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Style is simply having a sense of who you are. I’ve had style since the womb. Quite literally. I realize not everyone gets so lucky, but it’s a state of mind, an art form. It’s about being comfortable in your own skin, a logo to your personality and a trademark to your soul.
When I was little I would prance around the house singing to Dolly Parton in my Mum and Nan’s highest of heels. The world was my stage and the hair spray bottle was my microphone. Needless to say, I’m still working on my voice. But to my surprise when I was accepted to the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising in Los Angeles and told by the Director that I had one of the best portfolios that they had viewed in years, it was one of the best days of my life. I knew that it was a part of who I was. The thing is, style, oh yes, style is something that I do for myself. I dress to please myself and myself alone. Without which I would feel simply dull. I’m not saying it’s the clothes that make the person, but you may as well have a little fun with it.
To have that certain je ne sais quoi, you must emphasize a life of passion. This can come in many forms. For me it shines through in ways of leisurely pastimes, charm and cultivation of life’s simple pleasures. One might think you need extra zeros on your paycheck to manifest this type of lifestyle however it comes from within, it comes from happiness and from happiness comes the best style.
Investing in pieces that are both couture as well as thrifty is a high all on its own. A sensational form of art and a vision that even Picasso would fail to uphold to the likes of the fashion canvas. However, the beauty of style can be anything to anyone and beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as the magic and experience within the rules of fashion is that they are made to be broken. Obey your gut, do what you like best and know that trends are momentary, be faithful to your own taste because what YOU truly like will never go out of style.
Typically I scoff at Hollywood’s portrayal of cancer. Particularly chemotherapy. Only because I have personal experience. I don’t know. Maybe it’s me. Maybe not. But, in any case I feel that it doesn’t do it any justice. And of course it wouldn’t and it shouldn’t. They’re acting, after all and I wouldn’t want them and by “them,” I mean the actors, to feel even a fraction of what a cancer patient has to go through. However, I will say, this chemo round, chemo 3.3 we’ll call it, has been pretty on par with the Hollywood script of what cancer looks like.
Keep in mind, my head is now buzzed. So from a physicality standpoint, I look a little more like a cancer patient these days, whatever that is supposed to mean. I guess once again I am referring to what Hollywood depicts. Picture a standard, five star type of white robe on a once meaty body that is slowly getting less and less thick by the day. Each Doctor’s visit, the scale becoming less and less, something most women dream for under normal circumstances. Pale, weak and hanging over the cold porcelain toilet. Imagine your worst hangover times a squillion, headache and all. Textbook chemotherapy, textbook Hollywood script.
Last weekend, my best friend, Crystal was in town. My sister from another mister. Seriously. We grew up together. My brother’s and sister didn’t come into the picture until I was eleven, so Crystal and I grew up like sister’s. We met on Halloween. One of my favorite holidays, next to New Years, where I met my other best friend Allison. I meet all the greats on holidays. Even meeting Steve the day before the 4th of July — so I count that. I digress. Crystal was in town and what I love about our friendship group is that we’re all inclusive. We all gathered together and celebrated being alive, young, happy and the wonderful things that each of us have going on in our lives and the friendship we share. There was a big group of us. And a rare occasion these days, as I have become such a homebody since treatment has picked back up.
When we got home from the Irish pub that we regularly attend when we actually do make it out of the house, Steve and I sat outside on the chaise lounge on the terrace of our condo. It was far past closing time, so it must have been three in the morning. I nestled my head into his chest and we both put our feet up on the table that was before us.
With so many serious conversations under our belt, we looked up at the stars and Steve whispered, “You’re not allowed to leave me.”
I of course knew what he meant. He didn’t mean leave him, as in pack up my belongings and move out and onward. He meant leave him as in from earth — leave him alone in this big world. I tenderly squeezed his hand knowing it was a promise I couldn’t make. Tears began streaming down my face as my heart began to ache for him and selfishly, myself.
We sat in silence both knowing what the outcome would eventually be. Without words it was as though we both realized our love and resiliency was bigger than any Hollywood movie script could ever depict with regards to both love and cancer. We kissed under the stars like it was our first kiss almost seven lucky years ago. Sometimes life doesn’t make sense, but I can’t think of anyone I’d rather figure it out with than my man-bun, Ben Sherman wearing, House of Cards obsessed, hubby. xx
Supergravity Pictures teamed up with Heard Well to put together one of the most profound aspects to our modern society; GAYBY BABY. Being in the blogosphere and in the world of lifestyle, it’s not unusual for PR firms and Media Agencies to reach out to me to pitch their clients, products and/or projects to feature on #BSMHB. There is endless amounts of emails that I sort through each day and I am VERY selective on what I chose to use, if anything at all. My blog is 100% organic and me and I never want to get away from that.
This week I received an email about a documentary that is being released on May 1st, which coincidentally falls on International Day of Families, at least down under where the film was made. However, the documentary will also be screened this April during SXSW and have an early release date across 50 cities.
Through the eyes of children of same-sex partnerships and marriages, documentarians follow four children to showcase their experiences and perspectives, of being a part of a same sex family. This riveting and powerful message is a movement to showcase that LOVE is LOVE.
This one really hit home for me as I have many same sex family members and friends that raise children together and the children are some of the most well balanced, overjoyed, level headed and well-loved kids I have ever had the pleasure of loving and knowing.
Regardless of your stance, please take a moment to watch this trail blazing trailer and get ready for the impact!
Imagine a personality ten times larger than life. We met at my best friend Crystal’s 20th Birthday and her friend from college came to the shindig we were throwing at Crystal’s parents house. Our meeting is another hilarious story for yet a completely differet post. Pardon me, once again I veered off track. I met the one and only Innesa, a Russian born, Jewish and Brunette version of Marilyn Monroe. A force to be reckoned with and sharp as a tack. Needless to say we were attracted to one another as friends immediately. It was though we had known one another for lifetimes, eons, centuries.
Wild is an understatement to describe her, but not negatively or with an irresponsible connotation. I mean ballsy, bold, badass. Our stars aligned during a very pivotal time for the both of us — right around the time we turned 21. My 21st was beyond mental and I don’t recall it clearly enough to regurgitate it (get it). I make myself laugh. Opps, sorry. Focus. Yet, for Innesa’s Birthday I remember ever detail.
I should probably back up and tell you where all this is coming from. We have a fancy built in closet and the rack on the wooden wardrobe fell down completely. It looked like a tornado snuck into our closet. After being that way for over a week, I couldn’t look at it like that for a moment longer and I was united. To my despair, as I was reunited with my precious Nan today, as she returned from her holiday to Aruba and once again organized my closet.
Whist handing her things as she’s standing on a mid-level ladder, I came across a Dior bag that was dusty and placed at the very back of my wardrobe and fell amongst the collapse of the rest of the wardrobe. When I say bag, I don’t mean purse, I mean, shopping bag. A Dior one.
A month or so ago I re-organized most of my everyday shoes and a friend of mine suggested that I blog about all of my different shoes I have as I posted as comment on how many memories each pair of shoe brings back and all of the places around the world they have been. If only shoes can talk. Then I figured they can’t, but I can write about it and she was right. There is a deep love affair with all of my shoes because they all tell a story.
As I was handing off the Dior bag which contains a pair of white Dior sandal heels, still in the box and probably worn twice. The box was dusty and I saw a hotel tag on the strap of the bag with a guy’s name on it. I’ll respect his anonymity — so let’s call him BJ Einns and I was instantly transported back to Las Vegas circa 2007.
At the time I was working for American Express and was in sales and making more money than I knew what to do with. My bills were being paid, I was a spender and didn’t have any remorse when swiping that debit card. Zavy on the other hand was the complete opposite, she liked a good negotiation and that is putting it delicately.
It was our second to last day and we weren’t leaving until that night and decided to go for brunch at the delicious but disgustingly expensive buffet at The Wynn and then we were going to browse around the shops inside ritzy hotel and casino on the famous strip. Following our gluttony and mimosa session at the buffet we wobbled to the shops like Chanel, Louie, McQueen — all my faves. Then we stumbled into Dior and at the time I just j’adored Dior. I’ll be classy and won’t drop the price, but let’s just say that Zavy nearly fainted and needed to sit down immediately…
TO BE CONTINUED…