Look of the Week: Getting That Semi-Elegant Bad-Ass Feeling with Blazers

When I lived in NYC, I wore jackets and blazers all the time. Boyfriend blazers, tuxedo-y styles, classic English-y redingcotes: they all made me feel upright, strong, swaddled in strength and fortitude as I weaved down the streets and sidewalks quick and sharp. My uniform was a sharp jacket, skinny jeans and boots — it was practical and utilitarian, but most importantly, it made me feel like a semi-elegant bad-ass. Then of course, I left, and slowly those jackets went away. I either sold them — some lucky duck owns a fabulous Phoebe Philo-era Chloe wool jacket now for crazy-cheap

Look of the Week: In Which I Wear a Fedora

So I finally gave HBO show “Girls” a chance. I had seen probably half of the first season when it came out, but didn’t really keep up with it, so I forced myself to watch the first two seasons in their entirety. It was okay, just another case of struggling between liking the secondary characters and not being able to stand the main one — similar, interestingly enough, to my relationship to that other iconic woman-centered HBO show “Sex and the City,” which I wrote about in my book All Things Glorious and True and admitted how much I hated

Look of the Week: The Transitional Outfit

It’s the in-between days, straddling Indian summer and the crisp, purposeful fall — today as I write this, it’s 90 degrees and sunny, but tomorrow we’re supposed to have a low in the 40s. I suppose you can say this is my “last gasp of summer” outfit because it’s cool enough for a day like this but — with a jacket or cardigan thrown on — will do just fine when it gets cold tonight. It’s a silk sleeveless top from the Fletcher by Lyell line (prob my fave designer collabo ever), a pair of beloved, well-worn sandals, though the

When You’re High on Benadryl, Even Calvin Klein Perfume Commercials Make Sense

I spent much of last week in a drift of medication: an antibiotic, then an antihistamine I had to take after I developed a horrid allergy to the antibiotic and then Benadryl. It was the hottest week of the summer and I didn’t leave my apartment for much of it, except at night when it had cooled down and no one would notice my horrifically disfigured legs, covered as they were with raw, angry hives that looked like blisters from third-degree burns. I couldn’t do very much. I was either itchy as hell or stoned out of my mind on