From the Closet:
California Christmas


Zara cape, One Teaspoon shorts, Manolo Costa shirt, Valentino rockstuds, Givenchy bag

Not sure where the time went, but Christmas is literally next week! This year, since half of my immediate family unilaterally decided to stop celebrating Christmas (you know who you are), I decided to adopt a family in need and bring Christmas to them. So far my efforts at shopping for complete strangers have been most interesting. The charity provided me with nothing more than their ages and sizes and their wish list. Ten-year old Heaven was easiest of all because she wanted art supplies and a jewelry maker. The others want clothes. But I don’t know enough about them to know whether they prefer Lakers gear over the Clippers, low top sneakers or high top sneakers, plaid or solids. I wish the charity understood that these details matter significantly! Joking aside, the experience so far has been nothing but rewarding and I can’t wait to fill my car up with food, essentials, and gifts and bring a little Christmas joy to a family going through a tough time. Until I deliver them, its nice to see their gifts under my little tree! Have a good week lovelies! And if you live in LA and are in the mood for a little Christmas charity, the Los Angeles Mission is collecting socks, underwear, and canned meat for the homeless population of Skid Row. If you’ve been anywhere close to Skid Row, you know there are many, many, many people in great need of our support!





photographs by Manuel Vinicio

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Last week, my ex-boyfriend made a surprise appearance at my house, and during conversation, the subject of my blog came up and I asked him if he ever read it. Back when I started writing it nearly 4 years ago, he was at least one of the driving forces behind it. I was sad, but not surprised, to learn he didn’t read it – probably never had. When we used to have fights, they would always end with a long email sent from me to him, one which he always dreaded reading. In fact, I’ve met very few men who enjoy reading anything in excess of 5 sentences, so suffice it to say, my chosen method of communication when it comes to matters which are deeply felt, generally goes largely ignored or unappreciated. I’m a writer. I’ve never had problems with word or page limits. Except that I always exceed them. I don’t believe words spoken do feelings the same kind of justice as words written. The written word lasts forever – because of its permanency it has to be well-thought rather than haphazard and careless. Because writing is my preference, I’d say I’m not very verbally articulate. In an argument with one of my best friends last week, it became clear that she has never read my blog – she didn’t even know that every week, I write this series, which has little do with fashion, and everything to do with feelings, passions, emotions, love, life…. It occurred to me that the most I apparently can expect from some of the people who I care about most in the world is a “like” on Instagram or Facebook. Which mostly makes me wish I lived in a world long before blogs, where people wrote and others read and everyone had the time to consume the written word in a way that was authentic and felt. And not because I think I have anything particularly important to say, but because if you love someone, you take time to listen to their heart. It’s kind of that simple.














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From the Closet:


Zara scarf, Manolo Costa shirt, One Teaspoon shorts, Stuart Weitzman boots, Gucci bag, Celine sunnies,

Family members can attest to this: I had a pink plaid blanket as a child. It was my everything. I would suck my thumb while holding my blanket to my nose, sniffing it. I can’t explain it, but it was the most soothing thing in the world. The only day of the week I hated was the day my mom would confiscate my blanket from me for its weekly washing. I hated getting it back clean, because it didn’t smell the same. But also, over time, it became clear that it was also shrinking with every wash. I had it until it was just a square – about one inch by one inch. I still sucked my thumb, while holding the square up to my nose, but of course, it wasn’t the same anymore. It wasn’t bribing me with new rollerblades or putting pepper on my thumb that got me to quit sucking. It was the disintegration of my blanket. Though my blanket was a girlish pale pink, something about the print of this plaid scarf reminds me of it. And while I’m well beyond my thumb sucking years, every time I wear this scarf, I find myself holding it up to my nose the same way I did with my blanket as a child, and oddly, I also find myself experiencing the same comfort. As an adult, those moments of security are far and few between, so it feels nice.






photographs by Manuel Vinicio

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From the Heart:
Miss Atomic Bomb


Next month, it will be four years since I’ve been back in LA, and in reflecting on the past four years, its quite obvious that I’m a completely different person than I was when I packed up my life in San Diego. I was 29 then, but very much still a girl. Today, I’m a 33 year old woman. There isn’t much I haven’t experienced during this second LA “tour.” I’ve had more breaks than I probably deserve. I’ve met some incredible people. I completely abandoned the last remains of my shy exterior in a way that sometimes even surprises me. And I’ve been humbled over and over and over again. I’ve lost the hopeful innocence that made me sweet. I’ve become distrustful and suspicious. At my core, I know I’m still the same person, but I’ve been hardened. I’ve sometimes behaved badly and I’m not proud of everything I’ve done, but I’m comfortable with that now. I wouldn’t have been back then. I still am most driven by my desire for perfection, although mostly it leaves me feeling exhausted rather than fulfilled. I never miss my old life – I guess in that sense this one I’ve created for myself, by myself, is better than the one I left behind. But I do sometimes miss my old self – the one who felt special. I’ve said many things about living in LA and being single in this city and in a world that has changed drastically and is now saturated with all forms of impersonal contact. The one that has been most realized is how both can just break you down again and again until you forget what used to make you feel like a person worth knowing. Which reminds me of my former life in San Diego. Before I had made the decision to leave, there was an extended period where I kept waiting and fighting and waiting and fighting and it wasn’t until after I finally stopped that I realized that I was waiting for someone to save me, and when it soon became clear that nobody would save me, I saved myself. I feel like I’m waiting again, but for something different this time. I know better now though, which really means I know its time to stop.

















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From the Closet:
The Cape Coat


Zara cape, FRAME denim, Manolo Costa white button down, Tabitha Simmons pumps, Chanel bag

I’ve been feening for some version of this cape coat for years now, so it is with great pleasure that I introduce it to you via my blog. Please don’t think less of me if you see it over and over and over again. I’ve fallen in love.






photographs by Manuel Vinicio

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