10 4 / 2012
I didn’t make this or take the photo. John Egan did and it is a perfect tribute to Robb. Being open to experiences and adventures sums up what I want to remember about his life. (Taken with instagram)
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19 3 / 2012
Sometimes behaving as though you’re confident, capable, and know what the hell you’re doing is the best way to get yourself to a point where you actually know what the hell you’re doing. It’s not that you don’t know what you don’t know, stumbling over your own misdirected confidence and persevering by a combination of personality and dumb luck…on the contrary, you know exactly what you don’t know and you’re choosing to blatantly ignore it, at least in public or in front of people who matter, hoping to buy yourself enough time and contact and resources to get it, or at least sort of get it, by the time it counts.
(Print: http://www.etsy.com/listing/41546457/fake-it-till-you-make-it-digital-print)
08 3 / 2012
Girlie
Did you hear? Cupcakes aren’t feminist.
Happy International Women’s Day! This holiday - or day of awareness, if you will - started more than a century ago, as a day dedicated to women’s rights, and issues affecting women around the world. It’s celebrated with protests, demonstrations, art, you name it - all different ways, all over the world.
A girlfriend sent this article to a group - the Washington Post Style Blog’s how-to list for celebrating International Women’s Day: http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/arts-post/post/international-womens-day-10-ways-to-celebrate/2012/03/08/gIQACZ16yR_blog.html?tid=pm_lifestyle_pop The list includes this suggestion:
8. Eat a cupcake.
Free cupcakes for women at select bars and restaurants in the U.S. and England may seem great, but not all women are too happy about this one. Claire Melamed wrote about cupcake feminism for International Women’s Day: “Cupcakes are just so twee-ly, coyly, ‘ooh no I really shouldn’t’-ly, pink and fluffily, everything that I think feminism is not. It’s feminism-lite, feminism as consumption and ‘me time’ (grr), rather than feminism as power and politics and equal pay.”
Cupcakes aren’t feminist, apparently, notwithstanding the fact that novelty cupcake shops are now a billion-dollar nationwide industry - shops which are conceived by, run by, and made successful almost entirely by women entrepreneurs. I suppose, according to that argument, girdles aren’t feminist either, despite Spanx creator Sarah Blakely’s listing as the youngest female to ever make Forbes’ Billionaires’ list.
There’s this notion, somewhere out there, that feminism can’t be feminine. That girlie isn’t strong, pink isn’t powerful. That a night given over to a bubble bath, a glass of sauvingon blanc and a Danielle Steele novel subtracts one point from the equality tally for Women Everywhere.
What’s missing, or has been missing, from the manuals on “traditional” feminism, is the idea that “equal” doesn’t necessarily mean “the same.” For women to achieve social and political and economic equality with men, we don’t actually have to become men. We can run a company, and love to have fresh flowers on our desks. We can wield a gun and fight a war, and still give a friend a hug when she’s down. We can argue for justice and still cry when something breaks our hearts. We can support a family on cupcakes, or build a billion-dollar business on underwear.
Girlie, of course, isn’t the hallmark of femininity - the fact is that we, as women, don’t all fit into the same mold, be it Stepford Wife or Gloria Steinem. We can rock a pantsuit or a pinafore, sensible shoes or peep-toes, burn our bras or pose topless in Playboy, have a child or don’t, cook like Martha or burn our toast, make less than or as much or more than a man for the same work - but our choices, whatever they are, don’t make us any less women. And when we believe that we are capable of, and should be, and will be as heard, respected, and successful as we are humanly capable of, irrespective of our gender - then the way we choose to express that, be it through red lipstick or a protest banner, doesn’t make us any less feminist.
Pass the cupcakes.
27 2 / 2012
Last night my friends and I got together for champagne, cheese and judgment, and as it turns out, I apparently disagree with every Oscars fashion commentator with a word processor today. I thought Angie needed a sandwich, Natalie needed a shower, Gwynnie needed a hairstyle that didn’t resemble a Q-tip, Cammie needed to wear something I couldn’t see her foundation garments through, and Emma was FABULOUS. “It’s fuschia, and it has a bow.” How can you not love that?
14 2 / 2012
VD
So really…are we done being bummed out about Valentine’s Day?
This morning I dropped a bag of chocolate hearts off at my assistant’s desk, and while she thanked me, she made sure to roll her eyes with a conspiratorial kvetch about this “Hallmark Holiday.” My mom anxiously called last night to ask if I had “any big plans” for the evening. A girlfriend has, for weeks, been planning her own personal Valentine’s Day celebration, involving the aquisition of an insanely expensive pair of shoes.
What is it about a day that was a formerly Catholic “holy day of obligation” celebrating the martyrdom of an individual about whom next to nothing is known…which ironically shares it’s initials with Venereal Disease…and which has come to be symbolized by pink and red, hearts, flowers, and chocolate…that has seemed to turn women into some version of sorry sad sap or ungrateful shrew? When did we decide that a holiday dedicated, in theory, to love (which is a good thing), symbolized by sponaneous displays of affection (also good), statements of adoration (good), sugar (good), and sex (great!) was prime grounds for expectations and ultimatums on one hand, or mopey self-pity on the other?
Funnily enough, no one I know went to Jared. No one’s heading out tonight for overpriced prix fixe menus, or Facebooking fancy flower arrangements, or shimmying themselves into Victoria’s Secret’s finest. The couples I know and respect and admire are ordering a pizza and opening a bottle of wine and watching a movie tonight. And actually, the single girls I know and respect and admire are ordering a pizza and pouring a glass of wine and watching a movie tonight. Newsflash to folks on either end of the divide…you’re not missing anything on the other side.
And what’s there to miss? Love is universal. It’s eternal. It’s the stuff that dreams and Grammy awards and blockbuster rom-coms are made of. It’s inspired epic works of literature and angsty teenage diary entries and the whole Twilight saga. It’s mobilized mythical armies, is the force most religions think brings about transformative salvation, and is (in addition to the evolutionary instinct to propogate the species) how we even exist. It’s all you need. And it doesn’t cost a damn thing.
So today…I’m listening to the eclectic mix of Bryan Adams, The Righteous Brothers, and Lil Wayne that Pandora calls it’s “Valentine’s Day Radio.” I’m snacking on the pink-foil-wrapped raspberry Hershey’s kisses my assistant left on my desk. I’m rocking a sparkly heart pin. I’ll probably order the pizza to the office tonight, because I’m getting on a plane to LA tomorrow… A certain fella and I are in the midst of a week and a half of combined business and family trips, so we exchanged “Happy Valentine’s Day” text messages this morning.
Between the sugar and the sweet sentiment, the sacchrine love songs and the promise of pizza…I can’t really think of what’s not to like about Valentine’s Day…certainly not the love.
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12 2 / 2012
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And my suspicion is that Rihanna has no interest in being a poster child for victims of domestic violence. She probably wishes this would all disappear, and I don’t blame her for a minute. She didn’t ask for this – for any of it – and she’s under no obligation to speak out about it.
But someone has to. Because what is happening here is unmistakable. It is, in my eyes, so unmistakable that I wonder if I’m wrong, if I’m missing something huge, because I cannot believe more voices aren’t railing against this.
We – the grown-up influencers in this country, the people with platforms and with educations and with power — are allowing a clear message to be sent to women: We will easily forgive a person who victimizes you. We are able to look beyond the fact that you were treated as less than human, that a bigger, stronger person decided to resolve a conflict with you through violence. We know it happened, but it’s just not that big of a deal to us.
"
This is a great piece in Hello Giggles. (via standardreview)
every word of this article. every word.
(via laurenashleybishop)(via laurenashleybishop)
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10 2 / 2012
It’s the Bachelor’s Fault You’re Not in Love
Let’s say you meet a great guy. He’s handsome and charming, dresses well, has an interesting job. And he really wants to “get to know you.”
Let’s say said guy is very upfront about the fact that he’s “playing the field” – with, say, about two dozen other special ladies. And being the secure, modern gal you are, you agree to the rules of the game.
Now, let’s say, over the course of five weeks, you get to spend approximately fifteen minutes, two times per week, sitting on a sofa in a secluded corner with the object of your affections while a few dozen pairs of eyes strain to watch you, and attempt to inject enough witty banter, heartfelt emotion, and tongue-wrestling into the interlude to convince the fella that you’re worth keeping around. And then, let’s say, on one occasion over the course of these five weeks, you get to spend an entire day with your man, just the two of you. Alone, together. Well, with cameras. But also maybe in a helicopter on the way to the most gorgeous deserted island mountain cave river you’ve ever seen.
That’s it. Six 15-minute chats, one epic helicopter date. Are you in love yet?
If you’re a contestant on the Bachelor, you damn well better be, because next week you’ll be headed back to your hometown for an epically awkward dinner with your mom and second-cousins, trying to explain to your father for the umpteenth time why you’re looking for love on national TV. At this point, if you’re not in love…or close…you’re toast.
Of course, the Bachelor is a deliciously terrible TV show, and it has an approximately 3% success rate for the relationships it spawns, every reasonable person in the country knows helicopter rides do not equal love.
Except. Except twice a year ABC manages to fill its mansions with dozens of starry-eyed suitors who, if “there for the right reasons,” are ready to hop on the fast track to wedded bliss.
And except…don’t tell me you’ve never done the date five gut check…are we falling in love yet? Because if the Bachelor is to be believed…hell, if any rom com or chick lit novel is to be believed…it just takes a couple of dates, or chance meetings, or conversations on the secluded couch to go from strangers to soulmates and if you don’t get there in that time well…it must not be love.
And in your date five “oh my god do I love you” moment, you may be thinking, as surely the Bachelorettes are thinking, that this rush of goofy giggly newness combined with some actual chemistry sure feels and looks a lot like the love you see in the movies, and that must be it, right?
It can be hard to remember that per The Bachelor, relationships with a helicopter-date foundation and a zero to love in two hours trajectory have an abysmal long-term track record. You’re probably not remembering each brutally awkward tearful reveal when a Bachelorette gets cornered into sharing something intensely personal on what is, for all intents and purposes, a second date. You probably don’t have to get the key to the fantasy suite if you want a little alone time with your dude. And you may not be thinking “wow…if it’s this good now, imagine how awesome it’ll be five or six weeks or three months from now if I let it develop naturally and don’t try to rush this kind of intimacy!”
Seeing how many Bachelors and Bachelorettes have actually turned into husbands and wives…maybe slow deserves a shot.
