You must be wondering why this Sunday Styles doesn't feature a particular outfit, but my husband's handsome face instead.
Well, it's because this Sunday was a particularly harrowing one. The kind that makes you think about life and priorities.
The morning started off as Sunday mornings usually do. I was off early to the gym and got back in time to start getting the apartment in order and ready for the day while Charles woke up a little later after a slightly insomnia-riddled evening. I gave him a "good morning/go get 'em" kiss as he left for his own gym session and I hopped in the shower.
All good so far. The morning was shaping up to be a good one.
I got ready, did some dishes, fed Merlin and started our walk. (Figured I may as well get the pup some extra exercise before brunch) and was enjoying the post-drizzle morning humidity when the phone rang. Just Charles informing me that he was on his way home. Fantastic.
So, Merlin and I decided to prolong our walk so we could greet Charles upon his return...which is when the phone rang again.
Peculiar. It was Charles.
I feel horrible about the fact that I don't read nearly as much as I used to. Sometimes I have a feeling (it's not even a feeling, it's more of a fact) it has a lot to do with living in LA now and not having as much hands-free, public-transportation, commuting time where I can choose to stuff my face in a book rather than zone out at some other commuter's face or be disturbingly aware of my hot, sweaty, uncomfortable surroundings including someone's armpit two inches from my head.
Nope, LA just doesn't afford you that kind of situation...but maybe I'm just making excuses.
Truthfully, I can make time to read even though I sometimes (as in always) get swallowed up by the oh-I-should-clean-the-apartment-and-run-to-get-toothpaste-and-Merlin-probably-needs-a-walk-oh-look-it's-time-to-make-dinner-wow-I'm-sleepy-time-for-bed hole. (Don't we all?)
But every few years there is a happening. I get a piece of news about a new book by one of my favorite authors and I make an effort to seek out this new tome of dreams and hole myself away for many hours at a time...which is what happened with Haruki Murakami's latest book: Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage.
Bleaching my hair a pale, buttery blonde was something I'd always secretly fantasized about. In fact, I did it once back in high school. The initial results were stellar. I was a skatery-punky-indie young thing with a pixie cut. All I did was get my hands on some Manic Panic bleach and plop it on my head.
My parents? HATED IT. Me? I LOVED IT. My boyfriend at the time? I CAN'T REMEMBER WHICH DUDE I WAS DATING. (Horrible, I know. I might have been caught in a love triangle or square at the time.)
Yep. I was left with almost-white hair that I, unfortunately, didn't take very good care of because it was during one of my "I'm young and resilient and I don't have time to think about upkeep" phases. (Cue the endless cheeseburgers, cigarettes, sleepless nights, bottomless coffees, late-night drives to far away places and all that philosophizing over who knows what all day, every day in diners all over northern New Jersey and the dark alleys of Manhattan. How am I not dead?)
(a.k.a Nami Returns to the Land of the Living Once More)
Wow. So, it's literally been over a month since I blogged.
There are lots of reasons for this. Back to back business trips, the continued decorating of the new home, my 3 year wedding anniversary, a dog with major allergies, AND New York Fashion Week.
I just returned from the latter this last weekend and after running as far away from social media as possible for a few days, have returned to give you a recap.
As you might know, I work with TRESemmé (their the official hair care sponsor for Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week) as their social media person and, because of that, get access to shows every season to capture the hair and the looks from the runway...and this season definitely didn't disappoint. TRESemmé did the hair for 7 shows:
Seriously. I never thought the day would come where I would go out of my way to purchase a huge, honkin' tube of gel, but that day came and now all I want to do is wear my hair insanely slicked back every single day.
So, what brought on this sudden enthusiasm for a shiny, rock-solid helmet of hair? I heard the sirens of summer singing a song. That tune we all know so well (you know the one): "Humidity is a Bitch." The summer sirens sing that one pretty consistently during the hotter months and I had found myself in Miami for Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Swim in all its damp, heat-wavy, neon glory.
Oh, hey there. Sorry I've been completely MIA, but you'll learn why in a second…
Welcome to my first installment of "The Frontiers of Adulthood" where I, a supposed adult, will discuss things that are going on in my life that are things adults are supposed to do…even though I really don't feel like one.
This series will be especially relevant for all of us living in high-priced cities where, if you're not a millionaire, things are difficult and you often question your quality of life because you know if you lived somewhere else, you'd probably have several acres of land, a huge house, and a life outside of your occupation instead of the studio apartment you've been in for 10 years (which you're still renting) and the job that haunts you on weekends and weeknights in the form of a plague of emails. You often scoff at Sex in the City because you know there's just no way Carrie could've afforded living in that apartment in the first place. (However, you still watch re-runs because of your expert ability to suspend disbelief…also, you will always love that show.)
Today's subject is about home ownership. If you've been following along on the blog, you might have noticed me mention here and there that we've been on the market for a home.
Well, ladies and gents, I'm proud to say that we just moved into condo a few weeks ago, which would explain why I basically fell off the Earth and was orbiting Pluto (which technically isn't a "planet" in our solar system anymore, but has enough gravitational force to keep me away from you for a month.)
Now, back to the subject…
I've gotta say that home ownership has really shed some light on parts of myself I never knew existed. Here's a list of things I've discovered about myself:
Well, happy Sunday, everyone! And, more importantly, Happy Father's Day to all the wonderful dads out there! OBVIOUSLY, this gives me a chance to dedicate today's Sunday Styles to the international man of mystery known as my dad…or, as I call him, "Pop."
As is my way of doing things, I'm going to start off on the sartorial side of things. This is my father in his 20's…for 95% of my life, he has been in a suit. Apparently, this whole thing started way before I was born too. To be fair, he was a tried and true Japanese business man and they all wear suits, but my father was never schlubby. You know those guys who "wear suits" but don't look right in them or don't take the time to care for their clothing?
Yeah, my dad has never been one of them. So, let's start off with the fashion-focused things my father has taught me…
It's a rare thing, to be sure. I've seen tons of collaborations that have made my head cock so hard to one side that it practically falls off and rolls away under a car (or a couch if I'm indoors.)
So, wasn't I pleasantly surprised when I heard about Warby Parker's newest collab with the beautiful Karlie Kloss being released TODAY. (If you don't know who she is, behold the beauty to the left. Remember this face, because she's going to be one of those legendary models that will probably look just as stunning at 90.)
Also, I may or may not stalk her on Instagram…how can you not?
Let's all admit that this girl has staying power. I feel like if we still lived in the 90's, she would've been in with Helena, Naomi, Cindy, Linda, Kate, and Christy…and this is why I can respect this collab. Because we know this girl and we know that she's got style, she's got grace (she's a lady) and why wouldn't we all want a little bit of that style to call our very own?
You didn't think I could possibly provide another white-out weekend post, did you? Trust me, I thought about it, but figured you might be getting bored. Anyway, I needed to do a load of white laundry. Combine that with the revelation that I need more white shoes and it's become clear that today is not an all-white sorta day.
Meanwhile, it's finally cooled down a little bit and the mornings have been deliciously overcast, which means I don't have to wear white as a defensive move. No one should ever have to dress defensively.
So, what do I do instead? I go in the completely opposite direction (naturally) this Sunday by channeling my inner Wednesday Addams. Nothing feels as comfortable to me as nestling into a blacked-out outfit. In the words of the great Yohji Yamamoto:
"Black is modest and arrogant at the same time. Black is lazy and easy - but mysterious. But above all black says this: "I don't bother you - don't bother me."
Man, it is getting hot out there, isn't it? Not sure how it's going on the east coast, but the west coast has been scorching and humid! I know. HUMID! My hair and skin are super happy about it, but the rest of me could do without that mild dampness that makes walking in the sun feel like battling your way through a sauna. My friend, Dan, said it had to do with the tectonic plates below Cali creating heat from the ground and the marine layer. (I may or may not be planning for natural disasters…)