Have You Met Miss Dang?

Visit me at SINGLEGIRLDINNER!

Sun, 14 Oct 2012 23:17:02 -0400

Visit me at SINGLEGIRLDINNER!

These Acne shoes. Je want.

Sat, 01 Sep 2012 19:47:55 -0400

These Acne shoes. Je want.

Bigelow loot! I can’t wait to use the Supersmile...

Sun, 19 Aug 2012 23:03:41 -0400

Bigelow loot! I can’t wait to use the Supersmile toothbrush—it’s so pretty! Like a piece of jewelry!

NEO CLASSIQUE

Thu, 16 Aug 2012 14:06:46 -0400

NEO CLASSIQUE

"Nobody else working in movies today can make her own misery such a source of delight or make the..."

Wed, 15 Aug 2012 11:23:32 -0400

““Nobody else working in movies today can make her own misery such a source of delight or make the spectacle of utter embarrassment look like a higher form of dignity.””

- The New York Times’ A.O. Scott on Diane Keaton’s performance in “Something’s Gotta Give”

Nothing Gets Between Me and My Calvins

Sun, 05 Aug 2012 21:13:51 -0400

These are my latest addiction. Can’t seem to have enough in black and nude. Sleek, minimal, classic, edgy, sexy, comfortable… Yes, all of those words just to describe a pair of undies! And for 3 for $30? You can build a whole collection of them!

Currently Listening To

Sun, 15 Jul 2012 03:11:00 -0400

It was the summer of 2000. I was obsessed with Sex and the City and would listen to this album over and over again.

As a farewell present for my move to New York that August, my sister and cousins made a little poster with the above image of the show’s characters, except with their own faces on top of their corresponding character. My cousin Vicky was sweet Charlotte, my cousin Jen was the older and wiser Samantha, my sister Jeanie was pragmatic Miranda, and I was Carrie—the little fashionista-writer-dreamer. It was one of the most touching gifts I have ever received.

For whatever reason, I started looking up the songs from that album tonight. Those songs… They’re not the greatest… But they’re bringing me back… To a time that I can only experience on a wave of nostalgia.

"I think that, when people seek any form of self-education, their accent just kind of neutralizes. It..."

Thu, 05 Jul 2012 23:27:21 -0400

““I think that, when people seek any form of self-education, their accent just kind of neutralizes. It gets closer to a newscaster.””

- Reggie Watts

“Here’s the thing about dessert — you want it to last. You want to savor it. Dessert is so...

Fri, 29 Jun 2012 01:11:08 -0400

“Here’s the thing about dessert — you want it to last. You want to savor it. Dessert is so delicious. It’s so sweet. It’s so bad for you so much of the time. And as with all bad things, you want it to last as long as possible. But you can’t make it last if they give you a great big spoon to eat it with. You’ll gobble up your dessert in two big gulps. Then it will be gone. And the meal will be over.

Why don’t they get this? It’s so obvious. It’s so obvious.”

—Nora Ephron

"LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 23). Highlighted today is a certain longing in your heart that makes you..."

Thu, 21 Jun 2012 10:35:32 -0400

“LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 23). Highlighted today is a certain longing in your heart that makes you unique. It’s a nameless craving for nothing in particular and everything at once. It’s impossible to describe, and few possess it.”

- Holiday Mathis

The World According to Vogue

Sat, 09 Jun 2012 11:28:00 -0400

“When I first moved to New York and I was totally broke, sometimes I would buy Vogue instead of dinner. I just felt it fed me more.” —Carrie Bradshaw

I recently joined a new company and our team went to lunch yesterday at Soho House to get to know one another better. We all took turns making introductions, and, instead of firing out key bullet points, we started sharing mini personal stories of a defining moment that made us move to New York. For one girl, it was going into business with her father. For another, it was reading through the encyclopedia as a child. I was the last person to go.

I wasn’t sure what to say exactly, but then it dawned on me: “An issue of Vogue was accidentally mailed to my house back in 1995.”

I still remember that moment, clear as day. It was a beautiful summer day in Texas and my dad had freshly mown our lawn. The smell of freshly cut grass still gets to me today. I was sitting at the picnic table in our front yard, under the shade of the tree that my parents had planted when I was born. I was fourteen years old.

Dad walked down the driveway to check the mail and shuffled through the stack as he made his way back up. He stood in front of the picnic table and tossed a magazine to me, “Here, this one’s for you.”

“Dad!” I said, excitedly, looking down at the glossy cover, “Did we order this?!”

“I think it was sent here by mistake,” he said, before disappearing into the house.

My knowledge of magazines before that was a smattering of Highlights for Kids, National Geographic, and Time. This, however, was fabulous. VOGUE, in all caps. A French word! It was the most sophisticated thing that I had encountered in my life thus far.

Kate Moss was wearing a minimalist pink satin shift dress by Calvin Klein with a pair of black pumps. It was her first Vogue cover. The saturated hue and luxuriousness of the Duchesse satin of the dress were foreign to me. I studied everything. The cut was so minimal, yet looked so… Expensive. I hadn’t seen anything close at the mall.

I recall coming to a page with bold-faced names, like Donna Karan and Isaac Mizrahi. I had no clue about how to pronounce their names, but the one thing that stood out was where they went to school: Parsons School of Design. I dog-eared this page and later boldly underlined this part. I must find out more. That’s where I need to be.

The issue featured Mod influences in fashion at the time. Kirsty Hume and Nikki Taylor were shot in an editorial together, wearing skinny black turtlenecks, string bikini bottoms, and kerchiefs on their head. Their eyes were defined with bold strokes of black kohl eyeliner and their lips were perfectly nude. I rushed into my mother’s vanity and experimented by dabbing her concealer on my lips. I gasped. It looked so modern. That magazine was my treasure. It unlocked a world that I could never even have imagined.

I daydreamed about going to Parsons until I was a junior in high school. When I met with my guidance counselor and told her that it was the only school I wanted to apply to, she scoffed at me. “That’s not very realistic,” she said, “I would recommend that you attend the community college here for two years and then transfer to the University of Texas, which has a fashion program. Or you could also look into applying to the Art Institute of Houston.” Was it that absurd of me to want to go to Parsons? It infuriated me and only made me more determined.

My cousin and her then-husband took me to New York for a weekend that spring so that we could visit the school. It was my first time on a plane. We shared a tiny room at the Holiday Inn in Times Square. The next day, we toured Parsons and sat through orientation, where they spoke about the rigorous program, the expectations, and how being smack-dab in New York City offers a dynamic energy not found in traditional university campuses. I didn’t want to go back home!

I applied and wrote an essay about Ralph Lauren’s advertising campaign for their new fragrance Romance. When my acceptance letter arrived in the mail, I stared at it everyday. I didn’t know how I would get there or how I would pay for it, but I was in. My family scrounged up money for airfare and my mother gave me a check for $1,500. I got on that plane not knowing with no idea what my life would become once I got off.

The cab stopped in front of the dormitory building on East 12th Street, near Third Avenue. Everyone else was surrounded by their parents and family. It was bustling with swarms of people. I stepped out of the cab with an overstuffed duffel bag and a huge, heavy cardboard box. Deep breath. Here I go.

A Jerry Maguire Moment

Wed, 23 May 2012 00:43:00 -0400

That feeling where you have a belief stirring around so strongly in your mind that you can’t sleep until you create something tangible from it, so you open your laptop and a rush of thoughts and ideas push through your fingertips and onto the screen—candid, but magically articulate, concise, and organized. Then, you click send. It travels through the World Wide Web into your boss’ inbox. When you wake up, you think: “What the fuck did I just do.”

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Watched Willie Nelson perform this song (a cover of Pearl Jam)...

Mon, 21 May 2012 02:10:00 -0400

Watched Willie Nelson perform this song (a cover of Pearl Jam) on a recent episode of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon. Makes me think of Dad.

—

After being employed for about six months, there came a day when I had to make the dreaded call: “Daddy? Can I borrow $500? I’ll pay you back, I promise!” To which he promptly responded, “Do you know how much you owe me by now?” Yikes. Nevertheless, he went to the bank minutes after we hung up and deposited the funds for me.

A couple of months later, I started a new job and was just starting to catch up on my finances. Dad and I caught up on the phone and he told me that he worried about me at times. I thought he was hinting at the loan.

“I know, I know, Dad… The $500. I didn’t forget. I feel really bad. I’ll pay you back soon,” I said guiltily.

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” he told me, “You should feel happy. You should feel happy that you have a dad who would do that for you. It’s not about paying me back.”

Everything you gave and nothing you would take…

My Huckleberry Friend

Sat, 19 May 2012 03:51:00 -0400

Years ago, after a particularly heated fight with an ex that left me in tears, I called my friend Edward who lived nearby, sobbing for solace. He invited me over for tea. I remember exactly what I wore: a vintage Afghan dress with mirrored paillettes hand-embroidered on the bodice, black tights, and my tall black velvet Chanel boots. I made the walk down Park Avenue that winter’s evening, a big fox fur hat on my head, clutching the front of an oversized gray wool coat closed with a gloved hand. My nose was pink and my eyes were puffy.

Crashing into his sofa, still upset, I gave him a run-down of the argument and expressed my bewilderment and confusion as he poured hot water into a pair of mixed matched teacups. He pulled out a small, clear plastic dessert box from his mini fridge. “I bought pumpkin cheesecake because girls like sweets,” he said with a shrug. He cut the wedge in half and gave me mine on a zebra-painted plate.

We spent hours talking and he somehow convinced me to venture downtown to Beatrice Inn, the louche subterranean West Village hot spot which has since been closed down by authorities. We hurried down the steps. It was dark and crowded, and the ceilings were low, which made me feel like I was an oversized Alice in a very underground Wonderland.

After having our drinks in hand, Edward led me up to the black and white checkered dance floor where we danced away, brushing shoulders with everyone around us. Then, there was a change in tune. I recognized the opening notes and the beat. It was Roxy Music’s “More Than This.”

“We have to dance to this song,” he said, turning his baseball cap backwards and holding out his hand. “Will you dance with me?”

How could I say no? So, I did. But I made a joke of it because we were the only ones slow-dancing in the entire place.

Then, we shared a cab back uptown and I went back to my apartment.

When Christmas rolled around weeks later, Edward asked me to meet him in Union Square for lunch. He had a gift for me. It was wrapped in brown paper with a hunter green ribbon. With it, he gave me a tiny white envelope sealed with a messy little blob of red wax. “Don’t open it now,” he insisted, “It’s embarrassing.” I stuck it in my bag and we went to lunch as usual.

When I got back home, I opened the gift and it was The Best of Roxy Music CD. The second track was “More Than This.” I read the card:

To J:

This is the only present I bought this year that has any meaning.

x E

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The Estella Complex

Thu, 17 May 2012 08:29:00 -0400

Estella: groomed to be the unattainable muse; conditioned to believe that loving would only lead to heartbreak. She could receive love, but was unable to give it in return.

In the film Great Expectations, after his first solo showing at a gallery, a drunken Finn determinedly marches to Estella’s uptown mansion, unabashedly rings the doorbell, and screams up to her window:

“I DID IT!!! I DID IT! I AM A WILD SUCCESS! I SOLD THEM ALL! ALL MY PAINTINGS! You don’t have to be embarrassed by me anymore… I’M RICH! Isn’t that what you wanted—huh?! Isn’t it great??? ARE WE HAPPY NOW??? Don’t you understand… That everything I do, I do it for you. ANYTHING that might be special… In me… Is you.”

Here’s this guy would do anything for this girl yet she’s completely indifferent. For all he knew, he wasn’t good enough. Nothing he did was good enough. You see in her eyes that he’s the hero in her life, but she’s limited in her expression. Allowing him to love her was as far as she could go.

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FALL 2011 ESSENTIALS LIST

Sun, 14 Aug 2011 00:36:00 -0400

THE NEW BALLERINA FLAT

Dieppa Restrepo - Camel penny loafers

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Last fall, a stylish woman with a chic blonde bob walked into Cafe Cluny wearing a black wool cocoon coat, chunky black sweater, cropped skinny black trousers, and nude patent loafers. Her shoes were understated yet made such a statement that I had to ask her who the designer was. She told me that they were designed by a duo under the label Dieppa Restrepo and scribbled down their name onto a scrap piece of paper for me.

When I looked through their unisex shoe collection, I instantly became obsessed with their camel penny loafers. They were just the sort of everyday shoe I was seeking: practical yet polished, and something that went with just about everything.

My ideal fall outfit would be to pair these shoes with a crisp white shirtdress, cinched at the waist with my vintage gold coat of arms Christian Dior belt from the 1950’s, and an oversized black and white herringbone cashmere wrap.

—

THE EVERYWHERE TOTE

Alexander Wang - Emile tote (in Eggshell)

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When I moved back to New York last September, I had brought nothing from my handbag collection but a conservative black Chanel handbag and a black Chanel quilted leather clutch with me. I figured that it would cover the bases between job interviewing and going out. The only problem was that I didn’t have a handbag that could go everywhere with me.

My everyday life consists of working at an artist’s studio in Brooklyn, hitting the gym or working out, and occasionally going out at casual places downtown. In any of those scenarios, a conservative Chanel handbag would feel completely out of place.

Handbag prices have been so outrageous that, for the past year, I lugged my camouflage L.L. Bean Hunter’s Tote wherever I went. I just couldn’t bear the thought of paying a thousand dollars for a decent handbag. At the same time, I knew that I’d eventually have to invest in something that was stylish, cool, and suited my lifestyle.

Luckily, at the recent Alexander Wang sample sale, I spotted the Emile tote and fell in love. The only color that was left by the tail-end of the sale was eggshell. I guess most people saw a white bag as impractical or limited to the spring and summer seasons. To me, it was as versatile as a black handbag. I could see myself wearing it with anything. Not only is this bag roomy enough to fit my gym clothes and sneakers, the cross-body strap allows me to sling it over my shoulders while I ride my bike! The best part, though, is that it was under $500 with tax included.

—

THE FRAGRANCE WITH 1,000 COMPLIMENTS

Donna Karan - Gold (Eau de Parfum)

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I received a bottle of Donna Karan’s Gold eau de parfum from an event’s goody bag years ago. It sat untouched in my vanity for months until I ran out of whatever perfumes I had at the time. On the first day that I wore this perfume, I received compliments from cab drivers to random strangers in the grocery store. I had hit on something and I wore it for a couple of years.

This past year, I thought that perhaps I should switch things up so I went on a search for a new fragrance. I’ve smelled and tested dozens of perfumes and still couldn’t find something I could identify with. I told my boyfriend about my quest and he said, “But why? I associate you with that scent.” I wore it to a birthday dinner the other night and when I hugged a friend, he said: “Wow. You smell nice.”

The search is officially off—I think I’ll stick with this one.

—

THE SUPERHERO FACE CREAM

Kiehl’s - Abyssine Cream

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For some reason, I hadn’t been taking care of my skin as I should have. My medicine cabinet used to be stocked with an array of serums, night creams, day creams, moisturizers, firming creams, cleansers, exfoliators, toners, and masks. When I started living by myself this year, I wanted to streamline and minimize the amount of products that I was using. I returned to a simple regiment consisting only of a gel cleanser, exfoliating scrub, and basic moisturizer.

Having combination skin, I became wary of creams for fear that it would clog my pores or make my skin oily. I stayed away from anything that came in a jar. What I didn’t realize was that my skin had changed now that I’m nearing 30 years old. It was less hydrated than I thought. I started looking into anti-aging creams but everything that I came across was either out of my price range or too complicated for me to wrap my head around. That is, until I saw a jar of Kiehl’s Abyssine Cream in the display at Equinox.

This anti-aging defense cream was only $45 and contains abyssine, which is a molecule found in the ocean that soothes and protects the skin. The texture is thick but goes on lightly. It absorbs into the skin well without a greasy residual slick. My skin is left hydrated and happy. I highly recommend it.

—

THE DRUGSTORE LUXE BEAUTY ITEM

L’Oreal - Million Lashes Mascara

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I’ve been alternating between Diorshow mascara and YSL’s Volume Effet Faux Cils mascara for the past couple of years. When my last tube went dry last week, I tweeted for mascara recommendations. I was sick of paying $30 for mascara. @hithapalepu from HithaOntheGo.com told me about L’Oreal’s Million Lashes mascara. I just picked up a tube from Duane Reade yesterday for $8.99 and knew that it would be a mainstay in my makeup bag.

The Little Writer That Could

Mon, 11 Jul 2011 01:05:00 -0400

Something major happened yesterday: I received a paycheck from one of the publications that I contribute to and it was enough to cover one month’s worth of rent. This is a big deal for me because, when I first started freelance writing three years ago, I was paid in peanuts. (To give you a frame of reference, my rate for 250 words back then could probably get me a nice lunch while my rate today could cover a night’s stay at a bed & breakfast inn.)

This paycheck somehow symbolizes that the writing that I do on the side is actually legit. I’m movin’ on up and it feels good. I feel like I should have this framed to show my future children: “Mommy finally thought of herself as a real writer the year she was turning 30 because of this paycheck!”

One of my favorite quotes on writing is one by Richard Bach, who said: “A professional writer is an amateur who didn’t quit.” I couldn’t agree more and I have blogging to thank for flexing my writing muscles. The above image of Carrie Bradshaw is how I look when I write: belly-down on the bed, with my laptop open, and always facing the foot of the bed.

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Back to Basics

Thu, 07 Jul 2011 00:07:00 -0400

“I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’m in the midst of a major metamorphosis,” I said to my boyfriend this past weekend. “I’m in the process of becoming my ideal self. And I think it’s time that I started working on my style. Style communicates so much about a person and right now my quote-unquote style says nothing about me.”

He opened up my iPad and said, “OK, tell me what your goals are and I’ll take notes for you.”

I spoke freely about how I wanted to look polished but effortless, and illustrated this by pulling out a grey Balenciaga sleeveless top that was cut from a high-tech grey foam jersey material. I flipped through my closet and paired it with a black wool asymmetrical Balenciaga miniskirt with intricate origami pleating.

“See this?” I asked, holding up the outfit, ”This would be what I’m trying to achieve in one outfit. It says: Creative. Modern. Stylish.”

He nodded and kept typing.

I went to my shoe shelf and pulled out a pair of black patent strappy Alaia heels, clamping down on the top hanger with my chin. ”And these. These add the sexy element.”

He flipped the screen around and showed me what he had typed: “Blah blah blah blah blah”

I sighed and threw the ensemble down on my bed. He came over, gave me a kiss, put his arms around me and said: ”I like this Jessica.” He told me he didn’t know why I was being so hard on myself.

“I just want perfection,” I declared, sliding my closet door even wider, “I want to start all over and get rid of this stuff. I want to love everything in my closet!”

“But, if you only keep the stuff that you love, you won’t have anything that you like.”

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I Dream of Jessica Alba?

Thu, 02 Jun 2011 02:15:00 -0400

The other night, my boyfriend gave me three movie choices and asked me to pick one for us to watch before going to bed. I forget what the other two were, but I ended up choosing Little Fockers (which probably gives you a clue as to the level of cinematic works I was dealing with). One thing that you must know about The Boyfriend is that he is completely obsessed with horror flicks, so whenever he suggests a film that doesn’t involve vampires, zombies, or ghosts, I’m totally on it.

In Little Fockers, Ben Stiller’s character, who is married with children, encounters a flirtatious young business associate (played by Jessica Alba) and finds himself in a predicament where his father-in-law starts to suspect that he’s carrying on an extramarital affair. It gets to the point where Jessica Alba’s character starts crossing major boundaries after getting drunk, including spiking his drink with a Viagra-like pill, making out with him, and stripping down to her bra and panties. She falls asleep on top of him and he ends up being late to his twins’ fifth birthday party.

What pissed me off about this film is that, by the end, you’re left with this message: “Well, technically, nothing happened”—meaning, they didn’t have sex. Just because they didn’t have sex doesn’t mean nothing happened. This script must’ve been written by a man. Needless to say, I was super annoyed by Jessica Alba’s character.

That night, I dreamt that The Boyfriend and I went running in Central Park and we came across a cave that was set up like a modern apartment. Jessica Alba comes in and tells us that she lives there. The Boyfriend brings up how he’s been embracing the outdoors, and she starts gushing and flirting with him, as if I were invisible! Then, she asks for his number, and he freaking gives it to her! I’m infuriated by this. Dream ends. I wake up with a sudden urge to punch him in the shoulder while screaming: “You jerk! I can’t believe you gave your number to Jessica Alba!!!” (But, of course, I don’t because I’m not a complete psycho.)

Later on, I ask him what he thought of the movie. He shrugs and says that he wasn’t really paying attention because he drifted in and out of sleep. I start on my tirade and then bring up the dream.

The Boyfriend: “Aw, I’m sorry that movie upset you, babe. Jessica Alba is a horrible actress anyway. Next time, we’ll watch a scary movie because then I’d know how to handle the situation if you get upset by a zombie.”

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Single Girl Dinners

Thu, 19 May 2011 00:14:00 -0400

I used to cook. A lot. My old blog on Xanga was sprinkled with recipes—ones I’ve made up and ones inspired from new cookbooks, vintage cookbooks, dishes I’ve had on my travels, dishes from retro eras, macrobiotics and health dishes, cooking shows, magazine articles, and restaurant menus. The catch is that I’m only moved to cook when I know I’m cooking for others rather than myself. Otherwise, I’m pretty satisfied resorting to my less elaborate Single Girl Dinners.

Carrie Bradshaw’s Secret Single Behavior (S.S.B.) was eating a stack of saltines with grape jelly while standing up at the kitchen counter and reading Vogue. This is not so far off from my Single Girl Dinners, which is whatever I can scrounge up and put together in a jiffy. Last night’s dinner was pretty typical:

2 slices of Kavli rye crispbread slathered with a thin coat of cream cheese and snipped herbs, topped with strips of smoked salmon
Salad of sea vegetables drizzled with Greek olive oil and a few shakes of ume plum vinegar, and freshly ground black pepper
A handful of cold cherry tomatoes on my plate for snacking
“Dessert”: sliced pear with honey-roasted peanut butter (Sometimes I’ll even have a small glass of vanilla almond milk with dessert.)

C’est tout. I felt pretty satiated—although, now that I think of it, miso soup would’ve really rounded out that meal.

Other Single Girl Dinners that I’ve made:

2 hard-boiled eggs, sliced in half, with tartar sauce and an anchovy-wrapped caper + Triscuits with sliced sharp cheddar cheese
Steamed vegetable medley (cauliflower, sugar snap peas, baby carrots, baby bella mushrooms, drizzled with olive oil, lemon juice, and curly parsley)
Spaghetti with fried eggs
Store-bought rotisserie chicken with couscous and Greek yogurt sauce—or you can also substitute the couscous with whole wheat pita and potato chips!
A bowl of whole grain cereal with vanilla almond milk
A plate of sliced hard salami, aged Old Amsterdam gouda, red radishes, and cucumber slices
A ribeye steak with steamed rice and watercress salad
An avocado whipped with lemon juice, Maldon sea salt, and black pepper, spread on a toasted English muffin + a cup of hot broth
Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup cooked with a beaten egg yolk, lots of lemon juice, dill, and black pepper + Melba toast with taramosalata (creamy Greek cod roe spread)
Cheese ravioli tossed with olive oil, minced garlic, broccoli florets, red pepper flakes, and a sprinkle of Parmesan cheese
Chopped boiled red beets on top of a bed of julienned black Tuscan kale salad
Seared salmon filet with lemon and dill + sauteed asparagus
Watercress salad with avocado and hard-boiled egg + blue cheese crostinis
Instant ramen with poached egg, scallions, and toasted nori + kimchee on the side
Scrambled eggs with scallions + steamed jasmine rice
Toasted sourdough roll, torn and schmeared with cream cheese, topped with smoked baby oysters from the tin
Spaghetti tossed in black olive tapenade with sundried tomatoes and feta crumbles
Seafood/crab salad from the prepared foods counter with tortilla chips
Buttered egg noodles or elbow macaroni with Maldon sea salt, black pepper, hot paprika, and a sprinkle of Aromat
Burrata with prosciutto, basil, and tomato—sometimes by itself; sometimes on a bed of fresh tagliatelle

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