une bibliothèque

growing up in alexandria, my back gate swung open to a spacious, sun-dappled library. i spent endless afternoons there, pouring over astrid lindgren and roald dahl books, contraband issues of seventeen, and microfilm reels from the days of flappers. i was delighted then, when i finally paid a visit to my local library, just around the corner from my apartment and steps from my beloved waverly diner.


it was a nineteenth century courthouse and today, it is a cozy collection of stone spiral staircases, stained glass windows, gables, and gardens. i couldn't help but think of beauty and the beast.

around the time that it was built, a spunky socialite named anne charlotte lynch hosted lively literary salons in my apartment building. writers like ralph waldo emerson, herman melville, and edgar allan poe stopped by to raise hell. with some goading from anne, edgar even shared a poem of his, called "the raven", for the very first time. (he once lived nearby with his beloved virginia - later known as lenore, annabel lee, and lolita.)

my, i love my haunted old neighborhood.

(see also: party girl)

your sunny, funny face

although audrey hepburn wielded a mythical sense of style, many of her roles demanded a rags-to-givenchy transformation. there were sabrina and my fair lady, of course. then there was funny face, wherein audrey played a fabled greenwich village girl of yesteryears. naturally, she worked in a bookshop called "embryo concepts", spouted "empathicalism", and liked a good pout now and then.

she would be eventually be whisked away to paris, where she upset fashion shows, danced in speakeasies, and shockingly, wore bright hues. looking back, however, i am happy to claim this story's ugly duckling as one hep style icon for the village. she's perfectly, breezily polished, while still indulging in a healthy dose of make-believe. the unabashed head-to-toe black. that turtleneck. all of her trench coats, kerchiefs, and fuss free skimmers.

sure, her beatnik inspirations teeter on ridiculous, but i, for one, can't wait to play dress-up!

(see also: trovata, jonas löfgren)

une icône: jean seberg in "breathless"

these days, the ladies of new wave film occupy the same esteem that i once held for disney princesses. in the light of technicolor and jump cuts, these women are cool, fearless, and well, completely fabulous. there's anna karina, of course, catherine deneuve (especially in the achingly bright-eyed movies of jacques demy), and most recently: jean seberg in breathless. as patricia, an american student in paris and an occasional lover of handsome gangsters, jean exuded unassuming confidence, vivacity, and easy charm.

here, vogue re-imagines her stylish turn as patricia in a spread from the early nineties. i personally love seeing pixies with so much swagger.

cent lettres d'amour

happy valentine's day! if you're hoping to swoon over sweet nothings today, there are perhaps none sweeter than the one hundred love sonnets that pablo neruda penned for his wife, matilde urrutia. the note he fondly affixed to this bundle of poems, a true labor of love, read:

"my beloved wife, i suffered while i was writing these misnamed "sonnets"; they hurt me and caused me grief, but the happiness i feel in offering them to you is vast as a savanna. when i set this task for myself, i knew very well that down the right sides of sonnets, with elegant discriminating taste, poets of all times have arranged rhymes that sound like silver, crystal, or cannonfire. but - with great humility - i made these sonnets out of wood; i gave them the sound of that opaque pure substance, and that is how they should reach your ears. walking in forests or on beaches, along hidden lakes, in latitudes sprinkled with ashes, you and i have picked up pieces of pure bark, pieces of wood subject to the comings and goings of water and the weather. out of such softened relics, then, with hatchet and machete and pocketknife, i built up these lumber piles of love, and with fourteen boards each i built little houses, so that your eyes, which i adored and sing to, might live in them. now that you have declared the foundations of my love i surrender this century to you: wooden sonnets that rise only because you gave them life." - october 1959

like matilde before me, i've loved pablo neruda for ages. his poems, crafted from pacific coastlines and labyrinthine fjords and foam-covered stones, always make me glad to have descended from his same shores.

(see also: snarky personals, labour of heart)

les étoiles dans ses cheveux

my mother was sure to pass along her avid love of flea markets to me. (why, just last saturday in brooklyn heights, i found delicate cards from the sixties, already carefully signed in childish swoops.) not surpisingly then, i could amble through etsy endlessly. i recently came across this new shop of handmade delights, taza and the prince, for young ladies who like technicolor musicals, the letters of f. scott and zelda fitzgerald, and their own freckles.

(see also: the creator's rockstar diaries)

la nostalgie

(or "the trees like lungs, filling with air.
my sister - the mean one - pulling my hair.")

these evocative pictures by talented miss olivia bee, age fourteen, are nibbles of proust's madeleines, swallowed with swills from a chipped teacup. they are carefully underlined passages in library books, the feeling of birch against bare feet, hot breath whispering in your ear, radios that crackle, and the somnolent light of late afternoons.

(see also:au revoir simone, sok song)

oh deer

can you imagine a more bewitching pet?

audrey hepburn and her fawn called pippin

(see also: the bird and the bee, cherry blossom girl, roman holiday)

tweed et bicyclettes

just days ago, a group of bicycle enthusiasts and dandies hosted london's first-ever tweed run: a fancy-free jaunt with a break for afternoon tea. evoking a life of leisure, everyone involved sported their most dapper, old-fangled fashions. tweed, naturally, was matched with more tweed, houndstooth, argyle, fair isle, flasks of gin, and smart capes. to help keep things cordial, the top prize was the doff of the cap award for the day's most civilised behaviour.

i'd be charmed, i'm sure!

(see also: this month's tweed run san francisco, evelyn waugh)