Love At First Sight


I’ve always been attracted to this irreverent, seventies throwback style. Orange and brown as a color scheme? Yes please! Turquoise ceramic desk lighters? Of course. My home is the biggest reflection of my style – vintage and comfortable, eclectic and layered. I am happiest at home, rearranging my books and reevaluating the layout of a room. Tearing pictures out of magazines and adding them to my home folder. Yes, I have a home folder – it’s a 3 ring binder separated into sections titled Lighting, Kitchen, Flooring, Bedroom, Bathroom, Vignettes, etc.

While I love to buy vintage sometimes it’s hard to find what I want. Not to mention that somethings just don’t really stand the test of time – like pillows. Or bedding. Barf.

Enter Jonathan Adler. I have been a JA fan since 1996, before he even had a shop and was just this cool modern pottery line being sold at Barney’s. When he opened shop in Soho and expanded his line to included furniture, lighting and bedding no one was happier than me. He designed The Parker Palm Springs which quickly became a Highbrow Hippie favorite place to vacation. You know we love Palm Springs. He even inspired us to have a manifesto. Check out his here.

I’m obsessed with so many things…his use of color, the constant use of gold and brass, the new catalog, the tile walls in his house…the fact that he calls himself the 24 hour pot dealer. Hilarious. If you aren’t familiar check it out. I’m sure you’ll find something you love.

All photos courtesy of Jonathan Adler


Poppin’ Collars


I immigrated to America when I was 10 from Jamaica, and somehow ended up in a ridiculously wealthy, WASPY town in Fairfield County, CT. When I tell people I grew up in Westport, the first question is, how the hell did you end up THERE? Trust me, it was a fluke. The kind of story that happens only in America kids, only in America. Anyway, can you say culture shock?! One of my first jobs was at Splash Restaurant located within the town’s golf course. As a waitress, my livelihood depended upon the scores of wealthy white men who would descend upon the patio bar overlooking Long Island sound after their round of golf, dressed in their pastel or white polo shirts, collars often popped, and khaki shorts. I knew nothing about the game, only that it seemed expensive and they sure liked to throw back the drinks after they were done, which meant fatter pockets for me. That’s all I cared to know, really, because the tips I made serving those men that summer bankrolled my freshman year of college.

I never really gave golf another thought for almost 15 years, until I found myself vacationing in Jamaica with a friend from California who wanted to try a lesson. From the moment I got out on the course, I was hooked. To be honest, I was terrible in the beginning. But I love a challenge, and something about the absolute concentration that it takes to perfectly hit a golf ball struck a chord with me. I especially appreciate that my relationship with the game of golf began in Jamaica. Being on my island home made me feel like golf could belong to me just as much as a wealthy man. I went “home” and got my groove back not from some hot Jamaican guy, but from a tiny, dimpled ball.

Golf provides me with a mental escape after I leave the salon everyday, and it’s one of the only things that completely quiets my mind and slows down my racing thoughts. The sheer vastness and natural beauty of a golf course makes whatever problems I may be dealing with at that time seem completely insignificant, and I truly believe that it is the best mental exercise my brain has gotten in the past decade. And can we discuss the clothing? It is one of the only sports left that requires a strict sense of decorum. At times it feels stifling and stuck in the past, but at the same token the dress code also encourages a certain behavior. It also provides me a reason to give even more of my paycheck to Ralph Lauren, amassing a rainbow collection of golf gear. I now always travel with my golf clubs, Callaway Razr X for those of you in the know, and have golfed my way around the world on courses in Jackson Hole to the coast of Morocco, with of course, my collar always popped….




See here’s the thing – I love to go out. I love to dance and drink and wind up eating breakfast at 3 AM laughing over the events of the evening. Problem is that I just can’t do it anymore without having a 2 day recovery period.

I think it happened around 2008. Suddenly Fridays weren’t so much about getting the weekend started as they were about ending the week. I couldn’t wait to be home with my significant other on the sofa, wearing leggings, catching up on bad reality TV and eating Thai food. I was excited to wake up unprompted by an alarm Saturday morning to go to accomplish whatever errand/flea market/farmers market/yoga class/dry cleaning run awaited me. I was an adult! I couldn’t stay out late, I had things to do. Adults went to bed at the same time every night (always remembering to brush their teeth!), woke up at the same time every morning, always did laundry on Sundays and performed the same exercise routine every Monday, Wednesday & Friday at 6:30 AM. I had figured it out, I was on the path!

Until I wasn’t. I was bored. Because as much as I thought I was being regimented and focused, I was also ignoring an entire part of myself. The spontaneous, creative and curious side – the side that loves being the last table in the restaurant when the chef comes out and has a drink with you. The side that didn’t care if the towels were folded, or the dishwasher unloaded. The side that knows that yoga is also at 11, or 1 or 3. Or tomorrow.

And I realized that while every party is not worth attending and every invitation does not deserve a yes, there are some things that though aren’t on my To Do list that need to be done. Like wandering Edgewood Ave at 3:00 AM in search of food, helping a friend reorganize her closet after one too many bottles of wine or having an impromptu dance party with your god children when they are supposed to be in bed. Because that’s what being an adult is about. Getting things done, but having fun doing it. And I’m cool with that.

As long as I have 2 days to recover.

Live Well.


Back to Basics


The crisp sunny days, the nippy nights. It’s time to put away the tank tops and summer dresses (sigh) and break out the cozy knits and scarves. Exciting. We always start planning our Fall wardrobes in July and one of the things we look forward to most is the J. Crew Fall catalog. Forget The September Issue – we’re about the Fall Issue. J. Crew has been our go to store for as long as we’ve known each other. Sometimes a bit highbrow, sometimes a bit hippie, we both shop there with abandon, getting great fitting, well designed reasonably priced pieces. Usually we end up with the same thing, but wear it in totally different ways so it’s great fun to shop together. We often get asked “I love your sweater/jacket/pants/bag! Where’d you get it?” The answer is usually, J.Crew. The go to basic shop with a twist. If you haven’t checked them out – take the time to do so. If you are already a J. Crew shopper did you know about the Collection Shop on Madison Ave in NY?

Here’s some of the things we’re crushing on for Fall.


Wool Crepe V Neck $198
Harper Suede Boot $298
Minnie Bi-stretch Wool Pant
in Camel & Carbon $118
Collection Officers Jacket $495
Silk Pintuck Blouse $128


2750 Superga Classic Sneakers $65 Collection Cashmere Isabel Sweatshirt $320 Everly Suede Pumps $245 Bryce Boots $348
Nili Lotan Cashmere Turtleneck $455
Etta Pumps $350
Collection Peacoat $485


Invitation Clutch $448

Blonde Ambition


Beyonce, I am not. Before I was ever bequeathed a liscense to color hair professionally, I was quite the dorm room aspiring colorist. After years under the watchful eye of my “you will not do anything crazy to your hair” mother, I got to college and lost my mind. My new happy place became the beauty supply store. Oh the possibilities! My 18 year old self would basically be my nightmare client now. Besides, blonde (err..more like orange), my hair had stints as black, brown, auburn and green, a result of not knowing that I couldn’t just put brown dye on top of bleached out hair. It’s a miracle I left college with any hair at all..

So I found it funny when I had an “aha” moment as a professional colorist with my many blonde clients. You see, when I moved to LA, the blondes there were just, different. They took the term blonde ambition to the next level. Whereas the blondes in NYC strived to be discreet, elegant and age appropriate; the blondes in LA would march in with pictures of themselves as babies in hand, wanting to turn back the clock to achieve the “toe head” locks of their youth. Some took it beyond by bringing in pictures of their kids, or to my horror, the actual kid. I can’t tell you the number of times I had a little person ordered to “sit still for Mommy so that Kadi can see exactly the color she needs to do”. I thought, holy shit, I’m in Never Never Land with an endless parade of Wendys! But then, things changed when my close friend gave birth to the most angelic, cherubic blonde babies, who have become my unofficial niece and nephew, and it finally clicked.

In all of my personal experimentation, my ultimate goal was to try and emulate the hair color I had as a baby. It was the perfect shade of golden auburn, and suited my complexion so well. And in the end, what I try to encourage in my clients, and anyone thinking of taking the plunge into coloring their hair, is to stay close to what we were all given at birth, because very few of us are lucky enough to be color chameleons a la Linda Evangelista.
This weekend my nephew turned 4, and I spent most of the weekend sticking a camera in his hair, eager to recreate his perfect combination of wheat and golden blonde highlights on my clients. I’ll never have blonde ambition again for myself, but I can certainly appreciate naturally gorgeous hair color. So, yes, I stand humbly corrected. If you’re thinking of coloring your hair soon, whatever the shade, bring on the baby pictures, or better yet, bring the kid.

A special thank you to Eugenia Kuzmina.