April 18, 2014


There was a time when I thought it was strange to buy vintage clothing online at all. The other day I did it on my phone during my lunch break, the sacred hour of the workday I normally devote to reading Rachel Kushner's The Flamethrowers, a book I'm apparently already a year late in reading anyway*

vintage dress from Pretty Penny
This dress is very... Springtime for Bladerunner.  I wore it out for a day in the suburbs with my sweetheart; treating my parents to lunch, thrift-store shopping, loading up on absurd craft supplies from Michael's, and poring over pattern books in the same JoAnn's fabric store I used to go to with my mother when I was little so I could pick out fabric for my annual Easter dress. I'd like to think this is my grown-up version of all those Easter dresses from my youth, sleeves invariably poufed, randomly adorned with prodigious bows, but always cotton, always comfortable, and always apt to draw stares from the good-hearted yet simple-minded peoples of Whittier, California.

*update: I finished, and loved it. Epic and historical like South American realism, but the history is mainly ensconced in 1970s New York, and so is aided by American cool and emotional precision of being written from a young woman's point of few. I would read it right away if I were you.

April 9, 2014

"My Best Thing"

One of my first gigs was running a blog for the lifestyle brand Blood is the New Black. It was small pay but I had total freedom, and a relished in exercising it.. This random post about the Smithsonian Museum’s streaming radio has become one of my favorite pieces of my own writing; a picture of a moment I discovered something—about myself, and writing in general.

BITNB was sold to a new owner last year, and the blog has been long dead, supplanted by a Tumblr of people wearing the company’s signature subversive t-shirts, but I’m glad I had this little screenshot lying around:

March 25, 2014

Banana Lake

50s vintage cardigan // vintage skirt // uo crop top from the tangly-ass sale rack // topshop shoes

I was supposed to be writing my book but Sterling and Sebastian had already went to the super-duper market in Little Tokyo and came back laden with meats and spices and Ari was fanning the two crappy little hibachis on the tiny patch of concrete in front of our house that masquerades as a patio. That someone went through the trouble of making a pattern of lines to emulate cobblestones makes it sadder. Or it was the folding chair we brought out from the office. Or it's that there was no lighter fluid but no one wanted to leave and go get some.  I went for a run, hoping the ribs would be done by the time I got back, but the coals weren't even glowing. We didn't even get to eat until almost 11, but they were the best godamn ribs any of us ever had. Nothing like this fucking banana.

March 15, 2014

I do and I don't

vintage sweater and jacket // aa skirt // topshop shoes // h+m bag // coastal.com glasses

I'm actually laughing in the final photo, though my hand gesture should be a sign that I am not enjoying it and I want it to stop immediately. Sometimes I laugh so hard I cry, and it's the best feeling in the world but it also pisses me off because it makes me so vulnerable. I mean literally vulnerable. You could blow on me and I would fall over. That's the Catch-22 of style-blogging, no? I love candid photos of myself the best, but the very act of taking outfit photos kind of precludes that... unless your sweetheart makes a really, really offensive joke that doesn't warrant repeating in any company.


Taking photos is always fun, but it's proving increasingly difficult to conjure up 'copy' and 'content' and other filler for this blog. Especially as I'm nearly done with my book (!!!) in which I do nothing but talk about clothes and pictures and taking pictures of clothes. History may be dialectical, but fashion history loops back in on itself forever. Not to fall into "good old days" talk—especially since the inception of this blog certainly post-dates that time period—lately I've just been more inspired by thinking and writing about blogging than blogging itself. The infusion of capital into this little world over the last five years or so has dulled everyone's edge. The constant expectation of positivity has made discourse into nothing more than the mutual exchange of platitudes. The only reason I got into this game was to meet women (serious).

I've snapped up some of my best finds in the past few months, and my style feels more comfortable than ever, I'm just still struggle with the art and artifice of being myself online.

Anyway. Thanks for sticking around. Smooches.