I know everyone thinks this of their friends, but…
Mine are really some kind of amazing.
Two Fridays ago, Yasmein took me on a walking tour of Grand Central Station and the surrounding areas because she knows I’m a history geek who would eat something like that up.
Except, so did she.
I've been watching nothing but The Newsroom on HBOGo and Netflix movies where Edith Head served as the costume designer. I made a list of the films she worked and I am determined to watch them all. Starting with Funny Face, Roman Holiday, Rear Window, Sabrina, and What a Way to Go.
Anyway.
For her fall 2014 collection, Miuccia Prada was reportedly inspired by The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant, a 1972 German film revolving around a fashion designer. The film's influence is evident in the metallics, rich dark tones, and shearling that appeared on Prada's runway. Basically, the '70s are back.
Groovy, man.
One item in particular seems to have caught fashion folks' eye: a skinny scarf.
Perhaps it looks Wilde-ly familiar to you?
I'd seen Mira Duma all over the Internet before I knew who she was, or what she was famous for. I just knew that she was my height--or, so it appeared--with hair that was both chic and messy, and she always looked impeccable. A little research told me that she was Miroslava Duma, a former editor at Russian Harper's Bazaar, who now runs Buro 24/7, the fashionable, Russian version of the Huffington Post. Duma is also the digital director of TSUM (a fancy Russian department store on the order of Bergdorf Goodman). And when she isn't hard at work on her site, she's more than likely posing for street style photographers or actual fashion campaigns for Oscar de la Renta's collection for The Outnet, Roger Vivier or Ferragamo.
Though the-28-year-old stands a just a little over 5 feet, she reads taller than she actually is, giving me so many ideas for looks to try. I won't even try to hide the fact that I'm obsessed with her (and she may or may not have taken over my Style-piration board on Pinterest). Let's examine her style, shall we?
I kind-of miss when my blog read more like a diary. So in an effort to work on that and venture out, actually showing New York life on the blog, I created a bucket list of tourist-y things that I want to do. The idea is I will take the required outfit of the day photos—finally acknowledging the fashion blogger part of me—hopefully have a cool experience, reporting back with a story.
Hold me to it.
And to hold myself accountable, I’m going to tell you the NYC attraction checklist that I have. If I do not report back with outfit photos and a corresponding story for each of these places by August 13, 2015 (giving myself a year to properly plan these excursions), cuss me out.
I was riding the train home recently, thankful to have squoze (yup, squoze) myself onto the 6, when something kept hitting me on my shoulder.
It should be said that New York mass transit during rush hour is always enough to make you want to cause someone bodily harm, but that feeling is intensified by people who take up more space than needed with unsightly possessions.
I felt it again.
Truthfully, I liked the majority of the photos that my coworker took for me that one time I ventured to Harlem for brunch.
But I don't have anything to say worthy of a blog post to go with them.
I handed my July issue of Vogue magazine over to my mother with strict instructions. Please do not bend the spine. Lupita's cover is a collector's edition for me. I'm going to save it for my daughter, should I have one, so she knows that we too can command mainstream media's attention.
What was it Jay Z rapped in "That's My B*tch?"
"I mean Marilyn Monroe, she's quite nice. But why all the pretty icons always all white?"
I met this lady at the Further With Ford Conference.
We had breakfast at the same table earlier that day, so when I saw her during a tour of Ford's Dearborn Truck Plant later, I spoke. Nothing serious, small talk. I work at Glam.com. I have a blog I neglect. The usual.
If I’m being honest, New York kicked me in my *ss last week in a major way.
My mother came up from Pennsylvania on Friday to see with her own eyes that I was okay. I don’t care that I’m 27 and I needed my mom. And I don’t care if you know that, either.