Finding My Outer Home-Girl

While Jslow searches for her school uniform, I’ve stumbled upon my own “home” uniform, at least for the next few months. And let me tell you how liberating this is. It’s also a necessity.

And really ironic.

We write this blog because we love, LOVE, L O V E fashion, and have always spent a big chunk of our days obsessing and searching and shopping for the perfect whatever, quickly moving on to the next must-have. And the next. And the next. It’s like being on a giant hamster-wheel that never stops. Except money is involved. Too much.

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Finding My Inner School Girl

clockwise: Karl Lagerfeld, Jackson Pollock, Giambattista Valli, Ray Eames

clockwise: Karl Lagerfeld, Jackson Pollock, Giambattista Valli, Ray Eames

TicToc goes the clock. Every morning a race to get up and get ready for school before I wake my kids and do the same for them. They’re up at 6:30. I’m out the door by 7:00am. This leaves little if any time to really think about what I’m going to wear for the day.

Looking at the recent Couture Collections being shown in Paris during my lunch break on, it hit me. I need a uniform. A school uniform. A “I don’t have to think about what I’m going to wear because I wear it every day leaving me more time to think, create, sleep” uniform.

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Defying Gravity

The higher my number of years climb, the lower my body bits descend – some painfully slow, following the deadly pace of an antique grain elevator, others sinking fast like a stone. I’m not sure which speed is worse.

Gravity is pulling every inch of anything that dangles from my body down, down, down, whether it’s under-arm skin, under-eye bags, boobs, bladders, butts. It’s an equal opportunity punch in the face.

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When In London

scenes from London

After our stop in New York and still feeling giddy from cawing like an old crow through fondue dinner, we made our way to London for a few days after exhausting ourselves in New York.

All that sunshine in Los Angeles had us pining for cold. Any kind of cold we could immerse ourselves in. We wanted cold so badly we went to two places to get it. Thank You, Winter.

Landing before the strike of 2015, we toasted to a New Year while eating Indian, a club pulsing through the floor beneath us, patrons getting kicked out for throwing drinks. It was blissful as we left, fireworks sending off 2014 as we walked on cobblestones.

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Call Me An Old Crow

It doesn't get more beautiful than this. Daphne Self by Nick Ballon

It doesn’t get more beautiful than this.
Daphne Self by Nick Ballon

Recently I had a rigorous dinner of fondue and wine.

Sourdough. Melted Cheese. Bordeaux. Repeat. Dark Chocolate. Marshmallows. Strawberries. Bordeaux. Repeat ad nauseam. An entirely indulgent, glutinous and divine meal that has nothing remotely cleansing about it.

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