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Why Did You Wear That: Blurring Lines in Gempicket

By admin|November 30th, 2015|Personal Style, Why Did You Wear That?|

Upon entering my apartment, one of the first things people notice, besides the fact that it took them twenty minutes to navigate the maze like hallway to get there, is the collection of nightgowns hanging on the handles of my closet doors on the left side of the hallway. Some of them are vintage, some of them I’ve never worn, others I wear all the time. You could say that my obsession with nightwear began while watching Golden Girls as a little girl. That’s right, instead of Big Bird and Mister Rogers it was Murphy Brown, Sam Malone, and Blanche Devereaux. I still fall asleep to the sounds of Nick at Nite and all of this ties back nicely to the potential narcolepsy I suffer from. Another hypothesis as to my penchant for boudoir attire is the time I spent buying lingerie for Henri Bendel. One never knew she was missing a waspie or the imperative need for an embroidered kimono until she spent time in a showroom full of silk, chiffon, and lace. I only have one dresser in my apartment and its sole purpose is to house my bras, panties, and bathing suits. You may be wondering why I ever even bother getting dressed. Spoiler alert, I rarely do.

Working from home most days doesn’t require putting on much more than a whisper of clothing. Other than slipping into something spandex to catch a yoga or pilates class, I’ve become quite comfortable in the very basics– as have all of my deliverymen. My freedom in dresscode and days of solidarity have taken some of the stress out of my normal work day, but it has also left me somewhat socially awkward and also in a panic when it comes time to piece together an outfit fit for public consumption. And this is when the beauty of blurring the lines between “your eyes only” and “all eyes on me “comes into play. When you can pair a Gempicket silk cotton batiste cami with your favorite skinny jeans or throw a vintage t-shirt on with your delicately demure tap pants, you’ve perfectly bridged the gap between wallflower and woman of interest. Or you could just call the whole thing off and stay home in your skivvies.

Gempicket Elodie Cami, Grace Tap Pants, and Suki Socks

Photos by Michael Stiegler

Why Did You Wear That: American Splendor

By admin|November 17th, 2015|Personal Style, Why Did You Wear That?|

Saturday afternoons during the fall in Manhattan often involve something some lovingly refer to as and others scoff at called “brunch.” This past Saturday presented me with an especially relevant reason to partake in daylight libations because my oldest (not in age, but in duration) friend was in town for work. Upon his arrival, we wandered down the street without an actual location in mind– this is an analogy for my life. Stopping in front of a restaurant to inspect the menu, deeming it acceptable, and ordering a bottle of rosé as soon as our seats touched the chairs (I refuse to believe it’s out of season), we were off to a running start. I thought myself clever asking for a turkey burger sans bun only to later find out that many restaurants use bread crumbs as a binder in their patties, canceling out all of my gluten free intentions. We met up with a few friends at a neighborhood watering hole a few blocks down and much to my chagrin, said establishment was out of rosé, so Sancerre it was. Typically dead on a Saturday afternoon before the evening rush of anyone but locals, the bartenders thanked us for making them laugh and keeping things “interesting.” As we parted ways with one group of friends, we met up with another at a cash only joint that can almost lead you to believe you’ve been transported from the West Village to Southwest Detroit, almost- the plaid shirts and Patagonia vests are dead giveaways as to your geolocation.

At this point, I was fading fast and knew that the only last glint of hope for me was to order pizza (since I’d already fallen from the gluten wagon). A few people are privy to the fact that in most instances of ordering pizza, I’ve fallen asleep before it’s been delivered. Basically, I pay my doormen’s holiday bonuses in literal dough. But alas, I was still standing when it was time to tip the delivery boy. Unfortunately, even a Pandora dance party and pepperoni slice could not save my sad, sloshed soul. I waved my friends on without me- okay, I fell asleep with my arm in the air- and called it a night, all before 9pm.

I sat straight up in bed around 1:30am and realized that I had slept the entire night away and wondered where my friends had ventured off to and whether I should gather bail money now or later. I didn’t have to wonder for too long before my best pal was haphazardly trying his luck with the key to my door and Smitty all but lost it at the prospect of an intruder. I rescued him from himself and he stumbled in to tell me what I’d missed (hint: not much). After a chat session worthy of a highschool sleepover, and a critical dissection of our relationships, he passed out snoring on my couch and I found myself wide awake on Saturday night at 4am watching American Splendor.

top: American Eagle, skirt: American Apparel, sweater: Henri Bendel, shoes: Steve Madden, bag: Chanel, dog: Smitty

Photos by Richard Smith

Why Did You Wear That: Time Will Tell with Louis Moinet

By admin|October 18th, 2015|Sponsored Post, Why Did You Wear That?|

“Shoot!” I exclaim as I peer at the clock above my stove. “I’m late… Again.”

I inspect my reflection in the mirror for the fourth time and reassure myself that my hair alone is well worth the wait. Thirty minutes worth the wait though? Should I just cancel? What excuse can I use this time? Faulty plumbing? look for help in https://allsewerserviceplumbing.com/24-hour-emergency-plumber/ and get a 24 hour service, Natural disaster? Personality defect? It is in my Aquarian nature, after all.

I pick up my phone to make the call (text), and realize that even if I leave right now, I’ll be forty-five minutes late, pending traffic. Please don’t take Bleecker. Before pressing send, I recall how his dark brown eyes had made me melt and how the conversation during our first encounter had made me forget about time altogether. Maybe I won’t cancel. Besides, I’m already dressed, and this dress deserves to be seen. I delete my message, grab my bag and give one last glance in the mirror before heading down the hall to the elevator.

I let him know I’m on my way, without being too apologetic. I don’t want to tip the scales too far in his favor. As the taxi pulls up to the curb in front of the restaurant, I take a deep breath and decide that no excuse will be my best excuse. Everyone knows that anything worth having is also worth waiting for. It’s basic economics. All good things always take time. And I’m certainly worth the wait.

As I walk into the already crowded restaurant, I spot him. And as I spot him, he spots me and peers down at his wrist, presumably to check just how late I actually am. I give a half hearted wave hoping to offset any animosity with a shy smile. I make my way to him, avoiding a waitress with an overloaded drink tray and dodging an over served patron and I see him start to soften. It must be my hair. He greets me with a warm enveloping hug and despite my tardiness, all seems to be forgiven. Just as I start to relax, he looks down at his wrist again and for the first time, I notice that he’s not wearing just any watch, a Tag or a Rolex, it’s a Louis Moinet. I don’t know much about stocks or bonds, cars or sports, but I do know you can tell a lot about a man by his watch– and his shoes.

Now, if you’ve never heard of Louis Moinet, you’re not a watch enthusiast or you’ve been tricked into believing there are only a few watches worth wearing. Someone with discerning taste knows the difference. This particular model is the Louis Moinet Memoris tenth anniversary timepiece- the first chronograph watch in watchmaking history. Certainly not for novices. Seeing this watch on my date’s wrist tells me that he is someone who is more interested in the craft of watchmaking than the culture of watch wearing. This purchase wasn’t made after listening to one too many Drake songs or catching an ad in between episodes of Scandal. This is a man who values the art over the adage, the heritage more than the hearsay. With the chronograph existing two hundred years and the watchmaker celebrating its tenth anniversary, Louis Moinet reinvented things by focusing on the chronograph as a centerpiece rather than simply a design component. There is a reason this watch has been nominated for the Grand Prix d’Horlogerie of Geneva. Incorporating the “Energie Plus”, an automatic pawl self winding system, the Memoris can be wound in both directions optimizing every movement. I know I’ve done the right thing by not canceling. This is a man who values his time. It’s written all over his wrist. I feel a pang of guilt for not having valued it myself. watch. Have you been thinking of purchasing a Rolex, Omega, Tag Heuer or Seiko? Whether it will be your very first luxury watch or you’re adding to your elite collection – nanadc.com offer 100% authentic luxury watches at unbelievably discounted rates.

He asks if I’d care for a drink and I order rosé because it would look nice with the rose gold of his watch. He smiles as if in cahoots. I smile back and think that perhaps if I had a watch half as lovely, I’d never be late either. Will this romance last longer than the dessert course? Who knows? Only time will tell.

Why Did You Wear That: American Girl in Paris, La Dernier Chapitre

By admin|March 2nd, 2015|Personal Style, Why Did You Wear That?|

If you’ve been keeping up with my Parisian escapades (parts deux et trois), you’re probably wondering what became of this romantic journey. Well, unlike most fairytales, this story didn’t have the happy ending that little girls dream of (or massage parlors promise). However, it did have the life lessons that grow sweet little girls into strong wise women. In short, what some might have chocked up to be a trip from hell, I was able to extract some very, very important universal truths. I didn’t fall in love with a handsome French man. I didn’t buy the perfect vintage coat in Le Marais. I didn’t even see the top of the Eiffel Tower though it was quite literally a baguette’s distance away.

People then ask, “Well, what did you do?” and I can’t really answer that. There was no Mona Lisa at the Louvre, I never ate escargot. I didn’t lock away my love on the Pont des Arts. I did have lunch at Colette, drank champagne while chatting up a couple of artists at Cafe de Flore, and took a spin on La Grande Roue de Paris. I made new friends, I reconnected with some I had lost touch with. Most importantly, I was smacked in the face with my own little life lesson: if you don’t take the wheel, someone else most certainly will.

When you board a bullet train, keep in mind it can be derailed just as quickly as it can get you to your destination. My friend arrived on the morning of my birthday. We started the day off without sleeping and a bottle of champagne (champagne tastes better on an empty stomach). By the end of the day, we had a cute French boy singing “Happy Birthday” (Joyeux Anniversaire) with his guitar and buying me a birthday card from a pharmacie with an age on it that might not be my own. The evening included dinner at L’Avenue (which we lucked into as we hadn’t made an earlier reservation and Paris was still empty) and cocktails (read: more champagne) at Le Bar du Plaza Athénée. There was no cake, there was no singing and this was the beginning and prologue to a very long week.

To fit all that occurred into one or two more paragraphs would not do the journey justice and ironically, some parts of my personal life should probably stay private. A few notable moments did include spontaneously regaining a grasp of my French, learning that you can bring your dog just about anywhere (including the grocery store), champagne showers at couture week after parties at Hotel Costes, and actually losing weight while eating bread. By the end of the week, I was exhausted both physically and emotionally. The universe did me a solid by canceling my flight home due to Juno (sorry, New York) allowing me a few more days in Paris on my own. While the only physical souvenirs I arrived home with were some French books from the airport and sweets to share with friends at home, the real gifts were the lessons I learned about myself. (And Hemingway was right).

I didn’t go to Paris with someone I love as I’d always imagined, but there are some mornings I find myself longing to awake in the golden morning light of that magical city.