Growing Up Is Hard To Do

I like to think that over the past almost-five years of living away from home that I've managed to pick up a good deal of knowledge about how to be an adult. I can do my laundry and make myself meals, pay my bills, go to work...But one thing I cannot do is be sick. If there's anything that makes me want to crawl back home and curl up in my childhood bed, it's an illness. Anything from a bad cold to stomach flu (which I battled last winter while dogsitting for a friend - not advised) to the throat infection I'm currently fighting off will have me on the phone with my mom in no time, mumbling in my most pitiful voice, "Mommy, I don't feel good." Google and WebMD just can't take the place of my mother's infinite wisdom - as far as I'm concerned she knows more than either of them put together. I don't think that when I was younger I really appreciated what my mother did for me when I was sick (which was fairly often - say hello to the kid who had pneumonia twice). After all, because she was there I could spend all my time focused on how terrible I felt without actually having to do anything for myself. Now I get to focus on how terrible I feel, but also navigate medicating and feeding myself, not to mention changing my own sheets after spending a day sick in bed, instead of my mom doing it while I sit on the couch watching TV with a glass of ginger ale in front of me.

This weekend was a tough one - mostly spent curled up in the fetal position in bed, alternating between sleeping and watching movies (and eating way too much ice cream during the latter). It was the first time I had gone to a doctor in NYC for something urgent, and it didn't help that I had to drag myself there, and then to the pharmacy, in the pouring rain. When I felt marginally better on Sunday afternoon, instead of getting to revel in the hour in which neither my throat nor my head hurt, I had to muster up the energy to go to the grocery store so that I might have something to eat for the rest of the week. And then today, back to work, even though I'm not at a hundred percent - though, luckily I'm no longer contagious. This might be the hardest part of growing up for me. I can rely on myself for a lot of things, but taking care of myself when sick is not something that comes easily for me. I'm undoubtedly my own worst patient, capable of really plumbing the depths of self-pity. But I'm trying my best to get through, and in the process hopefully growing up a little in the process. And hey, it's still better than that time I had pneumonia in August.

Of Coffee Pots and Silk Pajamas

Do you ever see something and immediately conjure up an image of how your life would be if you owned it? That's how I felt this morning while browsing Moda Operandi (which I have a serious, mostly unrealized, obsession with) and coming across the House of Hackney wares for sale. As a tea party lover, I was immediately drawn to the teapots and cup and saucer sets, but after glimpsing the pajamas above, my heart's desire ultimately settled on the coffeepot, also pictured above. And then I daydreamed - padding around barefoot in my little silk camisole and shorts, making coffee and pouring it into the pot to take with me back to the couch where I read my newspaper and magazines and blogs and sip coffee out of oversized white teacups (I live alone in a sun-filled studio apartment in this daydream). I know that's the point of lifestyle brands, selling to you by appealing to your idea of what your life should or could be - I guess for me that's a studio apartment and matching my sleepwear to my dinnerware, using the Keurig on weekdays and my French press on weekends and having enough closet space to coexist peacefully with my wardrobe... - but there's something about it that's so useful. I know my life won't be vastly improved by buying a pretty coffeepot or some silk loungewear, but the escape of dreaming about that life does me a lot of good during a long workday. Still, I'm going to need to be convinced not to buy either (or both, together) of those items.

House of Hackney coffeepot and pajama set, both from modaoperandi.com

What's in my Bag: Minimal Edition

I'm falling prey to my old habits: beginning posts and letting my mind drift away to the point that it takes months for me to get a thought up. But I've found a solution - short posts to get me in the spirit, long posts when my heart is really in it. So here's today's short post - what's in my bag.

Even though it's done and done and, you guessed it, done again, I always seem to enjoy a brief glimpse into someone's bag. I'm usually a crazy hoarder in my bags - numerous metro cards, receipts, five lipsticks, a handful of bobby pins, a mess of used kleenex (it's allergy season, don't judge). But this week I switched to using a new bag, which led me to pare down the contents. An empty table at work beckoned to me and I spilled the contents and arranged them to fit in the frame.

The bag is a Rebecca Minkoff M.A.C (a lovely birthday gift from my bosses) and here's what's in it:

• The ID card that lets me into Conde Nast everyday
• A metro card, used mainly when it's raining
• Sunglasses from Forever 21, essential for my morning walk to work
• Dr. Hauschka lipstick in Pink Topaz
• My trusty iPod, necessary for my walks to and from work 
• Kleenex (see above)
• My keys and cards, featuring my out of date student ID

Not pictured: the iPhone I used to take this picture and the cardigan I stuffed in so I wouldn't freeze at work...and the other lipstick I just found while digging around in the bag (I knew I couldn't have just one on me).

So there it is, a short post, a snapshot of life, and hopefully a ticket to getting me back on track.

A Year and a Day

Bryant Park, one year ago

On Monday I turned 23 - Taylor Swift to Blink 182 style, though luckily it seems that my approval rating hasn't dropped yet. Monday was also my one year anniversary of being in New York. Instead of being dropped off at the train by two teary-eyed parents (to be fair, I wasn't exactly dry-eyed either) and then arriving to spend the next two weeks on the living room couch of some very gracious family friends, I spent my day at work and then drinking and dining (and drinking some more) with some of my closest friends in the city. I spent Saturday night surrounded by even more friends, celebrating the year past and the year to come.

Yesterday marked the one year anniversary of my job. It's hard to believe that in the past year or so I've graduated college, moved to New York City and started a job in the field I spent my four years of college preparing for. And now here I am, a year and a day in. A lot has changed in the past year but so much has stayed the same - the walls in my walk-in closet of a room have stayed bare but the number of shoes crammed in here with me has grown...significantly.

I think I've changed in the past year - having a job and paying rent will do that, as will late nights spent with friends in darkened bars and Sunday mornings spent in bed ordering from Seamless because moving is just too difficult. Every year on my birthday someone inevitably asks me if I feel different. And I didn't feel any different on Monday than I did on Sunday. But thinking back on the past year, I feel older than the person I was a year and a day ago when I walked into Conde Nast for my first day of my big-girl job. I'm older than the person I was sitting on the Amtrak train bound for New York from D.C., crying a little and silently reading the letter my mom slipped me before she and my dad kissed me goodbye. I'm older because of the experiences I've had and the people I've met - the early mornings and late nights and too much coffee or too much vodka and first dates and no, wait nevermind, maybe no second date after all.

 Fewer people ask if I'm a teenager now (though I was told, on Monday when heading down to the 21+ restaurant at which my friends and I ate that night, that I looked 18) and whether that's because my face shows age or my attitude does, I'm not sure - but it feels good to grow up.

I'm optimistic about 23. Even though I'm still not sure about how to navigate adult relationships and the walls of my teeny room are still bare and I'm still not exactly sure how to avoid those Sunday morning hangovers, I know there's a lot of good left to come.

Marching On

My neighborhood on a sunny March day

It seems that every time I commit myself to writing more, that is the exact opposite of what I do. After my last post, I got excited and started working on multiple posts and then...well, I'm not sure what happened then. February set in, and things got gloomy and busy (you can try to persuade me that February is not the worst month, but you will fail). The computer that I usually use for, well, everything decided that February would be its last gasping breaths month. Now, instead of turning off some of the time that I unplug it, it turns off any time I unplug it. Immediately. Even if it's in sleep mode. As much as I love using my iPad for pretty much everything, blogging is not one of those things. And while I contemplate buying a new computer (appealing in every aspect besides price) I've let this little alcove of the internet lie dormant. It's not that I don't want to write, or that I have no inspiration (which would perhaps be easier to deal with) it's that I've let other things get in the way. Instead of sitting with my computer after work, I sit with my iPad, which, while useful for watching TV shows and listening to music and browsing the internet, isn't great for actual typing. And on weekends I'm desperate to turn my brain off after the work week. But all the thoughts rattling around in my head have to go somewhere, and for now, this is that somewhere. So once again I'll treat this as my virtual window seat - my place to sit and think and write it all down. Here's to a fresh (re)start and hoping I actually keep with it this time.

Hello 2013

2012 was a year of big changes for me. I graduated college in March and moved to New York for my first real job at the end of April. I bought my first pair of designer shoes (Manolo Blahniks from the sample sale when my bosses urged me out the door on my third day of work) and attended fashion week for the first time (and then bought more designer shoes). I reconnected with old friends, made a few new ones, got in touch with my social side and went on a few dates. I found my way around my new neighborhood and my new city and survived a superstorm. I went to Indiana and California and back home and always came back to New York feeling like it really was becoming my city. I spent my first New Year's Eve away from home and celebrated the end of 2012 with some of my best friends in the city.

2013 has a lot to live up to, but right now I'm looking forward to getting better acquainted with New York, spending time with my friends (and hopefully making some new ones along the way) and making my apartment feel more like a home. I've got more than a few goals for the new year - which I put off for a week while suffering/recovering from a cold - and with those I'm looking forward to bettering myself both inside and out (2013 is the year I really embrace my vanity). I'm going to make a real effort to get back in touch with the part of myself that sits down at the end of the day and does something productive - aka the creative part of me that writes and takes pictures, which hopefully means more here, more there, more everywhere. In 2013, I'm going to make progress. 

Pick Three: Metallic Loafers

With the onset of fall, shopping is constantly on my mind. Of course, it doesn't help that I spend all day looking at clothes, both on my computer screen and in the hallways of the office. One thing I've noticed since starting work at Lucky is that my shoe collection has grown considerably (which is a little tough in such a tiny bedroom). But that doesn't mean that I've stopped looking at shoes. One of the things on my list, besides a pair of classic leather loafers, a new pair of leopard flats and some high-heeled knee-high boots is a pair of metallic loafers. I've been eying the Coach pair since they debuted their Legacy collection and I couldn't be happier that there are so many options for shiny, preppy feet (nor could I be happier that the Bass pair have joined my wardrobe). Obviously I picked three options in gold, silver and bronze (which also reflect their prices from highest to lowest) because even after a couple months I'm still not quite over Olympics fever.

1. Coach "Haydee" loafers, $188 2. Bass "Wayfarer" loafers, $139 3. C. Wonder penny loafers, $128

Here's to Fall

"American Elm" via lostmanproject.com

 It's hard to describe how I feel about the changing of the seasons from summer to fall. After so many steamy, sticky, sweltering days, waking up to a brisk little bite in the air feels as good as sinking into a lavender-scented bubble bath after a long day. I'm enjoying the onset of fall in New York, quoting You've Got Mail every chance I get ("Don't you just love New York in the fall?") and planning weekend strolls in Central Park with steaming cups of coffee in hand. As cliche as it sounds, fall seems to signal a new beginning for me every year. I may not be packing my books into a tote on the way to class, but I feel like fall brings me closer to the person I strive to be. After a summer spent whining about the heat, sitting directly in front of air-conditioning units, cooking as little as possible (who wants to stand in front of a stove after walking home in soaring temperatures?) and wearing whatever would get me through the day with as little sweat as possible, I'm back in action. This week I've already cooked two real dishes (penne alla vodka and a cheddar, bacon and spinach quiche) and I couldn't be happier about being able to wear real clothes (even pants!) without the threat of arriving at work sweat-soaked. I feel like fall has so much to look forward to: friends visiting from out of town, my first trip to California, Thanksgiving, crisp fall nights out in the city and cozy mornings spent sipping coffee, cable knit sweaters, riding boots...I could go on and on.The beginning of this fall has been amazingly busy and after a couple of vaguely depressing years spent finishing my undergraduate career, I feel like I'm right where I'm supposed to be and that my life is taking me where I'm supposed to go. So here's to fall and everything it brings; I'm so ready.

Fashion Week redux

Nonoo S/S 2013

 Now that I've finally got some proper rest I feel like I can look back on the beginning of this month with some clarity (though not a whole lot - things are a blur). For me, fashion week started Wednesday, September 5 with four presentations, one show and a few quick visits to Lucky's Fashion and Beauty Blogger conference (aka FABB). It ended Wednesday, September 12 when I exited Lincoln Center after the Vivienne Tam show, took a detour to Magnolia Bakery for cupcakes, went home, at the cupcakes and went to sleep around 10 p.m. Fashion week was...fun, exhilarating, stressful, tiring and beautiful. I went to more than 30 events over the course of that seven days. It might as well be the beginning of field hockey season for the number of blisters and band-aids my feet and ankles have been sporting. I got my picture taken a few times and saw other people get their picture taken a million times (the first time I arrived at Milk I was taken aback by the clamoring crowd of photographers out front. Peering into the crowd, I spotted Leandra Medine posing amid the din. I took more pictures with my iPhone than I thought possible. I spotted a lot of well-known editors and even more bloggers and even a few celebrities. I felt like I was stalking Linda Fargo for awhile. I saw a lot of creativity and a lot of beauty.

Lisa Perry S/S 2013

 I've been entranced by the fashion world for a while, starting in my teen years when I began to read fashion magazines in earnest. Then came the endless poring over runway images online and clicking constantly to the next page of street style blogs. So when I found myself in the middle of fashion week - at Lincoln Center or Milk or somewhere along the West Side Highway, it was more than a little surreal. I still did all the things I've done in the past - reading blogs and checking Tumblr and looking at street style - only this time I'd notice someone that I'd seen, or recognize where a picture was taken. Seeing runway or presentation shots from shows I had actually attended pop up on my Tumblr dashboard was both odd and enthralling. It seems strange to think that less than a year ago I was living (primarily) in the Chicago suburbs and going to school and now I'm living in New York, working full time and going to fashion week for work. And though fashion week was even more exhausting than any crazy finals week, I can't imagine anything that I would have rather been doing.

Tanya Taylor S/S 2013

Welcome Home

I used to cry every time I left home to go back to school. My eyes would slowly fill with tears that I tried to blink away as I pulled away from my house and then again when my dad would leave me in the security line at National Airport. Even though I loved Chicago and school and my friends the tears would always come, remnants of the child who once told her mother she would never leave home.

When I left for New York, now more than four months ago, I cried as well. A six-week stay at home had once again filled my heart with the love that surrounds me when I am there. I cried because I was leaving home for good, because I was terrified of what life in the city would hold for me, because it was the first time in my life where I was going off without a real plan.

Yesterday I left home again, after spending the long weekend thoroughly ensconced in home life. I like to say that each time I go home I revert to my teenage self - lying around the house, going to the mall, carrying a Vera Bradley bag on my arm. I spent time with my parents and my best friend who I've known since I was five and high school friends and I listened to the near silence of suburban nights and walked out onto the back deck in my bare feet. I got bitten by mosquitoes and ate way too much and relived old rituals with a cup of coffee and a copy of the Washington Post. And I wished the weekend were longer so that I could stay and give my parents longer hugs and sit around the dinner table for hours. I was sad to leave.

But I didn't cry. Instead of thinking of the things I was leaving, I was thinking about what I would be coming back to: the city that I love, friends I want to see, friends who want to see me, a job that I'm never sorry to wake up for (except maybe that one time when I was hungover on a Wednesday morning), a boy I have a crush on, the beginning of fashion week, my bed that is, admittedly, the one superior thing about my apartment as opposed to my house... Even though I was leaving home and my parents and that wonderful cocoon, I'm actually making a life here in New York and when I got back to my apartment, well, it felt just like home.