P.P.S. Just ordered these in the pretty petal pink. I was running low and ratty on my white supply; I use these exclusively for washing my face at night, and I keep them in a bin under my sink. Yes, I’ll destroy these with makeup over time, but the pink color makes me happy. Also, these tins are now a monthly order for me. THE BEST flavor.
By: Jen Shoop
I could feel the malcontent brewing weeks in advance of Matt’s wedding. It had started with a late-night, bleary-eyed conversation with Mr. Magpie, where I’d clumsily lumbered around the topic of marriage, dropping hints about my aspirations to be his wife with the subtlety of a mack truck. We’d been dancing around the topic for months — well, years, to be fair, as I’d known he was The One from the dawn of our flirtation — but it was only under the cover of the late hour and the several glasses of wine I’d drunk and the five years of courtship we’d enjoyed that I’d worked up the courage to say something more direct. Earlier that day, we’d stopped in Williams-Sonoma to look for a blender to make smoothies and then had awkwardly negotiated around the topic of who should buy it.
“Well, maybe we should split it,” he said. “I assume we’ll be using it together for a long time.” I flustered.
“Yes. I agree.” Beaming inwardly, straining toward insouciance.
Maybe it was the newborn co-ownership of the blender, in fact, that had rallied my spirits. And so, late that night, well past the hour when anything important can or should be said, I went for it.
“Do you think we’ll — what do you think about — I want to marry you.”
I remember Mr. Magpie softening and recoiling at the same time, unsure of where to place his feet in the conversation. This wasn’t exactly the first time I’d made such a declaration, but I’d fixed my eyes on him with something like determination.
“I know,” he said. Something withered inside. I know was the emotional equivalent to receiving a “thank you” to an inaugural, exploratory “I love you.” I stiffened, chastened.
“But–“
“Let’s not talk about this, Jennie.”
“But when?” I pressed.
“If we are going to get engaged, it’s not going to be until well after I graduate from business school.”
He had another full year of business school ahead of him, and the conditional language he’d used haunted me. If we are…
I froze. I boxed him out. I left in a tiff. With horrifying immaturity, for the next few days, I avoided all but a handful of his phone calls and returned his texts with cool, dismissive replies like: “OK” and “Busy – call later.” Sometimes I even dropped the title case, as if I couldn’t be bothered with proper grammar, a simultaneously pathetic and bizarrely philological attempt at communicating indifference.
But I was devastated. A vision of our lives together had evaporated in the span of a two-minute conversation. I had just graduated from my M.A. program in literature and was working part-time for an educational non-profit, unsure of next steps. With convoluted logic, I had accepted my liminal state of employment as if it were the temporary middleground between being a singleton and being a wife, and that as soon as I was married, everything would fall into place — employment, living arrangements, finances, and the like.
I panicked.
I managed to regain some of my composure with him after a strained week had passed, but began to talk, rashly, about plans to move out of D.C. to live with my sister.
“I’m thinking I’ll move to New York this fall,” I said shruggingly one afternoon.
“New York?” he looked over at me, puzzled.
“Yeah. I mean, something different.” To his credit and detriment, he appeared unphased.
“OK,” he said, with cloying bemusement. I could tell he saw right through my charade, and I gritted my teeth.
I started making plans without him. Dinners with the girls, trips to North Carolina to see my sister. I’d drop these into conversation as if they were afterthoughts.
“North Carolina? When?”
The payoff was always minuscule: maybe a second or two of vainglory followed by aching guilt and self loathing. I missed my man. I missed our comfortable, affectionate relationship. I missed our candor, the ease with which we floated through our days together. Now everything was orchestrated, taut, because I’d willed it to be so.
A few days later, unable to help myself, I mentioned plans of buying a dog. He looked at me askance and then went with it. I was appalled at his lack of concern over these sudden changes in personal trajectory, wholly absent of consultation with him. I knew he knew what I was doing and cringed at my own juvenility as I scorned his stubbornness. It was exhausting and alien, this emotional warfare, and I despised myself for it.
With time came resignation. The pique of angst and hurt gave way to a kind of sighing acceptance. Part of me cleaved to what I perceived to be a veiled promise to propose after business school was done, part of me respected his determination to complete his studies before tying the knot and accepting the responsibilities that came with marriage, and part of me knew that I was meant for him and that we’d be together forever, ring or not.
But part of me was deeply bitter, especially with Matt’s wedding looming over my efforts at maturity like a storm brewing in Big Sky country. Matt was one of Mr. Magpie’s very best friends, and he’d been dating his fiancee for less time than Mr. Magpie had been dating me. I scowled to myself, green with envy. Every time we’d discuss plans for the trip down to Richmond, my stomach would churn. I was petty and dismissive when he’d mention anything pertaining to the wedding — the rehearsal dinner, the hotel, the suit he was wearing. He’d occasionally feed me details about the actual ceremony or reception he’d learned from Matt, knowing I normally treasured such minutia, and I’d return them with an unimpressed shrug.
In the car on the ride down, I stifled outbursts of bilious envy as his buddies — carpooling with us — talked openly about the wedding. I was a study in storm clouds.
As I watched Matt’s brothers and groomsmen toast the happy couple at the rehearsal dinner, Mr. Magpie found me and slipped his arm around my waist. I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn’t reconcile the whiplash of emotions: the desire to lean into Mr. Magpie’s familiar embrace, the romance of the moment, the thick covetousness shrouding my vision, the will to make my voice heard, the desire to give in and accept the current situation, and above all — the longing to formally belong to Mr. Magpie after nearly six years of dating when I was alarmed to find friends with shorter relationship lifespans tying the knot ahead of us.
Something inside snapped. I writhed out of Mr. Magpie’s reach and slipped out of the garden party into the thick haze of a Virginia summer night. I walked down foreign streets, aware that Mr. Magpie was chasing after me in confusion and concern. A drizzling rain set in, and I started to run. My breath was uneasy as I sprinted through patterns of streetlight and darkness, Mr. Magpie close on my heels.
“Jennie — Jen — Jennie — Jen! Wait! Wait!”
I finally turned on my heel.
“I don’t want to wait,” I said, tears streaming down my face, suddenly very aware of the cinematics of the moment.
I could tell he had one foot in tenderness and the other in frustration. He tilted his head to listen.
“This should be our wedding,” I spluttered. Yes, that was it. “I just don’t get it! I don’t get what we’re waiting for. I don’t want to wait.” I looked up at him. He sighed and shook his head. To this day, Mr. Magpie’s ability to silently stare me down when he’s not ready to talk about something is among the most gutting of stubbornnesses. I waited a second longer. “Nothing?” I prodded, wiping tears off my cheeks. “Nothing?”
He just looked at me.
I hurled my straw clutch on the ground, the clasp popping open and my camera smashing onto the ground alongside it. Mr. Magpie looked at me with quiet disapproval and then bent to scoop it up. I turned and ran all the way back to the hotel, lost and furious. I’d been so close to letting the entire topic go if he’d only been willing to talk honestly about what was going on. If he’d only said — “Jennie, I want to be secure in my career first” or “Jen, let me finish this thing for myself; let me finish business school” or “Jen, you’ve got to give me time to get myself organized, to save up for a ring.” Even – “Jennie, I don’t know if I’m ready yet.” Anything but that silence. Anything but the feeling of laying my heart out on the table and receiving nothing in return.
Mr. Magpie followed me to the hotel, tucked me into bed despite my protestations, his ministrations more tender and diligent than I deserved but brushed off wordlessly nonetheless.
“Good night,” he said, sighing, as I turned my cheek away from him. He sat for a minute at my bedside as if he was going to say something. And then I heard the latch of the door click and he was gone.
In all my life, I have never behaved worse. I think back and cringe at my wildly immature flailing, fueled — no doubt — by one too many romantic comedies and an ill-advised amount of champagne. I was emotionally exhausted by those weeks of angst and manipulation that snowballed into that absurd display of histrionics that rainy night in Richmond, and, on the quiet drive back to D.C., I gave up, or gave in, or otherwise gave way to Mr. Magpie and his plans for us.
I found it difficult to suppress a tone of bitterness when friends and loved ones would ask about our plans, but I made do. I pushed the feelings of resentment out of sight. I relaxed into the familiar contours of our relationship. I dropped the facade.
A few weeks after my fireworks display, Mr. Magpie took me to Charlottesville for a belated birthday trip. I briefly wondered whether he might propose to me while we were down there, but after a day of visiting scenic vineyards and a particularly romantic dinner in Keswick Resort’s formal dining room and no ring to show for it, I shuffled the thought off the table and resolved to enjoy the trip for what it was.
“You know what they say about kissing on the z?” he asked me, as we walked down the steps of the rotunda the following afternoon.
“Um, I think it’s bad luck,” I said, even as I felt my heart stop in my throat and even as I knew the words were a meek and bizarre protestation against something Big that was happening.
“I think it’s something else,” he laughed. “I think it’s something about getting married.”
And then he knelt down on the steps in front of the rotunda, and everything constricted and expanded. Time stopped. I could hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears. Mr. Magpie claims that my face registered fifty simultaneous emotions, but the predominant one, I assure him, was deep, shocked joy.
I feel sometimes that I have not adequately admitted to my many foibles and missteps in decision-making over the course of writing this blog. Let this post serve as a reminder that I, too, have been a tornado of irrational emotion and colossal drama. And there is a lot to say about the fortunate chasm between my twenty-four-year-old self and my thirty-four-year-old self in recollecting the bumpy path to our engagement. I see my will to control, my alien relationship with “letting go,” an unquestioned faith in my own agency in shaping my life. I have since learned to loosen the reins, or at least to ponder the extent to which I control my own fate. I see my desperate need to communicate, how highly I prize words and affirmations and openness. Not much has changed there; I am still unable to let sleeping dogs lie when I need to explain or understand the full picture of something. But I am more skilled, more empathetic. I understand and even anticipate when Mr. Magpie will return an inquiry with silence. I know when to press and when to wait. I also see the powerful influence of keeping up with the joneses — of letting the agendas and plans of others shame me into feeling badly about my own station in life. And I have since learned, blessedly, that wherever I am, I am enough. Finally, I see the yin and yang of Mr. Magpie and I — how different we are. How patient and sturdy and determined and stubborn Mr. Magpie is; how restless and fretful and devoted and faithful I am.
But can I say — and I hope I am not alienating my younger readers — that I am also deeply relieved to be here, comfortably on the other side of thirty, so far away from the emotional wilderness of my 20s. In some ways, my early 30s have been a bumpier ride than my early 20s when it comes to career and finances and lifestyle and the sheer density of enormous responsibilities and decisions I have taken on that will have lasting repercussions on the remainder of my life. (A home! A business! Multiple career changes! A dog! A CHILD! A SECOND CHILD!) But in other ways, I feel I have been cosseted from the buffeting of life because I have had Mr. Magpie on my side, in my corner, leaning on the balcony railing, holding my universe together.
+First, let me say that I have always thought there to be something crazy romantic about a city hall marriage. Small and simple, with only the barest of essentials: you and your loved one. I like the idea of something non-traditional to wear to such an occasion. Something like this. (DIE.)
+I get a lot of questions from readers about wedding shoes. If I were buying a pair of bridal shoes for myself, I’d probably consider these and these as my top contenders, but I always love a statement shoe and tend to go fashion-forward/big in footwear in general, throwing caution and practicality to the wind. For an outdoor wedding or a circumstance in which I might be standing the majority of the day, I like these or these, or, if you’re committed to flats/sandals, these or these (the pearl embellishment!!!).
+Getting ready: these white jammies, an oversized shirt (I own one — had it monogrammed with my new initials and the wedding date on the cuff!), or a white robe over a white teddy. (Incidentally, I received a white cotton robe as a shower gift and I wear it CONSTANTLY. It’s my “getting ready” must-have.)
I am literally dying over Derek Blasberg’s UES Manhattan apartment and especially the prominence of the French blue color throughout his elegant but masculine home. Below, a few of my favorite finds for nailing the look:
P.S. Some of my favorite interior design books, for when I’m hunting around for inspiration: The Things That Matter, Domino, and Design Sponge. All feature livable but stunning style tricks and treatments.
This past week was a blur — the whole house was sick again and mini had a bad fever for two days that led to an emergency visit to the pediatrician. It was not my finest moment, but when the nurse took her vitals and mini was screaming and clinging to my neck, tears slid down my cheeks. I was overwhelmed and exhausted. And is there anything worse than seeing your baby uncomfortable or scared or in pain?! As I was scrolling through Instagram in search of reprieve once she was down for the night, I saw the snap above of Eva Chen and ordered a pink Byta cup on the spot. I needed a pick me up and this one gets great reviews for holding either hot or cold beverages. Cheers to a new week! Separately, I wish I could have impulse-bought her shoes, too. CHIC!
+This was a thrill ride of a read, but I have to say — I took great issue with the bizarre ending. Will need to unpack at some point in the future, but WTH?!
I have interviewed dozens and dozens of job applicants over the course of my career. (Maybe hundreds even? Just thinking back on the business I founded with my husband, we probably interviewed fifty candidates for various roles, and that’s not counting my previous posts, where recruitment was also high on my priority list as a leader in two small, fast-growing organizations.) Hiring is a black magic as far as I’m concerned. You can put as many safeguards as you’d like into the process — but without seeing someone interact, on a daily basis, over an extended period of time, under varying conditions of stress and movement, with the rest of your team, it’s exceptionally difficult to know how well someone will work out. And vice versa: you can be drinking the kool-aid as an applicant and then find out that the company and its team are nothing like what you were promised. Still, I’ve had occasion to spend a lot of time thinking about interviewing on both sides of the table and have come to find certain consistencies among applicants who have worked out particularly well. I recently had a reader ask for some tips on interviewing for a new position and I thought I’d open up the floor to my smart magpies — what are some do’s and don’ts? Below, I’ll share my own two cents though I am far from an expert:
+Show up early and respond promptly to all correspondence. Such a simple, straight-forward no-brainer in my opinion but I was shocked at how many interviewees missed this critical respect-showing step. I had one interviewee breeze in twenty minutes late with a coffee in hand? For all I know, the interviewee may have been over the moon about the position, but showing up late or not responding to an inquiry in a timely manner telegraphed a lack of interest. Sometimes I think this is a generational thing, where old-school office etiquette simply isn’t considered important?
+Do not badmouth former employers or colleagues. The sad truth is that most people quit bad bosses rather than bad jobs. (Think about it — I would say the number one reason I’ve moved from job to job has been related to culture/management rather than anything else. If you’re with a team or boss you love, you will stick around.) But don’t use the job interview as a space to vent frustrations. It gives off a negative vibe and comes off as holier-than-thou. I say this having made the error myself and then cringed in retrospect. If you are asked point-blank about your working relationship with a former boss, I would frankly advise that you devise a polite way to courteously sidestep the question: “I’d outgrown the role” or “there were culture issues at the organization at the time” or something that expresses dissatisfaction with the role but not with specific people. (Also — having been on the other side of the table, I couldn’t help but wonder whether the interviewee would spend her time complaining about me as a boss to everyone around her!)
+Send a thank you email or — better yet — a hand-written note after an interview. This can and should be ultra-brief; you don’t need to wax poetic about the hiring manager or the position. I usually thanked the person for their time and candor, re-stated my interest in the position, citing something specific that sparked my interest about the role; and then concluded with: “I believe we would be a great fit for one another and look forward to continuing the conversation.” The art of the hand-written note is not lost! I used to write notes to sales prospects and investors by hand, too. It builds goodwill and communicates care, poise, and follow-through.
+Read up on the company and arrive with questions. Most recruiters will ask whether interviewees have any questions. I always felt that interviewees that seemed to have spent time researching the company and had thoughtful questions prepared were much more attractive. Whether or not it was true, it showed they’d taken the time to do their homework and were evaluating the business carefully. I had many interns in particular who arrived without fully grasping what the business or role was — always a turn-off. You should be able to pithily explain what the business does in one sentence when you walk through the door. I say this because I was asked this question and I in turn asked it of potential hires: “If you were asked, what’s the elevator pitch for our business?”
+Similarly, rehearse a personal “elevator pitch.” (If you’re not familiar with the phrase, start-ups routinely rehearse their “elevator pitches” — i.e., what they might say to a potential investor if sharing an elevator for sixty seconds. Compress everything into the briefest, catchiest of explanations so that people remember what you do easily and so that you are showcasing your key points quickly and readily.) You should also have a personal elevator pitch: “I am a creative, “full-stack” product geek. I’ve worked on everything from QA to designing mock-ups using InDesign to managing stories in product development software that the engineers use.” Or whatever. Use the appropriate level of jargon for the person you’re interviewing with. You don’t want to throw a lot of argot around if you’re speaking to the head of HR, but if you’re interfacing with the head of product, you should carefully trot out the appropriate terms of art to show you know your stuff. Rehearse your personal pitch. You’d be surprised at how often interviewers will ask: “So, I’ve seen your resume, but why don’t you walk me through it?” (UGH DAGGER) or “So, we’ve chatted a bit, but why don’t you give me the highlight reel?” (Honestly, those generic questions reflect poorly on the interviewer!)
+Arrive with a “yes, and” attitude. One of the trainings I ran with a lot of my teams anchored upon the “yes, and” mantra from improv comedy. Improv comedians learn early on that, when on stage, you should always receive someone’s contribution with an enthusiastic “yes, and!” The idea is that someone might say: “My tooth just fell out” and if you say “Yes, and — so did mine! We better get to the dentist!”, you are building a narrative and moving things forward. If you respond with: “No it didn’t,” you’re killing the momentum and canning their creativity. I found that some of my own interviews involved crazy questions, activities, and even simulations. I always greeted these steps enthusiastically, even when it meant that I one day spent a full afternoon talking about the ins and outs of product design with a consultant who didn’t even work at the organization in question. Yep, I’m here and I’m ready! I said, shrugging off my initial skepticism.
+Take a deep breath and trust yourself. I would often give myself a weird kind of pep talk before heading into an interview: “You are just talking to another human being right now. They need you as much as you need them. This is just a conversation and you are a great candidate. Be yourself!”
+Dress up. Others may disagree, but it doesn’t matter whether you’re applying for the most casual of start-ups in San Francisco — dress up. I always wore a dress and heels to interviews.
SO inspired by the snap above — they look sophisticated but comfortable. Chic without trying too hard. Just the look for a mother-of-two? Below, my top picks for nailing the “new basics” look:
More Q+As! I’ve been doing a lot of these lately — feel free to email me your questions at jennifer@thefashionmagpie.com anytime.
Q: I’m a bridesmaid in a black tie wedding this October. The bride is allowing us to each choose whatever dress we like with the only parameters of long and black. She herself is very stylish and has made it clear that non-bridesmaidy dresses are welcome and encouraged (her words were “if you think it’s too high fashion- it’s not!”). I tend to gravitate towards classic looks and am hoping to find something that I could actually (actually!) wear again. Any suggestions on options that may fit the bill?
A: This was SUCH a fun bit of shopping for me to indulge — what a chic bride friend you have! The first brands that came to mind were Alice McCall, Acler, and Zimmermann. All three tend to have high-fashion silhouettes but are more reasonably priced than prestige designers. I especially love this lacy number from Alice McCall (on sale!) and think this or this from Acler would be worth buying to try on (the cuts are daring and CHIC — but it would really need to fit well so best to try on for size).
Q: I had a question for whenever you do your next reader Q & A post if you don’t mind. My daughter will be 3.5-4 months (depending when she makes her appearance) at my sisters wedding this summer. She is not a real flower girl given her age (aka not going down the aisle) — but she will be in the pictures as the de facto flower girl (plus my 3-year old son is the actual ring bearer). Do you have any suggestions on where to look for a dress for her (or just suggestions for actual dresses – love your taste!)? I’m having trouble finding dresses in small enough sizes that aren’t christening gowns but are pretty formal. Would like it to be mostly white, as my sister is wearing a true white gown and wouldn’t mind if it had some floral detail as my sisters veil has lace flowers appliqued to it, but that is certainly not a must.
A: Hi! How sweet is that?! Yes — I would look at both Luli & Me and Feltman Brothers. Both carry formal/traditional childrens’ wear in as small as size newborn! I like this because it features the floral/ruffle/lace that might tie in nicely with your sister’s dress (would probably remove the bonnet/hat that it comes with and replace with a big white bow headband, but that’s personal taste), this, and this. Alexandros Baby also has some of the most precious pieces I’ve ever seen in itty bitty sizes. I am swooning over this and this. And these little shoes come in the tiniest size!!!
Q: I currently use a two-year-old Goyard tote that is black on black, so more suited for fall and winter. I’ve used it year round, but it is starting to show some wear and tear and I’ve already had it repaired once. I definitely want it to last, so it needs a break!…This past September I bought a charcoal grey Celine top handle bag in Paris, and I love it, but it just isn’t going to work for most weekdays when I’m going into work and carrying snacks, full wallet, a few makeup items, etc. I’d love a grey Goyard st. louis tote..but not sure I’m looking to spend much more than $400-$800 this season, since I did just get the Celine. Would love your thoughts! just trying to avoid the classic tote style, in saddle tan, that seems safe : )
A: Hi! A couple of thoughts…
+I own and love my leather tote from Annabel Ingall. I get lots of compliments on it. I own one in a pastel pink, but she sells them in all different colors.
+I have multiple friends who own and adore their Mansur Gavriel totes. I like they they come lined in fun colors. I like the sophisticated and simple styling of this white, tall tote in particular.
+I also own and get a lot of wear out of my monogrammed Parker Thatch tote. May be a bit too casual for work — not sure? — but I adore it.
+At the top of my personal lust list? A TB Lee Radziwill bag. So fun in this splashy yellow color!
+Get the Goyard look for less with one of these Barrington bags. People rave about them! You can customize with all different prints, leather options, monogram options, stripes, etc.
+Finally — I’ve had a couple of friends buy Wandler bags, a lesser known label with sleek styling. They might be a touch more than you want to spend but also very stylish!
Q: How has this pregnancy differed from your last? Planning to try for baby two soon but feeling anxious.
A: So exciting for you! In some ways, I have felt similarly in both pregnancies, and I captured some of the wistful-anxious-excited emotions I’ve been feeling earlier this year. The biggest difference is that I am hugely distracted this go around thanks to mini; time has flown. I am shocked that I am now seven months along! (When did that happen?) I remember crying to Mr. Magpie on many occasions during mini’s pregnancy at how slowly time was moving — “I just want her to be here!” and “I can’t make it through another few months of this!” I was so nervous in the face of the unknown. This go around, I don’t have the time or mental energy to linger over every twinge and movement the way I did when I was pregnant with mini, and I’m constantly shocked at the milestones I’m hitting. With mini, I was also a lot more uncomfortable, I think due to her positioning. I had what has been referred to as “lightening crotch,” where the baby’s head or foot or something is constantly hitting a nerve and causing this sharp, shooting pain throughout your lower abdomen. It was really uncomfortable for weeks and weeks. This go around, I’ve had little to contend with; sometimes I have honestly forgotten I am pregnant if you can believe that, though micro is a lot more active than I remember mini being. I feel as though he’s moving around every minute of the day, and so I find myself absently aware of him for long portions of the day.
All that said, almost like clockwork, last week (i.e., on the eve of my third trimester), I started to find myself beleaguered with a host of minor though annoying aches and pains throughout the day — back aches, sudden twinges, painful kicks to the ribs, Braxton Hicks. I discovered I couldn’t keep pace with Mr. Magpie while we were walking to date night and had to ask him to slow down as I thumped behind him. All the telltale signs of the third trimester. And now I’m wondering if I’ll be moving into that “please just let him get here” frame of mind!
More on this pregnancy here, and on my hospital bag here (read the reader comments for more tips!!!)
Q: I’m looking for a dress to wear to a semi-formal wedding in Santa Barbara in May. The 2pm ceremony is at a Catholic church (the same one Hayley Bloom got married in!) and the reception is at the family’s home. What would you suggest? I feel like a Brock dress would be perfect, but I don’t want to spend quite that much. Something under $500.
A: GIRL! You are speaking my language! I love the Brock Collection vibe. A couple of finds that are more reasonably priced that might fit the bill:
+A touch over your budget, but I am legitimately dying over this Alice McCall beauty. Swoon!! Everything I love right now. A dramatic sleeve, a midi length, an uber-feminine floral.
+In love with the haute couture shapes from new-ish label Acler. I’m smitten with this dress in particular. (On sale for under $200!)
+Anything from LoveShackFancy…I own and love this dress in a different print.
+Not floral, but this is a major moment. Love the romantic, drape-y, floaty style. The robin’s egg blue gives me Grace Kelly vibes.
Q: How do you care for mini’s clothing? I feel like all I do is laundry while dressing my children like British royalty. Help!
A: The truth is that I spend a lot of time laundering and ironing mini’s clothes and haven’t found any incredible shortcuts. Maybe my approach will change with baby two…HA! For now, I machine wash EVERYTHING, even cashmere and wool, which I launder on a gentle cycle with The Laundress’ Wool and Cashmere Shampoo. Then I lay the items flat on towels to dry so that they keep their shape. For her “party dresses,” I will wash and then tumble dry low and remove before they are over-dry, then use my iron to press them. In a pinch, I’ll use my steamer or Crease Release, but I’ve found nothing works as well as a hot iron and sometimes even some spray starch when I’m going for a big moment. (Classic Niagara spray is far and away the best I’ve used. I’ve tried other “fancier” brands but nothing works like Niagara for that ultra-crisp edge.) While on the topic of ironing, I have to say that my Rowenta iron is one of the best investments I’ve made in the past few years. I used to feel like ironing was a waste of time because things never turned out the way I thought they would. I even spent time googling “how to iron,” thinking the results were attributable to user error. Then I upgraded to this Rowenta iron and the results were incredible — dare I say, professional grade? Finally — and this isn’t rocket science — but I try to do all ironing one afternoon of the week if at all possible, while the nanny is here, and I’ll put on a TV show while doing so, so it’s kind of a little treat for me.
Q: Where is mini’s monogrammed puddle jumper cover from in your Instagram photo???
Q: What is that white-pink nail polish color you’ve been wearing in your most recent Instagram stories?
A: It’s the gel version of OPI’s Lisbon Wants Moor! I love it. Going to get it again before micro is born for sure — it’s the perfect everyday neutral!
Q: Remind me where your Goyard phone case is from?
A: Here! If you’re looking for more trendy cases, check out Minnie & Emma. I am drawn to their tie dye…duh.
*Sketch above my insanely talented and lovely inside-and-out friend Inslee Fariss, whom I’ve profiled here, and who attends our monthly in-person Magpie book clubs, in case you ever want to meet this talented artist in the flesh. (Email me if you want in!)
On New Year’s Day, Mr. Magpie marched down to the barber and buzzed his head. I mentioned this recently, in a different context — one focused on intimacy, in all its savage abandon — but hanging just off stage, behind the curtains, was a glowing surge of pride. Let me first pre-emptively beg your forgiveness, Mr. Magpie, for sharing this bit of private information, but here it is: Mr. Magpie was balding. He had grappled with whether or not to buzz his head for the better part of two years. And he is not a vain kind of guy. Well-groomed and well-dressed, yes, but not the sort to primp his hair for thirty minutes or dab concealer under his eyes. He has one of those frustratingly simple man routines: get in shower, shampoo, scrub body, get out of shower, throw on deodorant, and go. Done in three minutes. He is appealingly and maddeningly unfussy, depending on which mood I am in. (I take a good hour to get ready, from shower to spritz of perfume. Nowadays, that hour is often fractured: shower at night, makeup in the morning, a quick curling iron or straightening iron when I have time, all dotted through with quick and nervous glances over my shoulder to ensure mini hasn’t tossed the entire toilet paper roll down the toilet.)
But — he would confide in me about his hair.
“Should I buzz it?” he’d ask, running his fingers through his hair, peering at himself in the mirror above my writing desk.
We ran through this conversation every week or two, looked at pictures of celebrities with good short hair, and then, towards the end of 2018, I finally snapped: “Landon — I don’t know. Do it and if you don’t like it, it will grow back. Or don’t do it and wait until you feel ready.”
I regretted my impatient reply immediately. I could see, as I glanced up from the pile of laundry I was folding, that this internal debate of his outsized its trappings. It wasn’t just vanity. It was a grappling with time, with age. It was a reconciling of the Landon he conjured when he thought of himself and the Landon he was becoming. It was pre-kids Landon and post-kids Landon. Pre-business Landon and post-business Landon. Pre-home-ownership Landon and post-home-ownership Landon. The Landon of our youth and the Landon of our middle age.
When he left on New Year’s Day, I felt a lump form in the back of my throat. I waved it off, distracted myself with mini, threw out a cavalier “Good luck!” for good measure. But as the key turned in the lock and he poked his head into our foyer, searching my face for a reaction about thirty minutes later, I burst into tears. Tears!
“Oh!” I said, forcing a smile onto my face, pretending I wasn’t crying, “Oh, you look so handsome.” And he did. Truly. Somehow he’d lost five years in the shearing of his hair. He looked athletic, strong. I noticed in a way I hadn’t in years the hazel of his eyes, the breadth of his smile, and the squaring of his chin. But there was something about his searching eyes, anxious for my reaction, that gutted me. And there was something else — something about his mild heroism (yes, heroism!) in accommodating the effects of age that wrung my heart. He had been agonizing over whether or not he was ready to accept that he has become a 36-year-old father-to-two (almost!) and wife-to-one with thinning hair and an aging body, and, all on his own, he set out to accept — celebrate! — that transition head-on as the calendar year turned.
“I’m just — I know it was hard –” I stammered to explain as I swiped at the tears on my cheeks.
He laughed at my histrionics but wrapped me in a bear hug all the same.
“I’m proud of you,” I finished. He nodded.
He’s since come to strut around town with his new ‘do, as he’s been overwhelmed by its positive reception. My mother, two of my sisters, and countless friends and colleagues have swooned over it. He looks more styled and sophisticated. (For reference, it looks kind of like Matt Lauer’s hair — and I know Matt Lauer isn’t a shining point of reference given his pattern of sexual harrassment, but he’s still got a handsome hairdo.) And now it feels like a decision that could have been made years ago, without as much hand-wringing.
I’ve been on the fence about what to do with my own hair for the past few months. I went really blond last summer and then decided I wanted to return to something closer to my natural brunette and so I’ve been gradually darkening it, lazily waiting until the very last minute before touching things up between coloring sessions. I study my roots constantly. I am shocked to find that I have no gray — yet. But I have been grappling with the balance of my age and my hairstyle nonetheless. I’ve worn my hair in a long bob for the last five years, but have felt an itch to grow it longer more recently — maybe for the last time in my life, I tell myself. (Isn’t there a point at which long hair looks inappropriate on an older woman? Or no? Jen Aniston seems to rock long locks, but…she’s Jen Aniston.) And I love being blond — it’s so fun! — but a part of me wants to return to my darker roots, to its natural and easy companionship with my complexion. And I wonder how much longer I will have the opportunity to wear my hair au naturale before gray rains on the party and forces my hand. Or will it? Could I be a salt-and-pepper woman? Could I look chic in gray? Or am I dyed-til-I-die type?
I will sheepishly admit that these considerations have consumed hours of my attention in the weeks since Mr. Magpie buzzed his head. I have scrolled through endless photos on Pinterest of various permutations of cut, color, and style. I have pondered my aging face in the mirror, imagining what it might look like next to a long, wavy chestnut do, or a short and blunt blond, or a shoulder-length wavy caramel, or a sleek gray bob. These are vanity sessions to be sure, but they are also reconciliations with realities that are not far afield. They are conversations with age, with the shortening span of life ahead of me. They are, in the truest sense, a coming of age.
How have you come to terms with your age through your hairstyle?
Post Scripts.
+I shared a lot of my favorite hair care products here (including the round brush Gisele uses to get those amazing, bouncy waves), but recent favorites include Ouai’s Leave-In Conditioner (so, so good during these dry winter months and while I’m still actively coloring my hair! Bonus: it smells like heaven), Christophe Robin’s Volumizing Paste (WUNDERPRODUCT — so weird to use, but it seriously works; the most volume I’ve ever seen in my hair, AND it comes in a mini size, linked here, just in case you want to test before you invest), and DryBar’s clarifying charcoal shampoo, which leaves my hair feeling super clean. I used it while in FL to get rid of the chlorine and sunscreen and sweat and all that jazz.
+I have turned countless friends and readers onto these Drybar hair sectioning clips. They have been almost indestructible — like little Tonka Toy Trucks for the hair? Ha, maybe the yellow color forged that analogy a little too readily for its own good. But I’ve had my set of four clips for years and years and I use them to clip back my hair when washing my face at night and to section my hair when styling/blow-drying. I just love them.
+Another DryBar product I love: this mini travel brush. It is…perfect. I use it every day to detangle my hair after a shower and sometimes I will travel with ONLY it (no bigger brush) because it is that good at multi-tasking. My mom is equally enamored of hers.
+Still love these for holding my hair back (or, when I’m feeling extra, these), though there is a voluble and loyal contingent of Teletie-lovers that have been a bit hard to ignore of late. People say these are like invisibobbles on steroids — just, better in every way.
+New designer alert: Stine Goya. I am seriously into this label. Love this and this. This current season has a decidedly 70s bent to it — not usually a decade I gravitate towards — but I love the way its prints work with high-fashion silhouettes. Super cool!
+I can never have too many frothy white blouses. Love this one. Incidentally, would look adorable with a lot of the hair accessories listed above!
+I recently read that Le Labo’s Santal 33 is one of those magical, mythical scents with its own cult following, kind of like Chanel No. 5 — does anyone wear this?! (I’d heard similar hype about Byredo’s Gypsy Water and it was not off-point. I literally ordered it without smelling it first, if you can believe that!) I might do the same with Santal 33. Love messing around with new scents, and appreciate one that comes in a solid form for travel/dabbing onto my wrists while out and about.
Urgent post because OMG. This Melissa & Doug puffy sticker set is the best $5 I’ve spent in a long, long while. I whipped it out while on our flight down to Florida and she was ecstatic. It kept her busy for nearly half (!!!) of the three-hour flight and then for multiple hours every day since. Yes, multiple hours every day since. In the words of Jonathan Van Ness: can you believe?! (N.B.: The set is technically for children three and older as it includes small puffy stickers, but, while supervised, it gave me no pause. She doesn’t put things in her mouth anymore, but I’d keep an eye on your child just to make sure.) I already added this one to my cart as a gift for her upcoming second birthday.
Other hits on the trip: this Minnie Play-Doh set, this Doodle Pro (she loves loves love this and though she could not at first figure out how to erase the board on her own, she’s since learned and will draw on this for long stretches of time), this coloring book (she adores Woody and all the Toy Story movies, and Mr. Magpie and I actually just decided to have micro’s gift to her be this talking Woody doll! She’s going to FLIP!), and Hop on Pop. I’d not given her any Dr. Seuss books, primarily because I did not grow up with his work, and Mr. Magpie one day asked, “Why no Seuss?!” My mother — perhaps idiosyncratically — felt that Dr. Seuss books were confusing to little children because, while inventive, they tend to include jibberish words, and children are already hard enough at work in learning English. I don’t pretend to understand the nuances of this and don’t mean to put it down as fact, but that was her reasoning and I’ve inherited it. Mini loved Hop on Pop though, and I appreciate the book’s emphasis on prepositions! (More of our favorite books here. I should probably update this now that she’s nearly two. Three of her current favorites are Madeline, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, and Drum Dream Girl. I’m consistently astounded by how patient she is in sitting through increasingly long books! Drum Dream Girl is a fantastic girl empowerment book with poetic, lyrical language, and I like that a few of the pages force you to turn the book sideways. All kinds of cool disruptions in that book! I have a bone to pick with If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, though. I’m probably taking this way too seriously, but isn’t the message annoying? Like, if someone asks for something, they’ll probably take advantage of you? A bit bleak if you ask me.)
Three and a half stars. Upon first completing the book, I would have given this book a solid four stars, but then I read some of the after matter and have to admit that I revised my score — more on that to come.
On first reading, I was drawn to the novel’s terse poetry and found the author’s occupation of the mind and voice of a fourteen-year-old boy from a culture so different from my own artful, instructive, and compelling. It reminded me, in texture and voice, of narration at the hands of a young Junot Diaz. And you should know that — while a reluctant one — I am a massive fan of Diaz’s, so this is meant as a meaty compliment.
At its simplest, this is a bildungsroman gone right. A young boy born with a rare brain condition defies the odds and overcomes bullying and cultural divides as he grows up and comes into his own. The book is at once optimistic about transcending such barriers and deadly serious about the many intransigent problems that have plagued the Native American community for generations. I found the parts in which Junior travels to a neighboring town to attend a better school among the wealthier whites especially fascinating. These episodes read almost like “passing narratives” (a literary subgenre in which characters claim a racial or ethnic identity that is not their own), where Junior grapples with the norms and expectations of his white classmates and at one point comments that “I was half Indian in one place and half white in the other.” As he travels between towns, he notes that he “always felt like a stranger.” The backdrop of this racial and cultural no-man’s-land sophisticates an otherwise run-of-the-mill tale of teenage identity formation. The feeling of dislocation, the longing for community and belonging, and the desire to be accepted that haunt nearly every teen the world over are profoundly amplified in this racially heightened context. Against it, Alexie deftly points to the instability and performance of cultural and personal identity and provokes us to think about the various official and unofficial ways in which we think about Native American vs. White, Reservations vs. Not, etc.
Alexie’s inclusion of comic sketches in the book and the metafictional winks we get every now and then (i.e., when Junior is saying something notably immature, the province of a teenage mind and nothing more, and we understand that we are meant to heave a sigh and say “oh, teenagers”) further contribute to the feeling of fluidity in the novel. These tactics generate cognitive dissonance where we are reading through the eyes of a fourteen year old boy but also laughing along with the author as he offers us the space to dismiss some of his immature observations as — well, teenage boy stuff. And the comic strips interrupt the textual flow, reminding us continuously that we are reading and looking — that is, we are constantly forced to consider the medium we are consuming and evaluating our own position in relation to the text. I don’t mean to get too heavy-handed/theoretical here, but this is sophisticated stuff. Alexie is creating narrative and textual instabilities and blurrings that mirror the kind of identity shape-shifting going on in the character himself.
But then I read the after matter and my impression of the book changed. In it, Alexie writes a note to the audience in a voice that sounds markedly similar to the voice of fourteen-year-old Junior — the same slouchy, informal slang and mildly irreverent tone. I was taken aback. But — so — that wasn’t a deft performance of a fourteen year old? That’s just…Alexie’s voice? Hm. I take back some of the accolades. Then, Alexie goes on to explain that the character of Rowdy was adapted from his real-life best friend, Randy, who was killed in a car accident not long after the book was published and whom he eulogized. Alexie notes that while he spoke “off the cuff” at the funeral, he thought he’d try his hand at sharing what he said and then re-prints a version of his remarks. I was so offput by all of this that I found this section hard to read. First — it felt like a horrible infringement on Randy and his family. Second — it seemed bizarrely self-congratulating that he delivered this eulogy “off the cuff” but then managed to capture it in writing afterward (and it was lengthy, and he makes sure to gesture in the text to when the audience laughed). What’s worse: the eulogy itself is more about Alexie than it is about Randy. He uses it to call out his former bullies, talk about what the friendship meant to him, and so on. I was honestly appalled. So much of the tender-heartedness I had felt towards the book and its characters evaporated as I realized that much of Junior’s story was Alexie’s own memoir, and he doesn’t seem to be a particularly empathy-rousing person in real life if we can use this social gaffe of reprinting a self-aggrandizing eulogy as an example.
Add to this the controversy over the many alleged cases of sexual harassment he is currently facing and — well. I can’t say I left the book on as positive a note as I’d have liked to.
This has been an interesting exercise for me because I have long thought of myself as a close reading scholar — a textualist. Historical and biographical contexts matter, yes, but the text reigns supreme. I have always enjoyed close analysis of the language, narrative design, and various literary techniques deployed in a given text and have used those tools to unpack meaning, occasionally dipping into history or biography to amplify observations. Here is a case where the context of a book dismantled and interrupted my text-centric interpretation of the book and left me with a sour taste in my mouth. I don’t quite know how to feel about it. How do we separate author from text? Can we? Can we appreciate the work of, say, Hemingway, even though we know he was not a “nice man” and that he cheated on his doting wife? Or do we evaluate art on multiple levels, possibly appreciating an aesthetic or a theme but rejecting it nonetheless because its creator was embroiled in scandal and sin?
It’s tough for me. I’ve always felt uneasy “scoring” art based on the merits of the artists behind it. It’s a slippery slope, and easier, in some ways, to just look at the text or canvas and draw what you wish from it.
But then…
Alexie. Ugh.
Tell me your thoughts!
March Book Club Pick: Delia Owens’ Where the Crawdads Sing.
OK, I was reluctant to select this book because it’s so right now and buzzy, but I did read it last month and I had to toss it into the mix as a counterpoint/foil to both Madeline Miller’s Circe and Lauren Groff’s Florida, earlier Magpie Book Club picks. Further, so many of you have written to ask for my opinion on it and commented on how much you have enjoyed it, so I thought — why not?!
I’m drawn to a couple of things about this book. I won’t spoil it for everyone by diving too deep here (will publish a full review in March), but some of the themes I found most stirring were: geography, the alternating conflict and consensus between man and nature, exile, and identity. There are so many interesting observations to be made on all of these fronts when stringing these three books (Circe, Florida, and Crawdads) together. Written within about a year of each other, what do these three narratives tell us about the position of women in society today?
For those local to New York: let’s plan to meet on Monday, March 25th to discuss. I will send out my usual email requesting RSVPs soon!
More Book Club Picks.
+Had a lot of positive feedback on this post; start here.
+About to read this at the request of my husband, who LOVED this memoir, but this is next on my list for serious reading after several book club members went insane over it, and this is my next pick for a brain vacation.
+Now that Circe is a few months behind me, I’m inclined to try Ursula Le Guin’s Lavinia, another retelling of a classic from a female perspective. People rave about Le Guin! I’m intrigued.
Post-Scripts.
+Not usually a huge fan of athleisure/athletics-wear but HOW COOL would you feel wearing this Marant sweatshirt?! Like, I’m shivering from afar imagining how hip I’d feel. Must be worn with GG sneaks or Vejas.
+Tory Burch just released her borderline iconic lettuce leaf print china collection in the sweetest pink color and I’m in love. I would absolutely adore this teapot and these salad plates.
+When we were little, my mother ordered each of my sisters and I a pink duffel bag from Lillian Vernon with our names monogrammed on the side. The night before a trip, she’d instruct us to “bring the pink bags down and put them on my desk.” And we’d line them up, diligently, because this meant she would top our bags off with little surprises and toys and candies that we were only permitted to access after the seatbelt sign had been turned off on the plane. I am confident mini needs her own pink bag now that she’s getting older. And this might be the ticket. And I might as well order this for micro.
+I own a few dusters/long cardigans that have gotten a lot of wear this pregnancy. I like to layer them over my maternity tees and leggings and finish with my GG sneaks for an easy everyday look. Currently lusting after this tie-dye duster situation and this colorblock Staud sweater. (Why is everything by Staud so freaking cool?)
+This tub mat is super chic and on sale. I just threw away a tub mat that was getting a little ratty and ordered this instead.
+Speaking of bathroom decor, how darling are these scallop trim hand towels (on sale!)?! I love them with the oversized monogram!
+OK, this swimsuit is SUPER cute. Looks like it’s by Lisa Marie Fernandez but currently on sale for $70!
By: Jen Shoop
My Latest Snag: The Staud Shirley Bag.
Finally pulled the trigger on this bag, which I’ve been talking about for months and months at this point. I got it in the pink. It makes me happy. And it is on sale! That is all.
I found Grace’s honest reaction to the Marie Kondo mania interesting and well-put. Though I enjoyed a few episodes of Marie’s show and put her techniques to good use at home, I also noticed — with confusion — a lot of fellow bloggers and public figures touting the Marie Kondo method as a means to clear out the old in order to make space for the new, which is in some ways the opposite of Marie’s ethos. Yes, her approach involves downsizing and sifting through belongings and trashing what we do not use, but always as a means to simplify. (What do you really need and enjoy?) It does not mean chucking things to replace with newer versions. (That said, sometimes simplifying entails stocking up on the appropriate storage solutions and tools. Since moving to New York, I have invested heavily in organizational solutions and I can’t tell you how much joy and order this has brought to my life. Just organizing mini’s snack pouches into pantry bins and my cosmetics into acrylic trays has given me the greatest peace of mind. But it did require investment in a ton of closet/pantry/cupboard organizers!)
I was reflecting on this the other day when I heard that Lee Radziwill had passed away. Lee was an interesting and complicated character. I’ve read a couple of biographies of Jackie O. that delve into Lee and I own the gorgeous Lee coffee table book — and, while fabulously stylish, she comes off as cold and unfeeling in many of the portraits I’ve encountered of her. But she did pass along some beautiful sentiments, one of which I captured here and another of which I will botch here: she reportedly once said something along the lines of “When I buy something, I buy it with the intent of owning it for life.”
I admire her ethos. It’s not anti-consumerist — it’s thoughtful purchasing. It reflects mindfulness when it comes to the quality and seasonality of a given piece. I can’t say I always heed the same advice. I like a statement accessory, even when I know it won’t be in vogue in a few seasons — c.f. my new Staud bag above. I enjoy the occasional trend (helloooo tie dye) and I like how I feel when I am pushing myself out of my own fashion comfort zone to embrace the new new new. But I find that as I age and have the increasing means to do so, I prefer to invest in pieces I’ll keep forever (or as long as I possibly can), especially when it comes to furniture, art, bedding, and select accessories. This doesn’t mean that everything I buy in these categories is the most expensive item on the market. In fact, we have found some exceptional pieces of art on Etsy and at thrift stores, and we managed to score an almost-good-as-new drop-leaf dining table from Room & Board on AptDeco for a song. It does mean that we often hunt for a piece for weeks and weeks before settling on one, and that even the seemingly simplest of purchases — like minimagpie’s new table and chairs, which I mentioned here — will occasionally take us days of debate before we settle on a winner. I think it comes down to intentionality and mindfulness. I’d been eyeing that Staud bag for months and months and — OK! Now I know it will bring me joy when it’s in my closet. Who cares if it’s old news in a season? I’ll still rock it. I still wear my Valentino Rockstud flats and my Chanel espadrilles, even though I’m fairly sure most people would consider them dinosaurs in the fashion world at this point.
Anyway — what are your thoughts on all of this? Are you sick and tired of hearing about “sparking joy” and Marie Kondo? Or are you still riding the bandwagon?
#Shopaholic: Things I’ve Bought with the Intent of Owning for Life.
My own Lee Radziwill guide — things I’ve purchased with the intent of owning forever (or as long as possible):
+Supergas. They last forever and look just as chic at the age of 20 as they do at the age of 80.
+Ceramic foo dogs. I just know I’ll love these forever. I had eyed them for years before I finally bought a set of my own.
+Ginger jar collection. Similar to the above, I’ve collected mine over time. I’ve inherited a few from an aunt, purchased a few from Williams-Sonoma, and snagged some inexpensive ones from Home Goods and One Kings Lane.
+Stark antelope rug. Another piece I’d eyed for, like, years. I am still in love with it to this day. (Also, the print hides a whole manner of spills/crumbs/stains…)
+LL Bean bags. I’ve accrued a collection of these over time, knowing they’ll stand me well no matter what circumstance I’m facing. I’ve used them for everything from packing picnics at Wolf Trap to beach trips with girlfriends to diaper bags and can imagine them being put to just as good use toting gear to sports practices and packing for weekend trips to the Hamptons with our children (!).
+Ralph Lauren oxford shirt. I own this in multiple colors and stripes and have worn them since prep school. Will probably continue to wear them into my 90s, God willing.
+Tweezerman tweezers. Will simply never buy another pair, unless I somehow lose these. So I chose a pair in hot pink.
+Mason Pearson brush. The best. I own this exact color and “pocket” size — I found the bigger one was too big for my hands/head!
+Hot Tools curling iron. The absolute best in my opinion. Lasts forever, too. Mine already look like they’re from the 80s or something, and I like them that way.
+Lodge cast iron skillet. Mr. Magpie inherited his from his grandmother, and it was so deliciously well-seasoned by the time it came into our possession. We already had one in a larger size; we’ll use it until we die.
+All-Clad pots and pans. We’ve slowly upgraded our entire cookware collection from the miscellaneous pieces we bought/inherited in college to a full set of these, and are still always eyeing new additions. They never warp. We also love our copper Mauviel (we have a few pieces), but they do require more upkeep/maintenance in terms of appearance than our All Clads. Copper conducts heat more evenly, though, I believe, if you’re going for precision.
I’m missing tons of things from this list, but these are some of the pieces I own that I love and use nearly every single day. (I would actually argue that many of my shoes — even the trendiest of them! — were bought with the intent of longevity.)
On a related note, I’ve been meaning to share this FOREVER, but my dear friend Alison Kenworthy (my inaugural woman of substance!) has recently launched an incredible new website in which she tours the uniquely-decorated homes of interesting people in Manhattan and beyond. I was so touched that she asked to visit me! You can see an abbreviated home tour here (scroll down to “Fashion Blogger’s NYC Apartment”). Note that I’m six months pregnant here and look kind of shapeless but how cute is my dress?! Can you believe it cost me $20?!?!? I’m wearing my Lele Sadoughi headband in the video, too.
By: Jen Shoop
I didn’t do a horrible job packing my hospital bag the first time around — I used most of what I brought with the exception of the pajamas; I didn’t have the energy or inclination to change out of my hospital robe, which was so much more convenient given all the medical stuff happening and the fact that I was struggling to figure out how to nurse mini (and therefore naked) most of the time I was there. Also, I found that nightgowns were much more appealing during recovery from a c-section as I did not want anything like a waistband close to my incision. Maybe I’ll pack a pair of jams and a nightgown this go around for either circumstance — but I’ll probably just wear the damn robe. (Less laundry to do, easy access, etc.)
I feel as though there is a lot of smugness from tenured moms when it comes to what first time moms are planning to bring to the hospital.
“Ah, you won’t need any of that,” we’ll say, knowingly, the gleam of the initiated in our eyes.
I get it. We’ve seen the other side. We are proud of our warrior status. We’ve earned that knowing look. But I have steered clear of such commentary with my first-time-mom friends, because a) every woman is different and far be it for me to deter someone from a full face of makeup post-birth! and b) the act of packing a hospital bag is more freighted than it might seem at first glance. For me, packing the hospital bag (which I did around week 30 the first time — anxious much!?) was a physical manifestation of accepting the fact that I was physically going to have a baby. It was a reckoning, in its own way — a practical step toward birth, a tangible act I could undertake to prepare for the baby. It was one of the first times throughout the entire pregnancy in which I felt some small semblance of control. “There. I’m doing something to show I’m ready,” I said to myself. “I have no idea what I’m doing in any other lane of motherhood or pregnancy, but I have packed this bag full of things I might want as I recover.”
And so, I cut women a lot of slack when it comes to the hospital bag. Let them pack three robes and forty-two pairs of socks and a full trundle of cosmetics. There’s nothing wrong with feeling prepared. (All that said, I draw the line at twinkle lights for the hospital room, which I’ve seen on some hospital bag packing lists. I just can’t imagine anyone having the energy to tack them up and can picture myself with a sheepish grin as nurses would find Mr. Magpie stringing them around my bed.)
At any rate, below, what I’m planning to bring along this go around, which I’ll probably get around to actually packing in another month:
+Nursing pajamas and a nursing nightgown (<<I LOVE THESE. The softest cotton modal. I already own this exact style in two or three prints; will probably add a new one to the repertoire. I wore them for months after baby was born. They are flattering, comfortable, practical, and hold up well in the wash.)
+Cotton bathrobe. A MUST. If you do end up only wearing the hospital robe because of a c-section or whatever, the back swings wide open. A robe gives you some privacy while walking the halls of the hospital. I like this soft cotton style (easy to toss in the wash afterward — probably best to avoid white).
+Inexpensive, high-rise granny panties. If you end up needing a c-section, you will be so happy you have these. They give you those standard issue mesh ones, which are also fine, but you’ll need these eventually and they are so soft and wonderfully high-rise.
+Nursing bras. These were my favorites in the hospital, though several of you have urged me to try these Coobies, which come in fun colors and prints (including on-trend tie-dye!) Both are pull-down styles, which I really liked in those early days. Will probably pack two.
+Laptop and extension cord. We put on old episodes of The Office while we were blearily awake in the wee hours of the morning.
+So many of you recommended this Haaka thing for capturing milk on the opposite breast while nursing on one side. GENIUS. Ordering. UPDATE WRITTEN POST-BABY: I never got the hang of using the Haaka and it just felt like one more thing to worry about, to be honest. I do have close friends who swear by it. Probably worth testing it out to see if it’s good for you since it’s not expensive!
+Lactation bars. I was glad I’d brought these! Not sure how well they worked (still had an undersupply) but they made me feel as though I was doing something and maybe they did help in a small way. Also, I was ravenously hungry at all times and these were pretty tasty in the blueberry-coconut combo. I also liked those Quaker soft oat bars; anything with oat in it is good for milk production. (And I also drank fenugreek tea, which I incidentally rather liked.)
+All my favorite cosmetics in mini sizes — I wrote about a bunch of them in yesterday’s post, but I should also underscore that I loved having my favorite shampoo and conditioner on hand, a loofah, and a bar of classic Dove soap. For some reason the smell of Dove soap is tantamount to purification in my mind, and that first shower felt and smelt like heaven to me.
+A baby book. I was able to write down all of mini’s information right in the hospital so I wouldn’t forget a thing. I think you can even have the nurses put her little footprints on one of the pages if you ask! To be honest, I fell off the wagon in terms of keeping this up-to-date, which is shameful since I only have one child to keep up with, but we started to post daily pictures of mini to a shared iPhoto album and so I feel like I’ve marked most of her milestones there. With micro, I want to remember to jot things down in the book, though! (HA, we shall see.)
+Have heard these and this are clutch for giving birth if I don’t need a c-section.
+Going home outfit: it will be late May if all goes to plan, so I’m thinking something like this loose dress and some new slides (no buckles or laces pls and thank you). I think my personal gift to myself will be a new pair of sandals for summer. I have been dangling on the ledge of buying some silver Birks for like two years but got caught up in the latest Chanel collection and am eyeing something like these or these as a gift to myself instead (last go around, my gift to myself was Gucci Princetown mules)…I’ll also pack maternity leggings and a loose-fit button down (<<own and love this) in case I’m in the mood to feel sucked-in/contained instead.
+Snacks for husband. I brought some granola bars and nuts for him last go around.
Hospital Bag Items for Baby.
+Coming-home outfit, one in size NB and one in size 0-3 months. (Mini needed preemie-sized clothes for her first week or two of life, and I ordered those immediately upon returning home, but NB will suit most babes.) I got this in size 0-3 mo and this in size newborn, and these little caps will work with either.
+Nail scissors. People say all kinds of things about baby nails — don’t fret if you’re a first time mom. This is a non-urgent thing and I don’t know why people make such a fuss about them! I was legitimately terrified of grooming her nails given all the hubbub. I’d heard lots of exhortations along the lines of: MAKE SURE you put on those mittens so they don’t scratch their faces! You don’t want to trim their nails while they’re super young! and then — They come out with long nails! Just bite them off with your teeth! and IT IS SO HARD TO CUT BABY NAILS. Etc. Let me first say that the last thing on my mind in those first few days was tending to mini’s talons. But, I did notice that she had long nails when she was born and found these tiny scissors were easy to use and precise, as the blade curves away from the baby’s fingernail bed. And it was really not a big deal. As they get older and move around more, it becomes harder to keep their hands still. Trim while they’re sleeping! The hospital essentially provides everything else you can possibly imagine when it comes to caring for your baby — burp cloths, swaddles, diapers, nasal aspirators, etc.
