Happiest of birthdays to this handsome devil.
I’ve probably worn way more black since I met you, and that is a very, very good thing, indeed.
In an attempt to shake up the teeming stagnation, ambiguity and self-faithlessness I’ve been feeling lately (quarter-life catastrophe #527 blah blah blah), I embraced spontaneity (a rarity) and got Felicity’ed. Exit: half a foot of locks. Enter: peach ends and a feeling of lightness and liberation.
Here it is with a hat on:
Go on, just try to not strut down your own private catwalk to this song: ((Calvin Harris ft. Florence Welch – Sweet Nothing))
(Warning: adult language ahead)
I love my home borough so disgustingly much that you can mock me all you want. Here we were (in another installation of grainy iPhone shots) on Tuesday evening celebrating Brooklyn even harder than usual with the opening gala of BRIC’s 2012 Celebrate Brooklyn! season.
Drink matching pineapple hued frock
Fondly caressing my sea anemone flowers
Yes, this is the stuff.
I love you, Brooklyn.
Last week, a gaggle of lady friends and I made our way to the opening of the second Dalaga boutique, this one in Soho. Dalaga, owned and beautifully edited by Filipina sisters Michelle and Mary Mangiliman, has been a mainstay boutique in Greenpoint for Brooklynite lovelies on the hunt for affordable pretty lady frocks, edgy jewelry, shoes and accessories for about six years.
The first time I stepped foot inside the adorable shop when I moved to New York, I gasped with glee, eyes alight with the magical wardrobe possibilities… It also made me reminisce to my own childhood, and the significance of ’dalaga’. The Mangilimans describe the term to mean “a young woman in her prime,” but I often have a hard time expressing what it means to others, as the feelings and hazy memories attached to the word get easily lost in translation. As a young Filipina coming of age, being referred to as ‘dalaga’ provoked an almost inexplicable feeling of simultaneous blushful embarrassment and flattered euphoria. Dalagas were who little girls looked up to with awe at their grace, confidence and 2.5-inch heels, who represented what they could someday become. And at a certain point in your life, you became pretty damn proud upon entrance into that very realm.
A wonderful feeling and salute to a warm and loving heritage. Thanks for reminding me of that, ladies, and for sharing your charming treasure trove with a new audience!
Top four photos from Dalaga’s Instagram feed/Tumblr
Check out the Ark & Co. blouse I scored at the opening!
Also, Jovovich-Hawk dress, Jeffrey Campbell shoes, vintage necklace
Ark & Co. blouse
Yesterday, I turned 31. This definitely went over our lunch server’s head as she spent a full 1.75 minutes studying my driver’s license. Everlasting carding irritations aside, I had a simply glorious day and was happy as a crab (which I incidentally devoured 3X during my celebratory meal, as it is my favorite of all the foods).
Brian managed to keep dinner a surprise for weeks and, boy oh boy, did that surprise deliver. He took me to David Bouley’s Brushstroke, for a modern take on a Japanese kaiseki meal — nine courses of mind-blowing, party-in-my-mouth dishes. The ingredients used are incredibly fresh and seasonal, but this meal also elevates eating to a visual art form, with balanced decisions made based on flavors, textures and colors. I pretty much squealed with delight upon eyeing, and then consuming each new plate. The blonde wood and minimalist dining decor worked in perfect harmony with the feast, and I unwittingly put on a birthday dress fitting to the milieu that morning.
This is the face of 31.
I’m going to grow older and older with him.
We interrupt your regularly scheduled personal style programming for some food porn. Check out the candle holder made of radish.
Our cherry blossoms withered over the course of the 3-hour meal, which was, beautifully, the point. This is how I want to wither — with grace, not botox.
My favorite course — chawanmushi with dungeness crab (#1) and black truffle oil. Yeah, that tasted exactly as unsettlingly delicious as it sounds.
Crab course #2 (soft shell crab in tempura batter and sesame seeds atop a ramp puree)
Well, of course I had to make this face. I’m eating.
Birthday treats, with a side of sinister. A delightful finale.
Dark like my soul
Husband’s birthday gift, via Dear Fieldbinder
So there we have it. I am officially past 30 and ‘in my thirties.” Inasmuch as 30 blew the decade before it clear out of the water, I’m pretty pumped to see what this one holds. If this surprise meal serves as any sort of metaphor for what may come, something tells me I’m in for something good.
Warm sun! Pastels! Cute, fuzzy animals! Alfresco dining! Fluros! Ramps! Birthday parties! Bare legs! Spring!
Cat. Je te plumerai la tête, cat!
Easter bunny. Duh.
This fragrance still fills our home. Mmm hmm.
…makes for puzzled cat. Poor befuddled Audrey.