Author Archives: shoppingsmycardio

secret style envy & the search for cute, comfortable shoes

caro issa lk bennett

|  Caro Issa for LK Bennett…aka, the ones that got away (image via Natacha Steven)  |

We all have one, don’t we? That style we secretly admire over and over again out in the world and wish we could wear, but for whatever reason, we’ve absolutely-positively-100% ruled out. Maybe it’s skinny jeans, or mini skirts, or floppy hats or spaghetti straps. For me, it’s a great pair of heels.

Now, a lot of women get heels wrong. Horribly wrong. They clop through a parking lot in pumps that are clearly too big, too tight or too high, wincing and flailing their bodies about in a way that is, well, decidedly un-stylish. And yet. When they’re done right? The air of confidence, authority and – yep – sex appeal they immediately convey…it’s undeniable. Also, they’re so preeeettttyyy. The shoe department at Neiman Marcus is like visiting my favorite museum. Those gorgeous colors, the luxuriously soft leather, a contrast heel here, a light smattering of beads or intricate embroidery there…everything is so sculptural, so ornate, so available for purchase. Truly, I think 75% of the reason I watched Sex and the City was to see Carrie strut so effortlessly through the streets of Manhattan in pair after pair of jaw-dropping $500 heels.

Yes, whenever I clap eyes on a gorgeous pair of 4″ Manolos (don’t click…I’m warning you…), I get positively weak in the knees….and the hips and the ankles too. For no matter how much I adore them, no matter how much I want to strut through Union Square in a sky-high stacked heel sandal or a bejeweled stiletto, my newly arthritic body rebels (ah, this autoimmune nonsense just keeps giving and giving). My joints these days are an aberration, much better suited to high tops than high heels. Even wearing ballet flats is a treat for me now, and I’ve lately found myself veering toward that dark, spooky corner of the shoe department typically reserved for grandmothers and the stylistically oblivious.

This very week, in fact, while I should be celebrating the advent of spring the way God intended – by binging on Easter candy – instead, I’ve been torturing myself with a little sandal shopping. Where in years past, I’ve been willing to throw on the cutest thin, flat sandal I can find, this year, things are different. The joints are worse. And though I’m loathe to admit it, I find myself combing through page after page of, cough, “comfort” shoes. Let me just say, friends – it’s a bleak business. In my next life, I’m coming back as a shoe designer, and so help me, I’m going to design shoes with soles and arch support that don’t make me look like your Great Aunt Ethel, freshly rejected from a Portlandia casting call.

At present, there are a hilarious number of shoes headed my way for audition purposes – oh, my poor UPS man. While I haven’t made my way through them all yet, I thought I’d share a few of the styles that…well, at least came as close as possible to chic, without resorting to Birkenstocks (well, okay…one pair…).

But in the meantime, friends: what’s your secret style envy? Come on…I know you have one.

|   COMFORTABLE SPRING SANDALS THAT AREN’T (TOO) UGLY   |

Share 'secret style envy & the search for cute, comfortable shoes' on Facebook Share 'secret style envy & the search for cute, comfortable shoes' on Google+ Share 'secret style envy & the search for cute, comfortable shoes' on Pinterest Share 'secret style envy & the search for cute, comfortable shoes' on Twitter Share 'secret style envy & the search for cute, comfortable shoes' on Email

elsewhere: the tropical vacation edition

chaize

| Image via Christian Chaize |

Phew! One of those weeks, my friends…remind me to tell you the one about trying acupuncture for the first time and finding myself immobilized for two days. I guess I’d better stop calling it “hocus pocus nonsense” at this point.

But. In case the weather’s getting you down, I have a couple of pieces of news that might help you do a little tropical vacation daydreaming. First, I’ve updated my Maui travel guide after my most recent visit there earlier this year. It was amazing, as always, and I found loads of wonderful new things to tell you about! So, head right over here for that.

And since you’ll need something cute to wear, I also updated my 100% foolproof “How to Pack for a Tropical Vacation” story. New product links where necessary, and a couple of minor modifications, but honestly, this bad boy is tried and tested by me (and by a lot of you!), and every time I stray from this list, I regret it. Bookmark it and save yourself a whole lot of grief when you’re ready to hit the beach.

And because I’m starting to officially get the itch for spring, I’ve put a few of the newest things I’m dying to add to my cart on my Shop SMC page (since I’m still mad at Pinterest). Is it possible the fashion universe has finally heard my plea for grown-up hemlines? Check out all my current coveting there…and a few extras right here:

Have an absolutely wonderful weekend, friends. Do something special for yourself, would you? Take someone you love out to brunch, sit on a park bench and read a book, or open the “good” wine. You’ve earned it!

Share 'elsewhere: the tropical vacation edition' on Facebook Share 'elsewhere: the tropical vacation edition' on Google+ Share 'elsewhere: the tropical vacation edition' on Pinterest Share 'elsewhere: the tropical vacation edition' on Twitter Share 'elsewhere: the tropical vacation edition' on Email

zen and the art of birdwatching

elena lyakir

| Image via Elena Lyakir |

Meditation isn’t for everyone – and, though I’ve tried more than I care to admit, I’m finally realizing it probably isn’t for me. I’ve tried, really I have. In yoga classes, with special CDs, in total silence, in an actual Buddhist temple…you name it. After reading Eat Pray Love (both times), I tried to “smile in my liver” as the author’s Balinese healer/guru tells her. It lasted about 15 seconds. My brain just isn’t built for silence. Read on

Share 'zen and the art of birdwatching' on Facebook Share 'zen and the art of birdwatching' on Google+ Share 'zen and the art of birdwatching' on Pinterest Share 'zen and the art of birdwatching' on Twitter Share 'zen and the art of birdwatching' on Email

how bloggers make money, and why pinterest is evil

pinterest-graphic-2

I know that, for a lot of you, the whole world of “how bloggers make money” is this big, bouncing question mark you’re dying to know more about. In the wake of some news I received yesterday (more on that pile of Pinterest douchebaggery in a moment…), I’m going to spill the beans.

The sad truth is, it’s really not all that exciting. Sure, there are bloggers who make grillions of dollars from ad campaigns and get free Gucci handbags from brand partnerships. There are about 20 of them. For the rest of us? We sell the occasional ad, but these days, most brands are “moving beyond” direct advertising (translation: they’ve figured out we all just tune those sidebar ads out). They’d rather buy a sponsored post…which, for those of us who are picky about our content and aren’t willing to lie to our readers, is like trying to catch a unicorn in a net made of grasshopper legs. (No, I’m not going to run a story about how much I love your cheap polyester miniskirts in exchange for a $50 store credit. Tempting, but no.)

So, if ads are passé and sponsored posts are few and far between, how’s a girl supposed to make a living? Read on

Share 'how bloggers make money, and why pinterest is evil' on Facebook Share 'how bloggers make money, and why pinterest is evil' on Google+ Share 'how bloggers make money, and why pinterest is evil' on Pinterest Share 'how bloggers make money, and why pinterest is evil' on Twitter Share 'how bloggers make money, and why pinterest is evil' on Email

postcard from nyfw: fashion vs. style

|  via Instagram  |

Am I the only person wondering what the fug is happening at the J.Crew NYFW presentation today? Purple culottes, yellow fur and a suit/jumpsuit/snuggie aberration that defies all rational thought. No. Just no.

Fashion vs. style, friends. I say it all the time, but if this doesn’t bring it home, I can’t imagine what will. I’m all about fashion as art – the design, the eccentricity, the sheer creative genius of it all. But loving a portrait by Picasso doesn’t mean I need to have my ear surgically relocated to my lower cheek.

The next time a designer or a model or a magazine or a blogger tells you something should be in your closet, just take a moment. Think about whether you love the art of that “something”, or whether you love how it would actually make you feel in the real world. Think about what you wear that actually makes you look and feel your absolute best, that makes you feel the most you. Does that “something” fit the bill?

I’m not saying we shouldn’t ever try new things. I swore I’d never venture into skinny jeans, but here we are three years later and I have a closet full of them. I’ve found cuts I love, and ways to wear them that make me feel sophisticated and stylish. Pencil skirts, on the other hand? I have a closet full of those too…but no matter how many magazine editorials tell me they’re sexy, I never feel anything but chubby and self-conscious when I wear them. So, I finally started buying A-line skirts, and it was a revelation.

There’s a reason we all love that French girl style, and more often than not, it’s because they know better than to succumb to every fad that comes their way. Find your style, be true to it, and if a trend happens to pique your interest, dip your toe in. But also, feel absolutely free to walk on by.

 

|   A FEW STYLE CLASSICS THAT CAN’T MISS   |

Share 'postcard from nyfw: fashion vs. style' on Facebook Share 'postcard from nyfw: fashion vs. style' on Google+ Share 'postcard from nyfw: fashion vs. style' on Pinterest Share 'postcard from nyfw: fashion vs. style' on Twitter Share 'postcard from nyfw: fashion vs. style' on Email

the best love advice i never got

best tenth anniversary gift

(Warning: the following is not gender-neutral. Not because I’m a big insensitive jerk, but because writing that way is surprisingly hard. Please read with whatever pronouns you love best.)

It’s nearly Valentine’s Day, friends! I know, I know. Every year, I preach about how we should use this “holiday” (such as it is) to celebrate much more than our romantic relationships, so I’ll keep this year’s tirade brief. But. Remember in grade school, when everyone in your class got a Valentine? Even the fat girl everyone made fun of got a card and some conversation hearts. (That was me, by the way – not that I’m bitter.) I try sometimes to remember at what point in our childhoods Valentine’s Day stopped being about everyone, and started being about The One. It’s a travesty, if you ask me. I miss conversation hearts.

As God and Hallmark intended, this week I’ve been thinking a lot about love. Which, in turn, means thinking about my darling Hubs. Not long ago, we had a pretty big anniversary – the kind that makes you sit back and think about all you’ve been through together. And phew…have we been through some shit. Sure, I might occasionally want to strangle him with the dirty socks he leaves on the floor, but when I think about what we’ve survived together during the last decade-plus? We are most definitely MFEO.

And yet.

It took me forever to find him. Or at least it felt like forever. Single Me thought I was going to die waiting. Single Me chased bad idea after bad idea, hoping I could browbeat Not It into being The One. Single Me sat home, listening to Sarah McLachlan, watching marathons of Meg Ryan movies and convincing myself I’d never find love. Single Me was the original Bridget Jones. (With a mental picture like that, I know it’s hard to imagine why Single Me wasn’t more successful on the dating market.)

And so, without resorting to black hearts or Anna Howard Shaw, I thought I’d share a few things I wish I could have told Single Me while she was sitting on the floor of her apartment getting down and dirty with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Not that she would have listened.

Single is not a disease to be cured. It’s a chapter in your book. And whether it lasts 5 days or 50 years, there’s no pause button to hit while you’re waiting for The One. So, get to work enjoying the unattached life – it’s awesome! Go on a week-long meditation retreat, make new friends, sit in a bookstore for hours, take a class, make out with a stranger, move to Spain for a month…all things you’ll probably never do once you’re paired off. Youth is wasted on the young, and singledom is wasted on people who are too depressed about not being coupled to actually enjoy being single.

Likewise, despite what every romantic comedy ever made would have you believe, being coupled isn’t the end of the story either. It’s just another chapter. Hopefully a long, epic chapter filled with Great Love and unforgettable adventures, but still. I know, you’re looking at paired-off people and assuming their lives are settled and everything is perfect. Trust me: they don’t sprinkle magic dust on you up at the altar. Those coupled people are working just as hard as you at finding their way.

Speaking of working hard, when you’re out there auditioning possible mates (and remember, the audition process goes both ways, friends), ask yourself this: who would I want in my corner? If the going was really, really rough – and at some point on your long road, it will be – would this person have my back? Would they hold my hand during the ugly parts? If they came in a room and saw me curled up in a ball of frustration and fear, would they know whether to pick me up and dust me off or plop down next to me and hand me another brownie? Trust me: that’s the person you want.

Of course, that all makes sense in principle. But in practice, when you’re out there cruising Tinder (purely for research purposes, of course), how on earth can you tell whether the person whose children you’re mentally preparing to have is a person worth giving your life to?

Well, for starters, it won’t look like it does in the movies. (Spoiler alert!) In real life, the one you have to chase is almost never The One. Nope, you want the guy who’s doing everything he can think of to get your attention. The guy who calls when he says he will and shows up on time. Because I promise you this: after a few months, “dependable and smitten” looks a lot sexier than “exciting and unpredictable”.

Marry the guy who wishes he could afford to buy you diamonds. Whether or not he ever gets rich, generosity is harder to find than money.

Maybe most important of all, marry the guy who tries. The one who brings over soup when you’re sick, and makes sure you never run out of chocolate. The one who buys you a tin of Altoids for your anniversary, because he bothered to look up what gift you’re supposed to get for #10, and fancy gifts made of tin are hard to come by. (Don’t worry…I got the diamonds too.)

And once you find the person who does all that? For god’s sake, hold on tight.

Remember that just as real love doesn’t look like the movies, real marriage doesn’t look like a sitcom. So, leave your carping fishwife routine at the door and keep the nagging nice – he’s your partner, not your royal subject.

Take a deep breath before you start screaming – the things that make your head most likely to spin off into another dimension are almost never the Really Big Things, so just be sure the punishment fits the crime.

And every so often, buy the matching undies.

Well. That’s just about everything I know on the subject. What about you? What’s the best advice you’d give your single self?

Share 'the best love advice i never got' on Facebook Share 'the best love advice i never got' on Google+ Share 'the best love advice i never got' on Pinterest Share 'the best love advice i never got' on Twitter Share 'the best love advice i never got' on Email

the best we can

frustrated-dog

| Isn’t that face is the most perfect picture of frustration you’ve ever seen? Hilarious. But of course, we’ve all been there. |

I don’t know if you’ve been feeling it where you are, but the new year has felt heavy to me this time around. Like one of those hulking winter coats from a thrift store that smells kind of funny and never fits you quite right. There’s sorrow and loss around every corner, it seems, and I’m starting to wonder if my heart can survive it.

I’m not even talking about the big guns like ISIS and Charlie Hebdo, or even Ferguson – the huge, gut-wrenching calamities we can’t begin to comprehend, let alone cope with. No, these are closer – intimate personal tragedies that hit much too close to home, sinking their teeth into your tender spots and leaving you bruised and utterly bewildered. More dear friends and family members than I can wrap my brain around have lost parents, grandparents, friends or beloved pets already this year – and it’s only February. Others are dealing with unimaginably hard things in their lives that can only be described as staggeringly unfair. My husband’s 36-year-old barber died of a heart attack 3 days into the new year. In what universe does that make sense?

Of course there’s never a “good” time to go through something this bottomless and dark, but starting the new year on such a fugue-like note has left me in a strange place, one that’s too quiet, too aware. I’m trying to hold tight to what I have while making room in my heart to grieve all of these losses at once. Turns out, that’s quite a lot to carry.

I’ve caught myself squinting into the distance, hoping to catch a glimpse of the bigger picture or anything resembling meaning – something to gain from all this loss. But the light is faint, and sometimes it feels a bit like a mouse pointing a flashlight into the abyss. What can little old I possibly hope to illuminate in all this darkness?

After hearing that someone we love had lost her father suddenly, a dear friend said, “We’re too young to lose our parents.” And she’s right of course. But when are we old enough? For any of this? We’re too young, too fragile, too human for any of it. To be losing our friends, our partners, our colleagues, our pets…it’s just too much.

All I know is that I don’t know much of anything. There are no answers, and the sorrow I feel for these people whose lives will never be the same sits heavily on my shoulders. But I’m hoping against hope that somehow in the great karmic game of Hot Potato, my wearing all of this grief for a while lightens the load for someone else, even for a moment or two.

So, what can you do? When you’re faced with so much and feel so helpless? That’s the Big Question, of course. We all want a solution, so very badly. A + B, carry the 1, and that will get you straight to C. But here’s the hairy truth: Big Questions never have Easy Answers.

To be honest, this is where I stopped writing last week. Because I was stumped. And platitudes…well, a pinch of Hallmark is better than nothing, but it seldom gets the job done.

The other day, when the cashier at my little neighborhood post office was as close to tears as a man gets in public over the loss of his friend, the aforementioned barber, he shrugged and said, “What can we do but move on?”

Now just a minute, I told him. Not so fast. Sit with your grief for a while. It’s okay. Miss your friend. Honor his life and let yourself feel the loss before you file it away. And though I feel like I almost never have the right words, the look of relief on his face when I said this to him makes me think it might have helped just a little.

The next day, though my heart was still heavy and I was in no place to be social, I found myself chatting with the handyman at my building as he strolled by. Out of nowhere, and having almost nothing to do with anything we were talking about, he suddenly said to me, “Just do the best you can with today.

(I tell you, almost without exception, profound comes from the one place you absolutely never expect to find it.)

The more I thought about it, the more his words just sort of wriggled their way through the dark, twisty places in my head and took root. Do the best you can. Just for today. Whatever’s happening, whatever’s brought your heart low…instead of wondering how you’ll ever manage to solve the world’s evils, focus on any small thing that would make even one dark corner just a tiny bit brighter. Compliment someone. Buy a stranger’s latte. Smash a plate. Just do the best you can with today.

With those wise little words still wriggling around in my ears, we – my heavy heart and I – came home and sent flowers to my friend whose father died. Then we made a coffee date with a friend who’s struggling, and sent a loving email to another. And after that, we called my great aunt, whose son died just before Christmas, to let her talk about nothing at all for as long as she needed to.

Nothing was fixed, of course – loved ones were still gone, struggles were still there. But we’d done the best we could. And when I hung up the phone, my heart and I felt just a little bit better. For today.

Share 'the best we can' on Facebook Share 'the best we can' on Google+ Share 'the best we can' on Pinterest Share 'the best we can' on Twitter Share 'the best we can' on Email