The Wonders of a Trip to Whole Foods

Having had a very sheltered childhood and adolescence, I am still deeply fascinated by the game of social interactions and flirtation. Thank goodness I went to a coed high school and had quite a number of male friends. There were no parties whatsoever for the entirety of my teenage years save one at the junior boarding house at age thirteen and the senior graduation party. Needless to say, I was quite oblivious to the flirtatious and sexual tensions at play at both.

Hence a trip to Whole Foods can become something of a wildlife exploration for me. What people want by the way they dress and behave can be so clear without ever having to examine their verbal ques. In fact, sometimes what they say tends to confuse the matter. I feel like I am witnessing something like the human animal version of David Attenborough’s LIFE ON EARTH, an imaginary Attenborough voice pointing out the important signals each member of the species provides the other in the courtship and mating ritual taking place.

The boyfriend and I were in the hideously crowded line in the Express checkout line several weeks ago, “Express checkout” being a relative term in the Union Square branch. The assembled crowd trudged along slowly when I noticed a girl with very short shorts ostentatiously displaying the back of her right leg as she shoved her basket along as her line moved. Then she stopped and talked to the fellow in the adjacent line. There was much smiling and eye contact. I looked to see if there was touching of her blonde hair at the appropriate pause. No, but when the line moved again, there was another very extravagant show of the back of her leg. I wondered if she realized that she had the slightest beginning of cellulite. Being a girl, I would notice these things. More overelaborate leg swinging. I would say not. Her cashier number came up. She finally picked up her basket and left. It was hard from where I stood to see the reactions of the fellow she was performing her display for, but given the smile on her face, I would say the mating dance was a success.

Then on our way home, I spied a couple in front of us. The woman was in a road accident of an outfit – tight grey jersey dress and 6-inch stilettos. Her heels were so high that she had to hold on tight to her date to avoid falling over. Her figure was too wobbly to carry the dress off. Her sides quivered as she staggered along. I looked at her thinking that the point of wearing a thong was to avoid visible panty lines. There was an entire visual thong line on display in front of me – the small of the back and the sides of the waist! They were going to The Strip House at 10pm.

I thought of Dean Wareham discussing visible panty lines and his now wife, Britta Phillips, in his memoir, “Black Postcards.” He said women tend to view visible panty lines as unsexy. That is not always the case, as is evidenced by someone describing Phillips as having the sexiest visible panty line in Indie Music. The woman walking into The Strip House is a million miles away from Phillips. However, given that she was out on a date to a very nice steakhouse, I would say that her choice of plumage did the trick in the courtship and mating game.

Just because...

Last week, inspired by Rita Konig's T magazine blog post, I bought some flowers for my bedside table.

Di Palo's

The boyfriend has just returned from a trip to Di Palo's. He brought back many goodies: roasted peppers, chestnut honey, olive oils for cooking and finishing, burrata... When he was unpacking, he put two warm, unlabeled packages in my hand. They turned out to be slow-cooked, Umbrian-style porchetta they make in-house. With no self-control, I reached for knife and fork and attacked one of the packages on the kitchen counter. I felt liked I had died and gone to heaven. I often feel this way when I go to Di Palo's.

Di Palo's Fine Foods
200 Grand Street
New York, NY 10013
(212) 226 1033

Hermès Fever

I have been following reports of the goings on at the Hermès Sample Sale, which opened to the public today, on Racked New York. Their reporter arrived at 7:55am and did not enter the sale until 9:18am. A post at 3:24pm reported that the wait was around two-and-a-half hours. Needless to say, this sample sale is not for the faint-of-heart. And thank goodness for all the people in the queues that it's a beautiful day - lovely light; a bit nippy, but tolerable.

I no longer have the wherewithal for sample sales. When I first started going to these sales, they were usually crowded, but there was often no line. It was as if the people who went to these sales were part of a secret club. I bought lovely things at sample sale prices: a grey silk/cotton Philosphy shift or a thick cashmere Michael Kors tee shirt for $50. Then one Sunday night, I heard Carrie Bradshaw mention "sample saling" on SEX AND THE CITY. I knew it was over. Lines appeared outside the sales, the wait got much longer and the prices much higher.

The very first sample sale I ever attended did not even take place in New York. I was in Paris and spotted a little notice for an Hermès sale in Libération. Being the fashion-obssessed student that I was, I went, probably skipping one lecture or another. It was a half-hour wait outside on a very cold March morning. Once inside, I was stunned to see people grabbing things as they appeared on the sales floor. The M.O. was grab first, evaluate later. I felt a weird disconnect between the ultra refined image of Hermès and the savage behaviour I saw around me, but I got into the spirit of things. At the time, scarves were the equivalent of $50! I bought presents for my mother and sisters, not to mention myself. I emerged breathless and triumphant.

My most remarkable Hermès find, however, was not at that first sample sale. The most unexpected find would be in a non-descript space on Broadway between Broome and Grand streets. This was, again, many years ago when Soho was in the midst of its change from arty neighbour to the mall that it is today. The art galleries were all but gone, but the established mall stores had not quite made their ubiquitous presence felt. Sales would take up residence in store spaces for a few weeks at a time and then disappear, never to be seen again. The shopping area I loved was Nolita. It was in its heyday. Ordinarily, I would never have walked into any of these random sales, but my friend had found a Miu Miu dress in one of them. She wanted to go have a look. I thought, why not. The most temporary, ugly store fittings housed some real designer odds and ends. I wandered over to the scarf display. There was a large contingent of Ferragamo scarves and the salespeople knew what they were. I browsed casually, not expecting to find a bargain when I spotted a blue scarf covered in calligraphy. I tried not to gasp visibly. I asked to have a look. It was the real thing. It had no price tag. I took it over to the cashier. The manager looked at the scarf; I looked nonchalant. He said he would give it to me for $30. I bought it immediately. No one could quite believe my story. I imagine I have the same reaction when I read of people finding Kelly bags in faraway thrift shops for $100.

Think Pink

Lately I have been very taken with Jeska Hearne's Lobster and Swan blog. It is unabashedly girly and lovely. I am very drawn to her unapologetic expression of her feminine eye and taste. It cheers me up no end to visit her blog.

I have a very complicated relationship with being girly. I have always loved girly things. My mother would have really preferred to have boys. Going through old family photographs one day, I was shocked to see an early family portrait in which both my older sisters looked like they were in drag! There was the trip, at six years old, to the hairdresser's to get a fringe for my bob. My hairstyle became a crewcut; half an inch of hair all round. My mother just insisted on taking more off and I was unable to stop the proverbial car crash, stunned as I was in the hairdresser's chair. I was traumatised. The hair looked so wrong with my royal-blue-pinafore-on-white-shirt Catholic school uniform. (I liked nothing better than to look at the girls' party dresses with ruffled skirts at the French children's clothing store at the local shopping centre. Crew cut + ruffly party dress was not something I had envisioned at the time, though the look proved quite effective in an 80s Valentino ad later on.) Out of school uniform, all the children at home wore tee shirts and shorts. And they were handed down from sibling to sibling. On the one hand, it was a lesson in investing in good quality clothing. On the other hand, my immediate sibling was a brother. Needless to say, looking girly was a bit of a struggle in those days. The clothing alone can be a subject of many, many posts...

So in the spirit of girliness, and as an antidote to another dreary, grey day, I am posting images of pink things around the house. Playing the song from FUNNY FACE is optional:



What I see first thing in the morning



What I feel like doing when it's grey and dreary outside



What is in the front hallway at present

Still Winter...

Just when I thought spring was coming, I woke up to this:



Now it looks like this:



The current winter storm warning is expected to last until tomorrow evening, but the snowy forecast lasts through Saturday.

Sigh.

What a Difference a Week Makes

I woke up this morning and noticed that the light has changed. Maybe Spring is coming. Now I will rub my eyes, stretch and start making excursions from where I have been hibernating.