Okay. I’m not one of those pretentious people who only eat organic, drink champagne, and brush their teeth every day.
I do, however, love cashmere.
Thursday, March 18, 2021
Washing Cashmere Like a Boss
Showing posts with label diy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label diy. Show all posts
Saturday, April 18, 2015
L'Oréal Paris Fibralogy: A Product Review!
"Bleach it," I always tell the hairstylist. "But that will make your
hair so coarse!" she always replies. "You call it coarse, I call it
thick!" I always insist, with a professional smile, followed by a that's
what she said.
Since the beginning of time, my hair has been thin, but luckily, I have lots of it. I don't like to overload it with too many hair products, and prefer to keep my regime simple: shampoo, conditioner, de-tangler. Recently, however, I was lucky enough to receive a l'Oréal Paris Fibralogy Vox Box to test this new product that promises to make your hair thick. What's different about it is that in-between the shampooing and conditioning, you put a serum in your hair that really seals the thickness deal. To be honest, I was a bit skeptical because I've tried a lot of products before, and I would hate to write an entire review about how much a product sucks, but I would also never lie. However, I'm excited to report I was not disappointed!
Here's how the line looks... in the Vox Box....(what a fun surprise to receive! the postman was surely jealous...)
Step 1 is the shampoo part...pretty standard. You just lather and rinse as per usual...
Step 2 is to apply a dime sized amount of the thickening booster. This is really the activating agent. Leave it in (do not rinse out!) and then you're ready for Step 3...
And Step 3 is business as usual: a nice dollop of conditioner. Lather, give it a few minutes to do its thang, and rinse!
I haven't used an 'adult' hair line in a long time. Most of my stuff, as you probably noticed in previous blogs, is fruit scented or is tear-free for babies. The Fibralogy line smells like something a woman in her late twenties should use- grown-up and elegantly fragranced.
It was a sad day before I received my Vox Box. It was a sad day because my hair was flat and thin, like this:
After washing my hair with the shampoo, and treating it with the booster and conditioner, I blow dryed it quickly and...holy moly:
I was really impressed by how sleek my hair felt, without any other product in it, and without needing to even be straightened after. It just sort of perfectly fell into place. It certainly felt thicker, and so, so, so voluminous that I didn't know what to do with it. I absolutely loved it, and loved that I didn't need to do anything else to amp it up afterwards...
For a lower cost product, you really can't beat this one: it really does what it claims to do, and with only one extra step in your simple hair care routine. Thanks to Fibralogy, here's what I do now, all day, every day:
While I received this product complimentary to review, all views expressed are my own - why wouldn't they be ? :)
Since the beginning of time, my hair has been thin, but luckily, I have lots of it. I don't like to overload it with too many hair products, and prefer to keep my regime simple: shampoo, conditioner, de-tangler. Recently, however, I was lucky enough to receive a l'Oréal Paris Fibralogy Vox Box to test this new product that promises to make your hair thick. What's different about it is that in-between the shampooing and conditioning, you put a serum in your hair that really seals the thickness deal. To be honest, I was a bit skeptical because I've tried a lot of products before, and I would hate to write an entire review about how much a product sucks, but I would also never lie. However, I'm excited to report I was not disappointed!
Here's how the line looks... in the Vox Box....(what a fun surprise to receive! the postman was surely jealous...)
Step 1 is the shampoo part...pretty standard. You just lather and rinse as per usual...
Step 2 is to apply a dime sized amount of the thickening booster. This is really the activating agent. Leave it in (do not rinse out!) and then you're ready for Step 3...
And Step 3 is business as usual: a nice dollop of conditioner. Lather, give it a few minutes to do its thang, and rinse!
I haven't used an 'adult' hair line in a long time. Most of my stuff, as you probably noticed in previous blogs, is fruit scented or is tear-free for babies. The Fibralogy line smells like something a woman in her late twenties should use- grown-up and elegantly fragranced.
It was a sad day before I received my Vox Box. It was a sad day because my hair was flat and thin, like this:
After washing my hair with the shampoo, and treating it with the booster and conditioner, I blow dryed it quickly and...holy moly:
I was really impressed by how sleek my hair felt, without any other product in it, and without needing to even be straightened after. It just sort of perfectly fell into place. It certainly felt thicker, and so, so, so voluminous that I didn't know what to do with it. I absolutely loved it, and loved that I didn't need to do anything else to amp it up afterwards...
For a lower cost product, you really can't beat this one: it really does what it claims to do, and with only one extra step in your simple hair care routine. Thanks to Fibralogy, here's what I do now, all day, every day:
While I received this product complimentary to review, all views expressed are my own - why wouldn't they be ? :)
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
The Ventral Tegmentum in Love
I was thinking about one particular item on my 30 before 30 list - to put together a collection of photographs - and about how what I really wanted to accomplish was to have something I made be showcased. Photographs are great, and one day, I might even put all of the ridiculously expensive photography courses I took to use, but to have something exhibited would undoubtedly be much more challenging. I figured it would push me out of my writing-infused comfort zone, forcing my ideas to be critiqued by complete strangers, and that idea scared me so much that I knew it belonged on that list more than the photography project did. There's something addictive about breaking down your ego, plunging into a space where you will likely feel like a douche, as you surrender and let that feeling get all Christian Grey on you (will I ever stop referencing a movie I couldn't even get through?? Like I don't even know what I meant by that..)
A friend of mine is doing his PhD in Neuroscience, and invited me to an annual Society for Neuroscience Art Show held at the Orange Art Gallery in Ottawa, and after checking out their website, I noticed a call for artwork submissions. Looking at the previous years' pieces, I was both overwhelmed and inspired: Ottawa has a lot of talent, and nobody boasts it until you attend one of these events.
I decided to submit a piece anyway, and while I didn't think I would make it in (they did remind us that space is limited so not to get our hopes up too high), I was just excited to attend an art show that was all about the brain. I mean, it was practically guaranteed to be cerebral (*applause*). I've always been interested in motivation and exactly what part of the brain guides what thought and behavior. Or, more generally, the fact that something so tiny in our brain is responsible for a movement of the shoulder, a coy gaze, a forced laugh, a lonely memory, or the flutter of those butterflies when a stranger smiles at us on the metro. As I thought of ideas, I looked at diagrams of the brain and realized that not one of them ever depicted it in a beautiful way, so I decided to start with an aesthetically focused representation of this inevitably grey matter. It would be a watercolor brain, so that each synapse and nerve could seamlessly harmonize with the next.
I chose kraft packaging paper for the base, so that the water would dry to form texture. Then I cut it out and pasted it onto a canvas which I filled with white and pink acrylic paint undertones, then a thin coat of varnish.
And then I thought about the most exciting part of the brain. The most unpredictable, confusing, and elusive part: the part that makes us love. It's called the Ventral Tegmental Area or the Ventral Tegmentum, and it's a group of neurons that are responsible for all those times your heart skips a beat when he or she looks in your eyes. And then I thought about my favorite poet, E.E.Cummings, and how I can barely ever get through his poems without becoming breathless from the intensely palpable, all-consuming pull at my heart with every word. And so, I came up with the idea to depict the Ventral Tegmentum as the creator of the emotion behind the poetry of this incredible poet. I don't think I can explain it in a different way than how I did when I submitted it, so here is what I sent with my submission:
Oh, and here is the final product, with an excerpt of the poem stemming from the little yellow dot, the Ventral Tegmentum, as its muse.
And this is the part of the poem that's a little tough to read:
"Love is (more) thicker than forget
More thinner than recall
More seldom than a wave is wet
More frequent than to fail"
I can go on a huge tangent about what the words of that lovely poem mean to me, but really all I care about is that they mean something different to each person who reads them.
Here is the rest of the poem, because it is so breathtaking, but could not all fit onto the canvas:
"it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea
love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive
it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky"
Amazingly, my piece made it into the vernissage (what???) and soon, it was time to check out what the rest of Ottawa is up to, in the world of visual art. We saw some bubble-blowers:
And a piece that really reminded me of Egon Schiele's work, probably because of the haphazardness of the lines:
And ugh, this is just brilliant. My all-time dream would be to know how to paint like this:
And these pieces could really brighten up a white space...
And here's how it looked altogether:
Oh, and here is my piece, The Ventral Tegmentum in Love:
And here is my friend, The Benisa in Love (with Gucci, for the time being):
Oh, and in case you're wondering, it's really, really nerve-wracking to listen to people discussing your work. Some people would pause and contemplate, while others would immediately dive into discussing their observations, meanwhile..
And at the end of the night, my piece was sold in an auction that donates all proceeds to a local charity. This year's donations were given to Ancoura, a non-profit organization that provides affordable housing and support for individuals with mental health issues. And, not to sound insensitive, but I was really just effing stoked that someone wanted to take my piece home. I imagine them looking at it now, feeling the same way I felt when I found the right words to describe it, their heart slightly warmer, their brain a shade of raspberry pink.
A friend of mine is doing his PhD in Neuroscience, and invited me to an annual Society for Neuroscience Art Show held at the Orange Art Gallery in Ottawa, and after checking out their website, I noticed a call for artwork submissions. Looking at the previous years' pieces, I was both overwhelmed and inspired: Ottawa has a lot of talent, and nobody boasts it until you attend one of these events.
I decided to submit a piece anyway, and while I didn't think I would make it in (they did remind us that space is limited so not to get our hopes up too high), I was just excited to attend an art show that was all about the brain. I mean, it was practically guaranteed to be cerebral (*applause*). I've always been interested in motivation and exactly what part of the brain guides what thought and behavior. Or, more generally, the fact that something so tiny in our brain is responsible for a movement of the shoulder, a coy gaze, a forced laugh, a lonely memory, or the flutter of those butterflies when a stranger smiles at us on the metro. As I thought of ideas, I looked at diagrams of the brain and realized that not one of them ever depicted it in a beautiful way, so I decided to start with an aesthetically focused representation of this inevitably grey matter. It would be a watercolor brain, so that each synapse and nerve could seamlessly harmonize with the next.
I chose kraft packaging paper for the base, so that the water would dry to form texture. Then I cut it out and pasted it onto a canvas which I filled with white and pink acrylic paint undertones, then a thin coat of varnish.
And then I thought about the most exciting part of the brain. The most unpredictable, confusing, and elusive part: the part that makes us love. It's called the Ventral Tegmental Area or the Ventral Tegmentum, and it's a group of neurons that are responsible for all those times your heart skips a beat when he or she looks in your eyes. And then I thought about my favorite poet, E.E.Cummings, and how I can barely ever get through his poems without becoming breathless from the intensely palpable, all-consuming pull at my heart with every word. And so, I came up with the idea to depict the Ventral Tegmentum as the creator of the emotion behind the poetry of this incredible poet. I don't think I can explain it in a different way than how I did when I submitted it, so here is what I sent with my submission:
They say “follow your heart”, but
what guides our hearts is a microscopic synapse that happens in the right place
at the right time. This phenomenon is what inspired this piece: the idea that a
tiny elusive spark in our brain could lead to somebody writing words that can
then elicit similar feelings in others. The excerpt is taken from one of my
favorite poems, “Love is More Thicker Than Forget”, and speaks to me of the
importance of this feeling in our lives. I couldn’t imagine a better poet than
E.E. Cummings to conceptualize the marriage of the tangible – the brain – and
its most beautiful creation: love.
Oh, and here is the final product, with an excerpt of the poem stemming from the little yellow dot, the Ventral Tegmentum, as its muse.
And this is the part of the poem that's a little tough to read:
"Love is (more) thicker than forget
More thinner than recall
More seldom than a wave is wet
More frequent than to fail"
I can go on a huge tangent about what the words of that lovely poem mean to me, but really all I care about is that they mean something different to each person who reads them.
Here is the rest of the poem, because it is so breathtaking, but could not all fit onto the canvas:
"it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea
love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive
it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky"
Amazingly, my piece made it into the vernissage (what???) and soon, it was time to check out what the rest of Ottawa is up to, in the world of visual art. We saw some bubble-blowers:
And a piece that really reminded me of Egon Schiele's work, probably because of the haphazardness of the lines:
And ugh, this is just brilliant. My all-time dream would be to know how to paint like this:
And these pieces could really brighten up a white space...
And here's how it looked altogether:
Oh, and here is my piece, The Ventral Tegmentum in Love:
And here is my friend, The Benisa in Love (with Gucci, for the time being):
Oh, and in case you're wondering, it's really, really nerve-wracking to listen to people discussing your work. Some people would pause and contemplate, while others would immediately dive into discussing their observations, meanwhile..
And at the end of the night, my piece was sold in an auction that donates all proceeds to a local charity. This year's donations were given to Ancoura, a non-profit organization that provides affordable housing and support for individuals with mental health issues. And, not to sound insensitive, but I was really just effing stoked that someone wanted to take my piece home. I imagine them looking at it now, feeling the same way I felt when I found the right words to describe it, their heart slightly warmer, their brain a shade of raspberry pink.
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
Chocolate Banana Ice Cream with Pistachios
Yesterday morning, I stood in the middle of the lobby looking up at the sky while contemplating ideas that are normally distracted by office noises. Some of these ideas include: What am I doing with my life? and How can I eat egg whites without gagging? Both immensely overwhelming, and both the types of questions that can never be answered. Anyway, I was deeply immersed in one or all of these thoughts, when I felt something hitting the back of my leg. I had gone skating the day before, so I figured it was just my body crumbling from the unexpected strain of being coerced into not falling over for two straight hours (thank God skate rentals are only for two hours, by the way! Now that’s what I call getting hooked up!)…so I ignored it. But then I felt it again, and this time, it was much harder. I turned around to find a blind person was hitting me with their blind person stick. They didn’t seem interested in moving on, but just kinda stood there, rapping my legs like a xylophone. Here’s the interesting part: A non-blind person stood beside them, nodding.
“How does that feel? Does it feel like wall? Or does it feel like a person?” they asked. The blind person wasn’t sure, so they began to hit faster. I didn’t want to move aside, risking them being forever confused by this ‘moving wall’ or ‘static person’, so I continued looking off into the distance. Sometimes you just have to pay it forward.
Later that day, I came home craving chocolate so bad that I, myself, wasn’t sure whether I was wall or person. I had cocoa, and I had some fruits. I had Google, and I had a freezer. Putting those things together, I ended up with this:
Chocolate Banana Ice Cream with Pistachios
I would hardly even call this a recipe because it is just so simple and straightforward (I mean, it’s pretty much like saying ‘take this banana and eat it’), but here’s how you create this amazingly delicious, clean, and healthy dessert:
1. You freeze a banana
2. Once it’s frozen, you peel it
3. You blend the banana in a food processor
4. You add cocoa powder until it tastes as chocolatey as you can handle
5. YOU HAVE ICE CREAM.
I mean, how?? How does it taste so good??? And then if you want to take it to that next level…
6. You add pistachios.
Bonus: add shredded coconut! (not pictured above because I ate it too fast)
I love this ‘ice cream’ and have made it several times already, and if anyone said something like “if you like it so much why don’t you just marry it?” I would. I would marry it. It’s just too bad we cantaloupe.
“How does that feel? Does it feel like wall? Or does it feel like a person?” they asked. The blind person wasn’t sure, so they began to hit faster. I didn’t want to move aside, risking them being forever confused by this ‘moving wall’ or ‘static person’, so I continued looking off into the distance. Sometimes you just have to pay it forward.
Later that day, I came home craving chocolate so bad that I, myself, wasn’t sure whether I was wall or person. I had cocoa, and I had some fruits. I had Google, and I had a freezer. Putting those things together, I ended up with this:
Chocolate Banana Ice Cream with Pistachios
I would hardly even call this a recipe because it is just so simple and straightforward (I mean, it’s pretty much like saying ‘take this banana and eat it’), but here’s how you create this amazingly delicious, clean, and healthy dessert:
1. You freeze a banana
2. Once it’s frozen, you peel it
3. You blend the banana in a food processor
4. You add cocoa powder until it tastes as chocolatey as you can handle
5. YOU HAVE ICE CREAM.
I mean, how?? How does it taste so good??? And then if you want to take it to that next level…
6. You add pistachios.
Bonus: add shredded coconut! (not pictured above because I ate it too fast)
I love this ‘ice cream’ and have made it several times already, and if anyone said something like “if you like it so much why don’t you just marry it?” I would. I would marry it. It’s just too bad we cantaloupe.
Monday, November 24, 2014
Last Halloween and Why I Don't Like Sewing
Over the years, I've developed an obsession with being a guy. Celebrations, fundraisers, Halloween...I'll jump at any opportunity to look like a dude. Don't ask me why, that's just how I've been rolling. Thankfully, I haven't acted on many of my aggressive ideas, but I will say that it has been increasingly difficult not to carry out the burning urge to be Johnny Cash, Ned Flanders, Sir Isaac Newton, or Kanye West. I came really close to being Johnny this year, actually. I started learning "Ring of Fire" on guitar, but then decided a guitar would be too heavy to carry around all night, so I scrapped that plan. I then decided that I would be Richard Gere, so that a girlfriend of mine could go as Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. I was really excited to wear a suit and don a fabulous grey wig, but then, one day, I woke up and just decided I was over the idea. In pursuit of a new plan, I re-visited old Halloween costumes, some of which include:
Lady Gaga. I worked on the shoulder crystal structure for weeks, creating a three-dimensional rock formation covered in disco reflector pieces. I entered a costume competition at the Buddha Bar and was booed off stage for not looking like a sexy soccer player. I then lost the competition to a sexy soccer player. As I was leaving the Buddha Bar, a drag queen asked to buy my costume, and the rest is history.
A government ID pass. One of the sexiest costumes to date, this was super fun to wear around the block, be swiped in doorways, gathering much respect from my fellow colleagues.
Bag...person. This did not end well. Much hot. No holes.
Skanky Cat. This was a last-minute option in what I like to call my sell-out year. Obviously, this garnered a lot more male attention than Kid Rock, but that was just too easy.
..with a little Hipstamatic, for good measure..
Then I tried to amalgamate the idea of sexy with a the idea of Jesus, and so, I was Sexy Jesus. I had intended for it to be a tongue-in-cheek commentary on the sexualization of every stupid thing when it comes to women's costumes (from police offers to, in light of current events, ebola nurses) ...but everyone just thought it was hot, so I stopped fighting the current. Forgive me Father, for I have winned (audience laugh track).
And then there was the time I spent like a month making this Binder Full of Women costume, following Mitt Romney's 2012 "binders full of women" speech. I honestly don't know why I thought it was hilarious enough to make a costume for, but there you have it.
This year, the struggle was intense. As evidenced above, I haven't let myself go too crazy with my manly tendencies, but my thoughts did race wildly during these past few days. I remember waking up one morning gasping "CHAD KROEGER", playing out the entire ensemble in my head, then reminding myself that it was just too much like Kid Rock all over again. I thought I was finally out of the dude woods when I found myself dreaming about building a Marge Simpson wig out of blue cotton balls, but after spending an entire day groaning "Oh Homey" at co-workers and Starbucks personnel, I got over that idea, and was right back to my manly ways: I would be the Commissioner of the CRA! I raced to a costume shop looking for a bald cap and glasses, but on the way, realized I have just too much hair to tuck under the prosthetic scalp. Ugh.
It was then that I realized that I had forgotten one very lovely character in my life: Carrie Bradshaw.
I love the show, I've watched the movie three trillion times, I know all her lines, and I love love love that signature white skirt. Whyyyy hadn't I thought of this before?
I looked everywhere for this exquisite tutu, but never found the right one, so I decided I would have to make it myself. But first, a bit of context...
Through the years, I've attempted to sew many things, including the dress I bitterly catalogued in Progress, Or Lack Thereof. Then, there was Sogol and I’s brief stint at the Richard Robinson School of Couture. It was there that I coined the nickname “Sweatshop Hands” (so sorry, so offensive, so self-imposed) because I sewed very, very quickly. I thought sewing fast meant I was ahead of the class, but really, it came down to me just hating the process and wanting to be done with it. Detail I’m great at, but patience, not so much. That said, I could sew a pin cushion in a heartbeat, so if anyone needs something mass-produced, you know who to call. Richard Robinson left me with the half-knowledge of how to thread a sewing machine (I literally know just half of the process. After that, I have to call my mom or my eighteen year-old sister over), and what was loosely referred to as a “kimono”.
I don’t think I can hide from who I am anymore – I am a person who does not like sewing. I do not like how the machine loses the thread for no fucking reason every ten minutes, I do not like how the threading process always involves someone saying “Oh my gosh but it’s so simple! You just loop it through loop six of eleven, past the middle stick, avoid the four little needles, grab the metal pulley, thread through the essence of being, loop twice around existentialism, and just grab the thread at it’s third inch before it disappears deep into the machine. Oh, and then just pull it through the microscopic hole in the needle which is, by the way, just waiting to pierce your finger eleven million times, so just be careful.” I especially do not like how the thread likes to bunch up when you’re not paying attention, turning into a monstrosity of a knot, forcing you to scream from fright, tear the knot out, and in the process, rip a hole in your poor fabric. It’s like it’s just waiting for you to look away so it can randomly screw you. Oh, I’m so sorry, sewing machine, that I want to watch a show about Eileen’s 800lb Life while I sew. I did not realize you needed me to feed into your self-esteem issues with my undivided attention. No, please, eat into three meters of silk with your wanton grip of steel, you bitch.
Fabric stores are
filled with only potential, only ideas about things you wish you could make,
and not once do they warn you that the organza gown you’re planning to create
will actually end up a cape or hijab, if you’re lucky. That said, there’s a part of me that’s
oblivious to the reality of my sewing potential. This is why, every Halloween, I make
the decision to sew my costume. I tell myself that I will sew a hamburger once and for all. I will knit a sweater
with Barack Obama’s face on it. I will make hilarious pants, and everyone will want a pair. Every Halloween, I forgo my planning, and stick to cardboard, glue, and pipe
cleaners. Every year, except this year, that is.
This year, I bought tulle, I bought a slip, I bought ribbon, I got my mom to thread the sewing machine repeatedly, and then I learned how to do it myself. I made my skirt, threw together my costume, and got "Oh my GOD! Carrie Bradshaw!" from one gay guy, but that's it. No one else knew who I was. I also got a couple of "You're the prettiest ballerina!" and one girl thought I was a Barbie, so you know, can't complain. As for the sewing itself, I can complain. I will leave out details pertaining to the amount of times my cat tried to climb the materials, the words that came out of my mouth as I pulled out knot after knot from the delicate tulle, and the amount of TLC shows I watched. Instead, I’ll just show you the final product, and repeat, in the gentlest whisper: I do not like sewing.
Lady Gaga. I worked on the shoulder crystal structure for weeks, creating a three-dimensional rock formation covered in disco reflector pieces. I entered a costume competition at the Buddha Bar and was booed off stage for not looking like a sexy soccer player. I then lost the competition to a sexy soccer player. As I was leaving the Buddha Bar, a drag queen asked to buy my costume, and the rest is history.
A government ID pass. One of the sexiest costumes to date, this was super fun to wear around the block, be swiped in doorways, gathering much respect from my fellow colleagues.
Bag...person. This did not end well. Much hot. No holes.
My absolute favorite: Kid Rock. I wore this bad boy to a boat cruise and had two girls put their numbers in my pocket. Ugh. So cool
Skanky Cat. This was a last-minute option in what I like to call my sell-out year. Obviously, this garnered a lot more male attention than Kid Rock, but that was just too easy.
..with a little Hipstamatic, for good measure..
Then I tried to amalgamate the idea of sexy with a the idea of Jesus, and so, I was Sexy Jesus. I had intended for it to be a tongue-in-cheek commentary on the sexualization of every stupid thing when it comes to women's costumes (from police offers to, in light of current events, ebola nurses) ...but everyone just thought it was hot, so I stopped fighting the current. Forgive me Father, for I have winned (audience laugh track).
And then there was the time I spent like a month making this Binder Full of Women costume, following Mitt Romney's 2012 "binders full of women" speech. I honestly don't know why I thought it was hilarious enough to make a costume for, but there you have it.
This year, the struggle was intense. As evidenced above, I haven't let myself go too crazy with my manly tendencies, but my thoughts did race wildly during these past few days. I remember waking up one morning gasping "CHAD KROEGER", playing out the entire ensemble in my head, then reminding myself that it was just too much like Kid Rock all over again. I thought I was finally out of the dude woods when I found myself dreaming about building a Marge Simpson wig out of blue cotton balls, but after spending an entire day groaning "Oh Homey" at co-workers and Starbucks personnel, I got over that idea, and was right back to my manly ways: I would be the Commissioner of the CRA! I raced to a costume shop looking for a bald cap and glasses, but on the way, realized I have just too much hair to tuck under the prosthetic scalp. Ugh.
It was then that I realized that I had forgotten one very lovely character in my life: Carrie Bradshaw.
I love the show, I've watched the movie three trillion times, I know all her lines, and I love love love that signature white skirt. Whyyyy hadn't I thought of this before?
I looked everywhere for this exquisite tutu, but never found the right one, so I decided I would have to make it myself. But first, a bit of context...
Through the years, I've attempted to sew many things, including the dress I bitterly catalogued in Progress, Or Lack Thereof. Then, there was Sogol and I’s brief stint at the Richard Robinson School of Couture. It was there that I coined the nickname “Sweatshop Hands” (so sorry, so offensive, so self-imposed) because I sewed very, very quickly. I thought sewing fast meant I was ahead of the class, but really, it came down to me just hating the process and wanting to be done with it. Detail I’m great at, but patience, not so much. That said, I could sew a pin cushion in a heartbeat, so if anyone needs something mass-produced, you know who to call. Richard Robinson left me with the half-knowledge of how to thread a sewing machine (I literally know just half of the process. After that, I have to call my mom or my eighteen year-old sister over), and what was loosely referred to as a “kimono”.
I don’t think I can hide from who I am anymore – I am a person who does not like sewing. I do not like how the machine loses the thread for no fucking reason every ten minutes, I do not like how the threading process always involves someone saying “Oh my gosh but it’s so simple! You just loop it through loop six of eleven, past the middle stick, avoid the four little needles, grab the metal pulley, thread through the essence of being, loop twice around existentialism, and just grab the thread at it’s third inch before it disappears deep into the machine. Oh, and then just pull it through the microscopic hole in the needle which is, by the way, just waiting to pierce your finger eleven million times, so just be careful.” I especially do not like how the thread likes to bunch up when you’re not paying attention, turning into a monstrosity of a knot, forcing you to scream from fright, tear the knot out, and in the process, rip a hole in your poor fabric. It’s like it’s just waiting for you to look away so it can randomly screw you. Oh, I’m so sorry, sewing machine, that I want to watch a show about Eileen’s 800lb Life while I sew. I did not realize you needed me to feed into your self-esteem issues with my undivided attention. No, please, eat into three meters of silk with your wanton grip of steel, you bitch.
 |
| Mmmm nope |
This year, I bought tulle, I bought a slip, I bought ribbon, I got my mom to thread the sewing machine repeatedly, and then I learned how to do it myself. I made my skirt, threw together my costume, and got "Oh my GOD! Carrie Bradshaw!" from one gay guy, but that's it. No one else knew who I was. I also got a couple of "You're the prettiest ballerina!" and one girl thought I was a Barbie, so you know, can't complain. As for the sewing itself, I can complain. I will leave out details pertaining to the amount of times my cat tried to climb the materials, the words that came out of my mouth as I pulled out knot after knot from the delicate tulle, and the amount of TLC shows I watched. Instead, I’ll just show you the final product, and repeat, in the gentlest whisper: I do not like sewing.
 |
| Ok so I didn't get splashed but this is my best Carrie-getting-splashed face |
 |
| Gotta love that OC! |
 |
| Brb paying for parking |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)