Leandra Medine's Blog, page 571

What to Wear When You’re Sick of Jeans but Still Want to Look Cool

I’m not sure if we are living through the self-improvement era or if worrying more about your mental health is a condition that comes with age, but I do know that I have recently become obsessed with making myself feel good. It sounds kind of trite now that I’ve typed it out loud but I never really thought about what it takes to “feel good” until, you know, I did.

Historically, I’ve leaned on clothes as the agent that heralds unilaterally positive change. I counter bad moods with good clothes, feeling like shit with shoes that I prefer to call the shit. But recently, that valve — the most reliable pressure point I know to make things feel more okay — isn’t quite working. I’m not sure if that’s because I’m changing or simply because the old tricks don’t quite cut it anymore, but I do know that the last few weeks have built a new routine that I’d like to kick before it gets out of hand.

It goes like this: I stand in front of my closet. I look at the clothes. I see the sweaters, I put on one. I like the sweater. I am grateful for warmth. I look at skirts and veto them all. Look at pants, feel intrigued, then ultimately determine that I will look far too corporate if I’m to wear them with a sweater. And boots. So I dip into my jeans pile only to find that every pair that has ever worked, that has ever pushed me to feel satisfied by my reflection, sucks.

So what does this mean? Is it possible that the end of jeans is coming? That in a few months’ time, we’ll all be confused? If not jeans, then what? What in the good name of Levi Strauss are we expected to wear? I know for sure that a cropped flare fit with ankle boots — a surefire marriage, I was certain! — makes me cringe. That if I’m going to wear skinny jeans, I may as well buy flip flops and that too-long jeans worn with ballet flats and a simple black turtleneck (impossible in 19-degree weather) make me feel like I have given up.

I have surrendered!

The thing is, I haven’t and I won’t. So consider this story a meditation of trying to work through a rough patch in the trajectory of my relationship with jeans. I need to give them a break. I’m going to give them a break, and until I can find that simple, no-brainer, pull-it-out-of-your-closet-with-your-eyes-closed combination, I’m going to try really hard. With this:

Elizabeth & James sweater, Dries Van Noten dress, Tory Burch shoes, Prada sunglasses, Topshop tights

And this:

Saks Potts kimono (another kimono here), Gant shirt, Saint Laurent bow tie (or scarf option here), Loewe pants (another option here), Dries Van Noten boots

And this.

J.Crew turtleneck, Isabel Marant button down, Marni cardigan, Dries Van Noten dress, Valentino shoes, Illesteva sunglasses, Olympia Le-Tan clutch, Topshop tights

Photographed by Krista Anna Lewis

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Grace Coddington to Step Down as Creative Director at Vogue

This morning, Business of Fashion reported that Grace Coddington will step down as Vogue’s Creative Director. She will assume the title of Creative Director at Large, and though she’ll continue to style “several shoots throughout the year,” Coddington will begin working on projects outside the Condé Nast publication. (According to BoF, there are currently no plans to fill the role of Creative Director.) To celebrate the next step in her career, Amelia recalls the time she interned on a shoot with the iconic stylist.

I used to be terrified of Grace Coddington. She scared me more than Anna Wintour did back when I interned at Vogue.

Granted, everyone (and everything) felt potentially life-threatening when I began there; make the wrong person mad — mess up their coffee, forget a stylist’s dress, lose an editor’s belt — and I was sure I’d be doomed out of a career in fashion. It was a semester spent on fabergé eggshells.

But a lot of that — most of that — was in my head. The women were hard working and dedicated, creative and deeply invested, sometimes stressed but never mean and whether intentional or not, they were teachers. I think that’s why Grace Coddington scared me. It’s never really the principal you’re worried about, right? It’s the teacher who can send you to the principal’s office.

Every morning we interns would roll the racks away from the editors’ desks and line them up throughout the hallways, getting a peek into the thought process of the those minds who painted Vogue’s pages with ideas. The garments on Grace’s were always confusing. I remember having no clue as to why she’d want some ratty old tank top (Balmain) or some clunky black shoes (Balenciaga) or what good some black latex corset-dress-thing (Comme des Garçons) would do for anyone. Other racks were more inviting, easier to “get,” prettier to see. But everyone said she had the vision. Critics of The September Issue said she was the star. And the assistants said her shoots were the one to score.

The last month of my internship, I scored such a spot.  The shoot would take two days, the photographer was David Sims, the models were big (Freja Beha Erichsen, Arizona Muse) and the theme was “Punk.” It was the first and only time I’d get to watch Grace Coddington work. Prior to this, our interactions largely consisted of me trying not to do anything weird as she walked by.

When you’re young and puncture what you thought you knew about about X with a safety pin purchased from Saint Mark’s Place, the world kind of opens up. Fashion — uptown and aspirational for as long as I could remember it — exploded for me during that shoot, with Grace holding the sharpest point. She created a fantasy world before the camera with those shapes and fabrics I hadn’t previously understood. She told a story with her styling, slipping models in and out of characters with an expert eye, kneeling frequently to adjust cuffs and tug at hems. If you’ve ever watched a sculptor sculpt, then this was it.

The decision to pursue a career in such a strange field was a culmination of tiny pieces and mostly happy accidents, but I’m almost certain that this shoot, “Punk’d,” in the March 2011 issue of Vogue, was the thing that taught me fashion was a whole lot more than Chanel. That clothes are as expressive as words, that an editor’s eye is no less scrupulous when it comes to the fall of a drape than a word out of place, and that Grace Coddington was not terrifying at all. To everyone who has ever lost themselves in the vision she creates, she’s a teacher. And after nearly 30 years, she’s expanding her classroom.

Photographed by Arthur Elgort for I-D Magazine 

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Who Actually Does ALL the Beautification Things?

My beauty-slash-wellness maintenance regime is fairly straightforward. I’m 75% addicted to Crest Teeth Whitening Strips and my eyebrow-threading lady knows more about me than my boyfriend. I go to the dental hygienist when I receive a postcard reminder in the mail, cut my hair whenever my hairdresser orders me to and visit the doctor regularly to ensure all bits – lady and otherwise – are achieving their yearly KPIs.

I’ve moulded my regime in to a healthy appointment cycle. However, when my personal maintenance stars recently aligned and I found myself scheduled for numerous treatments in the space of a week, I was left with two things: 1) a depleted bank account and 2) depleted self-esteem.

The first was to be expected, but the latter?

I’m always prepared for the customary how often do you floss/you should hair mask far more frequently/you’re absolutely using the wrong face cream lectures, really – they’re part of the service. But after paying to be professionally chastised for All The Things I’m not doing (or doing wrong), it was hard not to get a little despondent.

My dermatologist advised that I need to cleanse twice daily, tone in the PM, moisturize with anything SPF and use a charcoal face mask once a week, because my “skin age” is pushing its fifties.

Both my waxer and spray tan magician berated me for not exfoliating as often as I should – am I even taking my skin tone seriously?

My dentist, Boris, told me my gums were overweight (!) from a result of irregular tongue scraping. He prescribed a daily dental practice that I estimated would take north of 45 minutes.

So there you have it: a broke, fat-gummed, 25/50 year old.

It wasn’t until all of my appointments were condensed into the span of seven consecutive days that I realized how much exhausting maintenance I actually do – and how much more I was meant to be doing – that I appreciated just how unrealistic this idealistic upkeep is. Who actually does everything they’re meant to be doing? Does anyone ever use a hair mask?? There’s simply no way to follow every professional’s rules; I’d have about four and a half minutes to spare per week to do life, which is a priority most days.

An alternative solution is that I need to chill and downscale on what I think is mandatory. A standing gel manicure appointment is probably not.

So what say you? Are the societal expectations too high, or are our ideal regimes too superfluous? Isn’t some of this pampering important — “treat yo’self” and all that good stuff?

Do you do all the things? And if not, what’s your priority?

I’m personally sticking with the White Strips. Those I can handle, and Boris approves.

Photographed by Jamie Nelson for Elle Mexico June 2011

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Would You Spend $495 on Flip Flops?

Can you spot the difference between these and these? I mean, beyond the $450 price discrepancy and the fact that one hails from the brain of Saint Laurent’s Hedi Slimane (rumored to be a mere collection away from o.u.t.) and the other from an independent seller on Etsy.

No?

Same.

Sometimes I feel like fashion products are Rachael Leigh Cook in that movie, She’s All That. All it took for her to become cool was Freddie Prinze Jr. That and the ridiculously shallow removal of her eyeglasses. That’s it! Which effectively means high school kids are extremely compliant. Monkey see, monkey act. If he says she’s cool, she’s cool. Where fashion is concerned, it seems to me that all it takes to make a pair of shoes cool is for the style equivalent of Prinze Jr. to want to wear them. Of course, for this person to want them, the right designer must be willing to make them. And if the designer is making them (and we’re not a room of cynics who believe that fashion is nothing more or less than a huge commercial manipulation and sometimes joke-on-us), there’s got to be an invested level of thoughtfulness, an inspiration source whether apparent or not, that feeds their birth.

But few of us ever get to see that. So I’ll say it again. All it takes for a shoe to become famous is one interesting person.

A couple proof-points:

+Birkenstocks, an emblem of jam band culture that the women of fashion’s guard would not have touched with ten foot polls before the shoes were co-opted by an illuminating vision (illuminating because we all bought into it) from Phoebe Philo and thus contextualized.

+Clogs — historically recognized as protective footwear, likely with little aesthetic value to add to the current zeitgeist and yet, here we are. Yes, we can blame the 70s, but we can also blame Chanel’s Spring/Summer 2010 show.

And because last May, Nicolas Ghesquiere showed multiples pairs of Louis Vuitton flip flops for resort (which is shipping now) that made exactly zero sense then and still might confound an onlooker now, we’re having a conversation about Hedi Slimane’s $495 foam flip flops.

Newbark is not far behind with their version, coming in at $217. I can bet that many more will follow and it seems important to address the fact that I definitively and with vitriol, retired my use of the decidedly uncomfortable toe slicers after I graduated from a decade’s worth of summers spent at camp.

Then again, though, I also never thought I’d wear Birkenstocks.

But I know why I bought in. Just one style cue changes the way you think about how you wear stuff. One step forward in a chunky shoe that makes all your dainty shoes — the soles of which you have convinced yourself are the essence of your identity — feel dated. So maybe that same step, sliced toes and all, will change how I feel about these flip flops.

Of course, for now, I will admit that I’m confused-teetering-into-annoyed. $495 for a pair of foam beach shoes? I don’t surf. I don’t even go places where people do surf. I don’t think I own a single garment that will be made better by the use of, essentially, flatform Havaianas. I also know that I, myself, am somewhat compliant, so maybe what will happen is the following: I’ll see a personal fashion hero (it might be Alexa Chung) wearing them in a paparazzi shot. I’ll blow it out into a post and try to organize my thoughts and feelings. I’ll weigh the mysterious sense of awe that I’m experiencing against my better judgement. I’ll say I can’t do it, I might shake my head, but I know that if they’re worn properly, they’ll stick. Every time I get dressed for the subsequent time-before-acquisition, I’ll think about how much better my outfit could have been with a pair of flip flops and just like that, they’ll have become my Rachael Leigh Cooks.

Collage by Emily Zirimis

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The Chatroom: Charlotte Tilbury

Celebrity makeup artist Charlotte Tilbury believes there’s absolutely nothing wrong with looking like the best version of yourself. She’s all about enhancing your cheekbones while highlighting your life (who ever said you can’t contour your job?), and she’s made a career of it. Tilbury has painted some of Hollywood’s most famous faces, but her new eponymous beauty line aims to bring the artist’s magic arsenal to those of us who exist nowhere near a red carpet — but wouldn’t mind having that elusive how-the-hell-do-those-famous-people-get-that glow.

Perhaps the cheesiest thing I’ll ever write is that when it comes to “glow,” Charlotte Tilbury’s really does come from within. (It also comes in a jar, but she has that extra brightness, you know?) Watch as she charms the makeup-less Leandra into getting her Gala Face on. It’s the perfect ending to a Chatroom episode about confidence, starting a young company, hemorrhoid cream and obviously, feeling good.

Check out all things beauty on the Charlotte Tilbury website. Follow her brand on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Pinterest, too. Photographed by Krista Anna Lewis.

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Seven Ways to Beat Dry Winter Skin

Now that winter has finally hit New York City, I’ve got a Sound of Music-worthy list of corny things things to be excited about: The downy hush of the season’s first snow. Wearing fleecy coats. Foregoing gloves in the name of cupping hot lattes.

Ahhhh, what a magical time to be alive. Until, that is, I look down at the hands clutching my beverage and see red, scaly fingers and, um…ew. Some peeling business around my thumb. Suddenly I’m hyper aware that the last time I moisturized my legs after a shower was, well, I can’t remember, and my lips are feeling wind-whipped and raw.

I’ve got dry skin, and I’ve got it bad.

You, too? It stops here. Below, a dermatologist, a celebrity esthetician, an editorial director, a beauty blogger and a makeup artist have all offered up their no-brainer tips.

1. It all begins with the body.

Process: “You can slather your body with oils, creams and lotions all day long but your efforts to hydrate skin are futile unless you’re exfoliating regularly,” says Violet Grey’s editorial director, Christina Han. “You have to slough away those dead skin cells!”

How? “Gently use a Korean bath mitt to scrub your skin with soap in the shower. For an even deeper scrub, soak in a bath first (to soften pores and loosen up all those dead skin cells), and follow with more rigorous scrubbing. Once you’re covered in little eraser shavings (i.e., old skin), rinse off, pat dry with a towel and follow with an application of body oil.”

Most important product: the mitt (a pack of 8 is less than $8 on Amazon).

Second most important product: the oil. Han likes African Botanics’ Marula Firming Body Oil, which “absorbs instantly into the dermis and not only deeply hydrates, but also works to keep up skin’s elasticity. It makes skin so smooth and soft that you’ll find yourself caressing your own arms.”

2. Now for some face time.

Process: According to esthetician Dayle Breault — aka, the women who helped calm Cara Delevingne’s skin, the best time to hydrate your skin is when it’s already hydrated.“That means applying a moisturizer right after a bath or shower — this will lock in all that water in the cells of your skin. In a pinch, though, you can use a face mist.”

Product: Breault’s Precious Skin Elixir penetrates deep under the skin to hold in moisture without any sticky residue, though she recommends using pure oils, too: jojoba oil, sweet almond oil or sesame oil will do the job.

3. But did you remember to exfoliate first?

Process: This, insists lead NARS makeup artist Jenny Smith, is the key to getting the most from your moisturizer. “Before you put your moisturizer on, you need to remove flakiness on your face and lips so that it can properly absorb.”

Product: “NARS Multi-Action Hydrating Toner will remove dry patches. Just put 2-3 pumps on a cotton pad, and rub all over your face in a circular motion, focusing on dry and dead skin areas.”

4. So you’ve got the big stuff covered — now let’s get into specifics. First up, the inside of  your nose.

Process: For dryness of the nasal passage, Breault suggests a Neti Pot. “Fill it with a homeopathic solution of warm water, eucalyptol, camphor, wintergreen, pine and cinnamon. This will calmly and gently loosen mucus and the bacteria that collects in dry nasal cavities.”

Product: Alkalol’s ready-made formula does all the work for you and comes recommended by Breault.

5. Let’s talk lips.

Process: It may involve ditching your usual routine. “Long-lasting lipstick and matte lipstick are very drying,” warns New York-based dermatologist and author of Skin Rules, Debra Jaliman. “Try to wear lip gloss instead. If your lips are super chapped then you can line your lip with pencil and top with a balm. The two will blend into a soothing lip gloss.”

Product: “Look for options with wheat germ oil, almond oil, jojoba oil, coconut oil, aloe vera, shea butter, sunflower oil and cottonseed oil. These really moisturize and naturally exfoliate the lips.” Try: Kiehl’s #1 Lip Balm, Smith’s Lip Balm

What to avoid? “Camphor, phenol and menthol — they just dry the lips out. Also be wary of beeswax: It just sits on the surface of skin without penetrating it.”

6. On to the underside of your eyes.

Process: Because the skin around your lids is so thin, it needs more love than the average moisturizer can give. For an extra powerful boost of hydration, celebrity makeup artist and Beauty Is Boring blogger Robin Black suggests dabbing an eye mask on each morning. “I use it as my everyday eye cream. It smoothes, tightens, reduces puffiness and brightens up the dull under eye circles that are the result of cold, dry weather.”

Product: Her go-to is Sisley Paris’ Eye Contour Mask. “I like to pat it along my cheekbones as well for an extra sheen.”

7. Now let’s end this thing where it started: the hands.

Process: Simple, soothing and highly potent is the way to go — think less perfumed lotions and more potent balms. Also important, says Black, is a something that “conditions cuticles and strengthens nails.”

Product: Black swears by Clarins Hand and Nail Treatment Cream. “This anti-aging formula moisturizes even the most chapped winter hands.”

So now that I’ve just filled up your medicine cabinet, it’s time to return the favor! Tell me: What products do you use to stay hydrated in the winter?

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Photographed by Krista Anna Lewis; In photo: Arme De L’Amour cuff and Eddie Borgo ring.

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Oh Boy Episode 19: Alexa Chung

It may comfort you to know that Alexa Chung has trouble getting dressed in the winter, just like the rest of us. It’s sort of like finding out that the person who you thought “has it all” doesn’t really know what the hell that means, either, nor any greater clue as to how one achieves “it.”

Chung and Leandra talk about both of those concepts in this episode of Oh Boy (which is the extended audio version of an upcoming Chatroom). Among the other topics they cover: crying on airplanes, airport dressing, Alexa Chung’s app, Villoid, and what the Villoid office is like, why splitting hairs may be the secret to winter hair and, of course, how to remedy the feeling of finding zero inspiration in your own closet.

Here’s to an uninterrupted commute so that you can enjoy this one in peace, and just a heads up to your subway seat mates now: you’re going to laugh out loud.

Sign up for the Villoid app here. You should also go follow Alexa on Instagram and Twitter. Host Jay Buim also has a pretty killer Instagram and website, too. Logo and feature illustration by Kelly Shami.

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The Diet Coke Diet

It happened by accident, which is less surprising than the fact that it happened at all. People have been urging me to quit Diet Coke forever.

“It’s horrible for you,” they tell me. “Try coffee!” they urge. “How do you drink that stuff in the morning?” they inquire with more judgment than curiosity. Granted, I haven’t had any Diet Coke in over a week and I’m still feeling the loss, so it’s possible I’m being overly sensitive.

I took my first step toward giving up that sweet nectar of the gods when I was running late for work and didn’t have time to make my morning bodega run. I work at a high school that has no vending machines and the teacher’s lounge serves only coffee. I didn’t even realize I had forgotten such an essential part of my morning routine until my head began to implode, which feels like there’s a tiny elf out for revenge inside your skull sucking your brains through a spiky straw. Still, I’d been trying to give this up for a while. I wondered how long I could keep going.

Days one and two started out okay, leading me to a false sense of security. “I don’t know why this was so hard for me in the past,” I texted everyone I know. Then the headache came on and I collapsed, where I remained prostrate until the sun set.

Day three passed with nothing but complaints and not-so-gentle moans. I needed Diet Coke to function. I decided I would allow myself one small can a day instead of this cold turkey crap.

On day four I woke up without a headache, feeling victorious and slightly (okay, very) superior. “The haters keep me motivated,” I texted, bragging again because I didn’t learn the first time. By the afternoon, I was so lightheaded and spacey that I kept thinking someone was calling my name. (Diet Coke withdrawal: shrooms for the neurotic, too-afraid-to-ever-do-drugs set.) I got through the day with my head down, barely saying a word. Less loquacious people could possibly pull this off, but because I am known for talking anyone who will listen’s ear off, this strategy did not go unnoticed. I feared if I did talk, I would get fired for appearing drunk on the job.

I passed out right after work and woke up, disoriented that the sun had set.

I planned to begin day 5 with my usual morning can, savoring every sip the way a just-released prisoner enjoys a beer, when my taste buds were assaulted by a startling chemical flavor, like burnt-tar mixed with metal. Apparently, this is what Diet Coke tastes like to the non-addict. I drank half the can just to delay the inevitable headache and went on with my day, dumbfounded.

“Why did you let me drink so much of this shit?” I texted, and was immediately reminded, via direct quotation, of all the proudly creative curses with which I employed to assail people who suggested I quit Diet Coke.

Day 6 and 7 passed without incident, just half a can, and now I am perfect and eat only whole foods whose natural color is green.

JK. Quitting Diet Coke hasn’t turned me health-obsessed. I do, however, pair my kid-whose-parents-left-her-with-the-lazy-babysitter diet (chicken fingers and fries most days) with a seltzer now. I still have a ways to go. But I feel a real sense of accomplishment for sticking with something so unpleasant for the sake of being ever so healthier. Baby steps. Goldfish resolutions. After all, the month’s theme is goals.

Photographed by Krista Anna Lewis

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Goals: How to Become a Winter Morning Person

There is a difference between waking up and getting up — or “being” up. After I tricked myself into becoming a morning person last summer, my eyelids were conditioned to fling open Monday through Sunday at 6:59 a.m., exactly one minute before my standard weekday alarm goes off.

But once the sky joined a frat called fall and started blacking out earlier and earlier, all the progress I made just a few months prior began to drop by the bedside. Each morning at 7:00 a.m., “Marimba” would sound and my heart would start pounding — undecided between awake and anxious. My brain would start telling everyone to calm down, that this was just a nightmare, then my own covers would make matters worse: “Dude, this isn’t a nightmare,” it would remind us. “This is morning. This is what I was trying to warn you about when you were kicking me off in August. This shit sucks.”

I had to fix it.

Stop Telling Yourself, “This Shit Sucks.” 

It is the number one thing that I had to let go if I wanted to get my mornings back, because that internal struggle you just read is a paradox: its intentions are to keep you cozy in bed, to protect you against the outside world of stress and rain and cold. But your sleep from that first alarm until your final snooze button isn’t worth it if you’re dreading the inevitable. So to turn this around, repeat after me: It’s going to be better than okay — it’s going to be great! I’m up!

Annoying, cheerful positivity does wonders. (So does a great morning soundtrack.) You’ll see.

If You’re Going to Stay in Bed, Sleep. 

Per the above, there’s no point in pressing snooze if you’re hitting it every 2 minutes and getting a crap sleep, nor is there any point in ruining a perfectly good bed session by checking your email. Either decide the night before that you’re sleeping in — and then do it, or commit not just to the waking up, but the getting up.

I Know: Ew. How?

The last time I did this, I did it incrementally. This time called for extremes. I had to literally lure my ass out of bed with treats. I made a deal with myself: no gym (and no guilt about not going to the gym) for exactly one week on one condition: I would have to get OUT of bed. Following that, activities could include anything “treat-worthy,” whether that meant walking to get a stupidly decadent latte and doughnut, reading, watching a TV show or taking a proper shower — long and lazy and inappropriately hot.

This step was and is really important. It took the terrors out of waking up. You have to remind yourself that nothing bad happens as a result of starting your day, but if you start your day with dread then you’re setting yourself up for crap. If you wake up and think, “Doughnuts!” you’re far more likely to brighten your bushy tail. Once you acclimate, you’ll start to feel ready to actually do things.

Last thing: go to bed earlier. So obvious, but so often overlooked.

Phase 2: Doing Things

You may love your job more than you do James Corden but you still need something beyond work to get your feet on the ground. Setting an hour goal-timer gave my mornings focus and gave me a reason to get out of bed once I didn’t have frosting dangling from a string. Important: this time should not include brushing the fuzz off your teeth, popping in contacts or getting dressed. Also important: leave work out of it!

For me, I’m heading back to the gym. For you, it might be meditation followed by breakfast making and lunch packing. Maybe you’d just like to read the paper in peace.

The number one thing I learned and have to remind myself over and over (and over) again is that the air is seriously always so much better when you step outside, take a deep breath, and go, “YO MOTHAFUCKA, I GOT THIS.”

Because you do.

Photographed by Krista Anna Lewis. Rug by Cold Picnic, pajamas by Sleepy Jones, mug by Helen Levi, and eye mask by Morgan Lane x Baron von Fancy.

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Wearing a Caftan in The Cold: A Story of Survival

A popular question among women: What’s the one garment that never fails you?

A hypothesis on the reason for this question’s popularity: We want to figure out the answer for ourselves.

The reason hearing about what works for other women doesn’t always (often) work for us: Because we’re different fruits. Duh. And what works for an apple doesn’t necessarily work for an orange.

That, and we evolve.

Example: If I had been asked that question last year at this time, my answer would have been an old pair of Levi’s with two rips at the knee. But those jeans are no longer even in my closet. So I propose an updated series of questions — less contingent on the thing, centered more around you — to consider on the quest to determine how your clothes will make you feel good about yourself:

1. How are you feeling?

Depending on the answer here, the follow-up question will change slightly, but the gist will remain the same. For me, the current answer is: bloated, tired, kind of withdrawn. (For context, I’ve been injecting myself with a hormone for the past eight days in addition to swallowing two supplemental hormones for the past 27 days, which are both supposed to help me get pregnant.)

2. So how are you going to break out of it? (If the above answer had been, “Great!,” this question would have been, “What piece in your closet reflects this attitude?”)

With fashion, of course. The thing is, my old tricks aren’t working. The waistband on almost every single pair of pants that I own is tight. My sweaters don’t fall the way I like them to, and there are at least three dresses that have historically made me feel great that plainly don’t fit anymore. It’s like looking into a glass case that is locked with a key that I once owned but currently can’t find. And when I catch my reflection? I don’t even recognize that person.

Where it’s the most difficult, though, is in this: when the foolproof way to pick yourself up out of a slump has historically been to get up, dress up and show up, but the “dress up” portion keeps falling flat, showing up feels impossible.

Then again though, it’s 2016, and I’ve turned over a new leaf. I refuse to tolerate problems anymore and accordingly, have committed myself to being indiscriminately solutions-oriented. So when the old tricks don’t work, you come up with new tricks.

Today’s new trick is the winter caftan, which is essentially the summer caftan only sometimes rendered in velvet and sometimes spelled with a K but often, too, just layered with multiple different pieces.

In exhibit A, you’ll find that I took the layering route incorporating a pair of jeans, a wool turtleneck and a double breast printed blazer — overall an outfit that neither renders me frozen nor allows for me to sulk in a river of my own self-loathing. There are daisies on my person, for goodness sake.

Muzungu Sisters caftan, Natasha Zinko blazer, Tome turtleneck (similar version here), Levi’s jeans, Chanel shoes

In item 2, what you’ll see is a customized celebration of Olsen style with a pair of kitten heel mules (I love them so much but don’t ask me why because I have not intellectualized it yet), a velvet caftan and white shearling jacket. The sunglasses make no sense but that’s why they’re there. The bucket is picking up the tears I left behind in Gloomsville but only to serve as a reminder that you, my friend, are your only ticket out.

Muzungu Sisters caftan, Isa Arfen jacket (another faux fur option here), Staud bag, Manolo Blahnik shoes, Illesteva sunglasses, Céline earrings

Of course, a velvet caftan doesn’t hurt.

Photographed by Krista Anna Lewis

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