It's another working weekend for me, but I'm managing to squeeze in some small delights. Today, I'll nip down to the flower market and buy myself some pink roses and peonies and grab a coffee at my favourite coffee shop.
I read this thought-provoking piece on Friday (via TNI). I've never really (deeply) questioned the phrase "I couldn't wear that" though I've probably written it many times here about clothes I admired. I've also myself written many articles on the topic of flattering fit, what silhouettes complement what shape etc.
Occasionally - and I'm being completely honest here - I've run into a woman who lets herself wear what she wants, even if it's not flattering, and I've been confused about what I think. Where I used to perceive some kind of disconnect in self-awareness or judgement, I'm beginning to see, and love, the balls-to-the-walls braveness of it.
I myself am not balls-to-the-walls brave when it comes to letting myself wear what I love.
I don't just judge good fit. I judge how fat / thin / short / tall I look wearing clothes. I judge my body, my perceived assets and "problem" areas. I think about layers I could add or subtract to impact what I judge less favourable. I think about accessories and how they will draw the eye here and there.
I'm so deep inside all of this that I equate loving something with deeming it something I could wear. And I'm even judging what I can wear here in these Sunday bests. I used to think that made them more genuine; because I'm really thinking, "I could wear that". I never stopped to think what's behind that "could" - that it's very much about looking more or less like somebody with a different body.
I did have an outfit all ready for today's post, but it was something I could very much wear. Maybe instead, I'll think what I couldn't and wonder why.
Happy Sunday!
Friday!
My week was all work. In my few spare moments, I reached for easy things; magazines and Italian soda, my new favourite sweatpants (can you believe I bought coral sweatpants? I can't) and the beautiful fade of peonies.
Some more substantial things caught my eye too, but I mostly filed them away to later read. One piece I did read was Alexandra Molotkow's piece on friendship and loneliness over on Hazlitt. I fight this feeling, but I do sometimes feel that - as a single woman so far from home - loneliness is especially mine. But I also find that, for me, there's a tremendous and rarely articulated upside to brushing up against loneliness.
I often feel this way about insomnia too (not so this week, when I felt I might die on the subway one morning). But I love this piece, which I tweeted a long time ago and just dug up again. I believe it too speaks from the side more often unspoken.
Links I've saved for later: Read.Look.Think. | Hilma af Klint | Country Crushes
Ireland's new postage stamp - shown above - features an entire short story (found via Mark on Twitter). I must mail a few when I go home in June. (coming up fast now!)
It's a three-day weekend here, so I'm hoping to catch up with myself a little, enjoy the sun from the shade, start a new book. I'm excited about this one.
Happy weekend!
Links from image: Elle Decor | Sweatpants | Irish stamp
Some more substantial things caught my eye too, but I mostly filed them away to later read. One piece I did read was Alexandra Molotkow's piece on friendship and loneliness over on Hazlitt. I fight this feeling, but I do sometimes feel that - as a single woman so far from home - loneliness is especially mine. But I also find that, for me, there's a tremendous and rarely articulated upside to brushing up against loneliness.
I often feel this way about insomnia too (not so this week, when I felt I might die on the subway one morning). But I love this piece, which I tweeted a long time ago and just dug up again. I believe it too speaks from the side more often unspoken.
Links I've saved for later: Read.Look.Think. | Hilma af Klint | Country Crushes
Ireland's new postage stamp - shown above - features an entire short story (found via Mark on Twitter). I must mail a few when I go home in June. (coming up fast now!)
It's a three-day weekend here, so I'm hoping to catch up with myself a little, enjoy the sun from the shade, start a new book. I'm excited about this one.
Happy weekend!
Links from image: Elle Decor | Sweatpants | Irish stamp
Mirror images
Howe London is one of those most special shops. I usually go straight to their upholstery section, but last night it was the mirror images that struck me. These have got to be some of the most beautiful product shots I've ever come across — so painterly and atmospheric.
I also, you may recall, have a thing for imperfect reflections (see here and here).
I also, you may recall, have a thing for imperfect reflections (see here and here).
A poem for Tuesday
It occurred to me today that I'm coming up on my ten year emigration anniversary. And I remember arriving in Toronto and the taxi-ride from the airport, the driver saying he thought Spadina was the most beautiful street in the city and me knowing - even then - that he was cracked, heading to an apartment in Little Italy.
It was the summer of the big blackout. The summer of SARS. Biblical times, my arrival.
And we walked the city looking for a place. Figuring it all out. I strained for a sense of the town and found only fragmented neighbourhoods, all seeming so arbitrary. Until we walked into Glenn Gould's building.
I don't mind coming up on ten years at all, but I dread the year (I haven't done the math yet) when I'll say I've lived longer in Canada than in Ireland. I dread feeling less Irish over time, like sand in an hourglass, draining the top half empty.
When I flew back from Calgary, I got a towncar from the airport. The driver said he liked my accent. Never lose it, he said. I could have cried. It already shifts like sands.
This is by Alice Lyons.
Reverse Emigration
When I boarded the plane, everyone looked like Uncle Tom
ruddy, some were empurpled
gray hair or auburn in terrier thatches
pale blue of eye
a smidgen of resignation:
the tribe.
I thought We are driving to the interior
I thought holy god
the airline upholstery
was Yeats, Kavanagh and Heaney
handwriting. I thought
holy shit, this is the maw.
The maw.
It was the summer of the big blackout. The summer of SARS. Biblical times, my arrival.
And we walked the city looking for a place. Figuring it all out. I strained for a sense of the town and found only fragmented neighbourhoods, all seeming so arbitrary. Until we walked into Glenn Gould's building.
I don't mind coming up on ten years at all, but I dread the year (I haven't done the math yet) when I'll say I've lived longer in Canada than in Ireland. I dread feeling less Irish over time, like sand in an hourglass, draining the top half empty.
When I flew back from Calgary, I got a towncar from the airport. The driver said he liked my accent. Never lose it, he said. I could have cried. It already shifts like sands.
This is by Alice Lyons.
Reverse Emigration
When I boarded the plane, everyone looked like Uncle Tom
ruddy, some were empurpled
gray hair or auburn in terrier thatches
pale blue of eye
a smidgen of resignation:
the tribe.
I thought We are driving to the interior
I thought holy god
the airline upholstery
was Yeats, Kavanagh and Heaney
handwriting. I thought
holy shit, this is the maw.
The maw.
Romantic greys
I filled my place with colour on the weekend. Coral peonies, lemon and grapefruit-hued roses. Armfuls of lilacs and peonies. Corners of my apartment are alight with verdancy, in others basks a perfect yellow bloom under the glow of a lamp. And though I love all this colour, it's the backdrop of wispy greys and soft neutrals that feels more me.
I watched I Am Love on Friday night. So beautiful. Tilda's Swinton's character wears all kinds of colours, flaming reds and vibrant corals. And her character inhabits a world of cold and wealthy greys, a Milan subdued and sorrowful. Maybe I'm the opposite, muted in a world of colour. I don't know what that really means though. These opposites don't go anywhere. Yet, I know I stand a little apart, a little aloof, seeking mist and shadow, which seems nonetheless beautiful to me.
Image credits: Valentino | Horses Atelier | Fieldguided - Anabela's pictures from the MET | Saipua | Eliza Faulkner | Candela
I watched I Am Love on Friday night. So beautiful. Tilda's Swinton's character wears all kinds of colours, flaming reds and vibrant corals. And her character inhabits a world of cold and wealthy greys, a Milan subdued and sorrowful. Maybe I'm the opposite, muted in a world of colour. I don't know what that really means though. These opposites don't go anywhere. Yet, I know I stand a little apart, a little aloof, seeking mist and shadow, which seems nonetheless beautiful to me.
Image credits: Valentino | Horses Atelier | Fieldguided - Anabela's pictures from the MET | Saipua | Eliza Faulkner | Candela
Sunday best: Working Sunday
I was exhausted on Friday and took the entire evening off working, so I'm paying for it today. It means I'll soon be buckling down to get a tonne of work done and e-mails written.
To be honest, I had a whole other Sunday best in mind, a gorgeous Helmut Lang dress with Lanvin flats. But it seemed so ridiculously far from the reality of my day that I couldn't bring myself to use it.
Still, favourite jeans and sweatshirts hold a special place in my heart too. Perhaps the most special place. And on days like this, when I won't venture farther than the local Starbucks, there's no need for anything more fancy than that. And even if there was, I'd probably wear this anyway.
Happy Sunday!
Products: Inflorescence from Byredo | Current/Elliot The Boyfriend jeans from Net-a-Porter | Dolman Sweater from James Perse | Tory Burch Eddie flats from Shopbop | Eddie Ballet Flats Rebecca Minkoff Endless Love Satchel from Shopbop |
To be honest, I had a whole other Sunday best in mind, a gorgeous Helmut Lang dress with Lanvin flats. But it seemed so ridiculously far from the reality of my day that I couldn't bring myself to use it.
Still, favourite jeans and sweatshirts hold a special place in my heart too. Perhaps the most special place. And on days like this, when I won't venture farther than the local Starbucks, there's no need for anything more fancy than that. And even if there was, I'd probably wear this anyway.
Happy Sunday!
Products: Inflorescence from Byredo | Current/Elliot The Boyfriend jeans from Net-a-Porter | Dolman Sweater from James Perse | Tory Burch Eddie flats from Shopbop | Eddie Ballet Flats Rebecca Minkoff Endless Love Satchel from Shopbop |
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