My Latest Score: Priv At-Home Blowout.
For my bestie’s birthday dinner last weekend (I wore this in red under this coat, with these heels in black — the best wear-with-anything black heel), I decided to have my hair blown out at home. I’d heard about these on-demand beauty services but never tested the waters before, and started with Priv, as I’d received a $20 credit there. (This post is not sponsored in any way.)
It was a true delight, as it was cold out and there was snow on the ground and I was able to sit in my sweats (P.S. — a bunch of my favorite sweats are on sale here) and putz around on my phone while an expert blow-dried and curled my hair, and mini was playing just a few feet away. The ultimate in luxury and convenience. A Priv blow-dry sets you back $50, but it includes gratuity, so HONESTLY, it’s about $2 more expensive than going to the nearest DryBar, which costs $40 + tip, and is about 3408% more convenient. I will absolutely be reusing for future festivities. There are a bunch of competitors — GlamSquad and BeGlammd come to mind — and I don’t yet know whether one is better than another, but Priv was easy to use and the stylist was very good (you can select from a list of stylists, each with his/her own profile).
You’re Sooooo Popular: The Festive Blouse.
The most popular items on Le Blog this week:
+For maybe the third week running, this blouse! Very chic and very popular.
+One of my most prized possessions — a thin band with mini’s birth date and initials inscribed on it. #ETSYSCORE
“Coincidences are God’s way of remaining anonymous.” This is something my Mom tells me all the time, like when I told her how happy I was to be in New York and how I can’t believe that we’re here through a seemingly random, fortuitous chain of events. (The actual move was anything but fortuitous, but, ya know. That’s a whole other story. With a part II and everything.) Or when I share a particularly incredible story of fortune falling in someone’s favor, like that of a dear friend who had been stressfully awaiting the arrival of her firstborn son, because her husband was, at the time, commuting between New York and Chicago, and they were worried he was going to be stuck in New York when she went into labor. They made it until the last Friday of his crazy travel schedule — he’d be back in Chicago for good thereafter — and, within an hour of his arrival at home, her water broke.
My Dad is even more direct about the notion of coincidence. He’s dedicated much of his retired life to eradicating veteran homelessness in Washington, D.C., and when asked to talk about the work he has been doing in this area, he routinely debates whether or not to include a story that he holds dear to his heart: he had been touring a veteran hospital while initially learning about the issue, and a disabled veteran in a wheelchair was struggling to get into the building. It was cold and gray outside — my father never omits that detail — and he said: “Can somebody please help me?” In his retelling of the story, my father will pause here and look you dead in the eye and say: “It was the voice of God. We had to help him. We had to help these veterans.”
Whether you believe in God or not, or whether you subscribe to my husband’s brand of superstition or not, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s worth taking the time to study these moments. As a student of literature, I favored the formalist approach to literary theory, which is primarily concerned with the intrinsic form of the work — the narrative structure; the aesthetic of the writing; the symmetries and asymmetries in the plot — rather than, say, the role of gender in the work, or the political underpinnings of the work, etc, etc. Perhaps because of this training, I feel I often go through my days collecting little threads of thought — a bit of conversation overheard here, a few bars of music gleaned there, a passage of dialogue read over here — and am surprised when I find a reprisal elsewhere: just the other day, a line from a movie served as the perfect descriptor to a situation in which my friend found herself, and it was just the right expression for the moment. (I’ve been thinking a lot about saying the right words at just the right time lately…) And how often do you find a book you’re reading — or a series you’re watching on TV — suddenly sheds new light on a different situation?
This is, to me, what it means to be a reflective human: to let the world wash over you and then to sit, as the tide rolls away, and examine the artifacts left behind. To look for the patterns left in the sand, to collect the seashells for later use, to discard the debris.
#Shopaholic: The Chic Keyring.
+Ordering this immediately. Have I been living under a rock? Liquid blush seems like a great idea.
+Moms: does mini need one of these?
+Is there anyone fabulous and in need of a last minute NYE dress? I got you, boo.
+A reader recently emailed me asking for ideas for Christmas collectibles. I think I’m going to start collecting nutcrackers. Wouldn’t it be so chic to have a whole mantle full of them, in all shapes and sizes? Maybe I’ll start with these.
+Love this sexy burnout velvet dress. BONUS: it’s on serious sale.
+A friend was wearing these to a recent cocktail party, in the white, and they looked fabulous.
+Brides-to-be: the perfect summer-appropriate engagement dress (on sale!).