A couple of snapshots from life lately, starting with me, in my Petersyn blouse above, loving on minimagpie. (Also note her little hand reaching for mine — she loves to burrow into me and grab onto me when I hold her now, and I just DIE.) Those who know how much care I put into minimagpie’s wardrobe (one of my chief, admittedly shallow, joys in life is dressing her) will note that this was after her second or third outfit change of the day (is anyone else struggling with keeping their toddlers/babies clean during mealtime? Mini smears everything everywhere! — and then there’s the issue of her water-chugging; I find her shirt sopping wet multiple times a day!), when I resort to whatever leggings and onesies I can grab and easily wrangle her into — but I love this age so much. She’s interactive, opinionated, dynamic. We talk to each other. She accompanies me everywhere, waves at strangers on the subway, laughs uncontrollably after throwing her balls at Tilly, and rocks back and forth when she hears music. I adore this spunky little soul. I’m wearing this Petersyn blouse (available in vertical stripes here; you can also see me wearing it here) and these earrings, and mini is wearing these leggings and this coordinating onesie. (Also, note that my hair is DONE, y’all! And here’s how you can get a seriously good blowout at home, too.)
And here my little love is before heading down to the West Village for a playdate with Inslee (FYI – for my fellow New Yorkers: she’s hosting art classes on the UES! You should go – – Inslee is so lovely and hilarious and talented!) and her precious son and some other friends. I left this playdate feeling so good about myself — sometimes you need to spend time with other non-judgmental moms to realize you’re actually doing a good job: they praised me for navigating the subway on my own (my new hack: take baby out of stroller and fold it up at the top of the subway steps and just hold her while in the actual subway system — there are too many steps and turnstiles to deal with and having to take her into and out of the stroller twenty times just to make it onto and off the subway is soul-crushing), for having mini’s hair cut and brushed, for trimming her nails tidily (an increasingly challenging chore) — all small and simple tasks, but ones that require effort only another mother can appreciate.
In the snap above, mini’s wearing a top by Marco & Lizzy (you can find a bunch of their darling stuff here — how sweet is this?!), leggings from Primary, mocs from Sweet N Swag, and — of course — a bow from PoppyBows (she wears 4″ bows). Also present: the uber chic accessory of the season, this Miracle 360 cup, the first drinking vesicle she actually used! (We’d tried like five others before and she didn’t get them.)
I brought my first bottle of rose of the season to the playdate and it made me very very excited about things to come. This little snap of one of the bookcases in my home brings me so much joy — it’s a poorly-lit, blurry picture, but it contains so many of my favorite things: a brass plant mister I bought from Jayson Home (a stunning furniture/home decor store in Chicago) back when I lived just a short walk from it in Lincoln Park; a happy little boxwood; and many of our favorite, well-worn, dog-eared and oil-splatted cookbooks.
Meanwhile, I wore this beautiful new linen Everlane shirt along with these jeans, Rockstud flats (I don’t care if they’re a bit passe — I still love these shoes), and floral studs that look nearly identical to these beauties. Everlane generously sent me this shirt, and I was so excited that I wore it the same day it arrived. It’s perfect for my lifestyle right now — loose and comfortable and easy to move in, but also chic with skinnies and some statement accessories.
I can’t believe it, but mini is about to start walking. I think a lot of babies are already walking by her age, but I’m not worried — she took her time learning to crawl, too. Right now, she’s “creeping” — moving from couch to coffee table to edge of the TV stand, pulling herself along, and she’s pushing her little walker everywhere, too. I’ve caught her standing without holding on to anything a few times, too. For summer, I picked up a pair of these glossy pink Native sneakers — they’ll be good for days in Central Park, as they’re breathable and waterproof — and also a pair of these, after one of you lovely readers raved about the quality of Jacadi’s sneakers. (More amazing Jacadi sale finds here!)
I attended the opening of the St. Frank store in the West Village on Wednesday and OMG — I was so inspired by the store’s styling and textiles (you can buy your own here). The company’s founder, Christina Bryant, is such a beautiful, talented, bright star — I profiled her as a woman of substance a couple months back, and I am so impressed with what she’s built there.
I’ve mentioned this a few times on le blog, but I’m smitten with this new linen spray from Noodle + Boo — I use their shampoo/bodywash for mini at bath time as well, and I prefer it to Mustela because it suds up much better and a bottle lasts a very, very long time. The scent is heavenly. I use the linen spray on mini’s stroller and other upholstered baby gear that is difficult to clean.
Post-Script: On My Radar.
+Inslee just bought these beauties from Jennifer Behr (similar to the studs I mentioned I own above), and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them since…
+I am thinking about buying a pair of these jams for the summer. They look SO comfortable, and I love the colors. I have so many pajama sets for wintertime, but very few for warmer weather.
+Love this sweet, feminine top from J. Crew’s latest arrivals. I’d wear it with my favorite white distressed jeans in the summer.
+These have a fantastic Chanel vibe, but cost $80!
+OK, these is so, so cute. I know what you’re probably thinking — what the hell? Why are you dressing up like a hipster railroad engineer? — but I can totally imagine wearing these in a different way: with Supergas or my Hermes Oran sanadals, enormous sunglasses, and an iced coffee in hand, walking through Central Park on a sunny Saturday. Yes. It’s going to happen.
P.P.S. I’m still wallowing in all of the smart and provocative comments on this post — and have gotten several emails and DMs on the topic, too! Please keep the convo going 🙂
Later today, I am taking mini to a baby movement/dance class called Juliette and Ella’s playdate, which was founded by two moms — one a former ballerina, and one a musician. (I am testing it out by using KidPass, which is basically ClassPass for kids’ activities: you pay a monthly subscription fee for access to discounted classes. Kid classes are so expensive in New York — a single drop-in music class will set you back $44! — so I am thinking KidPass will be worth the expense; for $50/mo, you get access to 2-3 classes.)
But, I am not going to lie: I can hardly wait until mini is old enough for ballet class because, well, is there anything cuter than a precious little girl in a tutu? I’m a little ahead of the game here, but here are the pieces I have my eye on for her:
*I was devastated to learn these books are no longer in print! I had like ten of them — each came with a special locket/charm necklace, and I was OBSESSED with them!
P.P.S. Is anyone else enjoying daily battles with their one-year-old around holding the spoon? Mini wants to feed herself, but we all know what happens next — yogurt in her hair and two baths a day. I am thinking I might buy one of these to protect her clothes. Armor!
By: Jen Shoop
“Here it is,” I dead-panned, opening the wide barn-style door to the small cave-like dwelling I had lived in for four months. “My bomb shelter.”
“Just wait,” I cautioned him, gesturing to the walls, a small prick of pride straightening my posture. There had been an outbreak of feline AIDS the year prior in Lyon, and, as a result, there were virtually no cats in the city–just an overpopulation of mice. At night, you could hear mice crawling in the walls — a particularly atrocious experience given that my bed was lofted and I slept about a foot beneath their nightly exodus in search of food. The mice had become so fearless in their pursuit of food (I joked that one had given me typical Frenchman sass — “zut alors, no, no,” shaking his French mouse paw dismissively — when I’d attempted to shoo him away), my roommate and I had taken to stowing groceries in the toaster oven and dragging the desk chair to the center of the room so that we could thread baguettes and grocery bag handles through the arms of the chandelier. Yes, the apartment was overrun with mice and had possibly served as a garage in its past life, but, in true French form, it had a chandelier.
Landon seemed to shrug it off, and I swallowed hard. This exchange mattered to me: I had hoped to present myself as a toughened, traveled woman — more sophisticated than the parochial mama’s girl I’d been when we’d first gotten together, and braver, too. I was twenty and had seen some things, I sniffed inwardly. Landon, I knew, was more adventurous than I: he was planning a three-week trip backpacking through South America with a buddy that upcoming summer, and I already knew how coddled my fling in France must have seemed, the mice notwithstanding. Maybe I’d not adequately advertised my practiced insouciance on the topic? I rearranged my emotions and decided to scale back on the eye rolling when it came to the topic of living abroad. This, it would turn out, would be one of the many gifts Landon would bestow upon me: an earnestness about things, a decided disaffection for playing it cool. It was Landon who would unflinchingly share that he respected cartoon artistry, and that he was a drummer in a marching band, and that he in fact found it attractive that academics were my thing in high school — it was Landon, in other words, who would make me realize how fetching it was to advance your own perspective and lean into your own interests, “coolness” be damned.
But on that afternoon of our reunion, I only wanted this: to be seen as the evolved and pioneering lady I’d become, the one who had traveled on her own from Berlin to Lyon, navigating multiple rather complicated transit systems in her non-native tongue; the one who took literature classes in French with native French-speaking students; the one who had been mistaken for a French woman in the local bookstore (“vous cherchez quelque chose en particulier?” the storekeep has asked; “oui, celui-ci,” I nodded, holding up a book of poems by Verlaine; “pour plaisir?” he asked, startled; “mais non — pour l’ecole…alors, jamais pour le plaisir” and he had chuckled! chuckled at my very French attitude, about how passion and school were never one and the same); the one who ordered “une brioche sucree, s’il vous plait” at the corner boulangerie every other morning without batting an eyelash — “comme il faut,” just another part of the day; the one with sophisticated French bangs and trendy Miss Sixty flares; the one who had yelled at an overly aggressive Frenchman who’d made unwanted advances while she’d been sitting in Place Carnot, reading on a park bench, shimmering with self-awareness as she fashioned herself to be the heroine in some Fitzgerald book.
As the sun set that evening, we walked down Rue Auguste Comte toward Place Bellecour, hand in hand. I was proud of Landon: he was tall, and tanned, and blond, and we turned heads. He towered over the native French, and his preppy American duds stood in stark contrast with the then-prevalent athleisure the young gentlemen were wearing. I’d told him about a little bouchon I’d come to like, warning him with a knowing look of how bizarrely quiet these outposts were: I’d learned that the French spoke to one another in whispers when in public. You could spot an American crowd in an instant; you’d just need to turn your head towards the volume.
“A lot of my classmates tell people they’re Canadian,” I explained laughingly. “It goes over better.”
He shook his head. “Nah. I’m American.” I nodded, taking in his easy confidence, realizing I’d absorbed my snarkiness on the topic of Franco-American relations from my classmates without reflection.
We sat down, ordered a pichet of local Cotes du Rhone wine, and basked in the warm spring night air, as the proprietor had opened the shuttered doors onto the street, and tables spilled out into the sidewalk. Landon commented on the large chalkboard sign advertising mussels. It was moules season, and they were everywhere — but, I admitted sheepishly, I’d never tried them. He hadn’t either, and he was adamant about our trying the local specialty. I was picky about food back then — overly concerned with calories and generally squeamish about the unknown. A few weeks earlier, my best friend at the time had visited me and ordered frog’s legs at the corner bistro. “Like chicken,” she said, and my stomach turned.
“I usually get the salade lyonnaise–” I said, glancing at the menu. “And by usually, I mean always.”
“Let’s try something new,” he urged.
I reluctantly agreed — and though the texture took some accommodation, I was bowled over by the richness of the silky garlic-and-butter broth, its extravagance cut by the tang of white wine. I was surprised at how addictive they were, at my instantaneous conversion: I was a mussel-lover after all!
And so we devoured our kettles of moules, dragging crispy golden-brown frites through the broth and lingering over our plates until long after they’d cooled, talking into the warm May night about our plans, our pasts, our promises to one another. I realized, with a start, as I prattled on about my weird literature professor and the fact that his entire seminar was focused singularly on the theme of “anger” in literature — how novel, how French! — that I’d inadvertently revealed that nothing much had changed with me after all, that I was the self-same girl he’d rescued from that bizarre fraternity formal a year prior, the same intellectually hungry, authority-conscious, diligent twenty-year-old I’d always been — and I felt, in a sense, relief. I could just be me.
There I was, rediscovering how our relationship fit, seeing how I fit into it. I’d had an expanse of several months to daydream about our relationship, and I’d come to the precarious decision that I could cultivate myself into the type of woman I thought he wanted: a traveled, self-possessed sophisticate. And Landon had, in a span of a few hours, with his quiet self-assurance, disabused me of that charade. I was me with him.
I think back on that vignette often because I see in it seeds of the relationship we would grow into, and that we continue to grow into — growth being the operative word. In some ways, we are the same: he is stubborn and self-assured and adventurous and can ground me with a single look, and I am sensitive and nurturing and curious and can move him with a single look — and together, we are magic. We know how to argue and make up, how to get our points across, how to build one another up, how to show one another love in small but non-trivial ways — and, perhaps most importantly, how to let one another be our truest selves, even when those selves are in the midst of transformations minor and major. And so we are also different, and our relationship has kept pace — the same, but not the same — and what I mean to say is this: that reunion in Lyon was a significant homecoming abroad in more ways than one, a disembarking from a cultivated vision of our relationship into its realities, a return to who I was, a harboring in the single most important relationship of my life.
P.S. Read Part I and Part II of the M Series to catch up on our story.
Post-Script.
+I’m dying over this affordable floral top — it’s on sale for under $60 and looks like something by Zimmermann!
+The most darling placemats. I have been using placemats on our petite dining table since we moved in — it’s too small for a runner! — and I think I need these as a summer update!
+I know the last thing we want to think about right now is sweater weather, but this chunky cardigan would double as a perfectly acceptable summer accessory for cooler evenings. I also like the open weave and sorbet stripes on this affordable find (I’d buy it a size or two larger than I’d normally wear and pair with skinny white jeans).
Book Club Pick 1: Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng
Four stars. I’m realizing now how rare it is for me to give any book a rating higher than a three — maybe I need to revisit the book selection process, or amend my stringent rubric? — as I debated for some time over whether this was a three or a four. I ended up on the high side because I was wowed by the complexity of the narrative — so many intertwined threads, so many echoes and doublings and mirrorings, and such intricate care afforded to her characters. To me, this book was about the power of female relationships — about mothers and sisters and daughters, how we define those relationships, and what they mean. There were so many repetitions and inversions of the image of two women, alone, together: Mia and her young daughter in shadow box profile caravanning across the country together, Pearl and Lexie at the abortion clinic, Bebe and Mirabelle struggling in those post-birth days together, Mia and the old upstairs landlady coming by to care for her, Izzy turning to Mia for the love she lacks from my her relationship with her mother, Mrs. Richardson supporting Mrs. McCullough, etc, etc. So many women visiting with one another in times of distress (I have a thought or two on this topic) — and so much to observe in these interrelated visions: Lexie in her carefree teenage youth discovering her pregnancy and then aborting it and leaning on a faux-mother (Mia) rather than a real mother to make her way through it. Mia becoming a surrogate (another type of “faux mother”), deciding to keep the child at the last minute, and then leaning on the kindness of a faux mother (her landlady) in her early days as a new mom. The book put pressure on how we define motherhood, especially in the legal battle over the adoption of little Mirabelle, and I applaud the fact that Ng wasn’t angling for any easy, tidy resolution. She was presenting us with various messy relationships and thwarting simplistic definitions, and it made me think.
My major gripe with the book is this: I didn’t get the fire theme, and felt it cheapened the entire novel. It seemed artificial, put-upon, a feint to make it all “hang together,” just like the cloyingly cheesy ending where Mia “gifts” the Richardson family a series of artworks meant to represent each family member. (The book’s over-explanation of the meaning of each of the artworks was an affront to the nuance of its earlier, far less heavy-handed interrogations as to the definition of motherhood.) At one point in the book, fire is described as “passion” that can be “dangerous.” At another point in the book, Mia explains that fire is sometimes necessary for regrowth. At the end of the book, Izzy’s arson can be seen as nothing but revenge and anger. Um, OK. Yes, there are different types of fire. What…where…why does this matter? This helps me understand nothing about the characters and instead feels like a lazy conceit that “ties things together” on the surface. The only thing vaguely intriguing to me about the fire theme is that it’s an uncommon trope for femininity — women tend more often to be “earth mothers” likened to water, wind, and other, softer elements. But, I’m not sure where that leave us, either.
Book Club Pick 2: The Selection by Kiera Cass
Two stars. OK. I like my beach reads as much as the next gal, but I could not get behind this book. I wrote a little bit about this on Saturday, but I was too disturbed by the image of femininity that the book advances and that scores of teens and tweens no doubt absorb to enjoy it. The protagonist is a swoon-y do-gooder full of troubling paradoxes — she will breathlessly, dramatically go to the mats when talking about the injustice of the caste system and then just as quickly take advantage of it, whether to lure Aspen into her room (“I told him I needed help packing and he couldn’t say no because his caste meant that he must always agree to help someone of my own”) or get dressed for the evening (“I didn’t want them there, but…oh, well, I did need help getting undressed, so I told them to leave as soon as they were done”). She is painted as a spitfire transgressor, breaking the rules early on by escaping for midnight trysts with her boyfriend and kneeing the prince in the groin (note that many of her acts of insurgence are physical and sexual-tinged) and yet she faints into the arms of a guard and bites her lip nervously as she teeters around in high heels, relieved that her prince will catch her if she falls, all while waxing poetic about cooking for her beau when they get married.
Just…spare me.
Some of the comments on my post made me stop and ask myself why I was being so prude and censorial about the book — maybe I just need to relax and accept the fact that not everything needs to be over-intellectualized, and also, that young girls learn to think for themselves when presented with images of womanhood that don’t jive with their own.
So there’s that.
And I do understand the broad appeal of the form of the book to a teen. The autocratic, rule-driven government is an easy dupe for parent-child dynamics at home and faculty-student relationships at school, where infractions and regulations may not “make sense” to the teen, and are ripe for being broken. The fact that the king, queen, and prince are generally benevolent forces complicate this point, as we find the characters chafing at the system rather than at its chief perpetrators, but I would guess that most of the intended audience will relate to “the struggle” nonetheless. Meanwhile, “the selection” and the caste system make extrinsic the social structures any high schooler experiences: the feeling of competition, the social stratification, the exaggerated and desperate desire to “belong.”
Let me boil it down to this: the book is no more or less problematic than the show The Bachelor — there’s the same cattiness, the same troubling image of scores of women competing with each other over one man, the same fraught, sorority-like feelings of friendship that form between the contestants, the same heavy-handed and cheesy overtures toward “finding love.” But when I know it’s written for teens, something does not sit well. This feeling of ill-ease was only underscored when I read the author’s acknowledgments, where she writes:
“I want to thank you for reading my book. For reals, I love you…As always, I thank God for words. I’m so glad I don’t have to try to communicate this story to you with my antennae or something. Words are so delicious, and I’ll be forever happy they exist.”
Um.
I immediately wondered if Kiera Cass was a twelfth grader, in which case, my entire opinion of the book would have changed. I then did some Wikipedia-ing and discovered that Cass is 37, and that she was embroiled in something of a scandal because she publicly shamed and attacked a reader who gave her book a poor review on GoodReads.
This bit of information (arguably unfairly) made me cling to my earlier protestations about the book’s troubling, outmoded, and downright disingenuous presentation of womanhood — if the author is capable of such catty ill will, well…
I welcome your reactions to my dark review, as I also see in my own review some issues: first, the problem of holding this book over any other to a different kind of moral standard; second, the fact that there is such a thing as pulp fiction, and that mayybbbeeee I am grasping at straws in the over-analysis of this book; and third, that there is also some good in America in the fact that she stands up for her beliefs, scores high marks in the categories of egalitarianism and loyalty, and “does not play” with the catty jealousy so many of the other contestants boast.
Currently Reading: Nemesis by Peter Evans
I’m thoroughly enjoying this bit of investigative journalism into Jackie, Aristotle Onassis, and the Kennedy family. Evans is unafraid of advancing lurid portraits of the many celebrities and politicians entangled in this story, and it makes for easy, if voyeuristic reading. The things that happen in this book are downright outrageous — Onassis’ shady and lucrative business dealings, the salacious stories of infidelity that seem so common among this set of people (Ari’s first wife left him for his brother-in-law! Jackie’s sister Lee had an affair with Ari before Jackie did, while she was still married to her second husband, while the Kennedy family was lobbying the Catholic Church to dissolve her marriage to her first husband…oh my! Ari and the opera singer Maria Callas had an affair right under the noses of their significant others while yachting around on the Mediterranean one year!), the complicated machinations of American politics. It’s shocking reading, and highly disappointing (what Camelot?!), and Evans knows how to hold your attention and keep you guessing. (“But whyyyy would Jackie do this?!”)
Next Up: The Alice Network by Kate Quinn and Answered Prayers by Truman Capote
I had a few readers suggest this, and it’s one of Reese Witherspoon’s book club picks — I’ve found her suggestions can be hit or miss, but I always feel like I’m au courant when I’m reading what she’s suggesting. The book jacket: “In an enthralling new historical novel from national bestselling author Kate Quinn, two women—a female spy recruited to the real-life Alice Network in France during World War I and an unconventional American socialite searching for her cousin in 1947—are brought together in a mesmerizing story of courage and redemption.”
My interest in the Capote book was spawned by Nemesis; Evans mentions that Jackie was close to Truman Capote and that he captures many of the celebrities in her social set in this novel, and was intrigued. I’m finding my obsession with that Jackie podcast has been something like those Russian nesting dolls: I get through one thing, and I’m on to the next. Where will this one take me?
Post-Script: And Now for Something Truly Random.
+An unexpected source for chic, but affordable, wastebaskets? Container Store. I’ve purchased several from there over the years, including this one. I also like this one!
+The hype around this face mask is insane — it feels like every blogger and celebrity is talking about it, and it was even featured in this month’s Vogue. Has anyone tried it??
By: Jen Shoop
Shopbop just announced an epic April promo — 20% off orders under $500, and 25% off orders $500 and over. You can get early access to this discount with code EVENT18. I’m kinda annoyed that I bought this lovely blouse (shown above, excuse my cheeeeesy grin) at full price, and now you can score it for 20% off! In this case, the early bird did not get the worm. But I won’t let sour grapes keep me from taking advantage of the promo running now. Below, the items currently sitting in my cart…
+I can imagine myself wearing this stunning lovely to my summer birthday party! Love the asymmetry!
+This is calling my name for an upcoming May vacation.
+RRR jammies, already discounted, now an extra 20% off!
+I know I have a lot of blouses in my cart, but I can’t help it — spring evenings are calling my name, and I need this one, too.
+The big question? Will I use the promo as an excuse to buy this Saloni dress I’ve been eyeing for the last many weeks…
+Without a doubt, I’ll be using the promo to buy a pair of new navy Supergas for the summer.
By: Jen Shoop
One of my favorite coffee table books is India Hicks’ Island Style. I can almost feel the Bahamian sun and smell the salty sea breeze while turning the pages — and I swoon over her eclectic, part-boho-part-colonial-era-British, more-is-more aesthetic. But mainly I take it as an excuse to daydream about a leisurely, sun-kissed vacation spent in her elegant but lived-in mansion, talking into the wee hours of a warm night, the candles burning low and the wine pouring freely, falling asleep to the whir of a rattan ceiling fan, waking up to the chirping of birds and the smell of coffee coming from the well-worn kitchen. It’s almost deja vu, the feeling I get when I imagine this — did I take that vacation in another life? Or am I just salivating so hard over the idea of a vacation that I’ve spent too much time conjuring its phantom details during those blurry minutes before sleep kicks in at night?
Channel India Hicks’ Boho Home Decor Style…
Because a jaunt to the Bahamas is not in the cards any time soon, I have been eyeing a couple of India Hicks-inspired pieces to add to my home:
+These dried palm leaves would add so much volume and interest to any mantel/shelf situation (as you can see, India uses them throughout her home). I like these because they are real leaves (not faux!)
+I’m legit obsessed with this sea grass coffee table, for many reasons. I like that it’s a unique, unexpected shape, and its texture adds interest and warmth.
+The splurge would be a caftan from either Figue (this one!!!) or Pucci (ZOMG ZOMG), although this Lem Lem is epic, too, and comes in the prettiest shade of cotton candy pink.
+This circle straw tote is adorable, and on sale right now for 30% off with code FF2018.
+As you know, when it comes to straw accessories, I’m partial to Pam Munson’s styles — this one is darling!
I winked at this topic when I shared that I am unabashedly reading my first young adult novel (P.S. – please read the comments on that post — so many stirring provocations, like what gender and generation have to do with the concept of highbrow/lowbrow culture!), but I have been thinking a lot about whether the authors and publishers of young adult fiction have adopted a “code of ethics” when it comes to the crafting of their novels. In Grace and Becca’s most recent podcast on The Selection, Becca mentions that she is put off by the protagonist’s celibacy. Indeed, I had noticed that The Selection is suggestive but chaste in its portrayal of the physical relationship between the protagonist and her beaus, but this seemed natural and “as it should be” to me given the genre. I haven’t read enough YA fiction to know whether this is a line that all YA novelists have drawn in the sand — “kissing and heavy petting only!” — but, once Becca brought it up, I started to think about it a bit more critically. It made me wonder what the chief demographic for these books is: tweens? teens? The book portrays a sixteen or seventeen year old girl, but it’s entirely possible that most of the novel’s consumers are twelve year old girls, many of whom will not have even had a first kiss yet (right…?), and that might explain why the author chose to draw the line where she did. Maybe there are also sets of regulations I don’t know about (sort of akin to G/PG/PG-13 ratings?) that govern the authorship of teen literature: are you even allowed to talk about sex directly in books targeting teens? Would parents be outraged? Would anything more than suggestion warrant a book ban on the behalf of parents and teachers and even libraries and bookstores?
Or, maybe there are other explanations: in The Selection, at least, the protagonist explains that physical relations are to be saved for marriage because the state enforces it as such, and penalties can occur if transgressed. As elsewhere in the novel, “the authorities” and the threat of their intervention when rules are broken feel like a convenient trope for the parent-child dynamic so many teens and tweens will relate to: the feeling of being watched, regulated, punished for seemingly unfair and nebulously defined directives, including those around physical relationships with boyfriends and girlfriends.
Or, maybe there is a consciousness around promoting abstinence in this book?
If the latter is the case, I am doubly perplexed by the portrait of femininity in the novel — if the author took care in crafting a specific message around sexuality in the book, then I would have hoped she might have taken the time to reflect on the portrait of womanhood she presents as well. I was put off by the swoon-y, flight-y, gasp-y damsel-in-distress vibe her heroine gave off. “Oh, Maxon, save me! My delicate ankles might give out as I trot around in heels!” “Oh, Maxon, I’m so horribly homesick, I’m fainting into the arms of your guards!” Ick.
What are your thoughts? Those of you who have read more YA, please share your thoughts on this topic!
#Shopaholic: The Organization Hack.
+In my perennial quest to achieve ultra-organization, I added a few of these to my cart to keep my medicine cabinets tidier. I like the idea of stowing my brushes, lotions, and potions in these!
+This looks like Missoni or something — love the idea of throwing this on over my swimsuit this summer.
+Just switched up my candle routine at home and bought this Montauk scent, which is described as “fresh salt air and sea grass.” It smells beachy, fresh — like a turn in the seasons.
+If you haven’t yet gotten your LWD fix in advance of spring, check out this adorable Gap style!
I was low key devastated when it was 42 degrees on Easter Sunday morning, but I didn’t let it deter me from wearing a white Easter dress with bare legs. The ten block walk to Church was borderline torture and I kept hearing my mother’s practical “tsk tsk” in my ear, but — “It’s APRIL! And Easter!”
(How’s that for burying the lede? And name dropping? A two-fer!)
Not really, of course. I don’t think I’ve ever yelled at anyone, with the exception of that time I lost my mind while trying to negotiate with the scraggly set of swindlers and imbeciles known collectively as J.C. Penney, and I legitimately scared myself in the process. But on Easter Sunday, midway through the Nicene Creed, I noticed a doll-faced, red-headed beauty standing in the aisle with her adorable son, and I was so distracted, I reverted to the pre-2011 version of the prayer — “begotten not made…er…consubstantial with the Father” and then “in fulfillment…er, accordance with the scriptures.” [Apologies to non-Catholics — but the point is that I was tres distraite.] “It’s Kimmy Schmidt!” Mr. Magpie whispered in my ear, and I nodded. She was glowing, luminescent. (Who does her skin?!)
A little while later, Mr. Magpie and I were leaving the Church with minimagpie in her car — I mean stroller — and stood in the doorframe waiting for a couple with a similarly sized stroller to move. The husband seemed to be messing with the door stop, and the wife was idling in the middle of the door jamb.
“Thank you,” I said, misconstruing their presence in the doorframe as a kindness — they were opening the door for us? Then, when we remained in the same inert position for about ten seconds (a New Yorker’s eternity), I asked, matter-of-factly: “Are you coming or going?”
“Oh, let’s get out of the way,” said Kimmy Schmidt. I briefly transmogrified into the human equivalent of the bulging eyed emoji, then the emoji with the awkward broad grin.
“Thank you,” I said after we’d both descended the Church stairs with our strollers in tow. I waved awkwardly, as if I’d just then realized for the first time in my life that I had hands attached to my limbs. “Thanks again.” A cheshire cat grin. (Have I mentioned how awkward I have been in my few interactions with celebrities?)
Then we were off and Mr. Magpie promptly pulled out his phone to text our closest friends, with whom we have an ongoing text chain:
“Jen yelled at Ellie Kemper during Easter Mass.”
So, there’s that bit of lore that I’ll never live down, and then there’s the more reflective observation that maybe, maybe, MAYBE I could take a minute and slow down and cut someone some slack when leaving EASTER SUNDAY MASS after a Lent spent striving for gentleness in my interactions with others. (Badly done, Emma!) And then there’s also the fact that I can’t stop placing spring dresses in my shopping cart in a pathetic attempt to will warmer weather into existence, and had the weather only cooperated with my plans, I might not have been in such a snippy mood! But that’s neither here nor there — instead, my top picks for spring festivities.
Les Best Spring Dresses.
FULL-ON OBSESSED WITH THIS LABEL, AND ESPECIALLY THIS DRESS (SHOWN AT TOP OF POST!)
I’ve written a couple of posts about items I have used while traveling with mini at various stages, but the other day, Mr. Magpie texted me: “Is there one post with all of the baby travel gear in it? A colleague is asking.” It made me realize it can be hard to find those old posts, so I thought I’d do a summative “Best of Everything” edition pertaining to all my favorite travel gear.
Baby Travel Gear: Sleeping.
+Brica Fold N’ Go Travel Bassinet. When mini was, well, mini, we used this for a couple of trips home. It’s lightweight, folds flat, and fits in a large suitcase. It was a total lifesaver when she was sleeping every couple of hours — we would just bring it down to the family room or wherever we were while visiting my parents and she’d sleep soundly while the rest of us chatted.
+Nuna Sena Aire Travel Crib. We bring this with us now that mini is bigger, although someone brought up in a comment relatively recently that checking a travel crib often costs an additional $25 each way — and there are apparently services out there that will enable you to rent travel cribs at your destination for cheaper, and without the literal extra baggage. That said, this crib has come in handy many times, including when we were living out of hotels and several of the hotels “sold out of cribs” or offered cribs that were seriously disturbing in my opinion (old, rickety, lined with bumpers, and had probably not been cleaned in a decade), and also a handful of times when I have been under the weather and needed a place to corral mini while I basically laid on the couch. The pros are these: it’s super sturdy, it comes with a bassinet insert that you can use before your babe can pull herself up (which makes it so, so much easier to get her into and out of it), the “mattress” is super soft and plush, it’s very easy to set up (you literally push your hand down and it snaps into place), and it looks great. The cons are these: it’s heavy, it’s expensive, and I find it difficult to fold up by myself (you’re supposed to wrap the mattress around the tent poles to sort of contain everything, and it’s super hard to do on your own!) I don’t have a point of reference since I’ve never used another pack n’ play / travel crib, but based on the extensive research I did, people tend to find this to be one of the better-made models on the market and I’m inclined to agree. I also considered the Lotus travel crib, which purports to be lighter, but ended up going with the Nuna because I liked their carseat so much and had an affinity for the brand.
+On the Go Sleep Sheep. I love this little sound machine because it comes with velcro so you can affix it to nearly anything — and we have. Her stroller, her travel crib, her crib at home, etc. Mini can sleep without it, but it’s become sort of a bedtime cue for her, and I’ve even put it on while traveling on the train!
+Infant Optics Baby Monitor. We bring this with us when visiting my parents, as we tend to stay way up on the fourth floor of the house, and the living area is on the second. I find that mini has trouble sleeping when we’re away on vacation, so this is crucial to helping me decide whether I need to make the trip up to soothe her or not — i.e., is she standing in her crib, screaming? Or is she laying down and whimpering?
+Monica and Andy Always Blanket. I like this because it’s often cold on the plane, and this one is snuggly but lightweight and breathable. It’s also pretty big, so it would double (when mini was young) as a tummy time mat.
Baby Travel Gear: Packing.
+Land’s End XL Canvas Tote. A classic. This is excellent for car trips, when I want everything easy to access without any need to unzip or unpack layers and layers of items. This tote has pockets that line the interior, so I’ll organize one pocket with bottles and formula and snacks, one pocket with diapers/wipes, one pocket with books, etc.
+Pottery Barn Kids Wet Bag. I rarely leave home without this — it always stores a spare pair of clothes for mini for the inevitable blowout/mess/etc — but it’s especially handy while traveling, and on travel day in particular, where I tend to accrue a mass of dirty items: her burp cloth, her bib, that sock that fell in a puddle, etc.
+EZ Packing Cubes. I’ve mentioned these so many times I’m almost embarrassed to re-feature, but these changed the game for me when traveling with a baby. I’m able to keep her clothes and accessories in separate, easy-to-find compartments.
+Pretty LouLou Wet Bag. I initially bought this as a back-up in-case-of-emergency-change-of-clothes receptacle, but never used it as planned. Instead, it’s mini’s “lunch” bag, and I keep a couple of pouches of food, some utensils (we love these from Beaba right now), bibs, etc in here. I love it because if I’m not close to somewhere I can wash her bib/utensils, the liner protects the bag and can be wiped clean easily.
+Beaba Clip Containers. I will often fill these with diced fruit or shredded cheese for healthier snacking on the go.
+Bumkins Superbibs. I use these at home as well because I like that they can be tossed in the laundry and then folded up to lay flat in our cupboards (we’re short on space), but they’re extra handy while traveling since you can fold them and stow them in your bag easily (versus the stiff molded plastic ones).
+Boon Trip Travel Drying Rack. Mr. Magpie looked at me askance when I insisted we needed this, but I found it completely indispensable, especially when staying in a hotel (how else do you wash and dry them?!) and even when staying with family, because it gives you a tidy space to keep your bottles instead of cluttered all over your host’s counter.
+OXO Formula Dispenser. My most commented-on article of baby gear. I have been stopped several times and interrogated about this — it is genius. You pre-apportion three servings worth of formula, snap on the top, and then can pour out the appropriate amount when needed. There are many brands that make formula dispensers, but believe me — this is the best, and I spent a lot of time reading up on reviews. Another tip: fill a couple of bottles with the appropriate amount of water as soon as you get through the security checkpoint and then add the formula just when you need it. Then you don’t have to flag down an attendant when you need water on the plane and it’s a lot easier to have the water poured out before you board than while you’re juggling a crying baby. I also found that it was always better to err on the side of caution — pre-fill a couple of bottles with water, even if you only anticipate using one, because you just never know…there have been times we were stuck on the tarmac, or mini was just plain fussy, and having an extra bottle was CLUTCH.
+Ziploc baggie. Yep, just a plain old gallon size Ziploc bag. We’d use this to bring mini’s formula along. Mr. Magpie is brilliant, so rather than using the tiny scooper in the Hipp formula bin to apportion enough formula powder for a week, he did the math — “OK, she needs four six or seven ounce bottles each day, so that’s 196 ounces total,” and then he used our kitchen scale to measure out the amount of formula powder we’d need to bring. Putting it in a Ziploc saved a lot of space for us, as opposed to bringing the bulky metal tin.
+Munchkin Snack Catcher. I did a lot of research on the best snack cup, and I think this is it. It contains spills, but is easy enough for mini to get her hand in and out. I also like that it comes with a removable silicon lid and has handles — easy for her to hold. The only snafu is that I find it can be hard to screw the top onto the threads of the bottom, but time and perseverance have helped me crack that nut 🙂
+Noodle + Boo Cleansing Cloths. OK, this is completely unnecessary because you could absolutely use diaper wipes, but it’s the little things in life and I absolutely love the scent of these facial cleansing wipes. I only use them while traveling, but it’s a dorky little treat for myself. Plus, it keeps everyone smelling fresh as a daisy on those long days.
+Herban Essentials Towelettes. The first thing I do when I get on a train or plain is wipe down all of the seats, tray tables, arm rests, etc. Mr. Magpie is dubious as to whether this really matters (“we live in New York…there’s no way to escape the germs!”), but it gives me peace of mind to have a clean slate. I like that these are nicely scented and well-moistened.
+EO Hand Sanitizer. I like that this is a spray, and it smells great. Mr. Magpie prefers plain old gel Purell, so I am usually equipped with both.
Baby Travel Gear: Diapering.
+Gathre Micro Mat. I’ve used these since day one (I have one in my diaper bag, and a spare that we keep in the stroller). They fold up into a square and can be wiped down easily. They’re thicker than some of the other mats I’ve seen, and far more durable — and they’re pretty!
+Munchkin Arm + Hammer Diaper Bags. These have saved me on so many occasions, and I would have had no idea I needed them had a kind mom not tipped me off just a few days before mini was due! They’re the most polite way to discard soiled diapers while visiting with friends/family and the most generous to yourself when staying in a hotel or spare room, when the trash might not be removed for 24 hours. They’ve also served as a makeshift receptacle for soiled/wet clothing and for the odd amount of trash we manage to generate while on a plane. (Wrappers, wipes, etc!)
+OXO Travel Wipes Dispenser. As with most of OXO’s baby products — sleek and thoughtfully designed. This can actually store quite a lot of wipes, and I usually am able to get by on travel days by solely filling this and then replenishing by heading to the nearest drugstore upon arrival in the destination. This container really keeps the moisture in — I had issues where others would dry out very quickly. This also doubles as an excellent toy for a bored baby!
Baby Travel Gear: Transit with Infant.
+Nuna Pipa Infant Carseat. This is one of the lightest weight (possibly THE lightest weight?) infant carseats on the market. I also like the style (sleek) and the fact that it has a sunshade. (I did find that the magnets that hold the sunshade in place were not quite strong enough and they’d often come free, but it did its job most of the time and I presume the design meant that they were able to shave off a few ounces of weight, which I’ll take any day.) It comes with a base, but it can also be strapped into a car/taxi using a seatbelt.
+Gate Check Pro Carseat Travel Bag. This is a must for two reasons: first, it has a strap so that Mr. Magpie can throw the carseat in it and carry it on his back/almost like a backpack, which is SO SO much easier than carrying it awkwardly in one hand while rushing through a terminal. Second, I like that it offered an (admittedly thin) layer of protection when being handled by baggage crews. It meant my expensive Nuna Pipa’s plastic wouldn’t be inadvertently scratched while tossed on the ground or whatever. It’s also very easy to spot when it comes out on the conveyer belt!
+Baby Trend Snap N Go Universal Carseat Carrier. We spent so much time debating whether or not to buy an umbrella stroller, just use a baby carrier, or bring our full-size stroller with us. We were concerned about the latter because we’d heard that unless you pack your Bugaboo in a Bugaboo travel case, if anything happens to it in transit, they will not fix it — and the Bugaboo travel case is like $170. Our Bugaboo is also pretty damn big and bulky for travel. And when mini was super little, we didn’t feel an umbrella stroller was suitable for her (most suggest that they only be used after the baby is 6 months, or can sit up!), and neither Mr. Magpie or I are huge fans of the carrier — it’s exhausting after awhile. We decided to get this inexpensive carseat carrier, which folds up nicely and I believe can be stowed in the overhead bin (I think we did this?). But we also weren’t as worried if it did get thrown around. We could nestle the Nuna Pipa right into it. It’s not the sturdiest solution (or the most attractive), but it got the job done and enabled us to travel super light. In retrospect, I feel like it would have been the ideal solution were it not for the fact that I ended up buying the Babyzen Yoyo travel stroller, which can be used for babies as soon as they are born. I ended up buying the Yoyo when mini turned around one. I would say that if you’re going to invest in the Yoyo — or are toying with it — you might as well just buy it when the baby’s born because then you can obviate the whole question of what to do about a stroller when you arrive. More on the Yoyo below.
Baby Travel Gear: Transit with Toddler.
+Cosco Scenera NEXT Convertible Carseat. Now that mini is older and has outgrown her infant carseat, we bought this $35 steal, which incidentally gets very good reviews for safety. It’s VERY lightweight (like a few pounds??), which makes it a dream for travel days. We found it a little bit difficult to position and secure in cars upon destination — it’s long so it felt a little wobbly — but I suppose no carseat secured by seatbelts ever feels as secure as one secured by a base. In general, Mr. Magpie and I try to avoid taking the carseat with us whenever we can — you can request Ubers that have carseats in them, you can rent cars that come with carseats, and my parents have a spare carseat in their SUV. So if at all possible, we avoid bringing this with us, as it’s just one more thing to tote around (and it’s BIG!) That said, the airlines we’ve used thus far have permitted us to gate check it without cost, so it’s not adding an additional expense to your ticket if you need to.
+Babyzen Yoyo Stroller. My Dad refers to our Bugaboo as our “Rolls Royce,” so when he saw us roll up with the Yoyo on our trip to visit them in Florida, he commented: “Ah, you just have your Ferrari out today, huh?” The Yoyo is a luxury umbrella stroller, and an incredible extravagance, but hear me out: I cannot carry minimagpie in a baby carrier any more — she’s way too heavy and way too long for me. And when I’m on my own, trying to navigate the New York subway, I absolutely cannot wield the Bugaboo on my own. The Yoyo gets a lot of mileage in this New York family; we’ll take it with us when we’re out and about, taking the Subway, etc. It folds up super small and comes with a convenient strap so you can throw the folded stroller over your shoulder and walk down the Subway stairs while also holding your daughter. I spent a lot of time comparing lower-priced umbrella strollers, and found that all of them had some sort of major drawback — the wheels folded up into the awning, meaning that dirt and street gunk wind up in your child’s hair — disgusting thought for us Manhattanites — or you can’t push it without your feet kicking the wheels, or the sunshade literally does nothing at all, or it’s difficult to unfold, or etc, etc. (The best reviews I saw on a runner up were for the Summer Infant 3D Lite stroller, which — at $80 — is a pretty ridiculous value given that it seems to outshine competitors in much more expensive classes.) I finally decided to just get the one with the best reviews, and it has not let me down. Aside from being light and compact, it also has a sunshade, a seat that reclines, and a pretty easy fold/un-fold mechanism. It takes a minute to figure it out, but once you do, you’re golden — and can do it on your own. The trick is that you need to keep your child in the stroller until after you’ve folded down the handle/sunshade, then take her out, and then the rest is doable with just one hand, which is pretty much a miracle unto itself. Unfolding it is like a magic trick: you unhook one red clasp and it springs immediately into action. Amazing. My parents-in-law were obsessed with it. “That must be European,” said my mother-in-law. (She’s right; it was designed by five French fathers who were dissatisfied with all of the strollers on the market and insistent on creating one that was easy to use, lightweight, and compact.) My brother-in-law’s eyes widened when he saw how tiny it becomes when folded. “Damn!” (Oh, the conversations you have with fellow parents…)
Baby Travel Gear: Bathing.
+Mustela Travel Set. This is a rip-off, but the sizes are great and I’ve just refilled the bottles ever since I’ve had them.
+Munchkin Inflatable Duck Tub. Up until now, I’ve “made do” with whatever bathing situation our travels have presented. Mini has been bathed in sinks and stand-up showers, with me climbing in behind her. For an upcoming longer trip, I’ve placed this inflatable tub in my cart because it folds flat and will make my life so, so, so, so much easier than either getting wet myself or awkwardly wrangling a toddler’s head under a sink faucet at bath time. Plus, I think mini will be obsessed with it.
Things We Buy at the Destination.
+Diapers and wipes — if we’re staying for longer than a few days, I’ll ship a box via Amazon.
+Before mini was using Hipp formula (which you can only buy online, to my knowledge), I would pack a generous amount of formula “just in case” but buy the organic formula at whatever grocery store was in the destination city. This saved a lot of space.
+Dish soap, for cleaning bottles.
+Puffs/Cheerios/Snacks. I find these are too bulky to carry in a bag — much easier to buy on arrival!
Unsolicited Advice.
+Set low expectations and remove any semblance of a schedule on travel days. You will go nuts any other way. You will always end up in a super long security line when you arrive at the airport planning to breeze through security and feed your child at the other end, and you will always sit on the tarmac longer than you wish, and your baby will always fall asleep right as you land, etc, etc. I try my hardest to refrain from planning anything. Sometimes I’ll find myself thinking something like, “OK, this is good! We’re at the gate. I’ll keep her awake for just twenty more minutes, and then we’ll get on the plane, and I’ll give her a bottle, and she’ll sleep the first two hours of the flight!” Just, don’t. Or, do, but know that your plans will likely be foiled. The plane will be late, and you’ll have delayed her nap time unnecessarily, only to wind up with a crankier baby. I have learned to just go with the flow. If she seems sleepy, I’ll just let her sleep and deal with carrying a passed out baby or transferring her from her stroller to my arms on the plane.
+Take a deep breath and just go with it. You can do it! Millions of parents do it and survive. Yes, there are nightmare situations where your baby screams an entire flight, but don’t let that paralyze or dissuade you! You can do it! You will get to the other end. Just think of it like any other day and don’t let bad energy spoil things!
+Pack a lot of snacks. This is my number one way to get through a travel day.
+Pack extra bottles of milk/formula. Even if you don’t think you’ll need it, you never know when you’ll be stuck on the tarmac or stranded in an airport or holding a fussy, teething baby.
+Take a deep breath. I’ve found that people tend to be very kind and forgiving on travel days with a baby, but I also try to be proactive about engaging my seatmates when we first board, saying a friendly hello and exchanging some polite conversation. It’s a lot harder for them to be angrily grumbling at you when you’ve set a good precedent! Someone told me that they buy their seatmates glasses of wine/beer when they’re traveling internationally!
+Enjoy a glass of wine while in flight. It really helps ease the nerves.
+Pack special toys and books for the flight. This is an oldie but a goodie — my mom used to tell us to line up our bags on the kitchen counter by bedtime the night before a trip so that she could put some special surprises in it. It was a good way to make sure we’d actually pack! Then, we weren’t allowed to open our bags until after the seatbelt sign had been turned off after initial ascent. It was brilliant because it kept us excited and on our toes until after the flight was underway. Mini’s too young for that now, of course, but I try to stick to a similar principle, keeping new toys for her hidden away until I really need them.
+Many airports have nursing lounges / mother’s lounges — I took full advantage of these on multiple occasions. They were such a relief for me; I always felt uncomfortable breastfeeding in public!
+Toss your laptop in the basket of your stroller so you have it handy when going through security. There are many conveniences to having a stroller! This is one of them. I also try to have mini out of her stroller and in my arms by the time we’re at the conveyer belt so I’m not unsnapping her at the last minute.
+Think about the travel hours as part of the adventure. This is super-cheesy, but there was a time not too long ago when I would look at families traveling with their little ones and think, “How adorable! It looks so fun!” And I even looked on with envy at mothers and their carefully packed diaper bags — I longed to have the opportunity to be solicitous and thoughtful for someone else, to anticipate their needs and make sure that there were fun toys and snacks on hand. I completely romanticized the idea of traveling with children. I now know how much stress can go into it, but I also try to remember how much I’d looked on longingly when I was a bit younger. It’s like that mawkish quote going around: “Never forget when you wanted what you know have.”
What am I missing? What are your other travel must-haves?
P.P.P.S. One of my readers wrote to insist that I add this book to my list of the best books for babies, and if you don’t have this, you’re missing out. I use it to deodorize mini’s strollers and upholstered furniture and other hard to clean gear, but have also used it on our couch, pillows, etc…
By: Jen Shoop
Two Fridays ago, I found myself in a typical self-imposed bind because I’d overstuffed my day: I was sitting at my desk at 1 PM, unshowered and still in my exercise gear from that morning’s workout, scarfing down my go-to chicken salad on rye bread, trying to finish a blog post while waiting to jump on a conference call for some non-profit work I’m doing, knowing that I had to be uptown for a 3:30 PM social engagement and still had to take Tilly for a walk, shower, and dress myself in the meantime. (And also, hopefully, stop by the bank to get cash for the sitter and pick up a bottle of wine for the evening.) I did the math. It would be next to impossible for me to wash and blow-dry my hair, but dry shampoo just wasn’t going to cut it, and it was blindingly cold out and I didn’t want to march up Columbus Ave with my hair in a wet top knot and risk catching a head cold. In a pinch, I booked a 2:45 PM appointment at Drybar, which was (conveniently) just a few blocks from my 3:30 pm tea with my girlfriends Alison, Inslee, and Jen. (Incidentally, I didn’t realize until just now that I’ve featured all three of them as women of substance!)
It was bliss. I walked in with ratty-ass hair and a harried vibe and left with a sleek blowout and a zen-like attitude. I’d read a little bit in the chair, but had mainly just zoned out. As with any new parent, having quiet, vacant time to myself like that is exceptionally rare, and I reveled in it.
When I met up with my friends, two of them separately commented on my hair. “It looks blonder!” said one. “Ooh, what did you do with your hair?” asked another.
The kicker was when I got home. Mr. Magpie is observant, but I can’t recall the last time he’s commented on my hair —
“Your hair looks different,” he said. “Pretty.”
And then, an hour later, my best friend dropped by with two bottles of red wine and a hankering for pizza and girltalk. Just a few steps inside, she paused and said: “Oh, J! I like your hair!”
OKURRRRR, NOTED. Got the memo. Need to spend more time blow-drying my hair. I realized, suddenly, that I couldn’t really remember the last time I’d properly blown it out. I’ll occasionally give it a quick cursory zap, but more often than not, I let it air-dry and then curl it into a pathetic, flustered take on beach-y waves right before leaving the house and hope that Bumble + Bumble’s texturing spray will afford it just enough texture to make it look meaningful. It’s a passable look but I’d been recently trolling Pinterest in search of a sleeker, more sophisticated and pulled-together style after wearing my hair wavy for the past year or two.
What I’m about to say is going to sound absolutely ridiculous to those without children (and possibly to many of those with children), but here goes:
I had to literally have a chat with myself about my hair and whether it was worth reshuffling my schedule to afford myself an hour every few days to blow-dry it. “Jen, you clearly look better when you take the time to blow-dry your hair. And you recently noted how wonderful you feel when you actually style your hair. So you are going to have to carve out regular time to care for it every couple days, which means something else has got to be rearranged.”
The issue is this: it takes a long time to blow dry my full head of hair, and I don’t want to cannibalize my days with the nanny to take care of it because I am trying my hardest to keep those days clear for writing. So instead, I’ve had to shoe-horn it into my days alone with mini, which was not without its own set of concerns — namely that I didn’t want to cannibalize my precious time with mini — but I’ve had to overcome that objection and understand that I’ll spend plenty of QT with her the rest of the day. I’ve found the ideal time is after breakfast, after Mr. Magpie has just left, when mini will happily play in her crib for about twenty minutes with a set of books and her Maileg mice (she just got this in her Easter basket). That twenty minutes affords me enough time to shower (I keep the monitor visible to me in the bathroom and shower with the door open), lotion up (this is my favorite body lotion — I get compliments on the scent all the time, and it’s super thick and moisturizing but sinks into the skin easily), change into clothes, and apply my everyday makeup. By then she’s getting a little angsty, and I’ll bring her into the bathroom to play at my feet while I blow-dry. For some reason, she’s really into playing with my makeup brushes, which she uses as hairbrushes, and, up until recently, placing my lipsticks into my acrylic lipstick holder — but I’ve had to disabuse her of that joyride because she’s learned how to take the caps off of the lipstick tubes! Cheeky little monkey. She also enjoys taking laundry into and out of the laundry basket and tossing cosmetics into the bath tub. Who knew a bathroom was such a deluxe playground for the youthful?
At any rate, I’ve figured out how to make a blow-dry happen every other day.
And I fully realize that the foregoing paragraphs have an excruciating amount of banal detail, but I’ve deliberately left them intact just as they are because — MY FRIENDS! — this has been one of the biggest surprises of motherhood for me: the constant jockeying of time and responsibility to accomplish even the smallest of things and the imbalance of guilt that comes with it. As Mr. Magpie put it, just a few weeks into parenthood: “Your time is just not your own any more. Even when you’re doing something for yourself, there’s a timebox around it.”
So, yes — where there’s a will, there’s a way, and it’s probably a good thing in the long run because it gives me time for self-care and it gives mini time to learn to play by herself and goddamn if people don’t think I look prettier with mah hairs did, because the day after I’d dried it myself for the first time, my bestie said: “Ooh, did you get your hair blown out again?” And I beamed with my pride. (I’ve since gotten two other compliments on my hair!)
+Conditioner: I have been alternating between good old Pantene Pro-V (many consider it the best drugstore conditioner you can buy) and Oribe’s Mask for Beautiful Color, which I use like a conditioner every shower since my hair is so dry right now. I love love love love love love this mask. My hair feels so hydrated afterward, but it’s never weighed down or greasy.
+Primer: Bumble and Bumble Don’t Blow It Fine Hairstyler. Guys. THIS STUFF WORKS. I am highly skeptical of any product that promises a shorter blow-dry time, and I don’t honestly think this cuts down on the time, either, but what it DOES do is leave you with that soft, silky, sleek look that I could only ever find at Drybar, in the hands of a professional. It somehow coats your hair with a magical, glossy, smooth sheen. And the best part is that it extends your blow-dry — when I use it, I can easily make it two and sometimes even three days between blowdries without looking greasy and limp thanks to this stuff. (Also, I didn’t realize it, but Bumble and Bumble makes this product for both thick hair and fine hair, so make sure you get the right one for your hair type!)
+Volumizer: Bumble + Bumble’s Thickening Spray. I use this only on the hair at the top of my head and around my part, so that I can get more lift in that area. I always hated how my hair would flop down, flat and fine, if left to its own devices — this spray gives a ton of volume and lift. I don’t use it elsewhere because I don’t want to overburden my hair with too much product if I can avoid it.
+Brushes: I use Drybar’s Lemon Drop brush to detangle and part my hair just after I’ve towel-dried it and Spornette’s 3″ round brush to dry. I’ve written about this round brush extensively in the past (who knew a $10 purchase could be such long-term fodder for blogging?), but it’s light-weight, easy and comfortable to grip and manipulate thanks to a padded handle, and the aerated center means that air easily gets into and around all of your hair. (Also, Gisele’s stylist uses it on her hair. Enough said.)
+Clips: Drybar’s Hair Clips. I section my hair to make it easy to blow dry. I like these because they’re long and can really keep big sections of hair separate.
+Hairdryer: Conair Infiniti Pro. This is the best $35 I’ve spent in years. I’d tried a couple of higher-end dryers but I am not exaggerating when I say I have A LOT OF HAIR and I need a jet engine to get it dry, or I’ll be standing in front of the mirror til the cows come home — and this Conair is super powerful and super hot, and it’s the only shortcut I’ve come across when it comes to abbreviating the length of time it takes to blow dry my hair. I’m dying to try this one, as it gets wonderful reviews and I’m obviously impressed with what the Drybar stylists have done with my hair while using it, but — if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
P.S. I’ve come to find that adding hair spray or any sort of finishing spray will shorten the length of time I can go between blowouts — they tend to add a layer or product to the top that makes my hair look greasier sooner. That said, I do like Drybar’s flexible hold hairspray if I need some staying power.
P.P.P.S. When I need to buy myself an extra day between blowouts, my new hairband comes in handy.
By: Jen Shoop
When I was a sophomore in high school, one of my friends was talking about Vanity Fair at the lunch table.
“I just can’t wait for it to come in the mail every month,” she said, picking at her taco salad. (Taco salad days were good cafeteria days at Visitation.)
“Me too,” chimed in another friend — one I deeply respected for her intellectual agility. I nodded uncomfortably, though I’d never read the magazine myself. They looked at me expectantly.
“I don’t subscribe to it,” I said, deftly avoiding the topic of whether I read it or not. Then I re-directed: “I only subscribe to InStyle and Lucky.”
“Ugh — those are so lowbrow,” said my friend, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
Even now, nearly two decades later, I color at the memory of this exchange — it’s almost as uncomfortable for me as the time I tried to work “like dolls on a shelf” into an academic paper. And I can’t fault my friend. She was smart, and had opinions, and Lord knows I’ve been guilty of intellectual snobbery from time to time. (*That time, at a cocktail party, when I answered someone’s tepid question as to what I was up to, by replying, dead-pan and without a trace of self-awareness: “I’ve been working on my dissertation on epistemology and intertextuality in Pound’s The Cantos.” I didn’t even say Ezra Pound. Just Pound, as if he should have known. I mean, I wasn’t lying — that is, in fact, what I was writing about — but still, there was no need to use argot in such a context, and it was flagrantly unkind. That said, there’s a small part of me that burns with pride over the memory, as the guy asking the question was a notable snob himself.)
But for a teen, trying desperately to fashion herself as part of the pack — and my pack was a smart pack — the lowbrow comment was brutal. I felt I’d revealed myself as an imposter. I would go on to graduate with the highest GPA in my high school class, but I always felt as though the designation was accidental, or unfair — these other girls in my class were so much smarter, better-read, more literate and opinionated than I was. They had real perspectives on the news, and read op-ed columns and Vanity Fair, and one of them was tearing through Thomas Merton for fun. (I was more likely to be reading Nancy Drew or Agatha Christie in my spare time, just like the chic pea above! Not bad reading, but not substantive reading, either.) I was just exceedingly disciplined and could memorize facts easily — in fact, I enjoyed it. I remember taking a gut class in European History my second year of college that was laughably easy for me because the professor was old school and tended to examine us based on rote memorization of the chronologies of battles and the successions of rulers and the ins and outs of various treaties. Committing those details to memory was borderline fun for me (oh hey, inner nerd, good to see you) — organizing them all in timelines, creating flashcards, quizzing myself. When I aced a pop quiz towards the end of the first quarter, he sent me an email that read: “Ms. Nurmi: I was bowled over by your answers to the quiz. Excellent.” Bowled over! I’d never heard that phrase in common conversation, and I picked it up and pressed it to my cheek. Even still, I knew the truth: I wasn’t smart, I was just diligent.
These many years later, I have shed those insecurities. I consider myself intelligent and I understand that there are different flavors of intellect, too. More importantly (or perhaps this is a corollary?), I see myself as somebody.
But I also have a different perspective on the distinction between highbrow and lowbrow, and I wish to God I could go back in time and tell anxious, tenth-grade me all the right things to say on the topic. Which would be this: some of the smartest people I know (including my brother) enjoy watching horrible TV and B-grade movies (think Nick Cage). And one of the most brilliant people I know has admitted that The Royal We is one of her absolute favorite books. (I agree.) And one of today’s most brilliant authors and social commentators (Roxane Gay, who made my list of 10 books that changed my life) routinely reads and dissects pop lit and reality TV, from 50 Shades of Gray to The Bachelor. The point being: you can have a meaningful conversation about anything. The text itself says nothing about the reader — it doesn’t implicate or incriminate. If anything, someone’s meaningful reaction to something I’ve written off as vapid or “lowbrow” can make me second guess my own analytical abilities. Seriously: I recently shared one reader’s thoughtful reaction to The Last Mrs. Parrish (see hall of fame comment no. 1) and it has since shaped my thinking about the concept of “rape culture.” (There’s also the point that all those years of reading “lowbrow” fashion magazines led me to start this blog, which has since evolved into something entirely different from its fashion collage beginnings. And I didn’t take my cues from the highbrow fashion glossies, either — I was always drawn at that age to outlets that featured wearable, attainable clothes: pieces from Gap that could possibly make their way into my closet. But that’s neither here nor there.) I also believe that — with the notable exception of my father — no one can subsist on Didion and LaCan alone. We mortals need escape, fantasy, easy reading.
For these reasons, I am proudly sharing that I am reading my first young adult book, The Selection, after Grace suggested it on her new podcast and described it as “the Bachelor for teenagers in a dystopian future.” Um, juicy. I even talked my best friend and my cousin into reading it alongside me (though they typically consume “highbrow” fare) so that we could have a wine-fueled tete-a-tete once complete. It’s probably written at a seventh grade reading level, but there’s a lot happening in it that has made me stop and think — one of them being that the protagonist, at least in the early portion of the book, romanticizes her relationship with her boyfriend (as any teen would) and specifically talks about how much she longs to cook and care for her boyfriend, fashioning herself as the nurturing caregiver in their relationship. There is nothing wrong with this in and of itself (I feel I aspire to fill a similar role in my relationship with Mr. Magpie), but it read like a 1950s-era girlhood journal and it made me wonder about how much has actually changed in terms of gender dynamics in the home over the past seventy years–or at least in terms of our lionization of certain “feminine” versus “masculine” responsibilities and spheres of influence. (And, it’s possible that the book eventually overturns this aspiration; I’m only half way through.) And when I compare the vision of femininity laid out in this tween book to the extremely progressive gender politics in the deft, wondrous 1990s show Roseanne that I raved about not so long ago — a show that is top of mind thanks to the reboot of the series that just launched a week ago and oh my God, it is good, and I’ll write more about that soon — and all of this leads me to think: so who cares about highbrow or lowbrow when a lot of serious and important social conversations are spooling out from them?
I also wonder whether the authors and editors of these YA books feel at all beholden to a different set of ethics when contemplating the fact that their wildly popular books will have a huge impression on a very impressionable demographic…?
More to come soon, but for now, I am a proud, card-carrying member of the lowbrow elite.
Post-Script.
+Ordering a few of these to stow brown sugar, rice, and other excess flours and baking products. I already keep flour and sugar in these OXO pop canisters, which look pretty and stack nicely, but am frankly underwhelmed by them. I don’t think the seal is strong enough and I worry that stowing something like brown sugar in there would let all the moisture out.
+I mentioned my inner-geek above, but…I have had this in my cart for a week and I think I need it. Why? Don’t ask. Slash, I *need* it for labeling my spices, the drawers of my medicine cabinet caddy (I have two of these to stow medicine, overflow cosmetics, etc), and aforementioned jars.
+This would be so cute for the fourth of July (and it’s on sale!)
P.P.S. I enjoyed stirring the pot with this post…read the comments for some epic food for thought!
By: Jen Shoop
Every couple of weeks, I pore over Pinterest and find myself obsessing over the timeless appeal of the polka dot. There’s nothing more substantive to say on this topic, except for that — I love a good polka dot. (Also, note that the chic pea in the third pic below is wearing one of those netted It bags from Staud.)
P.P.S. I was obsessed with so many of the items in this roundup.
P.P.P.S A perfect layering piece, on sale. Also, there’s a part of me that is obsessed with the cut of this because it reminds me of something Jen Aniston would have worn with army green cargo pants and her perfect hair in the later seasons of Friends and I’m unabashedly still obsessed with her look.
