rings and things

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I realized I never put up a "part two" for our trip to France. So here we go. For Part One.

After four days in Cannes, we took the train to Paris. It was by far the most beautiful travel experience through tiny villages, hills and valleys, rainy and romantically gloomy. We ate too much, drank too much, walked just enough, and explored until my brain was full.

One of my favorite moments was taking C through Sacre Coeur. Even though everything was in French and the place was packed, it still held the reverence and quiet I crave and reach for in the busy city. I showed him all the saints' statues and explained their stories the best I could. It's special for me to be able to share the important things I love with my best guy.

Our second day in Paris we went to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Even though I was mostly focused on the kids playing way too close to the rails, it was amazing to see Paris from way up high and imagine what the place looked like long ago. C rushed us back to our hotel to get ready for our 5:30 dinner reservation. He told me the restaurant had a dress code and I had to dress up— which I rolled my eyes to, and tried to convince him rules are silly and we should just stick it those fancy French rules and I should wear my Adidas tennis. I suppose I'm glad he picked out my outfit.

We arrived at a park, you know because even though we were running late we should stroll through on our way to dinner. It was beautiful and by far the prettiest place I had ever been. I kept repeating it looked like Narnia. We stopped at a bridge and he told me I was pretty or something. Again I rolled my eyes. I still don't quite know how to take a compliment. The rest I don't remember much of, just his goofy grin. But it ended with him on one knee and a ring so pretty, I still don't think it's mine.

So I suppose he's my forever man and we'll grow to be old and squishy and and completely wrinkled from laughing so much together. He'll make me go on adventures I never dreamed I could go on. He will leave me alone when I need to be, and bring back ice cream when he's back. He's the only person I'm ok with being smarter than me and I guess that's just who you're supposed to marry.

We THEN went to dinner at l'Arpege and had a 13-course dinner and wine pairing. The whole restaurant  clapped when we sat down and the chef came out to congratulate us at the end of the meal. I really can't think of a better way to come down off of a dreamy proposal than to eat the most beautiful meal you've ever seen and drink the most delicious bottle of wine you'll probably never have again. He did good.

Our last couple of days we skipped around the Lourve, literally skipped, toured the Catacombs, ate some more, and walked until we had soaked up every last bit of the city.

Now we're home and I supposed we will celebrate it all next fall.

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oh. and here's a fun video my sweet cousin made for us.

https://youtu.be/A06Kf5GHg-M

photos by the lovely marion colombani

hey good-lookin'

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New York is sexy. Women hint at their form with loose, gauzy T-shirts and unbinding bralettes, not suffocating tanks and pushup lingerie. Sundresses graze calves instead of thighs and slips are forsaken in exchange for comfort. When commuting comfortably is a priority and workwear often becomes nightwear style can not be a burden. It's an effortless sexy,  a too cool for the male gaze sexy—something I can get behind. When you put down another person's definition of sexy, clothing options expand and things get interesting.

I gave up cleavage-baring tanks and cheek-grazing shorts when I decided confidence was my decision and was not contingent on the compliments of others. I think this decision came shortly after I traded in my long locks for a boyish cut. Coincidentally the boys found their own "do" unappealing on the opposite sex. It may have whittled down the number of free drinks I got, but it certainly expanded my wardrobe choices and increased the number of compliments I got in public restrooms. Without a motivation to inspire desire I found a new look, an effortlessly "cool" look, a buttoned-up, sometimes androgynous, figure-swallowing look.

There is nothing more commanding than an outfit stolen from the guys. Every woman needs an oversized white button-up and slouchy trousers to mix and match with leather leggings and a cropped sweater respectively. I paired my relaxed button-up with sleek black jeans and a bold lip—my kind of sexy. I resisted the urge to button up all the way to my throat in order to show off my dainty flea market necklace find.

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Processed with VSCOcam with a6 preset

[shirt-madewell, jeans-uo, shoes-similar, sunglasses-madewell, necklace]

jump around

I've decided overalls and jumpers are the winning-est trend to happen this season. Swathed in denim from ankle to shoulder by day and a stretch v-neck number by night, I've decided there is no reason to pick coordinating pants and tops ever again. I will gladly sit all naked and vulnerable in a public restroom for the comfort and convenience of a one-piece. Cover me up and zip me in. I will be living in this Free People jumpsuit this summer. This cropped, army-green denim number is my favorite tax-return purchase. It's the perfect flea-market perusing (with my trusty Birkenstocks) and cocktail-sipping (with strappy heels) number and I will never take it off. Except to pee. And then I will have to completely remove it and have someone else zip me back in. Volunteers?

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[jumper-free people, shoes-birkenstock, necklace-anthropologie, sunnies-madewell]

Thanks, Sarah for the photos.

snowbank sweaters

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Winter clothes are my favorite, but only a select few (roommates, co-workers, since I am a full-time employee now!) have seen my elusive winter wardrobe as I am normally bundled up to my nose with scarves, masked with a long down coat and another scarf just to be safe. It took a while, but the romanticized dreams of a city dancing in snow has faded, and I'm pretty much ready for some warmer weather. Don't get me wrong, it's beautiful. But all good things must come to an end. Within 30 minutes of snowfall, blanketed sidewalks become slushy and grey, sprinkled with toxic chemicals to hasten melt time. While I wait for spring, I'm sticking to neutral-toned sweaters that match the blackened, road-stained snow banks that form on the sidewalks.

I haven't strayed much from the grey and black sweater, black jeans combo. It's just too damn cold to wear anything but pants and boots. I've made a uniform of sorts, and it cuts my getting-ready time in half.

For the record, New York is still kicking my ass, but I've definitely grown stronger with it. I'd say we're just about neck and neck. We're kind of like a "love-struck," dysfunctional high school relationship. I'm always running back to him because he's the hot shot quarterback, but he won't invite me to hang out with his friends yet because I'm just not cool enough. But he promises he loves me and buys me flowers when I think about ditching him and I take him back reluctantly only because he's hot.

So basically New York is John Tucker, the epitome of awful high school boyfriends. But who actually wins these battles? Brittany Snow does, and you, because you're probably not with your high school boyfriend anymore, and New York won't. Soon he'll drop the veil of deceit and cave to pressures of my hard-work and tears. So don't you worry, I'll whip him (New York, John Tucker?) into shape in due time, I've never been one to let someone else call the shots for long.

So I tried to talk fashion, I really did. And then my emotions invaded this precious space and I didn't even ask them and I can't really help it. I hope you guys don't mind. Thanks for listening.

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[sweater-zara, boots- doc martens]

east village uniform

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You couldn't rip these $20, Forever21 jeans away from me if your life depended on it. They're perfect and comfortable and I don't  have to unbutton the top button after a large meal. Boyfriend jeans are a way of life, one that says "I know my backside is unflatteringly flat and it looks like I have cankles, but those are the kinds of things I can forgo when I want to look slouchy-chic and don't want seam lines embedded in my skin when I take them off." Boyfriend jeans don't care if you don't have a boyfriend and you bought them at a teen wholesale store. They're the IDGAF of jeans, they're the pair-me-with-sexy-sandals-to-create-an-ironic-dichotomy-jeans and they're here to stay for every season. I just decided.

Halfway through this post I realized I already wrote an ode to these jeans, but I guess I'll keep going to show you I'm not a quitter. Here is my summer interpretation in which I add a breezy button-down and sleek sandals to up the down-town chic factor, but I also wear them with muscle tees and Birkenstocks; so don't be fooled.

New York's still beautiful, if you were wondering. I've been spending a lot of my time in the East Village with my soon-to-be roommates and I can't help but take fashion inspiration from the silent fashionistas that seem to always have their nose in their phones. This trait helps me to look a few seconds longer without feeling intrusive. This down-town chic is a mix of neutral cropped sweaters and frayed denim, platform sandals and textures hair-dos. I'd be lying if I told you my hair wasn't an attempt at the perfectly undone look the ladies of downtown sport.

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Thanks, Mazie for the photos.