NYFW D-2: blue crew

Unbelievably silky looking wavy blonde hair, unbelievably high heels, unbelievably bright neon asymmetrical skirts--New York Fashion Week has come to conquer New York City for another season.

I was lucky enough to take some photos of the Tadashi Shoji collection for Washington Square News (which you can view here. I'm also blessed that the review was wonderfully written by a certain Helen Holmes. Shout out to Helen, although I really have no idea who she is).

And today, my agenda was to snap looks from Monika Chiang's Fall/Winter 2013 collection at Lincoln Center. But first I executed my student responsibilities as an NYU Admissions Ambassador and gave a special group campus tour to a flock of students and teachers fresh off the boat from China. After feeling awkward from all their flash photography of me and by the multiple times my umbrella flipped inside out into their faces, I went back to my room hopeful about the Monika Chiang's collection inspired by "flight."

Obvi I couldn't wear my NYU track jacket to fashion week. But I knew I would wear my tie (when I went to shoot Tadashi, five people asked to take my photo for street style stuff and I'm pretty sure it's because I was so aLtERnAtiVe and wore a tie. So many people askin for my pic was pretty sick tho.) I also knew I want to beehive (v. to beehive) my hair. So I beehive it.

Tie in hand and beehive on head, I was ready. I pass the revolving doors and as NYFW comes to conquer the city, I go to conquer my own city of fashion. But mind you, today is the day Nemo comes to find NYC and Nemo sure found me. With each awkward step of my boots slipping in the snow/hail/evil concoction that's blanketed the city streets, and with each unsuccessful effort at opening my now broken, battered and handicapped umbrella, and with each inhale of Nemo's icy breath, my confidence to conquer fashion was quenched. As if that wasn't enough to minimize my steadfast spirit, snow/hail/evil started to spit across my cheeks and sting my face--apparently my foundation's SPF 15 wasn't enough.

So there I was. I stood in front of a Duane Reade, one hand holding a victimized umbrella, the other purposelessly feeling my beehive falling apart. This was the end. So I return and I am upset and I sit on my loveseat feeling no love.

The only way to counteract this defeat was by (following the show via NYFW but also) at least photographing my outfit cuz I was kind of excited about it. I am always kind of really excited to wear a tie.

how i felt about things after dealing with my initial firey upset.

 

 coat - zara, dress and tie - crewcuts (i tell you i am their biggest 18+ fan), tights - anthropologie, shoes - papaya, scarf - gap (also someone please appreciate all the blue that's happening, including with my tights although not terrible evident)

 

and the following has mostly nothing to do with anything in this post but watch the first episode of community season 4. i strongly believe it is like the best show of my generation.

song of the moment
Private Eyes - Hall and Oates (in my head they are called Hall's Bunches of Oates)

Links to Love

You know when you have so many tabs open and you just don't know what to do with them but you do know that you don't want to close them and you want to somehow save these links and what they hold and share them with the world. No? Just me? Well, here are a few links that have recently comprised the tabs that I have diligently kept open.

Rethinking the Gallery wall: 10 Funky New Ideas (hoping to immediately install the tape frame idea. Cheap and chic is the way to go)

Evan's letter to City Kitties. He writes in cursive, is lyrical and musical, is generous and compassionate. Evan is my kind of guy--just a little too young I guess.

GQ does Bill Murray, and they do him well/I just really like him. I like the whole focus on how "real" he is--although, let's be real, how do we know what's real?, anyway I do like Bill.

John Lithgow's inside look at The National for New York Times

Whitewall Magazine's 2013 Must See Exhibitions. If I must see them, I suppose I shall.

And not 1, but 2 links on Lance Armstrong just because it's relevant.

and a belated happy 2k13. although, it's still 2013, so nvm about belated. happy 2k13!

two journal entries on my mother because it's the least i can do

1/10
Yesterday's good night was the sweetest and most melancholic good night. With a sliver of white light aching in through the narrow crack between door and its frame, I lay in the dark, on the floor beside my mom on her bed, pillow appropriately plumped, mind ready to gradually fade into the womb of sleep and solitude.

But before drifting into that soporfic space, my mom sprinkled a noise into the night, "Erin?" It was like at a sleepover when there's only the tick of the clock keeping friends awake and someone breaks the silence, "Hey, you still up?" and I just replied, "mom?" She said, "I just wanted to say good night" (in Korean). I wasn't sure what I was hearing. She had never woken me up before in the recent times we've slept side by side together in these cramped Korean spaces. She hadn't done this nocturnal double take. But complex labyrinths of thoughts inundated her head and somewhere that night, the maze led her to think of me.
Because she knew if she could think of her daughter, she could at least get close to falling asleep. Her daughter was her last and only hope to rest.

The chaos that is consuming her body and life drowns all the strength and positively that characterized her. But she swings her thoughts toward me. she knows that God is with me. He has always been, in her eyes. for her, I am proof and a living hope that even in this darkness, there is a sliver of hope glinting through the doorway.

During the day, she groans, cries about how each breath is a fight. Each fight is a miserable loss. To eat, to sleep, to see hope in a next moment, to just live normally once more. But this night, she found assurance in that she has a daughter under the provision of God, protected by Him. She relayed to me, when she has raised a child like me, what else does she need. Solace rests with her because she knows I live and live beautifully in her and God's eyes. She send these words to my sleepy ears, but I think she was speaking aloud these honest beatitudes more for her own sake.

After brokenly and faintly sung hymns, she found sleep. The ebb and flow of her heavy breathing was life. She is safe somewhere in a world away from the stupid tantrums that implode reality. She is safe in sleep. And this makes me happy.

Each of her snores like bites of dessert. They bring joy, they feed the basic, human appetite for delight. she is happy when she is sleep. She is dreaming of me. And I lay awake, in awe of this kind of love, thinking about how beautiful it could be if she could sleep and stay in this place of peace forever. But I admit, I hope it isnt time for that eternal slumber just yet.

1/14
Apparently something good happened today, but why am I crying.

I have seen her go through so much. Every passing day a struggle, a fight. Every passing breath a memento of mourning and grief. But today something good happened in this series of miserable events. I don't even know how to respond, I'm not used to her finding joy in any home anymore. I only find the words to say thanks to God because that's what I know is always relevant to say.

I've seen her hurt so much. And in this moment where her drowning world found a earth, land, something to hold on to, no one celebrates for her. Just one joyous thing. She's so excited that she even suggested champagne. She is so happy because there is this action of hope in front of her face, a tangible visible piece of a dream coming to life. A breath of freedom, of knowing herself for one second. Yet nobody else realizes what a happy moment it is for her. Happiness, it's been so long. Happiness, why will no one celebrate with her?

Today she had a spur of peace, and they respond to her surprisingly joyous call for champagne by telling her to deal with it by celebrating in silence. Closed mouths, muted thoughts, another push for mourning. Another day reminiscent of grief. What is wrong? Why is still no joy to sustain her in the midst of this rare jewel of hope? When can she finally find a community of love, where each breath is expressed to celebrate her strength, to voice the love she deserves? When can we all sing the song that has so long been hidden in her misery?