affordable athleisure

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Processed with VSCOcam with a6 preset

Full disclosure: this mural is in front of a prison, but the colors were calling my name. I just felt like I was being dishonest being all cheery and such with my donut bag, so I needed to tell someone.

This weekend I celebrated the first long sleeved shirt of the season. And to celebrate the goosebumps acquired on my bagel run, I'm taking this blog for  back-to-the-basics fashion post. Forgive me if I'm rusty.

I'm all about the athleisure trend,  but I'm not about to spend an arm on a leg on pieces I know I won't wear past these fleeting trendy times. The last time I bought tennis shoes was two years ago, as documented in this post. The last time I bought running clothes, I wore them once for yoga. And the last time I wore a hoodie was high school. Thisuniform-inspired sweatshirt from Old Navyis my kind of affordable way to salute the Chanel sneaker and Givenchy leggings.

This weekend was spent searching for good food in the neighborhood, which we found in the form of Dough donuts and Rosé sangria at a street fair. Gosh I love this place. Remember when I said the first year in New York is hard/the worst? Well July 3 was my one year with this place and since then everything has been looking up. I won't go into too many details just yet. But stay tuned!

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Processed with VSCOcam with a6 preset
Processed with VSCOcam with a6 preset
Processed with VSCOcam with a6 preset
Processed with VSCOcam with a6 preset
Processed with VSCOcam with a6 preset
Processed with VSCOcam with a6 preset
Processed with VSCOcam with a6 preset

[sweater: old navy, jeans: uo, shoes: sam edelman, necklace: h&m]

on being an exhibitionist and leaving your window open

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Processed with VSCOcam with a6 preset

Warning: This post is really sad. Animal-lovers beware. I’m not really sure where this is going, but this is one of those stories I couldn’t get out of my head until it was written down. I promise not to be as morbid next time. Actually I don't promise, morbid stories are probably my favorite kind to read. 


I moved to Brooklyn two weeks ago and it is wonderful. I am so glad I spent my first year in Manhattan, right in the middle of all the action. But I’ve always seen myself as a Brooklyn-gal. I remember venturing over the bridge for the first time on my second or third visit to the city and suddenly seeing myself here. The people seemed relatable, the apartments a bit more spacious, and everything just a tad less stressful. But I will certainly miss the tiniest room I ever hope to inhabit, and the the quirky neighbors that truly appreciated my kitty, and the window that looked out over a garden patio, orange tree and all.

I kept my window open year-round. I loved to listen. Ambulances wailing, kids playing, dogs barking, arguments ranting, music playing. It reminded me where I am, that I’m not alone, that me and my window were part of a community of others, even if I didn’t know who they were.

My window was decorated with succulents in the fall, books and a spruce-scented candle in the winter, and an air conditioning unit in the summer. Each object a necessity for the season. Sunlight spilled through the panes, unhindered by curtains. I never valued natural light until now. When buildings are pressed together, neither light nor air is a given, and I did not want to suffocate my allowance with curtains or blinds. Also, I tried curtains but the rod kept falling down.

We're all exhibitionists here in the is city. It certainly does take all types, but a lot of the types here are the theater majors and changers, the dancers and artists, the stylists and the journalists, and all those other 'ists showboating their names about town.The fashions can be likened to peacocks, displaying their personalities on their literal sleeves. Private conversations are paraded through crowded streets. And windows are kept open unabashedly allowing others to be a part of your space. With only a screen between you and the outside, you hear and see everything. The good, the bad, and the really bad. But all of us are probably just leaving our windows open to give others a peak.

My little window reminded me of bigger things outside, kept me cool, and added essential accouterments to my otherwise lacking aesthetic. But this window also let me hear the good and extremely bad things that happen in big cities. 

The good.

I saw the snow fall and build up on the sill and stay long enough for a photo, just like in the movies. During the spring and summer I could hear Spanish music playing in the community garden two buildings over. I’m sure neighbors were equally as entertained by my open window as I was them. With no curtain they heard my get ready tunes in the morning, giggly roommate conversations, and probably saw more of me than they wanted.... exhibitionist.

The bad. 

I still have not found a metaphor to explain this tragic story of my open window one winter night. But it still haunts me to this day. I don’t think this story has much of a place on a fashion blog, but we all know this little piece of internet has started to head in a different more personal direction anyways.

An open window is a gamble. An unexpected rainstorm may ruin your down pillows. A loud argument between a quarreling couple may interrupt a deep sleep. And it involves you in outside happenings you may not intend to be a part of. And vice versa

I’m used to unexplainable noises waking me up at night. Police sirens don’t startle me anymore. I don’t jump at loud creaks or unexpected “booms.” It comes with the big-city territory. But one night I woke up to a dog screeching and growling from what seemed to be just below my window. I jolted awake, but it stopped as abruptly as it started. It was way too cold to go outside and check it out anyways.

As I was just settling back down, a long, loud wail followed.

“Rick! Oh no, Rick!”

I’ve never in my life heard a wail like that night. It was almost inhuman. Who was Rick and what happened to him? I thought someone may have jumped.

The screaming continued. But the neighborhood was quiet. It took three minutes of the wailing until someone asked through their window if the man screaming was ok, if Rick was ok. I imagine that sort of scream is reserved for two or three times in a person’s life. We hear it on TV and in movies, but in person, that scream, it penetrates your bones and wraps it’s way around your lungs, tighter and tighter. I don’t think I could have physically said any comforting words even if I wanted to.

“Is everything OK?” a man asked from above.

“Shut upppp.” an older man farther away shouted.

“What’s wrong?” another chimed in from the window of a building next door.

“My dog fell. My dog Rick fell out the window.”

Rick didn’t make it.

A police officer came. Rick’s owner calmed down. Silence.

I never got the courage to go outside to see or talk to the man, but I can image this was one of the worst days of that man’s life. And I was there, just listening.


Here’s a photo of me in a dress for the sake of this being a personal fashion blog and because I'm an exhibitionist.

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I'm here. I think.


It certainly has been a while. I guess I'll just chalk this up to one of the more personal posts, as I usually focus on personal style and the like. I am in New York City with no ticket home. (Except for my best friends wedding, but I'm coming back right after so that doesn't count. I think.) It's exhilarating and scary and everything I've ever wanted in my short existence as a fashion-forward, liberal-minded, 20-something. Gag. I'm terrified. But the kind of terrified that usually ends up being the best decision you ever made kind of terrified. I've only been this scared one other time and it ended up landing me a couple of awards and a spot on CNN. So it's good. I think.

I am in Brooklyn job-searching and apartment hunting with a few of like-minded thrill-seekers. Gag. (I'm giving myself way too much credit. I never seek thrill. I just think you have to do the whole jobless, air-condition-less thing before you "make it" in this soul-devouring city.)

I'm bad at this whole personal post deal. So far I've just used a bunch of cringe-worthy millennial speak I usually make fun of, so I'll be real. I drink a lot of iced lattes with the money saved up from school and write a lot in my Macbook Pro...edit tests, journaling and the like. I'm lucky. Thanks mom and dad for your support. But it is scary not knowing what my next move will be, but I guess that's good. I think.

So here's to going on three weeks in the city. Heres to the Jamaican food I ate on Saturday that will go down as the best meal I've had in the last six months. Here's to the fun, supportive crowd I get to spend my time without AC with. Here's to the Birkenstocks I bought to help feel a part of the bigger picture in the NYC blogger scene. And here's to the unknown.

I can't leave this post without a pinch of fashion-related material, so below is an accurate portrayal of what I've worn while wandering around the city. Sorry, I haven't found a personal photographer yet. Plus I had to leave my camera at home, as my one suitcase had already exceeded the allotted 50 lbs.