With the dawn of 2019, I have found myself attracted to a more sophisticated look — a palette of black-white-beige or head-to-toe monochrome, high-fashion silhouettes, and a kind of androgynous vibe. Of course, I can’t actually wear any of these fairy fashion visions right now because I have my own five-month-pregnant silhouette to contend with, but that doesn’t mean I can’t dream. I’m imagining myself in blazers, elegant blouses, trendy bucket bags, trousers –the wardrobe of a well-heeled 30-something woman in Manhattan. Why don’t I wear more interesting pants, for example? I’m stuck in a denim rut and need to dig my way out, taking cues from the ladies above and below.
+Good foundations for a new year: I am very intrigued by La Perla’s new “second skin” bra. I’m normally a Natori Feathers devotee (on super sale here and in select colors here, too), but something about the lines and simplicity of this style have me itching to take a test drive.
+This is the kind of sweatshirt I’d wear if I were one of the chic peas pictured above, heading to, like, Orange Theory or whatever the current fitness fad is. So kewl.
P.P.S. I have a lot of new readers and wanted to say hi! welcome! so glad you are here! This is a medley of some of my most popular posts of all time, in case you’re in search of a distraction from post-holiday hangover at work. HA!
P.P.P.S. Just re-ordered this micellar water (I also like Garnier’s less-expensive drugstore version) and these toothbrushes (<<truly the best; I learned recently you are supposed to use soft bristles to avoid scratching the enamel off your teeth, and these are super well-designed thanks to like 10x the normal number of bristles and an octagonal handle that helps you get all the right angles).
By: Jen Shoop
Thanks to my mother’s generous gift of several sets of these Matouk towels (get the look for less with these), I have been eyeing our master bath with an increasingly critical eye. I also went into intense nesting mode while pregnant with mini and am already knee-deep in it with micro-mini on the way (due in May). I have literally penciled in days over the next two weeks when I’ll have the nanny here and will be tackling specific areas of our apartment. Mini’s closet is a horrendous mess and I need to sort through everything, donate a ton, and make space for micro-mini’s clothing. We do — fortunately — have a storage unit in the basement of our building and I’ve not yet explored under-crib storage, so I feel lucky that we have space to grow. For the time being, I ordered a bunch of these for mini’s too-small clothes (had formerly been using decorative boxes for her clothes but now I’m valuing space more keenly than before — plus, these make it easy to write sizing on the front and see what’s stowed without unpacking everything!) and a bunch of these in the large size for temporary under-crib organization. I’m thinking I’ll use them to stow mini’s toys in a more organized way. She has a bunch of play food/tea set kind of toys that I want to group together, for example, and now she has a whole set of Brio trains from Christmas that she ADORES. Would be nice to keep these organized and begin to engrain the idea of taking one toy out at a time, putting it back in its place, etc. (HAHAHAHA. But I will try.)
But I digress. My point is that between my new towels and my nesting instincts, I am eyeing my master bathroom in a new light, and thought I’d share some of the “upgrades” (we rent, so nothing permanent) I have been eyeing. Although that last comment opens a whole other can of worms: Mr. Magpie and I are now contemplating buying an apartment here in Manhattan come next fall. We know we’ll need to move with the arrival of micro-mini and we also know that moving in Manhattan is like the seventh level of hell and we further know that with every passing month we are finding ourselves more and more likely to stay put here in New York, especially with mini enrolling in a twos program in the fall, micro-mini’s imminent birth, and the ecstasy-inducing news that my beloved sister is moving back here from London in A MONTH. ONE MONTH. I am literally going bananas with excitement. BRB, never going to do anything without her again. And probably never going to leave the city if she stays put, too.
OK. But. Temporary solutions and upgrades to our master bath area.
+I stow all of my makeup and cosmetics in an enormous lucite cube similar to this (we actually have two — one for my cosmetics/products and a second for first aid items) under my sink, but have been keeping a small cosmetic kit with all my must-have every day items more easily accessible so I can just lift it out when I am ready to apply my everyday routine. I am thinking I might snag this small-ish stacking set to keep on my counter or in the space where I normally keep my cosmetic bag instead.
+If we didn’t already use all of our under-sink space for aforementioned cubes, a bin for white washcloths I alone use — and stain — while washing my face (though I did buy and start using these; I’m on the fence with them, as I don’t love the texture, but I do like the idea of not staining white washcloths anymore), and a bin for brushes and curling irons and the like, this looks like a genius idea.
+I know it’s trendy right now and therefore possibly not a good investment, but I do love gold hardware in a bathroom, especially against marble. This is more a line of inquiry when/if we buy a place, but I am drawn to pieces like this mirror, these faucets (not crazy about the central spigot, but love the faucets for hot and cold water), and these drawer pulls (the price!!!) I also love this flush mount for a bathroom. So chic.
+Someone just told me that this spray is like 23982398 times better than your standard Windex for things like bathroom mirrors.
+I’m thinking these are not practical for vanity lighting (the bulb would basically blind you), but I’m including them here because I love them so much. Would look so cute bedside or around a reading nook!
+A smart way to maximize storage in your shower. All of SimpleHuman’s products are beautifully designer. So are 90% of OXO’s (just not their peeler, which I hate) — we have this little squeegee to keep our glass shower door pristine. It’s petite and it stows upright.
+How fantastic would you feel if you swapped out your shampoo and conditioner bottles for these?! (Look mommy, wow — I’m a grown-up now! Seriously, these mark some invisible line between childhood and adulthood.)
+I know I’ve mentioned this before, but Container Store is a great place to buy inexpensive but stylish wastebaskets. I was searching high and low for a simple wastebasket under $100 when we first got married. I wound up buying an overpriced metal one from Pottery Barn that I’ve since divested. I’ve clung to my inexpensive CS finds, though, like this — which I own in two colors and love because it adds a nice bit of texture to a room. Also love this.
+For bathmat: contemplating an upgrade with this and a fabulous monogram, this, this (so elegant), or this. For a kids’ bathroom: love this and this.
+As you’ve probably gathered, I’m leaning more in aesthetic towards a marble-gold-white-towels situation, but I do love zen-like feel of a bathroom with some natural wood elements, like this teak bathmat, these dip-dyed stools, and this step stool. I’m especially drawn to that step-stool, which I know we’ll need soon for mini’s toothbrushing (we currently lift her onto the lip of the counter every night) and toileting. I wouldn’t mind having that beauty out and about!
There is a picture of me on the day I received my first Communion. I am wearing white lace gloves, a veil, and a frilly white dress in the front hall of my childhood home. My hands are folded in prayer and my eyes are as wide as saucers. My mother tsked in admiration when it came back from the photo shop in Cleveland Park: “Oh,” she intoned. “You look…beatific.”
She explained what she meant, but I still — to this day — instinctually invoke an idiosyncratic, personal definition when I occasionally cross its recherche path, and it’s the same as the one I conjured when my mother first used it so many years ago: a wistful, expectant kind of beauty.
I can’t separate the memory of receiving my first Communion from the Mother Mary parade I participated in one or several years of my childhood. They’re conjoined, infused with the same rich and holy significance: I feel a damp, late-spring warmth in the air, my fingers clutching a tight posy of peonies as I stand in the cool vestiary of the Church, lined up with my classmates, singing “Hail, Holy Queen,” my stomach lurching at the responsibility of walking first into the Church, as I am the littlest girl in my class and we are arranged by height. (Do I wait for Sister Teresa’s cue? Do I start walking when the music starts? I panic, and then little Angelica, arguably smaller than I am but somehow placed behind me, nudges my back and we throttle into our expected gait, my face burning, my stomach jittery in anticipation.) A stray ant climbs onto my hand from the peonies my mother had cut from her garden that morning, a wad of wet paper towel around the stems: “To keep them alive longer.” I am determined to remain composed; I flick it quietly onto the ground. I take in the mirrored marble of the altar, the click-clack of my white patent leather Mary Janes echoing across its expanse. The frilled lace of my party socks itches my ankles, but I set my jaw. I place a flower at Mary’s feet in the chapel and then I stand before Monsignor’s flowing white cassock as I receive my First Communion: am I supposed to say something after receiving it? I am stricken. I whisper: “Amen,” a flurry in my stomach. He nods. As I return to the kneeler: Am I different now? My mother, my father, my grandmother, my grandfather are sitting in the pews not far from me. I am one of them now. I look specifically at my mother: I am like her now. At the time, I understand my faith through the lens my mother. I know the rote definitions: “a sacrament is an outward sign of God’s grace.” But she signifies my faith. Half of receiving my First Communion is believing that I am now different in her eyes, that I am more like her. I feel heavy with purpose, somber with responsibility. I am changed. And then bells, the smell of incense, a recessional. Back home, flowers and a white cake with thick blue frosting back; a small white leather-bound missalette from my mother; a pearl-bead rosary from my grandmother, this last gift a cherished possession that will be dear company for decades to come–or, more aptly, for decades to say over the course of decades to come, including during the pregnancy and birth of my own daughter twenty-odd years later.
I have been visiting this cluster of late spring memories for the past many weeks: my mother, the Church, Mary, the warmth and thaw of the month of May, the vision of a beatific version of myself prayerfully, anxiously awaiting a change bigger than I am. I am now five months pregnant with my second child and I feel as though I am walking along a continuum of emotions first born that May when I was seven, when I nervously anticipated my first Communion, when I placed that pale pink peony from my mother’s garden at Mary’s feet, when I looked at my mother in the pew and thought: “I am like her now.”
I feel the same agony of anticipation, the same attentiveness to trivialities now as I did then, all spooled together in an unbroken ribbon from a seven-year-old-me to a thirty-four-year-old-me. And I expect and hope for the same satisfying shapeliness of initiation come May, when my son will be born.
“How do you feel, the second time around?” friends ask of this pregnancy. I think privately of my picture from my First Communion; it’s about as accurate a presentation of my state of mind and soul as I can get. I am nervous, expectant, prayerful, and — if I can say it without seeming too self-assured — paradoxically beatific, both according to my personal lexicon and the more traditional one. I feel more forbearing than I normally find myself, and yet I am also more anxious. I am able to brush certain things off, gain an appropriate sense of perspective more quickly, but I brood over other trivia with disproportionate angst. In the first trimester, I was a nervous wreck. I counted the days and weeks and calculated miscarriage statistics with an alien kind of neuroticism: just three weeks and then I’ll be at less than a 10% risk of miscarrying. I approached each sonogram with a knot in my stomach. But I would also find myself radiating with happiness when my hand would brush over my stomach and I would think: “He is mine.” I strolled the familiar three-block radius around our apartment countless times, carrying my own secret in a kind of serene bliss. I feel less apprehensive in this second trimester, but I still fret over the mild aches and pains and twinges that seem to emerge every day or two.
And so I toggle between tranquility and taut suspense, those twin emotions I first felt so keenly that May day of my childhood. Together, they form a personal kind of beatitude: a wistful, expectant kind of beauty.
Post-Scripts.
+This post in part explains my recent musings on novenas. I have long cherished a special dedication to Mary, and reading through what I have just written, I understand it better.
+For my fellow preggos: get thee to the sale section of Ingrid & Isabel. I already own this in the oatmeal but just added it in the other colorway to my cart. I also added this in the pink stripe. I MEAN. Extra 30% off? Free shipping? Done and done. Not on sale, but do I need these? Y. Also, I was pretty squared away with maternity clothing, but I did add these to my closet. (The price!!!) I love wearing them with an ivory cableknit duster cardigan I own and some flashy shoes.
+I kept nearly all of my maternity clothes and gear, but I did chuck the maternity pillow — it was so bulky! I’m just getting to the stage where I need one of these again. Also, swore by this the first time around and you better believe I’ve doubled down on it during this pregnancy.
+The first things I bought for baby boy? A quilted car coat (now marked way down!) that reminds me of Mr. Magpie (my goal is to dress my son just like Landon, in miniature) and these jammies. Otherwise, I’m trying to bide my time and not get too excited with the over-ordering. (Just wait for month nine, ahem.) I’m also chastened by my experience with mini’s wardrobe: I had a closet full of starchy, crisp poplin bubbles and dresses, sized 0-3M, that she barely wore. I eschewed them in favor of the softest cotton coveralls and onesies. (Incidentally, the best are by Kissy Kissy (<<this is a contender for take-home outfit) and 1212.)
+I’m into this mauve-y pink color (“Organdi”) for early spring. I wear a lot of red nails during the winter (OPI Big Apple Red is my current favorite), but I’m craving a change now that we’re in January.
+These keep selling out and I am SO INTRIGUED. I’ve long wanted their dryer but the airwrap…?! I think I need it. (More hair goodness here and for those asking, I ended up getting an edgy little chopped bob that I LOVE. My stylist gently offered that bangs might draw attention to my new scar given its placement, and I gladly heeded her counsel to opt for a fresh, choppy little bob instead. I’m smitten. This is the first haircut I’ve ever had where I can truly let it airdry and it looks decent! I use a lot of this with it. And ALSO for those asking, I went to see Melissa at Cutler Salon in Soho. She and her salon are beyond my level of coolness, and I am indebted to both for making me feel hip for a minute.)
By: Jen Shoop
I have major holiday hangover right now. It took us six hours to get from D.C. to NYC on Saturday (on a good day, it’s a four hour trip), and by the time we got to our building, unpacked, fed mini dinner, and put her to sleep, I felt as though I’d drunk four bottles of wine. I was delirious, hazy, nonsensical. So we ordered Thai, finished the final episode of Season 2 of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (the first half of the series was horrendous; the second half incredible), and then I laid in bed putzing around on my phone for about two hours, chasing down insignificant queries I’d been musing over for the better part of the past few days. Below, what’s been on my mind…and also, before I forget, HAPPY NEW YEAR’S EVE!!!!:
+I love the way 90s “streetwear” labels have boomeranged back into vogue over the past few years. It started with Calvin Klein (thanks to Kendall Jenner, I love — and own in multiples — these bras of theirs), and then Gigi Hadid for Tommy Hilfiger, and suddenly formerly stale labels like Champion seemed cool. I recently saw a very chic lass wearing this Fila sweatshirt (see above for inspo) on her way into a posh gym uptown and I thought, “well hmmm.” Like every other well-intentioned woman in her 20s and 30s, I intend to be a bit more active in the new year, and I’m thinking I’ll start by enrolling in some yoga or pilates classes. To properly motivate myself, I might order aforementioned sweatshirt and a pair of in-the-same-vein leggings, like these. I’m also drawn to these (on sale!) in the pale pink, these, and this coordinating sports bra. And maybe a new pair of APLs. I’m drawn to these in the mid blue. AND. I think I might have just talked myself into buying one of these MZ Wallace totes (I’ve written extensively about my love for their backpack as a mom-on-the-subway) in the silver.
+I had a fantastic massage while on my mini vacation with Mr. Magpie and the massage table was heated. O.M.G. A few of you had written to say that a heated mattress pad had changed your life. I’m jumping on your bandwagon. This is currently in my cart. It appealed to me because it has “dual zones” — as I’m fairly confident Mr. Magpie will never, ever want his side of the bed heated.
+Returning to our petite apartment always has me looking for space-maximizing hacks. I am contemplating buying this for the back of the door to our fairly deep hybrid pantry-and-coat closet; right now we hang a few coats there but I think I’d rather cede that space for a more useful purpose, aka holding our overflow cleaning supplies (and even things like flour and sugar — those shelves look deep!) Reviews are strong.
+I’ve written a lot about white noise machines as a great gift for the holidays, but Mr. Magpie and I don’t use one in our bedroom, as we normally fall asleep with the TV on sleep timer. (I know – – tsk, tsk.) While at home, I noticed my mom had set up a white noise machine in our bedroom (as well as mini’s nursery!) and so had occasion to sleep with it. Oh MAN. I need one, STAT. I immediately thought of the Marpac Dohm, which I have gifted at least twice, to great acclaim, but I liked the fact that my mom’s had various sounds on it. I like the rain and beach settings. This one is currently in my cart, though I’m still searching around to see if I can find one with a remote or app associated as (lazy) I imagine I’ll be flipping it on after we turn off the TV…
+Hanky Panky is having an incredible sale — loads of styles in non-hideous colors available for about 50% off. I ordered a few of these. Can’t live without ’em.
+While in D.C., I was appalled at how dry my feet were. I’d hide them under a blanket any time I had shoes off. And I’d just gotten a pedicure a week prior! Ugh! I am currently debating the merits of this (which looks like a serious business — German! Medicinally packaged!), this (almost 1000 5 star reviews…!), and this. I really trust Origins as a brand; their face mask in particular has been a longtime favorite of mine, and my mom just gave me a tube of this one to try, too. I’m leaning towards the Aveda purely based on strength of review, though.
+My mother gave me a few sets of new Matouk towels for Christmas (joy of joys!): these, with the azure blue piping. I’m thinking I might add the coordinating quilted bathmat with a dramatic monogram to our master bath to complete the look. #Fresh.
+GUYS. I need new shoes like I need a hole in my head, but these beauties are over 50% off and SO ME and STILL AVAILABLE IN MY PIXIE-FOOTED SIZE. (These are 70% off but not in my size anymore…someone needs them badly.) And I don’t need these, right????????? RIGHT?
+While on this most recent trip, I noticed that my beloved Cuyana cosmetic kits are fraying on the inside — the liner is sort of coming apart and flecking off onto all my makeup, which is not a cute look. I have had them for awhile and used them heavily. I’m debating between ordering a new set or trying one of these Goyard-esque sets, which I’ve heard good things about. I’ve never tried this brand but I’m intrigued by all the personalizable options.
I am throwing a baby shower in a few weeks and was particularly excited about the prospect of selecting invitations. I have a weakness for paper. I had long eyed the traditional-meets-preppy designs of Dixie Design, and so had a ball selecting just the right set for my best friend. (I’m not sharing the exact design I went with because I want her to be surprised! This was the runner up — a reminder of those Herend bunnies I was talking about the other day.)
You’re Sooooo Popular: Le Scarf.
The most popular items on le blog this YEAR (yes, the last 12 months!):
+Every time I have featured one of these on the blog, it has sold out.
+My favorite sweater. (Seriously. I think I’ve been wearing it in the last 10 Instastories featuring myself.)
+Such a fun shoe — and now marked down even further. I currently have the blush in my bag. Do I need these?!?!?!
I recently came across an article fetchingly titled “What Straight A Students Get Wrong.” I found it via my friend Hitha, who features “five smart reads” almost every day of the week in her Instastories. I appreciate that she often shares contradictory viewpoints from the DMs she receives in response to these links; I respect a woman who fosters productive debate and permits all voices to be heard.
But I digress.
Onto “the problem” with straight A students.
The crux of the argument is that within a few years of graduation, my hard-earned 4.0 GPA was as worthless as the class ring I somehow convinced myself I needed and then promptly never wore again. (I know that’s a dicey simile as I have several friends who wore their rings religiously for years. #wahoowa #gohoosgo #ireallydoloveuva #justnotthering). The author cites research that demonstrates only the faintest of correlations between grades and job performance. He goes on to point out that brilliant creative types tend to have a history of “spiky grades,” inferring that they prioritized activities that sparked creativity over an even cadence of high scores. He goes on to say: “Getting straight As requires conformity. Having an influential career demands originality.”
OK.
OK.
OK.
I came to a quiet simmer within the first few paragraphs. “Shhh, shh,” I shushed myself, annoyed by my defensiveness. Midway through, I was at a rolling boil. By the end, when he tells me that I should “apply my grit to a new goal: getting a B,” I was apoplectic — not only because I did not care for his know-it-all tone (it smacked of mansplaining and something about it felt like the written equivalent of an irritating tapdancing scene with a Gene Kelly wannabe: stagey, pretentious, and cloyingly carried off with a smile), and not only because I was a straight A student (though this fueled a rage I did not know I had in me), but because — though he does briefly acknowledge this towards the end — his criticisms are misplaced and his conclusions unscrupulous.
If you don’t care for A students, change the grading system. High performers will always adapt to the rubric. Right now, students are maneuvering within the system they’ve been handed.
If you think A students are driven by conformity above all else, my guess is that you are shortchanging and misunderstanding many of them. What about work ethic? What about healthy competition? What about a desire to succeed? What about inborn curiosity? What about overbearing parents? What about going to school on scholarship and feeling a drive to prove yourself? What about loving academics for its own sake? What about not wanting to let your family down?
But even if we accept that A students are “conformers,” I, for one, learned a lot by “conforming” to the grade system, and I applied those lessons to my (not entirely lackluster, thank you very much) career. To begin with, I learned how to evaluate professors early on in order to determine what they’d care about and adapt my study plan to their style. Was Professor X the type to issue fact-driven pop quizzes? Open-ended questions seeking creative responses? Group projects that assessed collaboration skills (incidentally, my least favorite kind of project)? Did she favor class participation or perfectly written essays? Did he prefer frequent office hour visits or the occasional well-worded email? Diagnosing the professor’s style was an art form unto itself and it prepared me to work with and under different kinds of bosses. Because let’s face it: the working world might value “creativity” and “originality” to some degree, but not before you’ve worked your way up the ladder by impressing the pants off of each and every boss along the way. And the only way that happens is by making them look good and absorbing their work preferences, which infers a certain level of familiarity with — yes — diagnosing your boss’s style.
But finally, and most pressingly, I take great issue with the myth of the dropout-student-turned-massively-successful-businessman. Yes, there have been successful entrepreneurs who have skipped school and turned out more than fine, Peter Thiel being the face of that small and bright elite. But to tell students that “underachieving in school can prepare you to overachieve in life” is not only misguided but unethical. I say this pointedly because I worked for many years in the area of educational access and college attainment and the deeply sad truth is that the odds are not in the favor of students who leave school or struggle academically. Now, I know I’m taking his comment out of context and running across the field with it, but even if we presume he is talking to a classroom full of privileged, conformist, straight-A students and that little harm can be done by telling these prigs (using that term facetiously, as I’d count myself among their ranks were I still in college) to loosen their ties a bit (an irritatingly elitist set-up for an article in and of itself), I still find fault with his reasoning and tone: he’s focused on the symptoms rather than the system, and with a distastefully self-satisfied air about him to boot.
Aaaand scene.
Is that the fieriest I’ve ever been on this blog? Pardon.
My chorus, your thoughts?
#Shopaholic: Skin-Clearing Magic.
+I have been reading insane reviews of this “radiance oil,” designed specifically for problem skin. I might buy a bottle to combat my next break-out.
+Back in the day, I frequently gave presentations. One lesson I learned from a speech coach who counseled me was that I should always wear what makes me feel most empowered when making a presentation. When you feel good, your entire carriage changes. I tended to wear high heels and sleek dresses. This is just the kind of thing I’d have picked for such an occasion. Serious but form-fitting — and the frilled collar adds just enough panache.
+I bought mini this magnetic booklet for Church on Sundays and it has been the BIGGEST success. Keeps her busy for a long stretch — and it’s quiet. I also pulled it on our long car ride down from NYC to DC for Christmas, and it entertained her for maybe 30 minutes straight? Genius for car travel and Church. Is it the most Catholic toy ever? Yes.
+Mr. Magpie and I are returning from a lovely weeklong trip to DC and Charlottesville with the beginnings of twin colds. Ugh. While we visited the spa at the resort we stayed at, I was digging the eucalyptus diffuser — it cleared my sinuses. It reminded me that I read good things about this eucalyptus spray for the shower and it sounds ultra-appealing right now.
+This bag came in handy on this trip. It folds up into a tiny square and holds quite a lot. I swear we doubled our baggage on the return. A great gift for a frequent traveler — or yourself. I keep mine in my suitcase.
Currently in Charlottesville, VA for a quick vacation with Mr. Magpie (no mini!) but thought I’d share a couple of things on my radar:
+Mr. Magpie gifted me some of these padded socks for Christmas and O.M.G. I will never wear another sock. Ever. They’re warm like Smart Wool but have a padded footbed that makes me feel like I’m walking on clouds. Heaven.
+I bought Mr. Magpie one of these wireless charging pads, and my mom also gifted them to a couple of members of the family. A big hit. So convenient! (They work on most recent generations of iPhone!)
+Loving these star-print leggings. They look like they could be from a higher end athletics brand carried by Bandier, but they’re Gap, aka 40% off every other day of the week.
+My sister was raving about (and living in) these OV joggers all holiday.
+Have been very into this “flawless filter” for the last two weeks. It works wonders on tired skin. I have also incorporated this sunscreen into my daily skincare routine, in part to stave off the effects of scarring, and in part because — I should really be wearing it anyway. It’s amazing. It comes out in a fluid and it absorbs into skin easily without leaving any white residue.
Can I tell you something absolutely absurd and quirky about us? We have every imaginable cooking utensil and gadget known to man (including a mandolin, a rice cooker, a butter warmer, fourteen whisks, and a partridge in a pear tree), but Mr. Magpie insists on stirring our coffee every morning with one chopstick he’s earmarked for the task. Never a spoon. Never a different chopstick. Just that one, specific coffee-stained chopstick that we’ve used every morning for the past eight years of married life together and that has somehow never gotten lost in the shuffle. Part of me clings to the chopstick, but part of me wants to say: “thank u, next.” I am thinking I might buy Mr. Magpie a set of these as an upgrade option. A we-have-a-child-and-have-done-adult-things-like-talked-about-the-virtues-of-a-stroller-for-over-four-hours-and-we-have-bought-and-sold-a-home-so-we-must-beyond-the-phase-of-stirring-our-coffee-with-chopsticks-thank-you kind of option.
Along those lines, I’m not sure if it’s the dawn of a new year or the bleak realization that I am turning thirty-five in June, but I have been looking around our apartment with a dangerously appraising eye these days thinking about all the other elements of our little nest that I want to say: “thank u, next” to.
+I still long to say sayonara to the old oak chest in our bedroom in favor of something sleek like this.
+I’d like to add new colorful dining chairs to our dropleaf: these, these, these, and these have caught my eye.
+I have been head over heels for Nina Campbell’s Farfalla wallpaper for nearly a decade now. We don’t currently own our apartment, so wallpapering is not an option at the moment. We are probably going to be moving when our lease is up to a bigger apartment anyway — but oh how I love it. I actually think the black colorway could be epic in a small powder room. Maybe, if we get the sense we’ll be staying in our next apartment for longer than two years, I’ll invest in some repositionable wallpaper. I love this for a powder room and this for a nursery.
+Dreaming of upgrading my desk to a custom CEH grasscloth beauty (love this one in particular), but I was just thinking that we could repurpose my narrow, slim desk as a console of sorts if we end up with extra space (#ha) by adding one of these. We could then hide bins of toys/shoes/overflow underneath.
+File this under things never to buy for a small NY apartment, but I daydream about serving up a proper tea situation with something like this.
+If you are lucky enough to have a working fireplace, I love this screen and this one. I have no idea why I was looking at these the other day, as we certainly have no fireplace now.
+These framed intaglios add a bit of old-world stateliness to an entryway or gallery wall.
+Speaking of nurseries, how darling is this baby blanket? I have to say that we received about fifteen baby blankets for mini and we only ever used this one (and man oh man you should hear mini talk about her blanket — she pronounces it “bay-hette” and it slays me). But this bunny one! It looks like Hermes or something. Love.
+And speaking of Jellycat (the brand that makes the blanket above), how beyond are these bunny slippers?! They make me regret buying mini this pair of Elmo slippers. I can’t tell you how many weeks I had these in my cart and kept thinking “no, no, no — I really don’t want to fall into the trap of buying her Frozen dresses and Elmo pajamas and Moana t-shirts.” But then you should see how she reacts when she sees Elmo. She loses her mind! And we have literally never shown her Elmo at home — who knows where she picked this up? Playdate? A nanny? Ah! (We also gave her an Elmo puppet as one of her bigger Advent calendar surprises and her giddiness and squeals when she saw it waiting for her! Ahh! I can’t!)
There was another post I wanted to write for Christmas yesterday, but it felt too maudlin for the joyous occasion, and I hope you’ll excuse its proximity to the holiday here.
I stumbled across the picture above and today’s post wrote itself, coming into focus in a flash, as I transported myself back to the small-town clapboard Church nestled in snowfall I visited not long ago.
About five years ago, I spent Christmas in upstate New York. We were gathering around a loved one who was dying. We brought our merry best, but the holiday was somber, and we were all living on heart-strings. I found my siblings quietly brushing tears out of their eyes when they thought no one was looking, and then laughing too loud and riotously when they knew people were. There were awkward exchanges, lags of unusual silence, ungainly attempts at humor, and we wordlessly forgave those gaffes as we tiptoed around the real reason we were there. We were tacking and jiving inelegantly as we attempted to accommodate an impossible emotional ballast.
On Christmas Eve, we walked two snow-covered blocks to a small white Church similar to the one above, and the rhythms of Mass were a comfort, though my mind was elsewhere. I didn’t want to leave the Church, but then again, I did — I craved distraction, or resolution, or something I could wrap my arms around. Anything but that purchaseless wait. Mainly I worried for my sibling, who would soon be bearing a grief greater than life and we all knew it.
On Christmas Eve, my sister and I stayed up after everyone else had fallen asleep. We sat on a couch in the living room, her face silhouetted against the moonglow from the snow outside, and we exchanged little nothings in the absence of having big somethings to say. We tried desperately to hack into Mr. Magpie’s iTunes account to watch “Meet Me in St. Louis,” a shared favorite of ours from childhood. It holds such potent personal memory for us that she had the Judy Garland version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” (which is from the movie) played at her wedding reception a few weeks before Christmas two years later, just for me. And I cried at her sentimentality not only because it is our song and she carved out a special place on her special night for me, but because it reminded me of our fruitless attempts to watch that scene that night in New York when we were heart-broken and in despairing search for a salve, sitting in the dimly lit room together, anticipating something entirely different from what we’d anticipated the twenty-odd years of Christmas Eves prior.
Christmas hasn’t quite felt the same for me ever since I saw it through the prism of imminent grief, ever since I found my attention fasten upon a different kind of meaning to the word “family.” I felt at once deeply connected to and alienated from everyone, each of us processing the finality of death in our own ways, each of us agonizing for my sibling.
When we gather under brighter circumstances, after years that answer, I feel a richness of emotion I can’t quite put my finger on. It has the shape of gratitude, but it’s more deeply situated, tempered by the weight of that Christmas five years ago, aware of the threatening evanescence of our good health and high spirits. Is this maturity, I wonder? Is this the world-weariness that comes with age and experience? Do certain holidays and rooms in old homes and sweaters we have loved and smells we have hated accrue a kind of layered meaning as we travel through life such that much of what we touch, much of what we interact with on a daily basis, becomes a pastiche of mottled emotion? Where the mere phrase “Merry Christmas” can conjure twenty five separate feelings at once, and some days I clutch onto the Christmas Eve excitement of my youth and others I shy away from the weight of an early January death?
Post-Scripts.
+Now feels like an appropriate time to talk about the sense of an ending but then, maybe, we should lighten the mood. What do you think?
+If you’re still looking for a chic white boot (and none of these are cutting it for you), consider these. Love. This Western-style boot is v. in right now.
+OK THIS IS MAJOR. Perfect dress for a milestone birthday.
+Have always loved these Herend bunnies — what an #extra baby gift for a loved one. Etsy has loads of vintage ones at great prices, too — like this one. I often get questions from readers about what to get a mother/mother-in-law/grandmother who has EVERYTHING, and I like to suggest a sentimental piece of vintage Herend. I bought my mother one of their classic Herend shoes after mini was born as a thank you for all of her care and love, and she already has one for each of her children so I thought — why not one more for a new grandbaby?
+I had a bunch of questions about my pink silk Target headband find and I am obsessed. The quality is great for the price. Do know that it’s a wide headband — more of a turban look — but I’m very into it. You can read more about this collection of hair products — and see how a very chic blogger styles them — at Sincerely Jules.
+New lust list entrant: a Moncler Grenoble bomber. Oof these are CHIC. I love this one (you don’t wear tweed cable knit puffers while skiing?) and this one.
You know that part in “Father of the Bride” where Steve Martin looks around his daughter’s wedding reception as Tony Bennett croons “Just the Way You Look Tonight” and sees his loved ones through rose-colored glasses? I hope that wherever you are, whatever you are doing, you enjoy yourself a “Father of the Bride” moment today, even if you have to forcibly make the space for it, which sometimes happens in the rush of holiday festivities. I, for one, am committed to finding myself an FOB moment. I plan to be sitting on the sofa in my parents’ well-appointed living room, preferably in the corner spot, preferably while eating these outrageous cookies we call “horns” that my Italian grandmother and great-grandmother made (basically a butter pastry filled with apricot jam and topped with chopped pecans), and preferably while Nat King Cole is playing, and taking in all of my loved ones.
+UM, I cannot believe the price on these Birman beauties. End of season sales KILL ME (ahem). I always end up buying the best statement shoes from them, but the deals arrive at the most inconvenient time (just after buying loads of holiday attire and Christmas gifts!)
+Not usually one for knock-offs but these RDR-wannabes are too good to pass up.
+Is this the key to my beauty regimen that’s been missing?! Apparently it’s far better at applying concealer/foundation than a brush/sponge. And we all know how crazy I went over my upgraded facial cotton…
+In love with this sweater. And also this one, when I’m feeling a little Wild West.
+This is one of the most-used books in our library: we use it to plan what to serve with whatever we’re cooking when we have guests over or are preparing something particularly involved or pricey (i.e., a really good ribeye from a really good butcher, or chicken mole that took two days to prepare). It’s also a great primer in learning what goes with what more generally — we’ve used it enough that we have a little more confidence when out to eat, i.e., “OK, we’re having pizza. Let’s see if they have a light nero d’avola to go with it.”
A soon-to-be first-time-mom recently reached out and asked: “I loved your baby registry. I wondered if there was anything on your list or not on your list that you that you would do drop or do differently if you could go back again?”
Really good question! I spent a ton of time researching everything on that list and, for the most part, have been very pleased with how everything has performed and held up. Of course, there’s always room for improvement. If I were to do it again, here are a couple of additional thoughts and refinements:
+I did not like either of the carriers we used for mini, both of which earned insane online reviews and came highly recommended from personal friends I trusted. Maybe I’m just not a carrier person? Maybe I’m the anomaly? Maybe you’ll have better luck? But I found the Lille Baby super cumbersome to get into and out of and difficult to adjust by myself. I’d need to put it on, adjust it, and then take it off and put it back on with baby unless Mr. Magpie was around — and we often traded off who wore it, so these adjustments were constant. I also felt like there were random straps and flaps that were in the way / would randomly appear in my diaper bag and I’d fish them out, wondering, “What the hell is this?” Finally, it took many YouTube viewings to figure out how to adjust the carrier from inward-facing to outward-facing; I remember Mr. Magpie and I grimacing with frustration. So, we were not fans. I also tried the Baby K’Tan and felt like mini was constantly about to fall out the bottom or top (?) In fact, she once almost did flop out and from that point forward, I’d only wear her when I could also clutch onto her, which kind of defeated the purpose of wearing a carrier to begin with. I want to chalk it up to user error, but the number of times I watched videos and solicited the input of friends — too high. If I were to do it again, I’d go into a physical store (Albee Baby here in NY, most likely) and check out all the offerings and try them on if possible. I’d be most keen on trying the Baby Bjorn Mini. Why? Because it’s specifically designed for itty bitty babies, which is the only time I truly used the carrier anyway — once mini hit around 10 months, she was too heavy for me to carry. (I’m 5’1 and 100 pounds dripping wet.) I like that this has a design where the front comes entirely off so you can easily transfer baby from the carrier to her crib without waking her — genius. I also like that it has a smaller footprint so the baby isn’t engulfed in thick, bulky material when she’s very little (and think it would generally work better for my petite frame). The reviews DO say that there is a learning curve in terms of getting into it (ugh, when will OXO start designing a carrier?! Their UX is usually top notch) but I think it’d be worth the investment of time in this case as everything else seems to check out.
+I think I’d have bought this portable changing station — I’ve written about this elsewhere but I found that I needed three separate changing stations in my house: one in my bedroom for nighttime changes, one in the nursery, and one on the main floor. We used Gathre mats in the bedroom and living areas because we could fold them up and hide them away but the reality is that we often left them out so we wouldn’t need to constantly lay them out and put them away. I’m intrigued by the Keekaroo, which gets good reviews and looks similarly easy-to-keep-clean but a bit sturdier. (Also, I’ll admit that there were some dicy moments with the floppy Gathre mats — it might be nice/safer to have a solid piece of plastic to work from if you get my drift. Less likelihood of…spillage.
+I loved this travel sleep sheep sound machine because it can velcro onto almost anything — a stroller, a carseat, a travel bassinet, etc. But for home use, my main gripe with it is that it turns off automatically after 30 minutes. Mini never needed a sound machine to help her sleep, and I prefer it that way — but I did find that the sleep machine was handy as a part of our nap and bedtime routine. It’s a signal that it’s time to start winding down. It also creates consistency around sleeping when we’re traveling. Anyway, looking back, I’d still buy the sleep sheep but would also probably invest in the Marpac Dohm sound machine, which people go nuts over, or the highly-rated Hatch baby night light/sound machine/OK-to-wake, to keep permanently in her nursery. I like the latter because it is so multi-functional and can be used for different reasons (i.e., “stay in your bed until we say you can get out!”) through toddlerhood.
+Truth be told, I didn’t need an umbrella stroller in Chicago. I drove everywhere and could easily put my full-size Bugaboo Cameleon in the stroller. The Bugaboo has adapters that made it work perfectly with our Nuna Pipa carseat. It was seamless and easy. Then we moved to New York, where subway travel is frequent — and next to impossible with a full-size Bugaboo. The Bugaboo Cameleon is 10 pounds lighter and has a much smaller footprint than the Uppababy Vista, but it’s still WAY too heavy and bulky to navigate the subway on your own when many subway stops do not have elevators (or lack working ones). It’s even a bit much when you’re with your spouse! So. We ended up buying the Babyzen Yoyo within a few months of moving here and it is one of the best decisions we ever made. To be clear: I don’t think it’s needed if you are only looking for an umbrella stroller for very occasional travel. But we use ours maybe once or twice a week (whenever subway is involved) and it’s the best lightweight stroller on the market. My only gripe with it is that the seat is always semi-reclined — so when mini is awake and alert, she’s always got a gangster lean going on that looks rather uncomfortable. Then again, it’s super nice that the stroller DOES recline when she falls asleep. BUT. If I had had mini in New York, I’d probably have registered for the Babyzen in addition to the Bugaboo. It comes with a newborn pack that permits you to use the stroller from the first day baby is born. And, get this: it now comes with adapters that enable you to pop your Nuna Pipa (still, I believe, the very best infant carseat out there — and either the lightest weight model on the market or one of them) right onto the frame. GENIUS. This would have made traveling with an infant SO EASY. The stroller folds up into nothing and can integrate with your infant carseat! Love.
+Of course, newbornhood isn’t ENTIRELY about the baby. It’s also about you as a new mom! One thing I wasn’t at all prepared for was nursing-friendly attire. I came to the hospital with one nursing bra and came home to a closet of non-nursing-friendly clothes. If I were to do it again, I’d buy two or three of these, which were my absolute favorite in those first few days — super soft and comfortable with no straps or clasps to fuss with (pull down style) — and for sleeping in thereafter. And then I’d buy two of these. They’re more expensive but they are definitely the best nursing bra on the market for daytime wear. I tried maybe three or four other brands but only wanted to wear this one. They are comfortable, well-padded (not in the sense that you need extra padding, AHEM — but they kept leaks to a minimum/were able to absorb well). They’re not the prettiest bra on the market, but they’re also not the ugliest. I’d stick with those two brands and then buy a ton of loose-fitting button-downs (like this, this, and this). I paired those with leggings almost every day for a few weeks after mini was born. Comfortable, vaguely stylish (esp when you throw a chunky cable knit or cashmere cardigan over top), and functional. OH! And if you’re having a c-section, do yourself a huge favor and order one or two of these nursing nightgowns, which I wore most nights during the first two weeks of recovery. They’re brilliant because they mean you have nothing pressing down close to the incision (i.e., no drawstrings/waistbands) and are so soft and comfortable. And also do not require you to wear a nursing bra in addition. (More tips on c-section recovery here.)
+I HATED every nursing cover. BLECH! I always felt like they were choking me and obstructing my view. I didn’t try Bebe Au Lait, which are completely hideous but get solid reviews. I like the fact that there seems to be a piece of wire in the front that enables you to peek down without suffocating yourself or your baby. I would have liked having this when I was traveling/nursing with friends at home. I dunno, though. The prints are BAD. Vanity…
+I would have bought way more soft cotton pajamas/onesie. I didn’t understand that for the first many months of the baby’s life, all you want to dress her in are soft cotton jammies. Starched poplin bubbles look like torture! I especially loved Kissy Kissy and 1212 (<<THE SOFTEST) for the early days. Once you try those brands, though, you’ll be like: “What is this Gerber onesie?! It feels like a brillo pad!”
P.P.P.S. Merry Christmas Eve! I’m currently wearing this and burgundy velvet heels from a few years ago (no longer available) that look somewhat similar to these, which I’m swooning over (on mega sale). Those shoes in turn remind me of this dress, which I still am trying to figure out how to legitimize. (When would I wear it?! Maybe I’ll buy it and stow it away for next year’s Christmas Eve?! I love it.)
I’m going a little extra with these, but — eh! You live once. I saw them on the fabulously chic FashionBugBlog and decided to take the plunge. And I’m not even typically super into logos. But I found this pair for $100, which is perplexing since most of their other styles are well north of $250. I’m excited to pair them with some of my more basic LBDs (how chic with something like this or this?) and my new favorite booties this winter (<<currently 40% off and even though these look very basic, they go with everything and create a really clean line — I actually had a woman stop me on the street asking where they were from! “You just can’t find a simple black boot like that anymore,” she said).
I’ve had so many friends and readers recommend former WSJ reporter Elizabeth Holmes’ Instagram account So Many Thoughts over the past few weeks. She uses the account to analyze the fashion decisions of the royal family, where she can be alternately politically astute, generous in the way only women can be to other women, snarky, and catty in the way only women can be to other women. I have, well, so many thoughts about this account. As a fangirl of all things royal, I enjoy the commentary and the imagery and appreciate the way her observational humor can bring to light political issues du jour that I should know more about anyway. And it’s fascinating, the way fashion can be used to tell a story and establish a brand. The royals are adept at these sartorial arts.
But I also bristle at the account. Is fashion a common lens through which I understand and size up other women? Yes. Is it the filter through which I’d like my best self to see other women? No. And yet let me be honest: I enjoy looking at and commenting on the style of celebrities and politicos. I sat at tea last Saturday at the Plaza talking about the unflattering dress one of the Bush daughters recently wore among friends. But there is something pointed about an account dedicated to its study, something despairingly public about it. When women in the public eye are solely or predominantly evaluated via their appearances, it makes me feel as though we are playing into a kind of antiquated gender politics that leaves me itchy.
I don’t know where this leaves me. If I were more virtuous, I would angle towards banning such denigrations in my private conversations, anchoring commentary elsewhere. But is that overly priggish and dramatic? Probably. After all, I have eyes and I enjoy fashion and how can I not comment on the latest looks, even if only among friends?
+I’m usually allergic to prints on plates, having donated at least three or four sets after growing tired of them, but THESE! For next year’s Thanksgiving! I MEAN.
2018 was an upswing for the Shoop Family — a year that answered. After a rocky couple of years that culminated in the dissolution of our business, a stressful and botched move to New York, and the drawn-out sale of our beloved home in Chicago, Mr. Magpie and I both suffered from situational depression. We were uncharacteristically pessimistic and — while we nurtured one another at home, in our cozy little pod — we found ourselves more “elbows out,” less kind, more impatient, than we had ever been in our entire lives. I’ll never forget the morning Mr. Magpie was attempting to get our car out of the garage from our temporary lodging at a hotel during our move to NYC (note that we were paying an exorbitant monthly fee — a second rent — for said garage spot) as he hurriedly prepared for work. It was his second day at a new job — tensions were already understandably high — but we had to orchestrate an early morning transfer of all of our bags, our traumatized airedale (she didn’t eat for four days in protest of the move), and mini to a new hotel because the hotel we’d been staying in suddenly had no more room at the inn and we were without lodging at the last minute. (Do you know how hard it is to find a hotel that permits 60 lb dogs and does not cost over $1,500 a night at the last minute? I think I called 14 hotels. And this one was way down in Soho, whereas we’d previously been up close to our soon-to-be apartment on the Upper West Side. But I digress.) He’d called several times to have the car brought up. No response. No response. No response. Finally he got someone on the line, and that someone gave him an earful about needing to call earlier if he’d wanted to get his car out by 7 a.m. I can’t be too sure, but I think Mr. Magpie physically transformed into The Hulk for a split-second. My patient, even-tempered husband snapped.
“No. No. No.” he said, a foreign-sounding rage seeping into his voice. “You’re going to get my car right now. I’ll see you in 15 minutes.”
(There may have been some colorful expletives thrown in.)
The car was ready when he arrived and mercifully (shockingly) scratch-free. But I’d never seen him with emotion bubbling so close to the surface. We were living on tenterhooks.
It took until June of this year — around the time of my birthday — for our rehabilitation to be complete. He took me to Prune for the occasion and — we are not normally so lavish, even on on birthdays — directed me to order a bar snack, an entree, a side, and a dessert, plus any wine or cocktail I wanted off the menu. I remember watching him from across the table, his face arranged into a loose smile, his shoulders relaxed against the chair, his eyes occasionally traveling to nearby neighbors’ plates to inspect their orders. He looked himself. He wore his signature air of healthy, happy-go-lucky satisfaction, that curious and occasionally devious glint in his eye twinkling every now and then as he’d lean in to tell me to check out the wildly dressed couple at the door, or the oversized tattoo on the waiter, or the oysters at table 10.
We sauntered down 1st street, and then Houston, full and happy. I thought of a line from Hemingway, at his best in A Moveable Feast:
“We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and loved each other.”
Only in New York, you never eat or drink well and cheaply, except for when you travel down to Super Taste in Chinatown on Saturday mornings for hand-pulled noodles and dumplings, as has become habit for us — but but but the sentiment stands. Life feels simpler when cocooned in love. We were warm and well and I thought to myself, as I have many times since: “This is enough. This is life at its peak, at its fullest. I am enough. We are enough.”
Mr. Magpie has a phrase for this feeling: “The Shoops are back.” When we sold the house despite a midnight hour leak in the master bathroom ceiling: “The Shoops are back.” When mini got into her pre-school of choice: “The Shoops are back.” When he crushed his first year at work, forging a new discipline, acquiring a new team, and earning the respect and love of his colleagues: “The Shoops are back.” When TheFashionMagpie really took off this year: “The Shoops are back.”
I cotton to his determination and his drive. I am drawn to the flint in his eye, the set of his jaw. I see in his resolve a straight and unbroken line to his roots: the son of an entrepreneur, from a webbed family of enterprising, hard-working Americans of German stock and more brave, conscientious members of the military than you can count.
And so when he says ‘The Shoops are back,” I find myself wrapping my arms around 2018, not quite ready to say goodbye to it. It’s been kind to me. It’s borne a kind of peace and well-being that in some ways I feel I do not deserve, but now is not the time for my Catholic guilt to get in the way of my enjoyment of a really really really really really good year.
I hope 2018 was as generous to you, but if it wasn’t: may 2019 be a year that answers for you.
And to Mr. Magpie: cheers to another year of eating and drinking and sleeping well and warm together.
Post-Scripts.
+Must order this Prune cookbook for Mr. Magpie. He already read — and loved — the chef’s memoir. (P.S. — More of our favorite cookbooks here.)
+What are the odds of finding this adorable calligraphed print of that Hemingway quote? I may buy it in the card format and frame it in one of these acrylic frames for Mr. Magpie’s bedside. (We use these frames for meaningful cards — including a sweet bedtime prayer my mother-in-law scrawled on a card to mini on her Baptism that we now say nightly.)
+Now is the time to stock up on ornaments for your collection. I’ve mentioned this in the past, but my top strategy for building a “grown up” holiday decor reserve is by buying a handful of festive pieces each season — preferably when they go on sale around now. I love these candy ornaments, these clip-on candle ornaments, these birds (I have quite a collection of bird ornaments by now — I just love them perched on the branches!), these skis, and this cloisonne leopard. Also: this for mini, who just wrapped up a semester of pre-ballet. Now is also a good time to buy boring but necessary things like wreath hangers — love this one!
+After yesterday’s hair-centric post, a friend texted to let me know how much she loves and lives by Ouai’s dry oil for static hair issues in the winter!
+Legit dying over these Prada mules. The perfect Christmas shoe. I have this black watch tartan Ralph Lauren dress I bought at the age of 19 that I still wear nearly every holiday season. These heels would be the perfect accoutrement.
