I wish I were the kind of girl who [Read more...]
Dear Mrs Robinson,
You are one stylish lady. I’ve thought that ever since the first time I saw you at Benjamin’s graduation party. You had on the shiny tiger print dress in golds and blacks, which went so well with your blonde and brown streaked hair. It was twirled that night into a thick, high bun, but it still looked wild and wonderful. I also liked that when you took your dress off, as you were showing Benjamin Elaine’s portrait in her bedroom, your slip was tiger print too and matched the dress. You really know how to pull an outfit together. But I think my favorite look of yours is the one from your first date with Benjamin at the Taft hotel. You had on a black blouse, a giraffe print skirt, and a leopard coat. You looked incredible in that coat. Those predator cat prints really work well for you. [Read more...]
I said it at the time. “Peter,” I said. “We will now become the people we hate.”
I was referring to those who travel to distant lands, eat local fare, return to the home country and, when dining out with friends, bemoan that the coq au vin, the chicken vindalou, the mutton cooked in sheep’s guts–take your pick–doesn’t come close to what you would get in Paris, Delhi, the steppes of outer Mongolia–take your pick. And even worse than waving your culinary passport of international foods around the table is inserting the name of a specific restaurant into the proclamation with an air of smug nonchalance. “Why, if you should ever find yourself in the Hungarian hinterland, there’s a charming little restaurant in Miskolc called Zslop where the goulash is to die. Ask for Bogdan. And tell him I sent you.” Insufferable. [Read more...]
Ah, Sephora. There is something dangerously seductive in that wonderland of possibility. Tubes, pots, bottles, jars fill shelves and make so many promises I want to believe they’ll keep. In Sephora, I am swept away by the idea of what I could look like if I just tried harder and spent more money.