Dining: A Modest Proposal

Cost-per-square-foot being what it is, dining establishments need to get the most out of their real estate, and tables are jammed ever closer together. Sometimes the person next to you is actually closer (and easier to hear) than one's dining companion across the table.

Hence my proposal: restaurants need to implement a First Date section. That way all of the anxiousness, the awkward silences, and worst, the incessant bloviating can be confined to one area, minimally impacting the health and serenity of the diners who are actually there to enjoy a meal and some relaxed conversation.

Photo from LA Times.
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Somebody talk me back in off the ledge...

I'm having a moment. It started innocently enough, with an intriguing silk ombré scarf in the window. But twice this week, I've found myself in Eileen Fisher, trying on flowing, body-skimming clothes. Maybe it's my recently expanding dimensions, maybe it's the warm weather, but...I'm liking some of this stuff, and finding it to be flattering and comfortable. There's always been an aspect of my style personality that gravitates toward the hippie-dippy-artsy-fartsy, at times taking over my sartorial consciousness like one of Sybil's more insistent selves, only to vanish as suddenly and leaving that "what was I thinking???" section of my closet as a reminder.

But some of these look really good on, like this tunic tank.

Or these linen jeans (which are light and soft and have lots of movement):

This cardigan is fabulous over the tank, and has an interesting sleeve detail. I've always loved duster-length jackets or tops in soft, flowing fabrics, but hesitated out of fear of the Dreaded Bea Arthur Effect. But look at this silk duster! It's simple, it's elegant, it would look great accessorized with an Hermès scarf!These are clothes for women who have Given Up, right? But is it so wrong to just want to wear something loose and Wealthy-Marin-County-Aging-Hippie-esque sometimes? And I must confess that the Garanimals aspect is appealing for those days when pulling together disparate elements of the closet is just too daunting. Yet some of the pieces could be mixed with more tailored items as well. One would think that the "would I wear it in Paris?" standard would eliminate just about everything I've shown you, but last year I did see many women in Paris (in some of the tonier locations, yet) dressed in this looser, more bohemian style. Have I been abducted by the Yoga Chic Body Snatchers?? Or is this fascination just a manifestation of a midlife crisis, like when my dad went to EST and grew his hair long and started talking about his past lives?
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No. Just...no.

They're ba-a-a-a-ck.

"Givenchy and Burberry sent luxurious versions of the hip-grazing bag down their spring runways, and then there were the hip, bag-wearing masses at April's Coachella music festival. Thankfully, today's packs are different from the bulky butt bags of yore -- sleeker, more stylish, in endless colors and materials."

Une femme dit, "some trends are better left un-exhumed."

Foulard de la semaine

Above, the same plissé scarf from last week, but this time tied "le fleur" style for an evening at the symphony.

Bonus round: a smaller cotton scarf tied the same way.

Bien dans sa peau

It's that mythical state that French women supposedly embody from birth (though the vast number of minceur creams and pills in French pharmacies may be a chink in that armor), and, we're told, the foundation to achieving effortless chic.

Being comfortable in one's own skin is not a state that comes easily to some of us. We struggle with our failure to meet cultural standards or even just our own. We starve, we crunch, we pluck, dye, wax, inject ourselves toward an arbitrary and unattainable ideal. We practice denial: the comfort of going sleeveless on a hot day, ice cream from Berthillon, sex with the lights on, a day at the beach, clothes that actually fit our bodies as they are now.

Not to be morbid, but recent deaths of friends and people we knew only from their work bring home the point that Life Is Short. Life is too short to worry that your thighs are too dimply or your ears are too pointy or your boobs are too small or your upper arms sag. Life is to short to get upset at finding another wrinkle or grey hair. Life is too short to spend apologizing for what we walked away from the table with in the great crapshoot that is genetics.

But "bien dans sa peau" also goes deeper, I think. It's a type of comfort and acceptance of our likes and dislikes, our choices and values, and how we live our lives. It's the knowledge that we're not perfect, and mistakes do not make us worthless. It's a form of grace, of living (and yes, dressing) in alignment with who we are, and not trying to fit ourselves into a mold.

In his usual eloquent way, the Manolo sums it up perfectly: Dress well, live well, treat others well, and do all you can with joyful confidence and others will invariably come to love your flaws as you yourself cannot.

Photo of Simone Signoret from here.

Things are going swimmingly

This was the winner in the swimwear search:

It fits well, looks fabulous on, and stays put.

Runner up:

R.I.P. George

My sophmore year of high school, a friend of my mother's brought the album Class Clown to our house. My sister and I listened to that LP probably a hundred times over the next few weeks, until we had every line memorized (even though we weren't allowed to say a good many of them outside the house).

Not too many years later, I twice had the opportunity to see George Carlin perform live on stage. Both times I laughed until I cried and my sides ached for days afterward. George was a genius at holding up a mirror and making us laugh at ourselves, and especially in his later years, speaking truth to power. On the foundation laid by Lenny Bruce, he built a whimsical, angry, manic, meditative, truthful, fantastical, lighthearted, heavy-handed palace of funny.

But I was surprised to find recently that he also did narration and character voices on my son's "Thomas the Tank Engine" videos. He managed to bring that little strain of sardonic to even a children's story.

Summer Solstice Serendipities

It's pretty obvious to une femme that retailers are a bit nervous, as evidenced by the ubiquitous sales, and not just on dated merchandise. Banana Republic, for one, has lots of great summer items on sale now. Including...scarves! Scarves at Banana Republic? Who knew? I wouldn't have known either, but was standing in line to pay for a t-shirt, when out of the corner of my eye, I spied some flashes of color down near the floor underneath a shoe display. Half hidden there was the motherlode of cute cotton/silk blend summer scarves, all on sale. I picked up these beauties which will soon have their debut as Foulard de la semaine.

The designs in this one are very Art Deco, and the colors are fabulous! Very summery.

Dig the contrasting rolled hem on this one...nice!!! It's 35"x35" size, so can wear lots of ways.

That was cool, unexpected thing #1 yesterday.

Cool, unexpected thing #2: I went for another facial at Bluemercury. Fabulous, as always, and so relaxing! But that's not the cool thing. As I was paying, and picking up some Nars oil blotting sheets, I kept noticing another customer in the store, or more specifically kept noticing her voice. Something about it was vaguely familiar. After I'd paid for my stuff and left the store, it hit me like a lighting bolt. I turned around and walked back into the store, and up to the woman who was now having eye shadow applied by one of the sales staff. "Excuse me, but is your name D----?" I asked. Her eyes got wide. "Y-es." "D---- [Lastname]?" "Yes!" Turns out she was someone I worked with at a radio station almost thirty years ago. Much squealing, hugging, and exchanging of business cards ensued. So now we're going to do lunch and catch up.

Cool, unexpected thing #3, we were able to get a spur-of-the-moment 8pm reservation at Ford's Filling Station last night (patio table!) where we enjoyed a nice bottle of wine and a few appetizers, including charcuterie and cheese platters, and some of the best mussels I've had in quite a while.

Running into an old friend is just about at the top of my serendipity hierarchy. In a day with many high points, that was the best.

Free Association

The new Louis Vuitton Speedy, introduced yesterday by Bag Snob.

T-bird pic from here.

Make Mine A Double...

Espresso, that is.

The researchers found that women who drank two or three cups of caffeinated coffee daily had a 25 percent lower risk of death from heart disease during the follow-up (from 1980 to 2004) than non-drinkers. Women also had an 18 percent lower death risk from a cause other than cancer or heart disease compared with non-coffee drinkers.

Chocolate, red wine, and now this. Life is good.

Foulard de la semaine

Another warm weather scarf option. Silk plissé (pleated) scarf, worn as a necklace.

(Thanks again to Audi in comments whose suggestion for correcting the color problem with my digital camera did the trick!)

Meme: Haiku-matic!

Miss Janey has tagged une femme for the Mrpeenee's Auto Haiku Tag Meme. As if I need much provocation to churn out bad haiku! Here's the explanation:

In five syllables, no more, no less, describe the worst movie you can think of. Bonus points if you have to show off your Google skills because you can’t remember the name of it and all you can come up with is that it features Roz Russell and Sandra Dee. Turns out it was some tripe called Rosie! Exclamation point the producers’ idea, not mine.“Auntie Mame leavings.”

In seven syllables, no more, no less, describe your worst date. Bonus points if it was sordid. Subtract points if it sounds too much like an overweight fifteen year old Goth girl.“He pushed my head down. I puked.”

In five syllables, no more, no less, describe the worst job you ever had. Extra bonus points if it consists of Grim. Taxi dancer. Miss Janey, I’m talking to you. I had a miserable spell where I sat all alone in an empty office, handing out the keys to various hell holes for rent around New Orleans. One Lady came back and complained there was no window in the kitchen, I pretended to sympathize and said something like “Yes it would be nasty to have no light and air in there.” She replied “No, hone, you don unnerstan. Dere’s a hole for de winna but ain’t no winna in it.”“Slum lord in training.”Put it all together and you have a haiku of life’s low points.

Here goes:

breaking the tripod

unwelcome ticket pro quo

return dirty pants

Heh, bet that has you guessing.

Worst Movie Ever was the only movie I can remember walking out on--mostly because of nausea/headache from the rolling, bumping non-stop handheld camera shots but also because the story really sucked--"Breaking the Waves." (breaking the tripod)

The Worst Date Ever was back in college, although we never actually made it to the "date" part of the evening. He had tickets to a jazz concert. I wasn't interested in a romantic/sexual relationship, and was too dense to realize that he was. After I'd accepted what I thought was a friendly invitation from a fellow jazz lover, I overheard him telling his buddies that he expected to "score" that night. Being the unassertive little simp I was in those days, I couldn't bring myself to express my apprehension until we were standing in line for the concert and I was getting more nauseated by the minute at the prospect of fending him off all night. I left before the concert started. (unwelcome ticket pro quo)

Worst Job Ever was also from my college days (interesting to think that my life has only progressed uphill since then), working in the Boys department at Sears. People used to try to return clothing that not only had obviously been worn, but had obviously been worn for months without being washed. (return dirty pants)

I'm tagging Shefaly at La Vie Quotidienne, materfamilias (once she's done regaling us with tales of Paris and Portugal), and La Belette Rouge, whom I suspect of harboring some mad haiku skillz.

Model Citizens

A couple of items from the fashion modeling world in the news this week.


First, from New York Post, something disturbing but hardly surprising, as the fashion industry continues to pay lip service to "healthy" models while requiring a skeletal appearance:

The Council of Fashion Designers of America held an event dubbed "The Beauty of Health: How the Fashion Industry Can Make a Difference" at Milk Studios the other night as part of its awareness program....

People in the industry have been no help, Rocha told WWD's Marc Karimzadeh - "They said, 'You need to lose more weight - the look this year is anorexia, and although we don't want you to be anorexic, we want you to look it.'

"My question is, how do you look anorexic unless you actually are?" - a riddle to which no one had an answer.

I don't know why designers seem so intent on showing their clothes on women who are required to be more emaciated with each passing year. If I were someone who regularly purchased designer clothes, I'd start a boycott of the worst offenders.


Another (slightly) more encouraging item spotted in the LA Times:

"The market for older models has exploded," says Ginni Conquest, co-director of the sophisticated women's division at Wilhelmina Models in New York. (Models who are 25 and older are often referred to as "classic" or "sophisticated.") "It's our fastest-growing area, and it's a first for the industry."...

After all, what middle-aged woman wants to buy moisturizer from a model who's too young to order a martini? Or a cashmere cardigan from a coed? In September, J.Crew will introduce an online section within its Web catalog that features 58-year-old Los Angeles model Pia Gronning...

I'm not dancing in the streets quite yet. On one hand, it's nice to think that companies are targeting our demographic, and understanding that we don't want to be invisible. On the other, it's not like these "older" models will look like many 50-something women we know.

Sad News

My friend and fellow blogger, Maya's Granny, passed away yesterday. My deepest condolences go out to her family and friends. She was a force of nature, a voice of sanity, a teacher, a friend to many she'd never met, and will be sorely missed.

Une femme's blast from the past

There's been a lot of 80's music nostalgia making it's way through the blogosphere this week. This is one of une femme's absolute faves. If you've never seen Laurie Anderson's "Home of the Brave," it's worth at least a Netflix rental. Some people find her weird and/or pretentious; personally I think she's a genius, and a poet as well as a musician/perfomance artist.

Les Mystères de la Mode

Une femme readily admits she isn't the most fashion-forward hankie in the drawer, but some recent vagaries of La Mode have her flummoxed.

One is the resurgence of jumpsuits. Not only are they generally unflattering, but having to remove an entire layer of clothing (or two if jackets are involved) from top to bottom every time you have to pee is a royal pain.

The antithesis of glamour: even Gwyneth looks like the seating hostess at The Velvet Turtle, circa 1975.

Another is sandals with spats attached.I have no comment except, "why?" (photo from Go Fug Yourself)


But the one of the biggest mysteries to me is the runaway success of Tory Burch clothing. And according to the LA Times,

In just four years, she has become the most influential fashion designer in America. Unlike big names such as Lanvin and Balenciaga, who may score a lot of red carpet hits but are sustained mostly by accessory and fragrance sales, Burch designs clothes that real people really wear.Her brand, with prices mostly in the $195 to $495 range, is accessible to a good range of ages and sizes (up to a size 14). For high-end shoppers, it's a source for casual clothes; for budget shoppers, it's aspirational. And for Burch, it's raking in more than $200 million in annual sales.

The allure just totally escapes me. I see something like this,

and my brain goes here:Bad Sitcom jokes aside, who is buying/wearing this stuff? The signature prints and many of the styles are intended to evoke breezy socialites on holiday, but might also bring flashbacks of wealthy, WASP-y, suburban, 70's pre-feminist hausfraus, with their shag haircuts and shag carpeting and avocado green appliances and hanging asparagus ferns and messy divorces. (An image the decor in the boutiques does little to dispel.)

But I'm starting to think that's part of the appeal. Not so much the messy divorce part, but the breezy socialite "I don't have to work" part. These clothes are not designed for the boardroom, the classroom or the mailroom. These are clothes for Ladies Who Lunch At The Club and then drop the kids off for their tennis lessons. They evoke that most coveted of luxuries, leisure. (As do many designer brands, but they aren't claiming Everywoman as their customer base.)

And my apologies if you're a fan of Tory Burch clothing, but I think the vast majority of it is butt-ugly to boot.Photos from interior of Tory Burch boutique from NY Times, here.

Foulard de la semaine

Oui, Virginia, you really can wear scarves when the weather gets warmer.

This is a "Liberty of London" very sheer silk scarf, probably at least 50 years old, one of the few I inherited from my grand-mère that's actually a color I can wear. (She was very fond of blue-reds, which make me look jaundiced.)

See? Very sheer.

Edited to add: if anyone can give me some tips on indoor digital photography to eliminate the pernicious yellow tint, I'd be much obliged. I've done some color correcting on the computer, but it only goes so far.

Getting Paid To Shop

Sounds like a fantasy, doesn't it? If you shop online frequently, you should know about Ebates. You sign up, and when you connect to your favorite e-tailers through their site, you can get special discounts and cash back for up to 10% of your purchases. I signed up for this last year, and when I remember to go through their site to shop online, I get a quarterly check based on my purchases. Neiman's, Saks, Banana Republic, Target, Nordstrom, Bluefly, Eluxury, Overstock.com and many, many more are part of their cash rebate program.

Dial M for...

A few weeks ago, my doc confirmed my growing suspicion from the last several menarche-free months: I have crossed the hormonal Rubicon. The good news is that this milestone was reached without much gnashing of teeth or hot flashes. However, in what seems to be an attempt to assert who's really still running the show here, my body has suddenly decided to take on a few pounds of extra ballast, rendering about half of my closet's contents just a bit too tight, and turning up the flame a bit under my low-simmering weight preoccupation.

There's no going back to those days of diets and counting points and agonizing over every five ounces up or down. I know better than to get caught up in that downward spiral of body-hatred and yo-yo-ing weight. Been there, done that, had the t-shirt in three sizes. I don't know whether this gain is a temporary aberration, or whether my metabolism has permanently ratcheted down another notch, in which case I need to cull the now too-small items from my wardrobe.

I'm far more sanguine about the deepening lines on my face and the softening jawline than I am about my thickening waistline. It's not like I still held out hope that someday I'd be reed-slender and able to wear all those styles that make me sigh, but my weight and shape had been stable the past few years and I'd worked so hard to make peace with my body. And now, it's changing again. This "aging gracefully" thing isn't so easy, is it?

Don't Panic...

...if chez femme suddenly looks quite different. I've been redecorating again.

Don't Miss This Opportunity...

The Fendi Hairball bag is on sale! Only $5K now!!!

But I know who would LOVE it...

La Poudre, Encore

Come with me my pretties on a little trip down the yellow brick road, in search of magic powder. No, not that kind.

When I first tackled this subject, I'd been trying to get away from liquid foundations, was disenchanted with Bare Essentials, and wanted to minimize my morning maquillage routine. At that point, I thought I'd found true love with T. LeClerc powder, as it worked wonders on my shiny nose and made my pores disappear. But after a while I started to notice that the rest of my face looked, well...powdered, which conjured an image of my own dear grand-mère. Not really the look I was going for.

It was just about that time that Linda Grant posted about her first meeting with Mary Greenwell, and her recommendation for Chanel Teint Innocence cream-to-powder formula. Having had good experiences with Chanel foundations in the past, I gave that a try, and thought I'd found my makeup match. My skin looked smoother and more even, and not powdery. I could use this under my eyes in place of concealer and it didn't settle into the fine lines. It was a match made if not in heaven, then in the makeup department at Saks, which is pretty close. Except that my nose, like a lighthouse beacon gleaming through the most pea-soupish of fogs, always re-emerged triumphant after an hour or so. Touching up with more of the foundation just made it look cakey after a while, so my fickle heart wandered again.

Then, La Belette Rouge mentioned the miracle-in-a-compact she'd found, Jane Iredale. Hoping to strike foundation gold, I dashed out to the nearest beauty supply store carrying Jane Iredale products, and grabbed up a compact and brush. I like the texture of this, it does go on quite invisibly, but I started noticing that I was scratching my forehead periodically, and not in befuddlement over Excel formulas. While I won't say I'm allergic, it made me itch just a little bit. I might have been able to live with that, except that I did notice that over a couple of weeks, my skin was looking drier. Even the D2O spray didn't help.

So back to Chanel I slunk, like a prodigal spouse. But I've bolstered our marriage with some additional help: a compact of Chanel translucent powder, which seems to work well as a touchup to keep my nose from blinding passers by. For now anyway, I'm committed to making this relationship work.

Mères et filles

My mother would probably hate this gold brocade jacket. Is that why I was drawn to it?

La Belette Rouge yesterday contemplated the differences between her mother's style and her own as she pondered whether to buy a J. Crew gold linen jacket. Like La Belette, I sometimes wonder, "Are we destined to become our mothers?" Or conversely, are we doomed to perpetually choose our style in opposition to theirs?

My own mother, at least until her post-divorce-gypsy-skirt-and-humongous-squashblossom-necklace phase, eschewed anything flashy, loud, embellished, mismatched or ethnic. "Tasteful" was her watchword, and was personified by Jackie Kennedy throughout the 60's, my growing up years. As a child, I always had a fond eye for the glittery, the beaded, the exotic. "Oh, that's tacky," she'd sniff, and instead buy me the pink tweed dress with a matching jacket, designed to look like a miniature Chanel suit. Once I hit adolescence, we shopped for my clothes in the same stores she frequented and I mostly looked like a fifteen-year-old middle-aged hausfrau in pastels, plaids and navy.

In reaction, I spent my late teens and twenties combing thrift stores for every leopard-printed, gold-laméed, beaded and bedazzled thing I could find. I still dressed like an old lady, but intentionally, ironically. Beginning in my late 30's, my tastes began to transition again, and found myself gravitating back to simple, classic styles, and it was about then that my enduring romance with black began. But as Dorothy Parker said, "A little bad taste is like a nice dash of paprika," so at times I indulge my inner Dame Edna and mix in a little brocade or beading. Keywords being "a little." The jacket pictured above is best worn with jeans and a white tee, and minimal jewelry. People always ask if it's vintage.

The funny thing is, the same kind of fabrics and styles that my mom would have considered off limits in earlier days, she now enjoys. She loved a shirt with metallic threads and an Asian print that I wore last time we visited, and liked my goofy plastic bead necklace so much I gave it to her. While I've come back around to some of her style maxims (keep it simple, monochromatic, classic), she's also come around to some of mine.

The Best Thing About "S*x"

Regardless of what you think of "Sex And The City, The Movie" maybe now it will be easier to get movies green-lighted that are about women, for women, and starring women over 30.

The big-screen "Sex and the City" -- reuniting Parker and TV co-stars Kim Cattrall, Kristin Davis and Cynthia Nixon -- strutted to a $55.7 million opening weekend, far exceeding Hollywood's box office expectations.

That was nearly twice the forecast by distributor Warner Bros., whose head of distribution, Dan Fellman, said he had hoped the movie might deliver a $30 million debut.

"Women power," Fellman said. "It was outstanding this weekend."

Analysts had figured Paramount's "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" might stay atop the box office heap, but it slipped to second place with $46 million in its second weekend. "Indiana Jones" raised its 11-day domestic total to $216.9 million.

"Sex and the City" put up numbers never before seen for a movie aimed mainly at women, who do not tend to rush out in huge numbers for opening weekends the way males do.

Money still does the talking in Hollywood. Ours is just as green.

Meme: Brand Soup

Shefaly tagged me last week for her meme, "The branded life." She did a very sequential, chronological accounting. Mine is more of a brand collage, grouped very loosely by product type, and (mostly) accounting for a typical work day. Now, if I can just figure out how to load into Blogger the images I spend two hours copy/pasting into a Word document, I'll be happy to share it with you. Any suggestions are welcome.

Edited to add: got it, finally.

Chat noir avec ennui

Henri suffre d'une "crise existentiel."

You will laugh until you faites du pee pee dans votre pantalons.

(thanks, sis!)