The Visa Diaries

This article caught my eye in the NYTimes the other day. It is about how New York City’s Village is becoming a theme park to its former self. In the Old Days (whenever that was – any time from the 1800s to about 1980 it seems, depending on the revivalist), the Village was a really a bohemian village. Inhabited by all sorts of artistic and/ or gay people who did not fit into mainstream society, they found a community together in downtown New York, and later went on to become famous. Accounts claim it really was a village – things were smaller, cheaper, and less hectic, people knew their neighbors. Actors and writers without trust finds could afford to live there.

The world has obviously changed significantly since then, and one of the ways is that businesses and individuals have become more and more savvy about creating images that can be marketed. Simultaneously, consumers have become more skeptical of those images, and ravenous for something “authentic”. Like other neighborhoods that were the sites of iconic cultural happenings (Haight Ashbury, for example, or a much closer neighbor, Soho) the Village finds itself sought out by people looking for the magic for which it became famous – outsiders finding a home together and having a grand old time, unconscious of how cool they would later be seen to be.

The inevitable truth of course is that the genie is long gone from the bottle – magic exists only as long as it doesn’t quite realize it is magic. As soon as it has self-consciousness of its it-ness, well then, hello tourists and fashion boutiques, hello high rent. Good-bye to that faint, ineffable, je ne sais quoi. Good-bye to the innocence that, by definition, cannot be tried for.

Perhaps the magic of the Village really existed as storied, or perhaps it is only a post-fabricated nostalgic revision – most of us will never know. At the very least, it has been amplified post-facto, like all myths, and the restaurants described in the article are are reinforcing that myth so as to cash in on it. They are more sophisticated and upscale than the Pirates of the Caribbean at Disney Land, or even a place like New Orleans Latin Quarter, but the function is the same: create an exotic experience that people will pay to feel a part of.

The Wonder Wheel at Coney Island

All of this came back to me when I went to Coney Island last weekend for the first time. My brother and his family, including Mr. Ben (age 7) and Miss Rowan (age 5) were visiting, and I thought Coney Island would be fun. It did end up being fun, but only after I got over how run-down it is, how trashy are the clientele and the food, how I was afraid to walk barefoot on the beach for fear of what might be in the sand. After I got over all of that, we had a good old time, and I was struck that Coney Island, which is actually supposed to be a theme park, is not. It is authentically, non-self-consciously what it is, and what it always has been.

This may not always be the case – there are various development plans underway for Coney Island. I say run over there as fast as you can, and live the magic… before it is revived as Magic!(TM).

Well hello again, wonderful wide web!
So, I know a few things in life, and one of them is that when somebody says they’ll do something, and then they don’t, its not a good thing. Like, for example, when I say I’m going to be back online with Visa Diaries (as I said almost a year ago) and then I don’t… well, you all go, “yeah, we’ll see.” And then my credibility is shot, and I have to really prove my intention in order to win you back. So yes, I know all that, and I also know that probably nobody is coming by here much anymore. But nevertheless, I am going to open the windows, dust off the cobwebs, put on a new lick of paint, and start having people over again. If not parties, because Visa Diaries never was a raging party type of place, well then salons, brunches, dinner parties, afternoon tea… Time and place to connect and think about the joy, sorrow, and perversity of a modern life in our modern world. All through shopping of course, because that’s how we do it.

Before we get down to business, I want to say a word about why I stopped VD, and why I am back, and to that end, the purchase of this post is: godaddy domain registry and economy web hosting! Between GoDaddy and WordPress, anybody can have a soapbox with almost universal reach virtually overnight. And each website owner gets to set up their little home on the network in whatever way feels like home. It is truly amazing.

GoDaddy and Wordpress

When I first bought this domain and set up my Wordpress blog on my very own Visadiaries.com URL, it was July of 2006, almost 4 years ago. I was living in London between the first and second years of doing my MFA at Yale. Visa Diaries was the online extension of my undergraduate thesis, in which I had logged and decoded 5 years worth of my credit card purchases, to understand the ‘fantasies’ that I was buying into whenever I plopped down the plastic for a new purchase. At that time, blogging was still kind of new, but gaining steam, and definitely a cool thing to be doing – maybe like Tweeting was a year ago. I was psyched to “have a blog,” and I think also psyched to have a platform in a way. Even though it was before Julie&Julia or this (even closer to home, though conceived completely independently) happened, I think I had an idea about being discovered through my blog… ok that’s an embarrassing thing to admit! However, I believe the lesson in that regard is that “being discovered” actually takes a lot of hard work, discipline, and putting yourself out there again and again, and I didn’t have the drive and focus for that. Poor Julie, as we saw in the movie, sacrificed her health and her marriage for her blog. Anyway, I had a lot going on personally and emotionally as I tried to keep it together in grad school, was confused about ending my relationship and life in London, and then moved to New York and trying to start a new life there. The Visa Diaries fell by the wayside.

Now the dust has settled a bit and the air in my head feels much clearer. I’ve been calling Brooklyn, which I love, home for almost 3 years; I have a good job doing graphic design for the City of New York; and, most excitingly, am engaged to be married this coming September to a truly wonderful man. And I’ve found myself missing the Visa Diaries quite a lot. As unlikely as it seemed, examining my purchases was a very profound road to self-discovery. Every time I wrote a post, a new insight would reveal itself to me, and it was incredibly satisfying. Plus, some people read it and seemd to like it, and that was really cool too. Even my dad read it, and that was super-cool . So those are the reasons I’m back – I believe both in living an examined life, and also in starting where you are, and somehow the things I buy turned out to be a very real entry point into making some meaning out of this crazy life. So, if anybody is out there, hello and thank you for reading, and I promise I will be back regularly.

here’s to peace, love, and a new day-
Kate

Well, hello again! how lovely to be back here. And thanks so much to Carter for giving another breath to the Visa Diaries. The Diaries have been on my mind, though not in my schedule, since moving back to Brooklyn and working to get settled in here. Yup – my last post was over a year ago.

And how things – especially consumption related things – have changed within that time. While there was definitely a chill in the air about the economy back then, now of course we are suffering from full-on pneumonia. I can’t help wondering if our consumption habits are making long-term changes, and what better place to publicly wonder about that than the old Visa D?

I  am so curious if this recession will have long term behavioral effects or not. While I am of course neither an economist or a future-teller, some people are beginning to talk as if there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Unemployment is still rising, but not as fast. Orders for raw-goods order are still shrinking, but not as much. Credit markets are beginning to work again. I guess the point is, at some point sooner or later, the pendulum will swing the other way.

And I wonder, will we have learned anything?

Will we have learned anything about consuming less and feeling more? About spending time with friends and loved ones instead of spending money? About not judging ourselves or others by the prestige of our job or the size of our paycheck, but by the courage and gusto with which we greet whatever comes our way? I guess what I am saying is, is there any chance that we will rediscover and remember the pleasure of simple, sustainable and sustaining values.

These bits of conventional wisdom go around all the time: money can’t buy happiness; slow down and smell the roses; be here now and appreciate what you have. When the siren of fast times and big bonuses is whaling loudly, it can be hard to test those adages out. But perhaps we are being given a gift a time to really check them out.

I don’t know. But I did buy something recently that made me hope the answer is yes: a head of cabbage. I brought it over, along with some zuccini and soy sause, to my friend Nicola’s house. She added some rice and sesame oil, and we cooked in into an amazing meal of fried rice. And we talked and laughed and had a grand old soul-satisfying time. Both leafy greens and good friends are that rare combination of making you feel good and being good for you. Total pricetag $18 (ok, there were some beers in there too).

A few months ago, a friend told me that if he heard the phrase “In this economy” one more time, he might explode. Little did we know, then, how many more times we’d get to hear it, and, frankly, how much more we’d care about hearing it. How we’d probably come to hang on the words of stories that began that way, and how we’d pray to move beyond it.

This is a story that begins “In this economy.” It’s a story about the joy that consumables can bring us, and the ability to find that joy for under $20. It’s a story about a showerhead that has changed my life, or at the very least, my mornings.

I live in San Francisco. I know I’ve mentioned that, but to me, San Francisco goes against the status quo. My default location tends to be the east coast, where life is both more coarse and more refined. Faster in the north where I tend to take quick trips to New York, slower in the south where I like to linger for weeks or months. Life on the east coast is not about a wholeness of the soul. Little time is spent talking about work/life balance, or balance of any sort, really. But life in San Francisco is somewhat obsessed with this. Companies compete to offer the most holistic view of life–which inevitably includes a LOT of work, but also a bit of a balancing act. At least, companies give the promise of this, and I’d argue it’s more prevalent in SF than back east.

And yet, people here still work too much. I work too much. I am constantly trying to balance my desire to press ahead in my career, working as hard as I can, with taking some time to relax and enjoy what’s around me. This has rarely been more startling than last night, when watching the Real Housewives of New York City. I only caught a few minutes of the episode, but as one couple departed Brooklyn for St. Barts, I realized I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I ever took a vacation as an adult. In fact, I have never taken an actual vacation, if you consider a vacation a trip where you go to spend time away from work that doesn’t include a family reunion or visiting friends. My trips are always, always, always to visit family or friends. This idea of taking time away from work and spending money on myself is just not something I engage in. I hope one day I will.

In the meantime, and “in this economy,” I’m trying to find pleasure in the small things. My consumer victories are fewer and farther between, and they also are less costly. But they are there… in the happy hour glass of wine or the deal on Kiehl’s shampoo at Marshall’s or the use of a frequent flyer flight on JetBlue. One of these recent purchases has made a bigger impact than the fleeting high of getting a good deal, it actually has changed my attitude about luxuries in my own home.

Last fall sometime, my showerhead began to squeal. Not all the time, but LOUDLY and without avail when you changed one of the pressure settings. Then, in early winter, it began to squeal all the time. I was fearful my neighbors might one morning break down my door, demanding that I turn off the water and with it, that bloody high-pitched scream. So onto my Christmas list went a consumable: new showerhead. My only wishes were that it be the handheld kind, be silver, and have multiple water spouts. I also hoped it would cost less than $40.

My parents found one at Bed Bath and Beyond for $60, got the online price in-store at $50, and used a 20% coupon. This brought us down to somewhere around my price point. I got the gift on Christmas morning, but saw the $60 price tag and was appalled. Even when they told me they’d spent less, I decided to keep looking to find something less expensive. It’s a showerhead, for goodness sake, and in my mind, utilitarian items should be cheap.

I kept looking, and eventually found the identical showerhead at Marshall’s for only $19.99. I was thrilled. I lamented the economy, the fact that goods were selling for next-to-nothing in January, but I scooped it up, installed it in my apartment in SF, and anxiously awaited a new-and-improved, non-squealing shower. Little did I know I would come to love it.

My first shower was an adjustment. I had to find the right water setting out of all 12 promised by the manufacturer. I discovered that there were truly only 6 settings, and that each of those individual spray-types had a low-to-high pressure scale, yielding at least 6 additional sensations. And in this selection process, I found a setting I’ve never had on a shower before. It is a fine, delicate mist, but with enough spouts to give even, adequate pressure. It is great. To me, it feels like standing in a rain forest, surrounded by lush green foliage with specks of bright blue sky coming in through the leaves.

This entirely new feeling means that I now look forward to my showers. They are points of luxury, of relaxation, of indulgence in my day. As my own private rain forest inside my SF concrete jungle, they are the counterpoint to my stresses. What’s even better is that these showers have opened my eyes to other indulgences at home that I have been missing. Like making time to sit on my rooftop and look out over the San Francisco Bay, or to do yoga in the evenings in my living room.

My point in telling you all of this, in light of “this economy,” is that reclaiming the luxuries right under our noses can be rewarding in lean and lush times alike. And so in light of balance, I’d like to offer a gentle nudge toward seeking your own (small) indulgences. Toward giving your day a bright spot to counter all those stories that begin  “In this economy…”

I am not usually on the bleeding edge of trends. An early adopter maybe, but there’s always a bunch of funky ‘kids’ in Williamsburg or Shoreditch or wherever doing anything before me. Which incidentally reminds me of a joke I heard recently about those Williamsburg hipsters:

Q: How many hipsters does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: You don’t know???

Ha!

Anyway, back to our story. In light of all this, I was completely thrilled when my friend Christy invited me to go see a hot up and coming band last thursday. Not only are hot and up and coming (and my resident hispter-at-work Noah had not even heard of them yet) but they are locals from my new home-sweet-some Brooklyn. For all those reasons I was disposed to like them, but then on top of all that, they have about the best band name I have heard in a long time: Yeasayer.

It may not sound like much, but I think the world is in need of a little saying yes these days. A little more ’sure, we can work that out’ and a little less ‘not my problem, mate.’ A little more of, “yes I care, yes I am engaged, yes I want to take action and make even a small difference.” “No, I am not too cool for school!” (see, that double negative there, is like a yes

Yes is more than a word, it is a very powerful attitude that influences how we are in the world. I recently spent 2 days at a corporate offsite for a client, which was perhaps a bit corporate for my taste, but was facilitated by some very cool improv actors who had all sorts of pearls of improv wisdom. One of the groud rules of improv, apparently, is to take everything done by other actors as ‘offerings’ and go, ‘yes, and…’ as opposed to ‘that’s stupid!’ or just ignoring it, which are called ‘blocks.’ We all know blockers, don’t we, and boy who wants to hang out with them? ‘Yes’ allows creative flow, ‘no’ cuts it right off. The more we say ‘yes’ to the offers already on the table in our lives, the more will come into our life in unpredicatable ways. Equally, the more we refuse offers, the safer and more predictable, along with stuck and boring, it becomes. They called accepting offers ‘allowing yourself to be changed by others’, which I also think the world could use a little more of these days.

There is also that famous story about how John Lennon and Yoko Ono met in a show of hers in a gallery in London. She had a piece that required visitors to climb a ladder to read something on the ceiling. It was a framed piece of paper that said, “Yes.” Lennon recalled later, “So it was positive. I felt relieved.”

In light of this positive spirit, I said “yes” to a lovely Yeasayer tee-shirt, which I am happily wearing as I write this. Oh, and the music was great too. Check it out at http://www.myspace.com/yeasayer

Oh dear. sigh. Has it really been so long? I know it must be bad when my father of all people says to me, “Kate, you’ve basically shut down visa diaries, haven’t you?” My father is not a man who is waiting for his latest dose of shopping gossip, so for him to notice – ouch.

Good thing Carter wrote just a little while ago, or else I would really only be hearing the lonely echo of my own tappity-taps on the keyboard. Good thing she wrote… except for the fact that she has just (and justly) shamed my more consumeristic and less socially conscious urges. How am I supposed to gloat about a new pair of shoes or sunglasses now that she has reduced them to nothing but a pile of toxic chemical inputs and permanent landfill outputs?? Ironically, I happen to be doing a project for a major cosmetics brand at work, and as a result have been buying all sorts of new make-up… not that I would tell you all about my peacock liquid eyeliner, or my new ‘deep throat’ blusher, because then I’d be shamed off the Internet – the shallow one who still bought lipgloss as the planet was burning…

Ok ok, I’m sure that’s a little extreme. I know that we are all making pained noises about the planet, while we semi-abashedly continue to buy take-out for every meal and forget to bring our eco-bags to Whole Foods. I am not the only one. But still, let’s have a think about less toxic lipgloss alternatives in the world of shopping and consumption. I mean honestly, there are a million and one ways to spend our money, and surely we can still shop and be decent global citizens at the same time.

Perhaps this is a good time to test out my theory that high design is good for the planet. Here’s why I think so: highly designed things are more expensive, so they create more wealth – more gdp, which is what the capitalists care about – with fewer natural resources. Plus, well designed and made products should also work better and be more pleasing to have around, so they generally raise satisfaction in using and owning them, and we will hang on to them longer. A truly classic design never goes out of style, and if for some reason it no longer fits into your home, it will be snapped up on eBay quicker than you can say “mid-century modern.”

For example, if I could afford it, I would buy this chair from Linge Roset:

I have seriously been coveting this chair for almost 10 years, since I first saw it in the swanky Istanbul house of some Eurotrash friends of mine. Since it costs, like, mega-bucks, a couple of years ago I bought a pair of knock-offs at Urban Outfitters. They have the same general shape, but are missing the extra excessive cotton padding and pillow-y down-y feel. Result: as soon as I can afford it, I will buy the Ligne Rosset original, and get rid of my knock-offs. Hopefully not just trash them, hopefully pass them along, but still. The point is that it would have just been better to buy the real, good object that I wanted to begin with, and then keep that forever.

So, how is my Post-Lipglossist theory shaping up? I admit that probably there is still some hard scholarship to be done, but basically I think Post-Lipglossism is just a fancy word for that age old wisdom: Two Zaras do not a Prada make…! er, um, I mean quality is better than quantity…

BY CARTER

Today’s top story on nytimes.com was accompanied by the subhead “A pullback in spending raises the possibility that the country may be experiencing a rare decline in personal consumption.” And in my mind, this is a good thing.

For the last six months of my life, I have been trying to consume less. Moving all of my items across the country via Amtrak, and paying by the pound, made me evaluate all the stuff I have accumulated over the years and what is really essential in my life. Additionally, I decided when I moved to San Francisco that I would attempt to buy more used items and fewer brand new pieces. This hasn’t prevented me from taking a million trips to Ikea and Target (I chose to buy new silverware, dishes, and glasses, along with other items), but it has meant that every piece of furniture in my apartment (save one) is recycled in one way or another. I have chairs and small cabinets and curtain panels I found on the street, an antique mahogany dining table that I purchased from craigslist for a mere $80, a Le Corbusier chair I snatched for $120, and a quirky set of knicks and knacks that I’ve gathered at thrift stores and yard sales and giveaways. When I have bought new items, I have attempted to buy pieces that are somewhat natural (like all-wool rugs from Ikea) and new make-up from bare Escentuals.

I’ve attempted to go more natural with my make-up and personal care products… things like soap and body oils and lotions and lip balms that I needed to restock when I arrived in California. After reading up on most of my personal products on the Skin Deep database, I made the decision to pay a premium for higher-quality, more health- and earth-friendly products; this also meant that I relinquished my habit of buying lip glosses every few months that I didn’t need, lotions just because I like them, or shampoos just because they smell good. Instead, I now buy natural soaps that do not contain sulfates or artificial fragrances, and I’ve weened myself off Carmex in favor of cocoa butter (Carmex actually causes lips to chap and flake since it contains salicylic acid… in effect, Carmex can be addictive, not to mention its harmful rating on the Skin Deep database).

And one fact compounded all of these decisions: a few weeks ago, I heard on NPR that nothing in modern landfills biodegrades. Nothing. Food from the 1950s has been found in landfills, along with millions of other items that “ought” to biodegrade. Since modern landfills have no air circulation, and since biodegrading requires oxygen, there is no way for anything to decompose. Which essentially means that anything we throw away, we are leaving for our children to deal with. I had never realized this was the case.

Knowing this has made me even more acutely aware of my purchases: I really don’t need a new lipgloss if it means I’ll be throwing out an old one, which surely is not recyclable. And do I really need another planter for my apartment, or a plastic bird feeder? Is it possible to buy items that are 100% recyclable rather than things that will break easily and won’t be able to be fixed?

As I have lived here a bit longer, and now that I have accumulated most everything I need for my apartment (which, mind you, is filled with stuff — I’m certainly no saint), I have little to no desire to go shopping. I am trying to purchase items that can be reused for other needs (I bought heavy whipping cream yesterday in a charming miniature glass milk bottle that I’ll reuse as a vase).

Spending time in traffic or crowds searching for snazzy items that I simply do not need is not a way to spend my weekends. I’d now rather try to have fun instead of trying to get ahead by spending money. Of course, this doesn’t eliminate the fact that I still can’t recycle my toxic toothpaste-tube (I just can’t yet make the switch to natural toothpaste) and that I buy salad in a plastic box instead of a loose bunch stored in my reusable grocery bags. It’s a slow road to take: the one where you evaluate what your life is made of and decide if you want it to be made of things. It has taken me a long, long time to distance myself from my belongings. Only now am I attempting to see the effect my consumption has on everyone around me, and only now am I attempting to fill my life with things that have no tangible form.

To be honest, it has been entirely more fulfilling than a new tube of lip gloss. The high is more subdued, but also a million times prolonged.

I cannot believe that I have had this blog for over a year and have not yet written about the wonders of Tasti-D-Lite. I love Tasti-D-Lite. Anybody who knows me knows that I love Tasti-D-Lite. That I will detour blocks out of my way to pick it up, and can be sometimes be found with a cone of Tasti-D even in the depths of winter.

For those who don’t know me, or indeed Tasti-D-lite, it is a “unique low-calorie frozen dessert.” Fake ice cream. I’m sure it tastes vile compared to real ice cream, but frankly I’ve been a female in this society (and thus on a low-grade diet) for so long that I cannot remember what real ice cream tastes like. So I think tasti-D is just divine. So, though I cannot do an ode, let me count the ways I do love thee, Tasti-D.

I love the crass, synthetic, pink and blue colors

I love the name, pun, mis-spelling and all. If only it had a heart instead of a dot over the “i”

I love the teen-age girls who work there (except for once when I went into the one in New Haven, and there was a cute Aussie guy working there, who I am sure would never eat the stuff in a thousand years. I overheard him tell the Yale undergrad girls in front of me that he was just there to make some money. I cannot even imagine how much play he must have gotten.)

I love the fake flavors. Who can tell Rocky Road apart from Mudpie? Yet they have hundreds of them, slightly different chemical compositions

I love the fluffy, airy, calorie free-ness

I love the hoards of weight and age conscious New York women who flock to them, and say things like “let me try the flavors” (Tasti insider language for the two rotating flavors of the day, in addition to the permanent staples of chocolate and vanilla), and “I’ll take nine pints of peanut butter to go, please.”

I could develop a big treatise about how Tasti-D-Lite is a completely contingent product – made necessary by the same society that makes it possible. But I won’t, because a respite from thinking and analyzing and calculating is exactly what Tasti-D-Lite is for me, and why I love it most. When I go in there, I get to be an airhead for as long as the cone lasts. I don’t have to worry about why I want it, what it means, what it is going to do to me, what the consequences are. My head is as vapid and vaguely sweet as the airy, puffy, slightly flavored stuff in my cone, and it is delightful.

It seems that the season has *finally* changed in New York. If we didn’t all believe in global warming already, the freakishly indian summer we were “enjoying” was seriously getting a little bit disconcerting (and making Al Gore’s Nobel Prize seem very timely). Plus I absolutely love the autumn, and have been feeling seriously short-changed on the whole crisp air, colorful leaf front. So it is with glee and delight that I took in the fresh, sunny fall weather this weekend.

I imagine that the retail industry also shared similar feelings of glee and delight, if perhaps for more cynical reasons – nothing like a change in seasons to bring shoppers out in droves. Each season has its associations of activities and moods, and each of course requires proper attire and accessories to really make one feel as if she is of the moment, properly autumnal, etc.

I am currently living on the upper west side of Manhattan (the “upper best” we like to call it), dog-sitting for my friend’s lovely German Shepard, Olso, while I get settled and find my own place in New York. Just a couple of blocks from me, there is a store called Loehmann’s, which you may or may not know as part of the TJMaxx, Centry 21, labels-for-less genre. I have to walk past Loehmann’s on my way to Fairway (”A Market Like No Other”… is that good??) to get food, and so this weekend I absent-mindedly wandered in. “Absent-mindedly” is of course nothing but an excuse… “Oh did I just happen to find myself in this store? in the changing room trying on some clothes? and they just happened to fit/ be cute/ a good price/ etc etc… how could I resist??” It takes all the blame away from me, displacing it onto that modern malady of being over-whelmed, unfocused, going with the flow… which inevitable leads to a cash register, somehow.

In this blameless state, I entered Loehmann’s with rather low expectations, envisioning picked over merch from second- or third-rate brands. Of which there was plenty – lots of crap. For this I was somewhat relieved, banking on crap to let me get out of there scott-free. I wasn’t counting on the gems. Those of you who know me know that I have a weakness for Marc Jacobs (despite his recent – or perpetual? – identity crisis), and my first definitely-not-crap find was a darling military-inspired jacket by him. With a new job, a smart-yet cool jacket-like thing in which to make presentations was just what I needed. Check – just like that, sale number one made and mentally rationalized.

Fortunately or not, depending on how you look at it, the not-crap did not end the jacket. Still umm-ing and ahh-ing as to whether I really needed that, but on the on the way to the register, I passed what was easily the best discount selection of coats I have ever seen. Seriously. Missoni, Ralph Lauren, See by Chloe, italian cashmere, and many more. Not cheap, but hundreds of their original prices. I paused and looked around, to see if anybody else had noticed. I felt like what I imagine the gold miners felt when they discovered a vein, in the middle of the wilderness, all alone, but other miners in the vicinity… I felt like I had discovered a secret that others would kill for. Very protective. Almost manic. Must claim my coat before others catch on…

Totally irrational of course. Nothing that is in plain view in Loehmann’s on the upper west side of New York City is a secret. But that is how it felt as I tried on coat after coat. Despite that fact that I have absolutely nowhere to wear such a thing, the pink woven Missoni with Maribou trim was a serious contender. It just felt like too good an opportunity to pass up…

In the end I got a hooded, tweed jacket form See by Chloe. It hits at the hip, with a sweet little pleat in back. I am into Chloe, definitely a brand aimed, yet “aspirational” for me. The jacket is so cute. Not exactly low-priced, but lower than normal. And that is obviously the secret, subliminal, genius marketing-nefariousness of Loehmanns… their name! They have disguised “low” as “loeh,” priming you to think it is going to be a bargain, even if you’re not sure here that thought came from. Very clever…

Well, hood-winked I may have been. But at least it was also hood-jacketed, and now I am ready for fall.

I have not been a very good blogger recently (if ever). Some of the things you are supposed to do as a blogger are: write short but regular posts, link to lots of other people’s blogs, and comment on other people’s blogs so they link back to you… generally be active and out there. I, on the other hand, am a hermit blogger, who occasionally comes out with an overly long post, but never really hangs out enough to become one of the bloggers-about-town. Alas.

In an effort to be more active and social as a blogger, I have asked my friend Carter to join me for the occasional guest-post (as occasional or frequent as she likes really). Carter and I were in grad school together. She is from Virginia, as she will most likely tell you herself, and thus infinitely more social than me, from New England. She is a good shopper too, and what do you know, studied a made-up major like culture-studies in college, so knows all about how to dissect her purchases for their hidden meaning with the best of ‘em.

So, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I present the first work of the lovely, the scintillating, the beautiful, Miss Carter!!!

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I have recently moved to California. The process of moving to California has been ongoing for over a year. It began last summer when I lived in San Francisco temporarily and was waiting to finish graduate school to move back. In that final year of school, I stopped shopping. At least, I stopped shopping for all the things that I would not dare move across the country: drug store lip glosses, strappy sandals and skirts and summer dresses (of no use in this fog and wind), nail polishes, lotions (I must have a million bottles), shampoos, soaps, wine glasses, more books. In other words, anything heavy, low quality, breakable, or summer-like.

This meant that when I actually arrived in California, I had a lot to purchase. Which has been a fun, tedious process. It’s amazing how much stuff is required to live, especially considering the fact that I am diligently trying to limit the amount of stuff I buy. I am determined to not re-clutter my life considering the fact that I left a lot of it back on the East Coast.

In this, my first message on Kate’s site, I’d like to tell you about one of the most mind-blowing products I’ve purchased in the last couple months. It’s called Bare Escentuals Get Started Kit, and I bought it in the ‘light’ shade family.

Let me preface this Lovefest by saying this starter kit was not my first introduction to mineral make-up. A couple years ago, I purchased mineral blush and mica-infused mineral shadow at Whole Foods in my first attempt to convert my make-up to products with a lower toxicity level than my standard issue. These products were okay, but since I was applying them with my standard brushes, they often went onto my face too heavily. I rarely used them.

Then I got to SF, which has had an intense effect on my skin. Suddenly, my skin became about 10 times more oily and I needed to switch foundations and shampoos. I knew I wanted to buy decent products that weren’t completely carcinogenic, and my newfound job meant that $60 for four powders and three brushes no longer seemed too expensive (compared to my grad school budget, where this purchase would’ve been a week’s worth of food). I decided to take the plunge.

I wandered into the Sephora that is about 10 blocks from my house and picked up the starter kit, feeling slightly like I’d drunk the Kool-Aid and that I was a sucker for betting on this miracle box of goodies. I got home, opened the cardboard box to find one bottle of Skin Revver-Upper, a serum used to prep the skin for powder application, four loose mineral powders, one brush that resembles a blush brush, one stubby Kabuki brush, and one flat-headed, long-bristled brush for concealer application. I had figured that Bare Escentuals would not replace my Burt’s Bees waxy concealer, which I do still like. But I was wrong.

After getting out the powders and brushes and unwrapping their packaging (boo for plastic bags since the entire box was also shrink-wrapped), I opened the DVD with usage instructions. Here’s where the magic begins.

The DVD is amazing. It’s like watching an extended infomercial for Cindy Crawford’s make-up or Pro-Activ solution. It’s chock-full of soft lighting, fake novices, and new converts to Bare Escentuals. It’s like a pep rally for your make-up application, and it’s hosted by the founder of the company, which happens to be based in SF. Though I’m a little unnerved by how different she looks in the video compared to her picture on the box’s exterior, I watch.

I decide to do my make-up while I watch the DVD, and to do it without a mirror because I haven’t bought a handheld mirror yet in SF. Throughout the video, the mantra ’swirl and tap’ must be repeated a million times. And it’s a good thing, because it’s what makes this stuff so potent. So here I am, sitting on a bare wood floor, powders and brushes surrounding my 12″ and me, and I’m swirling and tapping away. I’m convinced that the make-up won’t really work since it’s just powder, not the crème powder I’m used to using. I go through two foundations: light and fairly light, using both the full coverage brush and the baby Kabuki brush. I then apply concealer using the light foundation powder and concealer brush. Then, I use the powder called ‘Warmth,’ which is like a bronzer or a blush, but not really either of those… imagine something that gives you a little life after applying a matte foundation. And finally, I use the all-over ‘Mineral Veil’ to finish my application.

And then I went to the mirror, expecting to see a face looking the same as before I watched the soft-lit DVD, before I saw the blonde and the brunette novices apply their own faces. And I was shocked at my own face. In fact, I’m still shocked each day as I apply this make-up. When the founder-woman of Bare Escentuals says that you won’t see make-up, you’ll just see coverage, she means it. It’s amazing. It also means that you won’t _feel_ make-up, which is really very exciting to me because I hate kissing boys and feeling like I have something on me that might come off on them. And I never realized it, but normal make-up also causes your face to feel heavier than I think this stuff does.

Once in front of the mirror, I do another cover-up application (the first didn’t provide enough coverage), and then I stare at myself, amazed that this powder has not covered my freckles where I don’t want them covered, but has camouflaged my broken capillaries, my uneven skin, the darkness under my eyes. I gather a new glass jar to hold my new brushes, and I put away the powders on their own little shelf in my cabinet.

Kids, I’ve officially drunk the Kool-Aid. I’d encourage you to do the same.