Manhattan Musings

Barb and John, the parentals, are taking their children (ie, MEEEEE) and the spouse/sig other to  Paris for Christmas/New Years Eve. Boom.

I'm going to spend the whole vacay looking like this girl, albeit less attractive.

I have all, literally every, component of this outfit. Yet, we look dissimilar in the ensemble. 

Weird.

I'm not gearing up for Coachella, a la Kate, BUT...

We are churning out a new collection for Couture as. we. speak.

HOLY FEETBALLS. 

Yoga this morning was tough. It served as a life lesson of sorts. Like, no matter how often you practice at something, new challenges will always arise or something. 

Namaste, lovers.

Wish in One Hand, Sh$t In the Other

Quickly, on this beautiful Monday, I'll share with you two things. Both of which may seem luxurious, but are actual life essentials. Ya know, like, diamonds and Jo Malone candles. 

I need my terrace to actually just turn into this pool.

And it'd be grand to have this little Victorian retreat, nestled above my Manhattan hacienda. It would be soundproof, to block out the ESPN pollution, and labrador proof, for the prevention of chocolate hairs EVERYWHERE.  Sometimes a gal just needs a luxury nook. John would argue that the entirety of apartment 615 IS my luxury nook.

whatevs.

Death of a Saleswoman (well, her style)

As tired as all of you are of hearing about how pitiful I look on a daily basis, I'm fine with it. My obsession with home decor and jewels continue, much to the chagrin of my formerly stylish self. In lieu of weekends at Barneys, you'll find me at The Chelsea Flea Market. No longer spending my earnings on Proenza and Vince, I'm a home decor slut devotee. My old haunts are sending me the 'where have you been, here's a coupon' e-mails. ABC Carpet and Home is sending me the 'you owe me a fuck-ton of money letters.' YES.

Please see Emanuelle Alt wearing my daily uniform.  If you have tiny toothpick legs and a sunken in chest, you look good in basics. I stand by it. I have neither, but I do it in any case. Like, if I look at enough photos, those delusional fantasies will appear in the form of tiny thighs. Who cayahs? I'm too busy to care if my legs are fat. I have great shoulders.

In other news, I want red hair. Please see below for your daily redhead. Her name is Jane and she bothers me, in general, but she has flame red hair and black eyebrows. See? I can be done. Haters. Y'all know who you are.

Ombre Hombres

I hate ombre hair. I mean, I have it, but, I loathe it. OK, I didn't loathe it when I got it. And this isn't a situation of 'I used to have beautiful caramel colored hair and then I lost my job and couldn't afford to get my roots did, so I have ombre hair.'

I literally just look like such an asshole 3rd grade teacher with my chin length bob and solid brown hair, that it's my sole option to escape looking like I hand out juice boxes for a living. Also, I got carded in Puerto Rico last week, whilst ordering a glass of wine. No big deal...you only have to be prepubescent eight-frigging-teen to drink there. As an ode to my played out hairstyle, that will never die...Here are my hombres in ombre.

Thanks for keeping two-tone hair relevant, comrades.

Furnishing The New Pad: A Divorce Story

Ever seen the episode of SATC at the furniture show? Big gets drunk, hits on Carrie and crucifies Natasha's style? Let's just say...I pick my battles. And I'm going to the front line on this one.

 Bought this

 Painted a wall with this

Wish I were doing this.

It's Wednesday, y'all.

Clothing Hiatus

The title of this post is not to insinuate that I am tearing around NYC in the buff. I digress that my blog has segued from 'clothes I love' to 'shit I need', at a disturbing rate. Who am I? Am I wearing lululemon to work? 

I used to say things like, 'OMG Tom Ford.' Now, my vocab consists of , 'John, hide those cords.'

We've made a ton of progress in our new marital shack and everything is grand. Save for the discovery of the FIRST HUSBANDS CLUB next door. If they ruin one more episode of 'It's a Brad, Brad World' for me...I'm going to hurl a bucket of water over the terrace fence and directly on to their flaming grill. Nothing makes a Wall St. schmuck madder than ruining his lamb chop. 

Big thanks to Emily Clark for the image that sums up my existence and for Dominique for the stealthy plan of attack on the next meeting of the Douche-bag Committee.

One Block & World Away

I won't be so diluted as to assume that enough people read this droll to bother to apologize for my absence.

 So, here it is. 

I've been completely consumed with uprooting my current abode and moving into an alternate one...500 feet southwest. It wasn't in my financial immediate plan to move, but lack of heat, wi-fi, and some significant water damage, lead us to this decision. As with most conundrums I face, I'm projecting a positive attitude on it to strangers and, in the privacy of my own home, talk to John as if my world is falling apart. I don't care to be suddenly impoverished unprepared, so I compiled a list of things I required myself to accomplish before the big move on Saturday.

* Sell every article of clothing, shoe, and accessory I haven't worn this season. Freak out and replace.

CHECK

* Paint all of my shabby-chic, bullshit furniture a high-glass black. Inquire to myself if Tom Ford would be ascetically pleased by the re-vamped pieces.

CHECK

* Paint over old canvases I hate and refurbish all lamps with gold leaf and black shades.

CHECK

* Get the hell over the fact that I can't get my black leather Chesterfield couch yet.

BALLS

 This is akin to the look of my current apartment. Meh. 

I want to tone down the tchotchk and up the sexy. Wish me luck, I will be hurling an abundance  of figurines and vases to the curb in order to achieve this about-face minimalism. Much to John's delight.

*Many of my DIY's were not captured on my iphone film, so stay tuned for my diligent post regarding the 'before' and 'after' in the new space.* 

See y'all.

More Chanelstics

Another beautiful photo from Karl Lagerfeld's 'gymnastique' inspired Chanel shoot. I'd love to have a print of these to hang in my new home, but I've promised the life partner that our new abode will be more masculine. Sucker.

Wicked Good Taste

How do I make this for my apartment? Murder people who walk too slow on the sidewalks and use their bones for this chandelier? You're right...that's an excellent idea.

Since I'm being left no choice, other than to immediately move out of my condemned hellhole, it has gotten me thinking about home decor and homicide.

This seemed like a nice collab.

Get your A$$ in Gear

The reason for my personal style quandary came to me in my sleep, and made for certain that I was at yoga this morning. I'l preach the benefits of yoga to anyone who'll give me the time of day, but let's get real. The sense of calm, anxiety relief, and general well-being are fabulous...but I want a hot bod.

In the coming months, I'm positive that my style evolution will come to a head, once I look like Miranda Kerr in jbrands and a t-shirt. I'll leave you with this tidbit of humanity, brought to you by myself and Gwyneth Paltrow. It's refreshing to know such a babe has to work so hard to keep it up. To all you ladies and tramps who promote their love of nachos, whilst shooting a bikini editorial...the jig is up. Suck it.

Inspiration Needed: Street Style Need Not Apply

I'm in a personal style slump that is reinforced by the necessity for my down parka and hideous black UGGS. Yes, the shoes normally reserved for walking the dog have made an appearance in my office today and I don't wanna hear it. It's too frigging cold to wear the resort shoes that are out and none of the sales are good enough to bother with. I'm left with Celine sandals or boots that have been out since June and are a whopping 30% off. Bitch, please. 

Ain't nobody made at my Hanes and Uggs, so long as I sport this ish on my hand.

Yup, all at once. I need more fingers.

Til next time. xo