Hey there and Happy Inauguration Day!
Here is a table of contents of sorts:
Intro
List: Minimalist Capsule Wardrobe or Bleak Pandemic OOTDs
10 Things to Fill You Up
Today’s newsletter, which should’ve gone out on Sunday (busted!), is late for a couple reasons. One is logistical: I was without reception in Big Sur for the long weekend.
But that’s a convenient excuse; I could’ve scheduled this newsletter to go out on time. And I had every intention of doing so. Which leads me to the second reason: I got stuck. The fourth newsletter in and I’m stuck! I’d started to write about isolation, and I just kept shaking my head at how tired and cliche each paragraph sounded, even though I was in fact describing experiences very personal to me.
If it were a scene from a movie, there’d most certainly be a cliched montage of me crumpling up draft after draft, which I’d toss defeatedly into an overflowing wastebasket. Then there’d, of course, be a cut to me waking up with a piece of paper stuck to my face before scrambling to pack for my trip. “You should still send it out, hon,” Andrew would say to me on our drive. “Consistency is so important.” Okay, that last part really did happen, minus the “hon.” And…scene.
With our collective fixation on what it’s like to exist right now, it’s tough not to echo the same sad sentiments about living a cloistered life. Then again, I consume a lot of commentary on How We’re Feeling, so maybe the echo chamber is particularly resonant to my ears?
I’m not abandoning the essay I started. I’ve been kneading it in my mind, and feel like it’s benefiting from baking just a little while longer. I also realized that as natural as it is to strive for a unique point of view, it’s unavoidable that – given our largely shared circumstances – content and art will inevitably reflect similar emotional currents. And, not for nothin’, I’m a firm believer in the idea that even if something has already been said or done, there’s no one who can say or do it quite like you. Awww, sweet, huh?
So, I’m working on it for the next newsletter.
In the meantime, here’s a fun little journal of quarantine (anti)fashion I wrote last year, in the style of a McSweeney’s List. It’s an absurdist look at quarantine style – all the ways it’s become a language of convenience and a slippery slope into our grossest at-home tendencies. Best read while in the chone-zone. (Call-back to the first newsletter!)
Minimalist Capsule Wardrobe or Bleak Pandemic OOTDs
…and Corresponding (in)Activities
Olive green Lululemon lounge pants, sage green shirt in a pre-faded, perfectly-worn-in style. Chenille socks (hunter green as an aggressively monochromatic exclamation point). Saunter over to the cafe on the corner for takeout. Inhale ratatouille sando while bingeing 4 episodes of Rupaul’s Drag Race.
Olive green Lululemons, actual worn-in white crop top with cute neckline detail and pit stains. Stupid pug-printed socks reserved strictly for house lounging.
Unflattering (Daffy Duck bloomer silhouette) but “cool” Entire World lounge shorts. White tee with pit stains. Chenille socks, which are wearing down from slathering on foot cream before wear. Exfoliating my heels while squinting at interview transcriptions at my kitchen table is my new normal.
Denim shorts that are probably too short, as noted to self during daily neighborhood walk after signing off from work. White tee. Denim jacket to hide pit stains and balance out look-at-me vibe of shorts. Muted, dusty rose-colored Everlane sneakers.
Camel-colored sweatpants (Entire World style, but actually from Target), silk Diane von Furstenburg cami scored for free while working that boutique job 10 years ago. Film self doing a dance routine via YouTube tutorial. First seven videos are awkward (and sad?), eighth is good enough to publish on Insta Story. I’m learning things!
Matching blush pink PJ set. Actually quite cute before pulling on stupid weiner dog-printed socks.
Black linen lounge shorts with growing tear in the butt (the grey bloomers are now off limits since they’re from my ex and triggered my boyfriend). Black DVF cami. Feel mildly presentable, from the front anyway. Throw on oatmeal cardigan to dupe colleagues on Zoom call. Gold hoops really sell it.
Camel-colored sweatpants, black DVF cami, oatmeal cardigan to run down and get the mail because it looks chilly out. Break sweat and disrobe immediately once back inside, remembering that it’s actually apocalyptically smoky and sweltering and not in fact, overcast. Back to the drafty linen lounge shorts.
Matching sage green yoga pants and crop top. Workout clothes now feel oppressive in their form-fittingness. Peel off and decide to self-care another way. Pink PJ set and Drag Race.
Wide leg, yet extremely tight-waisted jeans. Linen top. Basket weave mules. An outing. I’m going to my sister’s house. Togetherness, cake, joy. Learn that my 4 year old nephew calls all non-PJs “hard clothes.” Get home, unbutton crotch-strangling denim and decide to take a hard pass on hard clothes for the foreseeable future. Olive Lululemons, DVF cami, chenille socks. Leftover cake.
10 Things to Fill You Up
“America’s Most Hated Garment,” by Amanda Mull for The Atlantic, a roller coaster of an essay that explores the trajectory of sweatpants, all the way through its glorified peak in 2020. Phyewf, I’m glad it ultimately netted out with sweats haters being behind the times, because I just ordered a cute pair.
“A Year Without Clothes,” by Rachel Syme for the New Yorker, an essay that accurately posits, “walking pants and sprawling pants…are entirely different species.” Beyond the Lycra of it all, she dissects how the deterioration of fashion (as we knew it, anyway) mirrored our declining spirit in 2020. She also examines the year’s trends, which designers figured it out, and which didn’t.
“An Ode to Lucas Hedges’s Listening Faces” from Hunter Harris’s newsletter, Hung Up. I loved this take on what it looks like for Hedges’s character in HBO’s Let Them All Talk to listen, really listen (or at least try, bless his heart), to three older women whose modes of communication are, in Harris’s terms, out of his depth. I always appreciate the way Harris pays attention to the minutia of pop culture, and this piece was packed with fun musings. If you haven’t heard of it, the Steven Soderbergh comedy/drama stars Meryl Streep, Dianne Wiest, and Candice Bergen, and takes place on a cruise ship. The setting gives the film an air of adventure, a welcome escape during these times!
“I Was Done Dating. Then I Joined a Hookup App,” a charming Modern Love essay in the New York Times about good faith and bad timing. The writer shares how his overdue decision to shake things up came up against the limitations of lockdown. The writer, “finally a free spirit at 55,” sweetly and comically describes how life and love never stops being inconvenient and delightfully surprising in equal measure.
“Some Reasons to Become a Literary Nomad (Even If You Fail),” by Kristin Sanders for Lit Hub, an absorbing personal account of one writer’s pursuit to lead the illusive artist’s lifestyle. Spoiler alert: it ain’t glamorous. Written in second person, this relatable essay speaks to the romantic notions around becoming a writer, which, for many aspiring writers, is where we get stuck (in the godforsaken “becoming” stage).
“Let’s Talk about the Fantasy of the Writer’s Lifestyle” an essay by Rosalie Knecht for Lit Hub, which is sort of in the same vein as the above. This shrewd commentary is hitting for its dead-on analysis of the Anthropologie aesthetic, namely, the trope of the writerly apartment. Anthro heads know – the charmingly shabby aesthetic is glammed up and commodified in every Anthropologie catalog, ever.
The pages portraying “grand but derelict” spaces and “ruined terraces overlooking the Adriatic Sea” romanticize the ideal artist’s lifestyle, and construct an alternate reality where writers can easily make a living on writing alone, and “nobody has to get up in the morning.” If only.
“This fantasy image does us a disservice. It leaves us with no model to follow when we try to integrate art-making with functional lives.”
The Pudding’s “How Bad is Your Spotify,” an AI-powered tool that dresses you down for your (awful) taste in music. After all the Spotify Year in Review shares, it’s refreshing to receive a virtual eye roll from a robot: “Oh great, another Blood Orange stan…”
Including a snapshot of mine below if you want to bare witness to me being mercilessly roasted by an AI bot:
“The Real Bros of Simi Valley,” a ridiculous parody show I can’t believe I’m including but did, in fact, compel me to binge watch. The web series brought Andrew and me much joy and, weirdly, nostalgia for all things bro-y: white socks with vans, soul patches, and phrases like “for sure,” “kickbacks,” and “randos.”
All the textures, shapes, and influences going on in this space. (Can you tell I’m trying to recover from the anti-aesthetic above?)
“Sounds to Feel Sounds to: Vol II,” an airy, ethereal playlist curated by Rachel Saunders Ceramics. It’s a gorgeous selection of cosmic jams, perfect for meditation, streaming while working, or getting into any flow state at all.
Extra Thing: Our Big Sur trip was truly magical, here’s a couple more photos. Just a taste, because I’m thinking of doing a lil’ bonus post with a Big Sur photo essay.
Thanks for reading! Until the next newsletter, you know where to find me.
Vanessa
Thanks for a rich resource of fashion, books, shows and more. Keep it up, Vanessa!
As always even when you are feeling uninspired or overwhelmed by writer's block you put the pen to paper and write so beautifully...I can't wait to see what's next!