Today I overheard two teachers talking about their students' upcoming milestone: prom. The thought now makes me cringe, but in my youth (which ended about two months ago) it was a point of pride that I attended prom three separate times with three uniquely charming dates despite often considering myself a social outcast. My best friend's mother even called one of my dates "the ugliest kid I've ever seen." The event itself was always a letdown, inevitably a deeply sad and sweaty hotel ballroom bedecked with crepe paper and balloons, speakers pumping corny top forties while my AP chemistry classmates swayed and jerked against each other under the watchful eyes of English teachers in tuxedos. It was the preparations and the post dance celebrations that made the night bearable: trying on dresses, like the fab range of ladies’ dresses at isme.com, talking jealously about the one girl who could afford to buy a brand name number, doing hair and make up for each other, painting on french manicures, letting our fathers force stilted and poorly framed photos of us with our corsages and dates before we were set free for an evening of disappointment. Then, dizzy on hormones and nauseous from unspiked punch and laughing at my peers, I would follow my friends in slipping out of the school sanctioned party to congregate in the home of someone lucky enough to have lenient parents for a late night of tongue kissing and spilling Manischewitz down our pastel dresses.
Wednesday, May 1
Tuesday, April 23
It's a bit insane but I started another blog, just a space on tumblr for something less fashion focused.
I've been making the most absurd wishes on my eyelashes. I am starting to want to acknowledge more and more of the horrors of the world. Then again, is this really the place to do it? Every time I blink another month has passed.
Thursday, April 18
Wednesday, April 10
Diouana (Mbissine Thérèse Diop) moves from Senegal to France to work as a nanny for a rich French couple, but is quickly disillusioned by her situation. Beautifully shot, this 1966 film by Senegalese writer and director Ousmane Sembène shows the cruel treatment and subjugation of a woman trapped both in her post colonial Senegal and the idealized foreign colonizer, France.
Not to devalue the power of the story, but I could not get over Diouana's always stunning outfits, even while cleaning for her terrible bosses she is all style.
Sunday, March 31
Friday, March 29
I moved cross country and now I'm in Oakland wearing a kimono robe and eating all of my favorite things from a dreamy neighborhood grocery (onigiri, watermelon radishes, kombucha). I am filled with glee and guilt and disbelief at this fortune of luck and bounty. In the spirit of being my authentic self, I'm going to share a video I made:
Also, happy passover.
Also, happy passover.