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Bonjour! I’m Erin.
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Category Archives: fashion / vanity
I’ve made no secret of my disdain for the season everyone affectionately refers to as “the best of the year,” while I instead call it “hell.” That’s right, I’m talking about you, summer. Everyone’s all, “I love the sun!” “Woohoo the beach!” and meanwhile I’m over here in the lone patch of shade in the fetal position, scratching at my 38 mosquito bites and trying not to turn into one giant greaseball. I miss winter! I miss the cold and the darkness and scarves! (Yes, I am basically a Scandinavian vampire). I’ve long relied on two things to make summer a little more bearable, though, at least in terms of my vanity: that face wash and scrub are the antidote to my dreaded summer breakouts. I use the face wash every night, and the tea tree oil really helps soak up all that extra oil. It also feels like you’re applying menthol straight to your face, so tingly and refreshing as it feels. I use that scrub once or twice a week just to slough off the inevitable layer of oil build-up. So attractive, I know. Park me in front of an air conditioner and come get me in four months.
Another summer staple? Those sandals! I ordered a pair last year to take with me to Paris and wore them into the ground. I went through two pairs last summer, and this spring ordered a new set to take with us to Italy. Without any breaking in, I walked over 10 miles in them the first day and didn’t have a single blister or moment of pain. They are heavenly. I just ordered my fourth pair to finish out the remainder of the season.
I finished “The Hotel on Place Vendôme” last night and loved it. If you’re a fan of historical non-fiction, specifically the German occupation of Paris, you should add it your Goodreads list immediately. I just started “My Paris Dream,” and so far I’m feeling ‘meh’ about it. It’s all very ‘poor little rich white girl’ who went to Choate and Princeton and runs off to Paris after graduation to “find herself” on her parent’s dime and still finds things to complain about. But, Paris.
And this weekend I completed my descent into domesticity as a Write At Home Wife and bought a steam mop. Mopping is the bane of my existence, which is why I put it off as long as possible and get by solely using Swiffer wet pads. But then I looked at the bottom of a pair of socks and was horrified, so off to Macy’s we went (armed with a coupon, of course). It’s just natural steam, and it sanitizes up to 99.9% of germs and dirt and bacteria. No chemicals, just water, and oh man did it clean my floors to a squeaky clean shine. I might be looking forward to doing it again today.
I had brunch with my darling friend Lyndsey at Parc yesterday, after which we went to Sephora for a bit of retail therapy/excuse to be indoors somewhere warm. While she was consulting with one of the sales associates over BB creams or CC creams or some other cream she doesn’t need because she is naturally flawless, I wandered around the store spritzing myself with various perfumes with completely clashing scent profiles when I happened upon this collection, from Nest. My jaw hit the floor. I’ve never seen packaging as gorgeous or as meticulous; sure, perfume, of all things, generally comes in beautiful bottles, but these? These are on a whole different planet, one where packaging design is just as important as the scent combination, if not more. These bottles are stunning, and if I hadn’t already smelled “like a baby prostitute” I would’ve sprayed all of them on my wrists and neck. The designs are works of art. The spiny green fronds and striking flora evoke a cross between “Opulent Oceans,” a large coffee table book from the American Museum of Natural History, and a Severin Roesen still-life, no?
I think on name alone I’m most intrigued by the scent of “Midnight Fleur,” but truly, I’d take any of these and use them as display pieces rather than their intended use.
1. This delightfully (intentionally) retro music video from Stromae:
If you can watch this video and not end up charmed and dancing happily in your seat, I pity you. Filmed on an old VHS-loaded camcorder in Cape Verde, set in an indeterminate decade, at what appears to be an afternoon cocktail party, the camera follows (changing hands and perspectives!) everyone from children to the waitstaff to the cooks taking smoke breaks and people on the dance floor. Everyone except for Stromae himself. It is a wonderfully conceived and smartly executed concept for a music video, and it leaves me beaming every time I watch it.
2. And, on a related note, Stromae’s new-to-me clothing capsule collection:
The quirkiness cannot be overstated. I only lament that the line is not available in the states, and that the socks (adorable!) are €17.
3. Paranoid Parrot!
There was a time a few years ago when I had one of these Paranoid Parrot memes taped to my monitor at work: “Make one tiny mistake at work, assume I’m getting fired.” It sort of became my “thing” in the office, how paranoid I was about getting fired; I interpreted any conversation that occurred behind closed doors or in hushed tones as one of my impending dismissal. Thankfully, I got past it (likely when my boss held my job for me while I took a two month hiatus in Paris), until this past Tuesday, when I couldn’t immediately log into our company SharePoint site. I’d sloppily mistyped my password, but for a brief moment, I had a full-on Paranoid Parrot melt down. SO THIS IS HOW THEY FIRE ME. Some of them are hilariously accurate!
4. This SNL skit from last weekend that I’ve been laughing about ever since:
SNL has been so hit or miss the past few years (dare I say decades?), and hit its peak for me during the Andy Samberg era. I haven’t even watched the show for a few years, mostly because staying awake until 11:30 (even on a Saturday!) is outside the scope of my abilities, but I happily caught last week’s episode and, in particular, this sketch. It seems like an obvious “Shawshank Redemption” spoof, until you get to the reason he’s in jail. “One man.” Seriously, try not to laugh.
5. Finally joining the ranks of women who swear by eyelash curlers:
I bought an eyelash curler on sale at Sephora, and ladies, I am hooked. I’m not exactly a “makeup girl”; yes, I wear mascara and blush, but I can’t blend eyeshadow or figure out airbrush foundation, and in general, my makeup routine takes about three minutes. The idea of adding tools and gadgets to my makeup bag seemed foreign and unnecessary. And then one of my best friends got married and as we were getting ready that morning, her sister-in-law kept espousing the virtues of what, truthfully, looks like a modern day torture device. I’m supposed to put that thing near my eye? But damn if it doesn’t make a noticeable difference, especially in the morning, when I could use a little oomph to fight off the sleep still lingering in my face.
Fun Erin Fact: I am the most moisturized human being you’ll ever meet. Seriously. I have a day and night face and body lotion routine that takes half an hour and leaves me feeling like I could bob sled on an ice luge using nothing but my body (or, more accurately, like this Boy Meets World scene with Cory’s silk sheets). So it’s no surprise that I’ve now added an eye cream, from Clinique, to my regimen. Say what you will about the futility of using an anti-wrinkle cream when I don’t (yet!) have wrinkles, but to the naysayers, I refer you to this brilliantly apt scene from the short-lived BBC series “Coupling,”:
Sally: Death is the best argument for moisturizers.
Patrick: You can’t prevent death with face cream.
Sally: Yeah? That’s what everyone thinks, but no-one’s ever used it in the quantities I do.
I can also be found applying hand lotion roughly eighty times a day, an estimate that more-than-doubles in the winter, when even the slightest exposure to the elements leaves my hands cracked and raw. I stopped into L’Occitane over the weekend, and fell madly in love with their peony scented line. It is non-greasy and the smell is heavenly, not overpoweringly cloying or floral.
In other news, I’ve decided to give “The Goldfinch” a second chance. I know, I know. I was pretty firm in my original assessment last January (and in my end of year book review) that the book was overrated, but I read Tartt’s earlier work, “The Secret History” on our honeymoon a few months ago, and I’ve been ruminating on it since. All of the characters in that book range from “Not Entirely Likable” to “Downright Reprehensible,” but I think you’re not supposed to like any of them, and that’s part of what made it so good. I wish I’d read “The Secret History” first, as an intro to Tartt’s writing style, as it would have colored my initial read of “The Goldfinch” differently. As it is, I’ve been thinking more and more about the plot and characters of “The Goldfinch” in the last few weeks, and I figured I have nothing to lose with a revisit (except, of course, hours and hours of my time. Again). I’m coming at it with a new appreciation of her writing voice, though before I even started it I’ve realized she reuses several of the same character archetypes from “The Secret History.” I’ll delve into that more in a separate post, when/if I finish this for the second time.
Maybe it’s the anticipation of our first snow storm, expected to hit later today, or falling madly in love with that cashmere wool coat and snatching it up weeks ago, but all I know is that I’m dying to really get into winter. My current winter style arsenal consists of a big puffy down coat and duck boots, which, while keeping me reliably warm and dry, doesn’t do much in the way of making me look chic and sleek; because my coat is brown, I tend to resemble Mr. Hankey. Not cute. What is cute, however, is that beanie hat, with its quirky Magritte reference. I do love a good art reference. Also: that bag! I’ve been searching forever for a black leather tote that’s lined (nothing is more frustrating than having to pick bits of black shedding leather dots off of everything I own; with the last unlined leather tote I had, the lining stuck to the rubber viewfinder guard on the back of my camera, meaning that every time I took a photo, bits of black leather fuzz stuck to my eyebrow) and I might have to splurge on it in the upcoming weeks. This whole outfit together would guarantee the chicest winter wardrobe, though maybe not the most practical if this winter is anything like our last. We hit a record for the 2nd snowiest winter in Philadelphia’s history last year, and honestly, when you’re trudging back and forth to the bus in 18″ of snow, a pun-y Magritte beanie hat is the last thing on your mind. Ceci n’est pas un chapeau!
November 26, 2014 / fashion / vanity /
A little over a year and a half ago, I posted a few Paris Street Fashion photos that included this photograph of a striking young French woman:
The response in the comments of that post were overwhelmingly flattering, as all of you thought there was some resemblance between her and I. Now, I’m as vain as the next person, but even I’m not quite so self-adoring as to think I compare remotely with how gorgeous this mystery girl is. And she is, truly. I can’t tell you the wonders those comments did for my ego (even though lolz, no. you guys are blind)! I’d pinned her photo all that time ago, but her face has been burned into my memory ever since because of how breathtakingly beautiful she was.
A few days ago, the mystery was solved and I finally figured out who she is. Her name is Marine Vacth, and she’s a Parisian actress and model. I found a photo of her while googling “French girl hair” for my (long overdue) haircut Wednesday evening, and realized she looked familiar. Sure enough, when I compared it against the original photo I’d pinned, it was unmistakably her, only she’s somehow gotten prettier. Behold, proof:
Who are you crushing on these days (guy or girl)? Or animal. Truth be told, my biggest crush might still be Grumpy Cat.
Don’t get me wrong, I was so grateful to have yesterday off of work for Veteran’s Day (thanks to the sacrifices made by countless service men and women, including my maternal grandfather), but it’s alarming the ease with which I can lose my momentum to go back to work after being home even for a day. The Sunday Night Blues are a weekly recurrence, and I had this exact talk with someone in my office only last week: we’re afraid that if we stay home one day, we’ll never go in again. So imagine how difficult it was to peel myself out of bed this morning after an unseasonably warm Tuesday that found me getting a manicure, picking up fresh flowers for the week, and lunching with my mom at a French patisserie. Now add fog and misting rain and you’ll understand why all I wanted to do was burrow under the covers and pretend I’d never heard my alarm. Another two or three hours or sleep wouldn’t have hurt. Eventually, at a more reasonable hour, something would rouse me into consciousness (probably Fitz) and I’d have to get up, but only to move to the sofa and under another cuddly blanket. Give me a big book and an even bigger mug of hot chocolate, and I’d never go to work again. The momentum. It’s gone.
I actually bought those lovely pajama pants in Greece, and they are the softest and comfiest things ever. And yes, I’m stilling making my way through Edward Rutherfurd’s “Paris,” since starting it in July. It normally doesn’t take me this long to finish a book, even 800-page ones, but I’ve been putting it down for weeks at a time. I’ve finished seven (and a half!) other books while muscling through this one. Seven! I’m more than halfway through “Paris,” but clearly I need a day off just to read.
November 12, 2014 / fashion / vanity /
I love French pharmacies. There is a pharmacy on virtually every street in Paris, identifiable by the ubiquitous neon green crosses that flash the temperature and time. The pharmacists are not just high school kids working a register; French pharmacists are trained and knowledgable, and you can find beauty brands like Darphin, Nuxe, Caudalie, L’Occitane, Roger & Gallet, Bioderma, and all the other French names you’ve heard celebrities and bloggers rave about for years.
I went to pharmacies frequently in Paris. Some days, my main activity was walking down to Saint-Germain to City Pharma, the discount, two-story pharmacy on Rue de Four. Bury my ashes at City Pharma, oui? There may be a pharmacy on every corner in Paris, but if you’re looking to pay €3, €5, or even €10 less per item, it’s worth the trek to this particular store. Don’t be alarmed if you can barely fit in the aisles and don’t be put off by the insane line. There’s also a pharmacy on Rue de la Chaussée d’Antin, right next to Galeries Lafayette, where the prices were equally as competitive.
I want to preface this by saying all of these products are grossly more expensive in the states than they are in France. By almost double, in some cases. Cheaper than a flight to Paris, but less fun. Süsk, I might be taking you up on your offer for a refill shipment at some point!
Herewith, my five favorite picks… Continue reading
Just a round up of things I’ve had my eye on lately. Four out of the seven are French-related. Five, if you count the sandals I’m packing for the trip. And Stromae is technically Belgian, but he sings in French, so it counts. Mon dieu, am I really so predictable?
Have a good weekend, kiddos.
In honor of Tax Day (did you file on time? I got my refund in February! Of the many reasons to love Jamal, chief among them is that the man can do my taxes) I thought it would be fun to feature these two stripe-y, pretty similar dresses. One is over $500, the other is $75 – $45 after a 40% discount Loft is offering. Depending on the size of your refund check, you could have both! But let’s be realistic, the $45 version is just as nice, if not nicer.
April 15, 2014 / fashion / vanity /