I took tennis lessons several summers as a kid. It was one of the few sports that seemed civilized.
Its style, surprisingly, never reasoned into why I enjoyed it so much. When I think now of all the missed opportunities to really dress the part, in crisp whites and whatnot, I scold my childhood self.
Last night I finally cracked open a book I wasn’t specifically thrilled to have received as a gift a few birthdays back. Early on, halfway down page eight I came across a passage that made me stop. I re-read it again and closed the book halfway to just think.
It’s good when books do that. Here’s what got me thinking.
Materialism isn’t noble, it is perhaps downright ridiculous. But really, I never feel so bored, boring, and uninteresting as when there’s nothing on Earth that I have the desire to buy.
My bottle of Colona Russa from Santa Maria Novella is down to one squirt’s worth. My Prada is still half full but the pumper now refuses to pump. Any my intiguingly musty Monocle spray’s a bit too tenacious for everyday spritzing.
This time of year I like to shake up my numbed sense of scent, and lately my cologne collection is in serious need of a shake up.
This sampler pack of Portland General Store fragrances including Wood, Tabac, Whiskey, Cardamom, and Palo Santo promises strong, studly scents of adventure all fall long.
Thankfully the odd October winter we were cursed with the past week was at last ran out of town. I was about two hours and two degrees Fahrenheit from having to switch my September wardrobe of short shorts straight to December-designated fur hooded parkas last Thursday. Like, literally.
But Fall finally got its act together, allowing me to dress in my vintage puffy vest and the rest of Autumn’s best.
The leaves are already golden, the sun is back and brilliant, the breezes are brisk but bodaciously un-brutal. I could completely live and dress just like this all year round…
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As a child, I’m not sure where my mother and father went every Saturday night, smelling of cologne and perfume, dressed fancy in black satin and tweed.
But as they primped and prepared to depart for the evening, my sister and I would watch Puttin on the Hits while we ate our stuck-at-home, little kid suppers.
Whenever I think of the show, even now, I automatically smell the fancy spritzes of my parents’ Brut and Chanel.
I selected this clip from the series in particular because the three contestants featured are named Stacy, Debbie and Stacy. That just kills me.
(Strange but true: My favorite babysitter Kerri, who taught me about Swatch watches, The Limited Express and Dynasty actually went to Jr. High School here in MN with most of the teen pop members of The Jets. I used to ask her about that all the dang time.)
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Outsiders might think life in Minnesota is one big snow drift, but that’s far from true. That said, it has snowed almost every day this week here and Halloween is still over two weeks away. While we’re usually treated to a sweet and savorable autumn season in Minneapolis, this year it truly seems like summer skipped directly onto winter.
Stunned and unprepared for such a crazy climate change I’ve been wearing a pair of solid flannel shirts from O’Hanlon Mills I bought last winter. One a powder blue and one a hunter green.
Non-plaid, I’m free from the lumberjack trap with them, and they’re just cozy enough to keep me warm but never so thick that I start to get hot.
I’m sensing I should stock up on semi-similar shirts, and this fuzzy flannel from Folk is perfect in every way it seems, although its price point and perhaps that stray yellow button on the front. (Red would be better.)