but it comes from tenir - to hold.

I have been thinking about that.

the past couple of weeks were scary and stressful. in april, we learned that our daughter, suki, needed scoliosis surgery, and suddenly the day was upon us. we knew she was in extremely capable hands, in one of the best hospitals in the world, and that by medical standards this surgery is considered relatively standard. but surgery is surgery. and shit happens.

I had not been able to fully inhale or exhale since learning this would happen. I went through my days and didn’t skip a beat, but I felt as if I were living in some altered, semi-dissociated state. I would break down in tears at random times, wake up in the middle of the night with extreme pain in my chest, and cry angry, hot tears in yoga class, furious that my spine was fine and that I couldn’t take this on in her place.

parenting is not for the faint of heart.

I would have thought clothing would suddenly fall to the wayside, given the gravity of the situation. but strangely, the opposite happened. clothing helped me stay sane. it held me up. and, in some way, it held suki up too.

(gemma ward by craig mcdean)

in the isabel allende book I finished a few days before the surgery day, the character named rose wears a corset during a difficult time and describes how it offers her much-needed support, as if it were keeping her from collapse:

“stiff-backed, morose, rose kept up appearances out of discipline, with the sensation that nothing but her corset held her together and if she removed it she would break apart.”

I reread that sentence several times. it struck a chord.

I’ve thought about clothing as armor. as language. as identity. as costume design for the characters we play in our lives. but I’m not sure I had ever really thought about clothing as something to lean on. something to depend on. a form of support.

during the past few weeks, clothing stepped into the many roles it plays in my life and held me up: the clothing I chose to wear, the clothing I source for clients and advertising jobs. and then an editorial cover shoot with an actress whose style I revere confirmed for a shoot just a few days before the surgery. it was a gift to lose myself in the prep - researching and pulling references, hand-picking accessories from showrooms, going through the collections and putting together my board. somehow, it quieted the shaky, overwhelming anxiety. I remain convinced it was some sort of gift from the universe to help me through that week.

we are, thank God, on the other side of the surgery. all went as smoothly as could be hoped for. I am blown away by suki’s strength and grace. she was talking and joking with her best friends until it was time to go into the OR. and now, as she recovers, I see the way clothing is helping her feel stronger and more like herself.

sure, you could argue that she is genetically wired (or cursed, ha!) to love clothes. maybe. but her body has a lot of healing to do. she has to push herself to walk and do exercises to retrain her muscles, and I can see her light up when she puts on some of her new pacsun and alo birthday gifts. they give her strength. they invigorate her. they are helping hold her up.

there is something to all of this. something internal and intimate. what we reach for when we need to feel safe and strong. when the inside feels too weak or unstable. when we need a backbone of sorts - no pun intended - to accompany us and help us forward.

I think we all do this. and I don’t think it only happens in hard moments or big, important ones. I think we do some version of this every day, in the small, seemingly insignificant transitions of everyday life.

we get dressed to be steadied and held up.

clothing can be dismissed as surface, but surfaces matter. they are where the body meets the world. and sometimes, when the inside feels unsteady, the outside can offer a kind of scaffolding.

clothes don’t solve problems. they don’t make the hard thing less hard. they don’t take away grief or fear or anxiety or uncertainty. but sometimes they help us move through it.

(simone d’aillencourt by melvin sokolsky)

sometimes they help us gather ourselves. sometimes they hold us until we can hold ourselves.

a ‘tenue’ is an outfit. but maybe it is also a form of holding.

a way of quietly saying to ourselves: I am here. I am okay. I can meet this moment.

tassels seem to be having a moment.

and honestly, maybe it makes sense.

in a time when so much of what we wear has become minimal…when we hear words like pared down, quiet and restrained over and over…when everything is beige, black, white, navy and gray - and, hey, I am the first to own and acknowledge partaking in this! - maybe a tassel adds a little life, a little whimsy or joy…something we seem to be missing.

a tassel refuses to stay still. it swings from a belt, brushes against a hip, moves with the hand and body. it creates motion even when the rest of the look is controlled.

and there is history in it too - because you know, I love a bit of history and meaning :)

tassels are ancient. they have been part of clothing for centuries and across different cultures - ancient egypt, middle eastern, north african, jewish, chinese - on garments, military dress, religious objects, ceremonial looks, curtains, keys, horses, robes, and jewelry. sometimes they were decorative. other times they indicated rank or status. they were viewed as protective by some. meant to mark, guard, embellish, or remind.

I love that. the tassel as embellishment, but also as meaningful.

somewhere between decoration and talisman. between elegance and eccentricity. between old-world ceremony and a little bit of mischief.

on a bag, a belt, a shoe, a piece of jewelry, or the edge of a garment, a tassel adds just enough drama without becoming too serious. it has a nod to refinement, but also to play. it feels considered, but not stiff. elegant, but not overly obedient.

there is something wonderfully unnecessary about a tassel, and I mean that in the best way.

it doesn’t need to be there. it isn’t solving a problem. it serves no obvious practical purpose in the modern wardrobe - which may be precisely why it feels so good right now.

there may be no actual benefit to fringes or tassels other than the pure whimsy and joy they bring.

and maybe that’s ok.

because seriously, who doesn’t need a bit more playfulness and fun these days?

after years of clean lines and quiet luxury and whisper-soft restraint, maybe we are ready for a little movement again. a little swing. a little life. nothing over the top or excessive.

just the smallest, strangest reminder that clothes are allowed to have joy in them.

my full joyful tassel edit here

my job has always been behind the scenes, which is where I’m most comfortable. I love the work itself: the research, the digging, the thinking, the analyzing, the strange obsessive process of finding the thing that feels right before I can explain why.

and now, somehow, I am here.

trying to face my fear of being seen. trying to understand that maybe I am not an imposter after all. trying to accept that this ridiculous, funny little skill I have - noticing clothes, finding them, understanding why they work, sensing what they might do for a person - may actually be useful to people.

I am very far from mastering the art of posting. I have already learned, for example, that just because I love sarah moon and paolo roversi images that are slightly out of focus does not mean that a blurry image is a good idea when one is trying to highlight an actual piece of clothing. (thank you for reminding me of this, elizabeth!)

(sarah moon)

after dipping my baby toe into this new world, I have a few initial thoughts.

first of all, it is absurd. truly absurd. we are living in a world where people regularly walk around photographing and filming themselves, their food, their outfits, their bathrooms, their morning rituals. and somehow this has become normal.

second, there are a million me’s out there. women with similar sensibilities. similar references. similar proportions of black, white, cream, linen, denim, flat sandals, oversized shirts, oddly perfect baskets, and slightly masculine tailoring. women from europe, scandinavia, new york, los angeles, paris, copenhagen - all of us apparently being drawn to the same pieces, the same moods, the same elusive feeling.

these ladies have clearly mastered it - the crops, the lighting, the text… - but we could all be sharing the same closet! I find them all incredibly inspiring and am in awe of what they have done - the authenticity and confidence coming through. and it’s not just the aesthetic sensibility, I also identify with a lot of what they are sharing.

I find myself wondering: have we all become a cliché? or is this, in some strange evolutionary way, how we are meant to find our people?

maybe taste is not only about originality. maybe it is also about connection.

maybe when we are drawn to the same shirt, the same shoe, the same texture, the same old-world basket, the same severe-but-soft silhouette, we are not simply replicating one another. maybe we are speaking a shared visual language.

a way of saying: I see this too. I feel this too. this is the world I want to live in, or at least dress for.

I used to think my eye was private. something I used for work. something that lived behind the scenes, in fittings, on racks, in research folders, in the strange internal filing cabinet where images and proportions and feelings live.

but maybe the point of taste is not to hoard it. maybe the point is to let it become a conversation. and maybe what feels, at first, like the humiliation of being seen is also the beginning of being found.

not in a costume-y, black-tie, prom way. and not only for men.

I’ve always loved a sweater tied around the waist as part of a look and will confess that I have a few designated ones in my closet expressly for that purpose (please don’t judge me). the cummerbund feels like an extrapolation of this - a wide band of structure at the waist or hips, more as a styling gesture or an attitude than for any functional purpose (although, fun fact, cummerbunds did serve a purpose and were originally meant to hold small items in their pleats or catch crumbs - I’ve heard both - perks of years of black and white tie styling for l’uomo vogue and vanity fair).

beyond formalwear, the cummerbund adds a little touch that gives you a certain swagger. a way to interrupt a shirt. to sharpen a trouser. to make something feel a little more pulled together, maybe a little off - in a good way.

there has been no lack of evening wear components being normalized in fashion repertoires. after the wing-collar shirt, the opera glove, the smoking jackets, the cummerbund seems like a logical next step - it makes sense. could it be the scarf worn around the waist trend’s elegant parisian older cousin? or the evolution of my sweater worn around the waist?

I spotted versions on the women rtw runways at celine, michael kors, polo ralph lauren, and valentino.

(left to right: michael kors, celine, polo ralph lauren, valentino)

and during the recent men’s collections, michael rider used colorful cummerbunds with a simple crew neck sweater and trouser. it felt playful and uplifting, and created a new silhouette and proportion play overall.

(mens celine)

a few weeks ago, I was looking for a women’s cummerbund for a project and realized there aren’t many options available. I didn’t want a traditional men’s version. I had an image in mind of one that felt almost obi-esque; long ends on both sides so it could be tied different ways, with tassels at the end. something a bit more dramatic and eccentric that I could easily imagine on oscar wilde or cecil beaton. i love a tassel…might need to focus on that some other day.

I was about to have one made - to have scarves and tassels sewn onto the edges of a mens cummerbund - but then found the perfect one from atelier jéa (link here and pics below).

I ended up using a classic grosgrain men’s cummerbund for the project, but also pulled the atelier jéa one, and it did not disappoint.

(atelier jéa)

the cummerbund feels like one of those details we can start mixing into real life. not always in the expected way.

luxury brands are clearly already on it. high street is following suit. massimo dutti is starting strong (sadly the trousers in the middle photo don’t seem to be available yet but I will be hunting those down):

(massimo dutti)

seems super easy. makes a major impact with very little effort.

with a crisp white shirt and trousers.
over a tank with jeans.
as a satin waist wrap.
worn on the hips with a simple dress.

I just started playing and am certain there are myriad other ways.

(co satin skirt and oversized satin tee with manolo balenciaga mule and atelier jéa cummerbund)

not black tie. just a touch of elegant levity and whimsy. something we could all use more of these days.

I noticed the shift almost immediately. my mind felt quieter and I felt less anxious, a response I did not expect at all despite all of the studies I’ve read about. not to bring perimenopause up yet again - believe me, I’m more sick of it than anyone - but the hormonal shifts have turned the volume up full blast on an anxiety I didn’t even realize I carry. it was as though someone had flipped the switch off on a static-y background noise I’d become so used to that I didn’t even realize it was always there. there was more space between my thoughts and more levity in my chest as I inhaled.

I took the dogs for a hike after practicing ashtanga and found myself thinking about rituals. I’m not entirely sure why. the word just popped into my head and drew me in. and it felt good to reflect on the concept so I went with it.

my mornings have looked remarkably similar for years regardless of what time zone I’m in or what the day ahead holds. meditation. a latte. a tall glass of water. movement. they aren’t simply boxes to check off an early morning to-do list; they are the components that allow me to meet the world feeling grounded in both my body and my mind. to some people, this might look obsessive. I honestly don’t care. it works for me.

rituals feel different from routines. they aren’t about productivity. they’re about presence in a deeply personal way. like punctuation marks that keep life from becoming one long run-on sentence, reminding us to pause before moving into whatever comes next. and in the process, I’m realizing that they can make the ordinary feel sacred.

at some point during yesterday’s walk, I realized that maybe many of the things I dismiss as tedious and repetitive are actually rituals in disguise - many of them linked to day to day family life that feels more and more as if it’s slipping through my fingers. not all of them, of course. but there are moments woven into ordinary life that carry something more than repetition. they carry meaning, memory and emotion. and they connect us to ourselves, to the people we love, and to the particular season of life we are living right now.

suki and henri attended different school campuses the past two years. that mostly meant more driving. but for henri and me, it became something else. every morning after dropping suki off at middle school, we’d drive through griffith park on our way to his campus. in those quiet early morning hours, we would often spot deer grazing or a coyote crossing the road. without ever discussing it, we started calling it bambi drive. it was never extraordinary. there was no grand intention behind it. but somehow those drives became our time - our shared ritual.

when henri graduated from elementary school this past june, we decided to commemorate our last bambi. we packed up breakfast and stopped to eat it in the park before heading to school. I’m pretty sure we will never remember the extra driving we had to do. but we will remember bambi drive.

that’s the thing about rituals. you may not recognize them as they quietly become part of your life. only later do you realize they were holding parts of your life - and maybe you - together.

the older I get, the less interested I am in rushing through my days. because once you slow down and begin paying attention, rituals seem to appear everywhere, often in the most mundane and ordinary places.

in emptying the dishwasher for our full happy house, in preparing ottolenghi’s roasted chicken for the 200th time, in editing the clothing on a rack before a fitting or shoot, in picking up a concert tee to sleep in and thinking about the concert for a fleeting moment as I pull it over my head, in buttoning up a white button down shirt and pushing up the cuffs before heading out for the day. small things. ordinary things. until they aren’t.

maybe rituals aren’t something we create. maybe they’re something we notice. and maybe that’s enough to make an ordinary life feel a little more sacred.

back to my love for summer. which is alive in full force but accompanied by a strange schmoopiness (for lack of a better word). I’m a little irritable, a lot anxious. weirdly feel like I want to crawl out of my skin. can anyone relate? is this the freaking hormones and the simple reality I must surrender to as a 51 year old woman??

jon and I went to see ‘the invite’ and LOVED it - the mention of hormones reminded me! it’s funny how bonding and endearing it can be for both people in a couple to realize that they are just a total cliché. brilliant writing, directing, acting, costume design (yay arianne!), production design… felt a bit like I was watching a play in NY and not a movie, which I loved. go see it!

I started reading joan juliet buck’s ‘the price of illusion’. I think I missed it when it came out because I was shellshocked juggling two kids. this quote resonated so deeply: “...I couldn’t read humans as easily as i could read the meanings of their clothes...”. there’s something so beautiful about finding oneself in a book.

this photo is a nonsequitur - no meaning meant by the post run and dog walk clothes (although surely one could argue there is always meaning in what one wears!). just a multitasking mama who is soon going to be shorter than her baby girl.

just a few things that caught my eye. look guys! there’s even color!

love these christopher esber wedgey sandals!

this most adorable zara bag with a silhouette that reminds me of my forever favorite celine sangle

if havaianas had a fancy older sister, it would be these zara leather flip flops (which I'm wearing below)

h&m skirt worn as dress

and there are so many good black summer dresses out there at the moment…

oh! and these two perfect timelessly elegant pieces are on sale and will look beautiful together. (thank you jen for letting me know about the shirt!!)

co duchess satin skirt

toteme oversized tuxedo shirt

it’s been too hot to eat much but these have been on repeat…

peaches + buratta + basil + olive oil + salt + pepper

ottolenghi’s roasted chicken with veggies added to roast in the schmaltz. preserved lemons are such an underused delicacy!

my paleo-ish (I say ‘ish’ because I am personally fine with organic butter and 72% chocolate chips with all of the other ingredients being paleo). these are soooo good and you can make ice cream sandwiches. I prefer my eton mess over this but forgot to take a picture so you’re stuck with my paleo-ish ice cream sandwiches.

1/2 cup butter softened (1 stick)

2/3 cup maple sugar (not maple syrup, maple SUGAR - it has kind of a brown sugar consistency but it has a lower glycemic index so it won’t spike your blood sugar, is minimally processed compared to brown sugar and it’s full of antioxidants and minerals!)

1 large egg

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon sea salt

2 1/4 cup blanched almond flour

1 cup dark chocolate chips

mix these all up and bake at 350F for around 10-12 minutes.

last thing. so I have never colored or done any treatments to my hair except for a failed attempt at sun in when I was 13 (brunettes, do NOT try sun in!!). anyways, the grays are coming in fast, and I’m still figuring out what to do with that…as of now, I’m toying with the thought of letting them take over. but the texture of my hair has become a NIGHTMARE! dry and kinky (not in a good way) and wavy and gross. I was torn about doing a treatment (although I realized it was some weird ego attachment to ‘never doing a hair treatment’ which felt really dumb the more I thought I about it), but after two friends did smoothing treatments, I caved. I have to be honest, even though I’m not a fan of the stick straight flat ironed look (it just feels too contrived and heavy handed for my personal taste - I like a bit of imperfection), getting this cezanne treatment today really helped lift some of my schmoopiness. (I am definitely not the expert on this but apparently cezanne is formaldahyde free, although I believe something happens in the chemical reaction of the ingredients that leads to a formaldahyde, so it’s not all natural and non-toxic). it didn’t solve the grave bang error but it helped make me feel slightly less discombobulated.

the spectacle. the fantasy. the formality. the legacy of the houses.

I vividly remember the first time I worked on a couture shoot as an assistant. the gowns would arrive in enormous boxes, each one requiring almost ceremonial care. many came with instructions for how to put them on. some were so heavy I wondered how the models were even able to support the weight.

working on editorials was always a bit dreamlike, but couture shoots - especially with photographers like steven meisel or patrick demarchelier in abandoned locations with empty swimming pools and strange objects throughout - those existed on an entirely different plane.

(the beautiful and impossibly kind caroline trentini on the first couture shoot I assisted on and have the most vivid memories of - italian vogue by steven meisel with brana wolf styling, guido palau for hair, pat mcgrath for makeup)

those memories hold a special place in my heart (even if they also traumatized me and kicked my ass!).

fast forward twenty-five years. I still love following the couture collections.

taste is subjective, of course, so I won’t pretend to make sweeping pronouncements. but personally, I love that pierpaolo piccioli is now at balenciaga. his eye and spirit feel like such a natural fit for the house. and the textured whimsy of matthieu blazy’s chanel feels fresh, energized, and joyful even if part of me still yearns for their classics.

beyond the sheer beauty of it all, what I love most is the way couture can light you up. a funny emotional reaction of feeling like I’m a little girl watching ‘cinderella’, a teen watching ‘clueless’ and an adult watching ‘sex in the city’ all at the same time.

you look at these clothes that often feel more like art than garment - and they tickle the imagination. they remind you to have fun and play. play with texture. with volume. with proportion. put on the opera-length glove, the sculptural dress, the feathery skirt that feels like too much. be too much in a world where you’re constantly told not to.

not just to imitate couture. but to get into a different mindset. bolder. more adventurous.

to take some small element of the fantasy and bring it back into real life. not performatively but as play. a reminder that getting dressed can hold a little more joy than we normally encounter day to day.

balenciaga look 27 inspo. mugler dress, magda butrym dress, jimmy choo heel, paula rowan gloves (she is incredible and makes every color and length variation you can imagine!)

balenciaga look 4 and 30 inspo. chan luu tafetta trouser, jimmy choo heel, selezza london tulle jacket, eaves tank

balenciaga look 6 inspo. lapointe feather skirt, mango textured skirt (I love mine!), high low dress worn as top, another tomorrow jacket

fendi look 32 inspo. the deco haus dress, la ligne pant, alaia shoe

fendi look 1 inspo. striped zara dress, jacquemus espadrilles

rosie assoulin skirt and top that just exudes effortless couture. skirt and top

complete edit inspired by fw26 couture

some people collect matchbooks, shells, or passport stamps. I collect baskets.

I can hear my cousin mocking me. (alexandra, si jamais tu me lis, je sais que tu dois bien rigoler!)

I think there’s a part of me that imagines a slowed-down life in the south of france, on one of those dream french properties jon and I are always sending each other. (right after I typed this sentence, as if he could hear my thoughts, he yelled from the kitchen, “you’re going to really love the one i just sent you!” - he wasn’t wrong).

that version of me is never rushing or anxious. she shops daily at the farmers market and takes her time cooking instead of feeling that it’s a chore. she reads the books on her nightstand. her heart is full. she is more present, finally able to practice what she has studied in yoga, kabbalah, and the various other spiritual philosophies she has fallen into over the years.

I’m not entirely sure what it is about baskets that connects me to that part of myself. they somehow seem to represent an insouciance, a simplicity, a slower existence more in sync with nature’s rhythms.

maybe it’s a false idea. some imagined fantasy.

maybe not.

either way, I am far from being her.

but I have the baskets.

and, to be honest, some of the wardrobe.

my collection is sentimental, spanning years of trips, flea markets and the occasional etsy (the one I use most is from there) and poshmark treasure (for the muun!). tis the season, so I pulled together an edit of the best baskets (and basket-ish things) I’m seeing now.

linked here

photos by laurel thoma

duality.

i’ve been seeing and feeling it all around me.

the overwhelming joy of having time with my little family of four, and the heartbreak of our children’s tween obstinance and the resulting reprimanding and bickering.

the exhilaration of long summer days with the people i love most, and the utter dread at having to parent around the clock.

the deep stress around a health diagnosis, and the profound gratitude that it is not an incurable disease.

the excitement of slowly overcoming my fears, sharing parts of myself i never have, connecting with people in a way that feels authentic and beautiful, and the panic that perhaps i have nothing valuable to contribute at all.

two truths. over and over. not one feeling replacing the other, but both existing at once. side by side. sometimes violently. sometimes more gently. sometimes so close together they are almost impossible to separate.

and in a terribly cheesy yet apropos transition, a few days ago i noticed how i use pieces of clothing in different and opposing ways. one piece can have two personas just as one situation can bring up two very different emotions. a tangible reminder of the profound reality that two truths can exist.

and while i fully realize this may be an extremely fashion-person way to arrive at an existential thought, it still feels true. clothes do often show us what we are constantly living through anyway: contradiction, contrast, tension, possibility - a topic for another day.

maybe the point is not to resolve the opposites too quickly.

maybe more attention needs to be given to the space between them.

the space between joy and dread.
between fear and gratitude.
between wanting to be seen and wanting to hide.
between who we have been and who we are becoming.

i don’t think i spend enough time there, in the space in between. i tend to swing from one side to the other, trying to decide which feeling is the real one, which story is more true, which version of myself i am supposed to believe.

but maybe both are true.

and maybe the space between them is not confusion.

maybe it is possibility.

maybe it is where we pause. where we recalibrate. where we feel what is actually happening before rushing to name it. maybe it is where we reconnect to the bigger picture, integrate the opposing parts, and decide how we want to show up.

not as one thing or the other.

but as something more whole.

easy. breezy. throw one on with flipflops to run an errand. add heels and some jewels for more of a moment. the ones i’ve had for years that look a bit tired and worn have graduated to the ‘throw on over a swimsuit as i toggle between cooking a meal, jumping on a zoom call, and prying my children off of screens’ category. I haven’t invested in many this season as my cup runneth over and I’m quite happy with my current lot of toteme, margiela and mango but I have been seeing some compelling ones at all price points - from alaia (swoon) to banana republic.

my toteme from a few years back that I still love just as much as when I first got it moves easily from evening to day…

and another toteme from years past for the farmers market…

they’ve existed for eons. per wikipedia, “the word caftan (or kaftan) stems from the persian word ‘khaftan’, referring to a protective garment. some linguists also trace the root to the turkic term ‘kap-ton’, meaning ‘bag garment’. tracing back thousands of years, the caftan began as a loose, long-sleeved robe worn by persian royalty and ancient mesopotamian elites to denote authority.”

when I think of kaftans, I immediately imagine marisa berenson in a gold kaftan (by tina) photographed by henry clarke.

but madame gres created her version (I am obsessed with all things gres!!)

grace kelly looked sublime in another madame gres one here, photographed by richard avedon

here is a link to my selects - mostly black, white and cream, but some of them do come in a wider (and brighter) color palette: deb's july 2026 kaftan edit

I have always been a sucker for a winged collar tuxedo shirt (I’m particular to pique for the bib, less so pleats) - something about the irrefutable elegance of another time mixed with clean lines and a certain formality. they were my go-to when I styled men regularly for l’uomo vogue and vanity fair. I’m still grateful to the market editors who kindly put up with me. I think I was still in a very dress-heavy phase of my own personal style at that time.

these shirts have been back on my mind since the chanel show. this time, I’ve been pulling them for women. and myself - I just had this charles tyrwhitt one custom made and monogrammed for me and clients have followed suit. (I haven’t even worn it yet but will post a pic as soon as I do.)

I have had these saved in a file for a while for work purposes but thought it would be apropos to share the curated list today.

link to my faves

that feeling. when all is right. that innate inner knowing. the quiet sense of easy calm. the nervous system lets go. there’s a warm radiant sense of wellbeing.

we each have our version of it.

clothing is, and has always been, inextricably linked to that feeling for me.

growing up, i had my own way of thinking and didn’t always fit into the cultures and norms around me. clothes were my language. clothing was my solace. it was where i went to feel like the world made sense and i had a place in it, even if that place was far from where i existed.

it still is.

as a girl, i would leaf through the french fashion magazines my grandparents mailed to my mother each month rolled in brown paper and twine, obsessively take in what i saw on mtv (the martha quinn and mark goodman era), carefully studying what madonna, blondie, pat benatar, and bananarama wore, and people-watch everywhere, to the point that i would be told to stop staring.

i loved watching how people moved and interacted, but for some reason, so much of it revolved around what they were wearing. the proportions and ways pieces were mixed. the personas coming through. the stories being told without words. this feeling of being immersed and transfixed.

it’s as if i’m succumbing to the force of some kind of alchemical reaction that takes place between clothing and the person wearing it. i realize this may sound bizarre, but no hyperbole - the feelings that clothing can provoke in me are profound.

there is a very distinct feeling i get when i come across clothing that resonates with me. my mood changes. my energy is invigorated and i feel a certain exhilaration or excitement. it has the power to shape my experience of being somewhere and sometimes i wonder if i’m not more excited about getting dressed than the destination i’m getting dressed to go to.

and i get this type of feeling - a different version of it, but a strong feeling nonetheless - when i dress others too.

the moment when someone puts a piece of clothing on and feels a synergy between themselves and what they are wearing, the posture changes. the attitude shifts. something relaxes and comes to life.

before i can explain why a piece works, be it on myself or someone else, there is a feeling. it’s not just about whether it flatters. or is chic or elevated; it’s about the alchemy. the clothes’ ability to bring to life a part of the person that is true and already there.

i don’t see clothing as disguise or performance. i see it as a kind of visual coherence: the inside and outside speaking to one another. the person and the image aligning. this is why clothes have never felt superficial to me.

clothing can make someone feel more like themselves. more visible. more grounded. more open to who they might be becoming.

and maybe that is what feeling good is, after all. the silent inner sense that something fits - the body, the person, the mood, the moment, the self beneath the self.

i invite you to stop and check in next time you get dressed. what did you pick and why? how are you feeling?

you might be surprised to discover an entire layer you never realized was there.

shop it here

my white shoe edit

i’ve been strangely obsessed with white shoes since the end of last summer. i think a bottega runway look may have planted the seed, although i can’t remember for sure. sneaker. derby. slipper. ballet flat. heel. mule. take your pick.

there is something fresh about a white shoe. wearing black becomes tiresome, even for us die-hards. other colors can be striking, but not quite in the same way. at least not for me.

white punctuates differently.

instead of grounding a look, it lifts it. the eye moves differently. everything feels slightly lighter, but still elevated. elegant. effortless. quietly bold.

https://shopmy.us/shop/collections/5614680

I had never really thought about it before, but sharing with others - specifically women - brings me an irrational amount of joy. It is something I have only recently stopped to notice, as I begin attempting to gather my swirling thoughts and ideas and put them into words.

Clothing excites me. It makes me feel safe, joyful, calm. It has for as long as I can remember.

My grandparents would visit from France and bring me clothes from the wholesale district in Paris, which they frequented on buying trips from Reims, where they owned a clothing shop. I was not even ten, but apparently I would put outfits together and change several times over the course of a summer day. I can’t say I remember that, but I do remember the elation of being given these new treasures and twirling in front of my mother’s lacquered mahogany Schaeffer piano, catching glimpses of myself in its shiny reflection.

This was before the internet, when the world somehow felt vast and more exotic. The clothes they brought from France were not fancy or brand names but they were unlike anything I saw in the States.

My love for clothing was profound, but it never occurred to me that I could do something with it - that it could become part of my life’s work. I cast the passion aside for a long time, doing what was expected of me - a story for another day - but thankfully found my way back before it was too late.

Although I have often felt like an imposter or an outsider socially within the fashion industry, nothing has ever felt more right than the actual work itself, in all the different forms it takes: going through collections and creating a board for a fashion editorial; being given an abstract concept and hunting down the perfect pieces that will bring it to life visually; working with a designer’s collection and finding a compelling point of view within it; or working with an artist to understand what they want to express publicly, then translating that into clothing that harmonizes with both their interior and exterior selves.

I love it all.

You hear people talk about being in flow - immersing themselves so completely that they no longer notice the passing of time. This is what puts me in that state.

But there is another more silent part of my relationship with clothing that does not necessarily appear in my professional work, yet is cut from the same cloth. (Pun not intended, but there it is.)

It is the part of me moving through the world and simply getting dressed. Sometimes I have a clear sense of who I am and what I want to express. Other times I struggle and feel confused or a little lost. But what is interesting and had never really occurred to me is that this part of my relationship with clothing allows me to connect with people in a different, more immediate way. It is less performative than the other work I do, but not necessarily less important. In some ways, it may be more so.

Someone will ask where I found a piece I am wearing. And this is where the irrational joy comes in. I will stop what I am doing, give them the spelling of the designer, look it up on my phone and find the link, and text it to the total stranger asking.

It can happen anywhere: in the airport security line, waiting to cross the street, at the grocery store, at school pickup. Sometimes even while working or with a client.

The sheer act of sharing just makes me happy.

Women get a bad rap for being competitive or unkind to one another. But that is not always the case - there is another kind of woman, too. I am discovering more and more of them, and am one of them myself: women who support one another, share what they know, and genuinely want to uplift those around them.

I suppose this is my long-winded way of explaining what I am doing here - and what The Pull is about.

I want to share the things that pull me in. The pieces my eye is drawn to. The silhouette that appears in my head for some inexplicable reason, which I then obsessively look for and then often suddenly begin seeing everywhere a year later. (I wish I had a superpower that cured cancer or moved us toward world peace, but this is all I’ve got for now.) The perfect high street piece that allows one to access a look they would not have been able to otherwise. I want to share the pieces I cannot stop thinking about just because they excite me for their shape, proportion, texture, or sometimes for no particular reason at all. The ones that might help another person feel more secure, more joyful, more at ease, or simply more like herself.

Much of what I include will inevitably reflect what speaks to me personally - hence the lack of color, the tendency toward black and white, and the mix of highs and lows, with a particular emphasis on high-street finds.

But I would love for this to become a conversation. If there is something you are searching for, a category you would like me to explore, or a particular genre of clothing you would like to see curated, please tell me - nothing makes me happier than going on that hunt.

Sharing is, after all, the whole point. Because at the end of the day, we are all bouncing off each other, inspiring one another, and hopefully each partaking in our version of this perhaps not so irrational joy.

the ideas of coherence and resonance have been appearing around me consistently over the past few weeks - again this morning, in fact. i deeply believe in the interconnectedness of beings and things, so the fact that a concept built around inherent connection kept reappearing felt like a kind of cosmic double rainbow.

the first time it came up was a few weeks ago while reading about paracelsus. yes, i’m a total dork and proud of it. surprise, surprise: it turns out i can do more than pick a pretty shoe (but here is one because i am still obsessing).

paracelsus was a 16th-century physician, alchemist, and philosopher who believed that the universe was a living, interconnected organism and that human beings were a microcosm of that greater whole. healing, he believed, required treating the entire person - mind, body, and spirit.

basically, he sounds a lot like the kind of doctor i’m always drawn to: holistic, unconventional, definitely not covered by insurance, and usually across town in santa monica - but the 1500s version.

much like the concept of coherence in physics, in which waves become synchronized, paracelsus believed that the body, mind, and soul communicated with and mirrored one another. there are several ways in which forms of synchrony have been observed within the body and between people.

the second time the idea surfaced was over lunch with a friend who happens to have an incredible vintage collection - linking it here. hi, rachel!

one minute we were talking about sandals; the next, she was telling me about family constellation therapy, a modality built around the idea that people can somehow tune into relational dynamics that aren’t their own - almost as though they can plug into another person’s experience without ever having met them.

practitioners refer to this phenomenon as resonance, the knowing field, or the morphogenetic field.

in simple terms, a group of people comes together and one person chooses to explore a family dynamic or event that affected them. other members of the group, who have never met or known the actual family members, are assigned roles, and the dynamic is reenacted with the intention of shifting, releasing, or bringing awareness to the trauma surrounding it.

oftentimes, the people representing the family members report physical or psycho-emotional sensations that seem to echo what the actual person experienced, despite having no prior knowledge of it.

to the logical mind, this may seem inexplicable and arguably impossible. and yet, to those who have experienced it, it can feel like another extraordinary illustration of the ways in which we may be connected.

and then, just a few days later, i heard the concept again while listening to cathy heller talk about coherence fields and the interconnectedness of all beings and things.

three times over the course of about three weeks. three entirely different contexts.

the collective unconscious: the supreme form of resonance.

noticing recurring themes like this doesn’t necessarily prove anything scientifically - although part of me would argue that perhaps the science exists and we simply don’t understand it yet - but it does make me pause. it gives me an added sense of levity and trust in the mysterious harmony of the universe.

similar themes have been appearing in conversations with women in my life lately: through work, friendships, school mothers, and the myriad random exchanges i get into because i don’t really know how to do small talk.

i can’t help wondering whether this, too, is some form of coherence.

it makes me think of bird murmurations: thousands of birds moving together, each one responding only to a handful of its nearest neighbors, yet somehow causing the entire flock to shift and turn as a single entity.

maybe we are a human version of that.

maybe the whole universe is.

i notice that we are circling around similar questions: identity. belonging. purpose. friendship. marriage. family. motherhood. work. aging. beauty.

i see women feeling ambitious and excited about figuring out what comes next. women doing deep, honest work on themselves. women taking risks. women confronting grief. women exploring questions surrounding death. women trying to understand who they are now and who they are becoming.

of course, these are not new subjects. women have always talked about them. but lately there seems to be a collective tone beneath the conversations - a shared feeling of both disorientation and excitement about what is next.

as though life has accelerated, but our identity, or our sense of self, hasn’t had time to catch up.

i see it everywhere: people who don’t know one another, living completely different lives, expressing remarkably similar sentiments. it makes the ideas of coherence, resonance, and connection feel suddenly more concrete and palpable.

i also find it fascinating how quickly questions about identity shift toward clothing.

somehow, it all comes back to clothes - not because clothing matters most, but because it can reveal so much about our relationship to ourselves. what we wear can express who we believe ourselves to be, who we have been, and who we may be trying to become.

it is one of the places where something invisible - identity, emotion, longing, uncertainty - takes visible form.

perhaps that is why clothing can begin to feel so complicated during periods of transition. when our inner lives are changing faster than our external identities can keep up, the clothes that once felt right can suddenly feel strangely disconnected from us.

the person in the mirror no longer quite matches the person we sense emerging within.

coherence. resonance. synchrony.

maybe getting dressed is part of it too: the quiet, daily practice of bringing the inner and outer self into alignment.

perhaps clothes are not superficial at all.

perhaps they are one of the ways we make the invisible visible - and one of the first places we notice that we are becoming someone new.

i’m somewhere between feeling like i’m about to have a nervous breakdown and deep gratitude and trust in the universe; profound love for my family and work and questioning whether i’m capable or worthy of doing a decent job at any of it; feeling invigorated and excited for the day and so exhausted i could crawl back into bed and sleep for 12 hours; and both excited for and dreading the long summer days ahead.

duality.

patterns.

i’m deep in both.

sometimes i feel utterly insane behind my mask of professional propriety and poise. like i’m going in circles.

a few months ago, an amazing teacher and healer named rocio pointed out something that has stayed with me: patterns aren’t circular. they evolve. each time they come around, they’re different.

like a fibonacci spiral.

you return to familiar places, but from a different vantage point. the shape expands. what felt repetitive reveals itself as growth. rhythmic, natural, completely in harmony with nature and the universe.

apparently fibonacci spirals are everywhere in nature. shells. flowers. galaxies.

i find them calming and soothing to look at.

which, now that i think about it, is often what draws me to a piece of clothing too.

it’s rarely about the trend or even the color. it’s usually the proportion. the shape. the relationship between pieces. how they drape and sit together.

funny how everything seems connected somehow.

welcome to the inside of my brain.

Photo by Francesca Woodman

I’ve been thinking about downsizing for a while now. Since moving back to LA from New York, it’s wild how much I’ve accumulated. The culprit? A mix: pieces acquired for specific shoots that no one claimed, gifted items, impulse buys. Somewhere along the way, I became desensitized to what a healthy amount of “stuff” even looks like.

It began in the fashion closets of magazines—racks filled with unopened garment bags cycling in and out methodically. Then evolved to assisting editors who insisted on traveling with elaborate kits of hosiery, socks and ribbons - you truly do not know how many variations of sheer black stockings exist until you know. And then you can never un-know. It would have behooved me to work under the great Diana Vreeland who famously sent her Vogue staff memos with directives like: ‘Don’t overpack—take only what you truly need.’

When your job involves hand-picking pieces from lookbooks or showrooms and watching them magically appear for your shoots to silently yet effectively bring a character or concept to life, it inevitably skews your sense of “enough.” Even though samples are always returned, being surrounded by a constant stream of beautiful things brings out a fickle side in the best of us. And yet, the internal pull toward minimalism won’t let up.

I’ve noticed that I rotate between the same few pieces—my uniform of sorts. It’s evolved drastically over the past decade. Maturation? Motherhood? I’m not sure. I used to live in dresses. My New York memories are punctuated by À Detacher, Dries, Maria Cornejo, Marni, Margiela. Some I’ve kept. Some I’ve sold—sometimes with deep regret. These days, I lean toward streamlined silhouettes, no matter the setting: school drop-offs, shoot days, soccer games, dog walks, market appointments, desk days, the occasional event.

Clean lines. Wide-leg trousers. Oversized button-downs. Tees. Cashmere sweaters. Blazers. Trench coats. All in my own quiet rainbow of blacks, navys, grays, browns, beiges, and whites—occasionally punctuated by a light blue stripe in a mens button down. I do love an Hermès orange and mustard yellow, though I’ve yet to invite them into my palette.

Shape and proportion are everything. The drape of a pant. The length and sleeve of a tee. The crispness of cotton poplin. The neckline of a tank. The slouch and lapel of a jacket. Barrel and horseshoe cuts have been my love language ever since I met B Sides’ Lasso jeans. I keep waiting for the feeling to fade. It hasn’t yet.

Photo by Deborah Turbeville

In an effort to see clearly, I moved everything from my bedroom closet to my studio and hung up every piece. I’d just donated a large portion of my wardrobe to victims of the LA fires, which gave me space to honestly assess. Suddenly, every pair of jeans, every white tee, every gray sweatshirt—pieces that had lived a folded existence in stacks were suddenly given room to breathe and be seen alongside the already hanger-worthy ones. (Workout clothes, vintage concert tees, swimwear, and lingerie stayed put.)

It came to five racks. My goal is two. And to never exceed that again.

Because I’m starting to feel the perils of overconsumption everywhere—psychologically, environmentally, energetically.

What struck me most in this reorganization wasn’t just the quantity, but the continuity—and the realization that the theme of consistency echoes elsewhere in my life.

A common thread. Patterns. All pointing to something deeper. Something indisputable and inevitable: one’s essence.

Photo by Prue Stent & Honey Long

And when I really stop and observe, I see it not just in how I dress, but how I move, work, speak, think. In how I socialize—or don’t. In how I exist in the world.

Which made me wonder: is this what we really mean when we talk about authenticity?

Curious, I looked up the words essence and authenticity—terms I use often but didn’t really know the roots of.

Essence comes from Latin essentia, “being” or “nature”—derived from esse, “to be.” It echoes the Greek ousia: that which makes a thing what it truly is. Not temporary. Not accidental. Aristotle used ousia to describe a thing’s unchanging core—its true substance.

Authenticity comes from the Greek authentikos, meaning original, genuine, self-authored—from authentēs: one who does things for themselves. The Latin root author points to something active. So authenticity isn’t just about being honest. It’s about being your own author. It’s not passive—it’s deliberate.

Your essence requires no effort. It just is—like your fingerprint.

Authenticity, though, is something you must actively practice. It’s intentional. Chosen. Maybe that’s why it feels so hard to “just be.” We’re constantly rewriting ourselves, showing up in different versions for different relationships, roles, expectations.

So maybe we should talk more about essentiality than authenticity. Maybe the real work is knowing and living from that place—then choosing how to author our lives around it.

It applies to everything. Whether you’re a morning person or a night owl. Whether you crave crowds or solitude. Prefer savory or sweet. Brights or neutrals.

Being aligned with your essence doesn’t require much. But it guides everything.

In my work, I see it too. In what I wear. In what I suggest to clients. When someone is dressed in alignment with their essence, it shows. It is felt. Palpable. That’s where most people get stuck—we try to please. We conform. We dress or speak in ways that don't quite match what’s within.

And it’s hard. Sometimes it’s hard to even know what’s true, let alone live it.

After years of people-pleasing and trying (unsuccessfully) to fit into cultural expectations that never really felt like mine, it took me a long time to figure out what was actually me—not just the opposite of what was expected. Not rebellion. Not reaction. Just quiet truth.

I’m still figuring it out.

It shouldn’t be this hard to just be—honestly, unabashedly, unapologetically.
But maybe that’s the work:
To get closer to our essence.
And live from there.

Photo by Francesca Woodman

My first apartment in New York was a railroad-style unit on 79th and 1st. It belonged to a friend of a woman I met at Machu Picchu during a yoga retreat—someone outside my group whom I never saw again. Life is funny that way.

The layout was awkward. I had to walk through her bedroom to get to the kitchen and bathroom. But it was in Manhattan—a mere six avenue blocks from Central Park and the Met Museum. I spent that spring taking my morning runs through the park and wandering museum galleries to cool down. Heaven.

I was new to the city and had been interning and assisting at fashion magazines for just about a year. But even then, I knew the Met Gala was the fashion event. The 2002 gala had been canceled after 9/11, so 2003 marked its return. By then, I was assisting at Harper’s Bazaar—still learning, but gaining my footing. I would overhear the girls at the magazine talk about the parties and galas. I wasn’t part of that club. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be. I was an introverted yogi, bookish, a bit too serious, still stuck in people pleasing mode and a mix of vintage and high street clothes. I was giddy just to be working at the magazine, content spending my weekends alone at flea markets. Still, the talk of the Met Gala was all around me and intoxicating.

The night of the gala, something possessed me to get off the couch, I slipped into a dress and heels and took the 79th Street crosstown bus which was right outside the front door of my building. (Thank goodness for that—I couldn’t walk in heels back then and still can’t—I just pick good ones and have other people walk in them!) I wasn’t letting myself take cabs yet. I was committed to figuring New York out frugally. And although I had started hopping into black cars for market appointments and picking up fine jewelry, I wasn’t ready to get too comfortable.

I got off at Fifth Avenue and walked toward the museum steps. The arrivals were mostly over. The frenzy had moved inside. Outside, it was calm. I stood at the base, eventually stepping up a few stairs, swept into the moment. The mere fact that I was there surprised me. I figured I’d walk past and head home. But there I was—and no one seemed to mind.

Ever since I was a little girl, I loved watching people. I still do. How they move, how they dress, how they carry themselves, how they interact. Even at this quieter moment, it was people watching at its peak.

I wasn’t there to cause trouble, and no one asked who I was. So I kept going. The next thing I knew, I was inside.

I had walked right in—no one stopped me, no one looked twice. I had snuck in.

There I stood, surrounded by ancient sculptures and elegant guests. Women in gowns glided past, graceful and self assured. They belonged—or so it seemed.

And me? I had slipped in, unnoticed. Politely. Innocently. The uninvited guest.

The theme that year was Goddess: The Classical Mode, which couldn’t have been more perfect. I’ve always loved Grecian draping—how effortless and elegant it is. Funnily enough, just a few years ago, my partner gave me the exhibit book as a Mother’s Day gift. Only recently did I recognize the coincidence.

I wandered through the museum gallery, stunned, searching for the bathroom. Unsure where to go or what to do, I passed women who looked entirely at ease. They had been invited. They belonged. Or so it seemed.

I was about a year into working in magazines at that point. After interning at Elle, I landed at Harper’s Bazaar and quickly became a full-time assistant to a notoriously tough but respected editor. I still remember the call that changed everything. One Saturday night at Cafe Charbon on the Lower East Side, my Motorola Razr rang. The editor asked me to be at Pier 59 the next morning at 7 a.m. for an 80-page Italian Vogue shoot with Steven Meisel. I can hear her now with her Australian accent. That felt like my initiation—my invitation.

And yet, I still didn’t feel like I belonged.

Looking back, that was often the case. Time and again, I walked right into places—jobs, shoots, rooms. The doors kept opening. I was let in, even welcomed. Still, I carried that quiet, persistent feeling: I didn’t truly belong.

One of my only memories of that night is Diana Ross in a flowing red dress. She looked divine—like a true goddess. Once I gained my composure and calmed myself, I recognized many faces: models, actors, designers. Many of whom I would later style and work with.

And now, 22 years later, I’m only beginning to wonder: maybe I did belong. Maybe I always had. Just this week, on set for a beauty campaign, the client complimented my styling. For one of the first times, I let myself receive it. I even laughed and admitted that imposter syndrome had haunted me for years.

I don’t know exactly what changed. Do we eventually grow into ourselves? Or do we simply grow tired of doubting?

Even amid iconic shoots and brilliant collaborators, I often felt like I was still that girl sneaking in. The guest who showed up uninvited—yet was somehow always allowed to stay.

Belonging had always been complicated for me - American, Iranian and French cultures that didn’t quite fit, religions that felt void of spirituality, societal obligations and ways of thinking and living that felt fundamentally wrong for me. When fashion began to feel like home, it surprised and assuaged me. For years, I remained proper and professional, keeping myself small. But slowly, I learned to let who I am show. I’m still learning every day. And every time I do, I am met with a kind, inspiring and like-minded community—a mirror of sorts, a sense of belonging.

I didn’t stay at the Met Gala very long. It was dazzling—but daunting.

I floated home, down the red-carpeted steps and onto 79th Street. I always remember what I wear—random outfits from my childhood and from events sprinkled through life—it always surprises my mother—but that night? I couldn’t even tell you the color. I was too in awe.

I’ve often heard that whatever is meant for you will find you. Deep in my body, I believe that. But my mind? It’s taken longer to catch up.

I think we’re all trying to figure out where we belong. Maybe it’s not a place. Maybe it’s a feeling—one you carry within yourself, shaped more by how you see yourself than by anyone else.

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves... Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke