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Every Day Forever
I ain't no freakin' monument to justice.
Author Archives: Helen
Clouds Out the Window
Somewhere on the flight path from Paris to New York. Sometimes real life is so beautiful that I don’t know how to handle living in it. (That’s probably why I work on the internet?)
The Husbands
The Kardashian spouses were at Jill Stuart sans wives. And heavens, did they ever cause a photographer frenzy. Nice work, gents.
What I Learned at the Tents
In a solid 90 minutes this morning at the Lincoln Center tents (thanks for the invite, Jill Stuart!), here’s what I have identified as the prevailing takeaways of the season. (Click on any of the pictures to embiggen.)
1. Neon yellow is it for dudes. Extra bonus points if your neon takes the form of a Cambridge satchel. (Hello there, Mister Brad Goreski!)
I did not fuck with the color balance in that shoe photo, hand to god
Next Year Already
I have fallen desperately in love with this watercolor wall calendar from Linda & Harriett. Can I justify spending $48 on disposable wall art? It comes to four bucks a month. I can’t tell if I should be talking myself into it or out of it. This is all too much for me.
I can’t take credit for this. It comes by way of Mia the magnificent.
Enter Fashion Week
Fashion week is here, which means that I get to feel way more special than I really have any reason to, thanks to having wound up on a couple of press lists that (given that I’m a food editor) I have absolutely no business being on. So Saturday I get to head to the tents (omg die) and here and there for the next week I get to go to parties where I am definitively the shortest, fattest person in the room. Definitely the person with the cheapest handbag. Almost certainly the person in the least-cool jacket, especially when this gal is around rocking her Marjan Pejoski spiderweb.
To clarify: this was taken at breakfast. At, like, 9:30 a.m. This lady is a winner. (And who is Marjan Pejoski? GASP. He is only the dude who designed Bjork’s swan dress! How could you not know that? I’m so embarrassed for you.)
At One With Nature
My plans for spending today lazily reading, drawing, and idly sipping fine brown liquor while watching Hurricane Irene get its anticlimax on all over NYC were derailed at around 3:30 this morning when I woke up with sort of a roiling feeling in my stomach that quickly resolved into just a tremendous amount of puking that flared up at hourly intervals until about 1 p.m. A two-hour nap, half a liter of ginger ale, two Carr’s water crackers, and any number of ice chips later, I’m finally feeling less like death, but I also feel eminently cheated out of my Act Of God weekend.
One mild upside might have been the moment at around 4:15 when Irene was hurling with tremendous force outside the bathroom window while I, in concert, was hurling with tremendous force inside it. It was beautiful.
Rain Dance
In honor of the impending hurricane that’s about to wipe out life as we know it in NYC (for myself, I’m hunkered down with Jim and assorted family members at my uncle’s apartment on the Upper West Side, where we’re in possession of tremendous amounts of junk food, cheese, Carr’s water crackers, single-malt Scotch, and pitchers full of tap water), I’m delighted to share this series of four photos I took during a slightly different New York act of god: the late July heatwave that hit at about 107 degrees. This kid is one of my personal heroes.
I Am Basically A Detective?
It’s really important that you know that I now own a cape. This cape, to be precise. And I intend to wear the hell out of it.
Every Day Forever 