mean "I don't do it, ever." Not because I hate it, exactly - it's sort of meditative and relaxing - but because it takes so freaking LONG. And I'm so bad at it that I don't even get any sense of satisfaction at the end, just this sort of middling "ah well, I guess that looks slightly less terrible than it did before" thing.
On Me: Band of Gypsies Top and Shorts; LAGOS Bangles c/o
I will not be festival-ing this year. I mean: obviously.
But I will be doing things like getting tarot readings done in a New Mexico town called "Truth Or Consequences" (really; I already booked it), so I feel like there's a place in my life for as much fringe and embroidery as I can possibly handle. Which is really quite a lot.
When you write about beauty, you end up accumulating a lot of products; samples of everything from glowing face plugs to sparkle glosses to serums that deposit tiny hairs onto your eyebrows. I try to use everything that looks at least marginally interesting at least once in the service of educating myself about what's out there (so that I at least sort of know what I'm talking about when it comes time to write about my favorite finds), but more often than not one use is enough: I'm picky about texture, and often find products too oily, or too thick, or too drying, or too something to make them worth incorporating into my regular routine.
When I finish a sample down to the very last drop, and am still thinking about the product two years later, you know it's a good one.
Way back in 2013, I hosted an event for Macy's in Seattle. Hosting these events involves arriving at the venue around sunrise, and makeup artists and hairstylists are generally happiest when you show up with virtually nothing on your face or hair, because all that does is add a step (taking off whatever you've already done) to their job. But that can be tricky, because...you know...it's sunrise. And sometimes you get there and immediately need to say hello to clients, and run lines with supermodels, and do various other things for which you would really prefer to be wearing a little mascara.
Sometimes you just want to keep things easy: simple cuts, clean lines, all things white, black and denim. My favorite thing about these kinds of fuss-free pieces is that they look simultaneously grown-up and totally chilled-out, like you've got things to do but don't want to deal with any hassle while you're doing them.
Three pieces in my wardrobe that are in constant rotation at the moment: an oversized white button-down (Kendrick is equally excited about this purchase, because its presence in my closet means I'm no longer constantly stealing his), a perfect pair of flare jeans, and some classic nude heels that look like those on-the-feet-of-every-blogger-and-actress-in-the-universe Stuart Weitzman Nudists (but are a fraction of the price).
And with the Spring Formal (I cannot believe I am thirty-three years old and once again going to spring formals, but hey, I'll take it), the Business School Experience has come to a close. (Well, technically Kendrick doesn't graduate until next Monday, but I think it's safe to say that this was officially the last school dance of our lives.) We weren't even planning to go, but then my mom offered to babysit and to lend me a dress so I didn't have to go digging through box after box after box in search of a gown that I'm not entirely certain that I even own, and so what the hell:
Spring Formal it was.
You guys, it was SO MUCH FUN. Since it was all very last-minute we decided to just grab dinner on the way up, and we ended up stopping at this completely random Italian restaurant in Port Chester that was straight out of 1956...and not in an ironic way; in a wood paneling and shrimp scampi way. We were the youngest people in there by approximately fifty years. (Obviously I loved it, and ordered the lasagna.)
