Over the summer, I’ve accumulated a shortlist of things that I think are worthy of sharing. Some I’ve purchased, some are on my birthday list (it’s Leo season, baby), and some made the cut simply for leaving a mark on my heart. I’ve broken it all down into four chapters: home, beauty and skincare, closet additions, and things consumed.

Let’s get started.

HOME IS WHERE THE MY HEART IS.

As I’ve gotten older, I have learned to appreciate the sanctity of my four walls, and I’m having the best time filling them with things I love.

Tiny glasses. My obsession with tiny vessels has been balked at by my husband, but I find them beautiful and, come on, they’re just precious. Perfect for an aperitif, or for tricking myself into feeling like I’m having multiple glasses of wine, when in reality, I’m being quite responsible. I’ve been collecting unique glassware for years. Some of you may remember me proudly bringing home a new gorgeous glass from NYC after a mandatory stop into Mociun in Williamsburg.

Over time, the glasses have gotten smaller and smaller. This summer, I added a set of six cordials to my rotation that are essetially long-stemmed shot glasses, but j’adore.

A refill for my favorite candle? Sign me up. When it comes to the things I love, I’m generally a purist. I buy the good butter. I want the chair from the original designer, not the knockoff. Give me the real-deal perfume over the countless dupes.

There is, however, a flip side to this coin. I’d proudly wear a $5.99 button-down from the thrift store over spending $1000+ from a brand that rhymes with NOE, and a good lip liner in the exact shade for a fourth of the price is perfectly fine with me.

I buy nice candles. The Trudon Abe El Kader candle ($135-$140) is, unfortunately, one I’ve spent several hard-earned dollars on time and again. Its gentle scent, which reminds me of sweet basil laced with tobacco, has always felt worth it. Until now.

Element Brooklyn makes a candle refill for my beloved Trudon for twenty bucks. My curiosity got the best of me. I needed to know if this was too good to be true, and $20 seemed worth throwing away in the name of investigative journalism. So I ordered it, and the Loewe Tomato Leaves refill. Both are spot-on. They nailed it! Also, brilliant business idea.

A giant living room rug. To me, rugs are one of the hardest things to decide on in a space. There’s so much to consider: shape, size, material, style, color. The options are bottomless. I wasn’t sure where to start, but I knew I needed something large and was leaning towards something solid. After many mock-ups in Photoshop and crowdsourcing friends with good taste, we landed on Nordic Knots and went with a 10x14’ Grand in Pecan.

We are delighted with its quality, color, and size, and can’t believe how much it elevated the room. It’s also incredibly plush, which was a non-negotiable for floor sitting.

I attempted to make a reel for the ‘Gram sharing a little tour of our living room. My editing skills need work, but I had fun piecing it together and showing appreciation to the small details in our home. I may do an in-depth breakdown with links to things in a future newsletter once the space is complete. Our main living area is coming along nicely, but we still have window treatments, art to frame and hang, and I’m looking for another chair or seating situation, plus a fun rug for the other side of the room, next to the sofa where our record collection lives.

Speaking of rugs, I came across Persian Gabbeh pictorial rugs during my search and became infatuated the Turkish lions, specifically the guardian lions facing each other. Being the proud Leo that I am, it would only be a matter of time before I got my hands on one.

The problem is, they are expensive and usually very small, so justifying a steep price tag, anywhere between $1K-$6K, wasn’t realistic. But a determined Leo with a bit of a shopping habit, like myself, will always find a way.

And I did.

Patience is something I am blessed with (most of the time), usually and it pays off. I found the rug above (2x3’) on Etsy, marked down from $497 to $149, with free shipping. I don’t think I’ve ever hit purchase on anything faster.

With tax and free shipping, my total came to $163.64. It was held up in U.S. customs for a couple of weeks, but it arrived yesterday and is even more gorgeous in person.

BEAUTY ADDITIONS.

I got my hands on the little beige and red bottles with the capitol M!

Dr. Diamond so graciously sent over its Instafacial trio, which I’ve wanted to try since it first debuted. I haven’t dabbled much into the world of growth factors and the brand has received a plethora of accolades online. Despite feeling excited and honored to receive such a generous gift, I was quietly hoping it wouldn’t work for me, mostly in fear of future arguments with the beard when the time comes to replenish.

It’s been about two-ish weeks, maybe three, of regular use and, dammit, I’m a fan. I took a bare-faced before photo so I can compare my skin side-by-side after I run out. I promise to report back with my findings once I do.

Saie Beauty brushes are that good.

I love these brushes and plan to collect them all. The Setting Spray and Dew Bronze in Swim are also top tier. Next on my Saie wantlist: The Big Brush, The Base Brush, and I fear I need this Mini Vanity Case in red.

Another excellent beauty addition is the Merit lip liner in Bespoke. The formula is buttery smooth and blends beautifully. I prefer this color more as a lip contour than a liner, but I primarily use it under my bottom lash line. I have a backup so I don’t run out. An honorary mention goes to The Glow Serum I’ve been using as a primer before my makeup. Glass skin in a bottle.

A summer heatwave godsend. I purchased a lineup of Sofie Pavitt Face for my teenage daughter to help with hormonal breakouts and threw in the Micellar Cleansing Pads for myself. I keep them in my purse for when I’m out, melting in the heat, and need a quick clean up.

On the Osea train. During an after-dinner stop into Target to spend more money than planned, I wandered into the Ulta x Target section and was annoyed at how understocked it was. I didn’t want to leave empty handed, so I grabbed a box of body wash and threw it into the cart.

Once paid and back in the car, my sweet but frugal husband scans the receipt, as he does, and said, “I hope you have the best shower of your life tomorrow. Your body wash was $35!”

I absolutely did. And every one that followed. I don’t know what kind of voodoo magic is happening over at Osea, but they got me with the Body oil, and now the wash. It’s fine. I deserve the world.

This Celisse nail polish kit is on my birthday list. Specifically with the shade Babydoll. It looks like the perfect, barely there shade of pink.

CLOSET ADDITIONS, MOSTLY SECONDHAND

The bag twenty-something James dreamed of.

This summer, I made my newly divorced, broke, single-mom dreams of 2009 come true by purchasing a Stella McCartney Falabella in python. It was in the colorway I’d always loved, in fantastic condition, and an incredible deal. You can still find them on the cheaper side (here’s one for $380,) but I have a feeling the market is following in the footsteps of the Balenciaga City. A busted city can easily rob you of $1200+, and I’ve seen poorly-done replicas for $500, sometimes more. No words!

Since purchasing my Falabella, I’ve seen the resale prices creep up. Stella re-released her iconic Y2K bag in ‘24, and again last year, and the latest versions of the large are on her site for $1450. If you have Falabella dreams, grab an old one while you can.

Behind the paywall: silver jewelry and shoe recommendations, secondhand Miu Miu, the rare vintage t-shirt that got away, documentaries, a list of book titles, the record I can’t stop listening to, an excellent kale salad for the locals, help for my fellow insomniacs, and more.

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This summer has been defined by comfort. Comfort food. Comfort places. Comfort friends. The comfort of home. Even the things I’ve put on my body have followed suit. I haven’t had much reason to get dressed up, aside from one Michelin Star dinner, but I dressed fairly casual and only took photos of the food.

Here’s a hodgepodge of outfits I’ve documented over the past two months. Since roughly 90% of my dress code is vintage or secondhand, I’ve made it my job to track down similar pieces that are available online for those of you who want to recreate the look.

#1 A STUDIO DAY ENSEMBLE

The Ferrari tee was deadstock Screen Stars from the ‘60s that I found on eBay, still sealed in the original packaging. The overalls came from a treasure trove of hand-me-downs from a friend.

Look at the back. It’s precious.

#2 ERRANDS AND HOTDOGS

I had a short-list of errands that day which included a package drop-off at the post office, a quick stop into Sephora to restock on Brow Wiz, and a couple of markets to grab a few things for the week ahead.

If you know me, you know my feelings about a good hotdog.

The obsession began when I was five, courtesy of my mom’s boyfriend, Danny, who claimed to be a runner for the mob. Whether or not that was true remains a mystery and is beside the point. He introduced me to Cheese Dogs which he insisted be called “cheese-injected hotdogs,” a phrase that makes me laugh, and that I still use.

He bought them 10 packs at a time and had an entire shelf in his refrigerator that was dedicated solely to his stacks of Oscar Mayer. He’d plow through a pack a day, usually cold, straight out of the plastic with zero shame.

Danny was weird, but the memories I have of him are anything but boring. I have enough wild stories about that short chapter of life that I could fill an entire newsletter, maybe several.

I haven’t had a proper, all-beef hotdog in nearly 9 years. Not because I don’t want one, but because I have AGS (Alpha-Gal Sydrome), and am now allergic to beef, pork, and anything else with hooves and hair. I’ve made peace with turkey and chicken, but my heart knows the difference.

The reason for this completely unnecessary detour from clothes is a bag of hotdog-flavored kettle chips I found at the market. Mercifully meat-free and alarmingly convincing.

Anyway. Let’s move on.

#3 THRIFTING IS THERAPY

I don’t have a full fit photo here, but I was in a mood and needed to decompress. My preferred form of therapy is combing through racks at the thrift store. A couple of hours with other people’s old clothes has a remarkable way of rearranging my brain. Works every time.

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We’ve been taking her to the dog bar once a week to burn off some energy and mingle with canine friends. She’s a social girl with needs. On the Fourth, they threw a puppy foam party, which was just as ridiculous and adorable as it sounds, while the humans were handed frozen watermelon margaritas. Everyone left happy.

In June, I spent 12 hours in the car driving to Florida to reunite with Darrell, whom I love so much. It was only the second time I’d set foot in the Sunshine State since leaving in a hurry seventeen years ago. Driving through Tampa Bay came with a side car of heavy emotion, but the nostalgia was soon overpowered by laughter with a dear friend that feels like home. Healing happened. The sample dress I made was put to the test against the Florida humidity. New memories took the place of old ones.

I drove down with friends and their daughter, Olive, who happens to be a dog. The twelve hour drive wasn’t bad when I was behind the wheel. I’m not a passenger princess. We rented a house in St. Pete two blocks from a row of shops, cafes, and good coffee. I never made it to the beach (I’m not a fan). Instead, we ate tapas near the water and I waved hello to the sea.

Darrell brought me my favorite sandwich from Lonni’s: the Sunny Bird. I’ve thought about that sandwich an embarrassing number of times since I moved away. It’s an odd combination of flavors and texture that somehow work well between two impossibly soft slices of rye. I want to recreate it at home, but fear my sourdough won’t measure up.

We packed as much as we possibly could in that short string of days: thrifting at my old haunts, wandering the farmer’s market where D sells his preserved flowers, tiny martinis and fresh conversation with friends of friends, sake and plates of oysters at In Between Days, a front-row drag show, and late nights chain smoking Parliaments, laughing, crying, and marveling at how quickly life ticks by. ‘Twas good for the soul.

I came home to smiling faces, freshly washed sheets, and an entirely unexpected gift from my husband. He bought the sofa I’ve loved and admired for the better part of a decade. The very one that belonged to old friends. I’ve spent countless hours on this Italian beauty, usually with a glass of wine in hand, and I expect I’ll spend countless more doing the same.

Please ignore the current rug situation. A much larger one from Nordic Knots just arrived, which I plan to photograph soon. The color is one I wouldn’t normally choose, but I think it works well in the space. It’s the sort of neutral that I, hopefully, won’t grow tired of over time.

To hang above the sofa, I tracked down an original print by Walassee Ting from an art dealer in Paris. It was a hell of a deal because it had been folded away into storage years ago, causing deep creases and minor damage. After a deep-dive of Reddit research, I attempted the repair by myself. Partly because I love a project. Partly because I love a challenge. Mostly because I was not prepared to spend a small fortune on a full restoration.

It isn’t perfect, the repairs are subtle, and you can still see some imperfections, but I don’t mind them. The print is old and shows it’s lived a little. Now it just needs the right frame.

Speaking of projects, I have owned several sc103 bags since the pandemic. I’ve carried them into the ground, having to replace broken links over time, which got me thinking, I can make this.

So I did.

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I made an under-the-table deal with myself that I would get dressed in something I would not feel ashamed to leave the house in at least a few times per week. I would live in a slept-in t-shirt and sweatpants 24/7 if I could. I can. But I own some beautiful clothes, and they deserve their moment.

Wear your clothes. Burn your candles. Use the fancy hand towels. Drink the nice bottle of champagne. Wear your pearls (I did, below.) We work hard to have nice things. Why is it that we think they need to wait for a special occasion?

Now that we’ve entered skirt season, I’ve traded in the jeans (mostly) and grabbed my razor. Here’s proof…

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

FOUR.

FIVE.

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When I was building out my studio space, I wanted to reserve a wall to create a blank canvas for a visual moodboard of sorts for ideas, swatches, sketches, and inspiration. I combed the Internet in hopes of finding something I could order, but nothing was sizable nor very attractive. I wanted something simple, something huge.

I decided I would have to make my own to fit my needs. It was fairly easy, but if I did it again, I would make one change, which I realized later in the process.

The project took me one day to complete by myself, and then I let it dry for 48 hours before hanging.

I found everything I needed at my local hardware store, and it cost around $65 $100. The additional cost came into play later.

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Hello lovely people.

I’m crawling out of my creative web, where I’ve been bouncing between sewing machine and iron, to say hi, hello, how do you do?

I love it here (Substack). I truly do. But I keep thinking I don’t have much to say. No announcement. No news. There’s a voice inside my head that tells me it’s impolite to report on the slow, repetitive, chosen work I’ve buried myself in. I would rather not bore you. But after a convo with some cherished friends who proposed otherwise, I was reminded that what I’m doing doesn’t exactly qualify as boring and that maybe some of you would like to see what that looks like.

So that’s what we’re doing.

Welcome to my studio!

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I want to show you what I’m working on and talk a bit about how I’m turning a library of infatuations, inspirations, and ideas into the reboot I didn’t know I needed.

I started making clothes in 2000 for myself and for my friends. I fell hard for the craft and spent the next seven years building a brand with a Chloe-era Philo future in mind which, when looking back, feels like a completely different lifetime entirely. It was. Now, a quarter of a century later (wow), I’ve dusted off my sewing skills and am once again making things for myself and my friends, only today’s goals look very different.

I’m going to give a little sap for a second, but I haven’t felt this fulfilled and content in a very long time. The brutal and disorienting mid-life chapter that knocked me down flat was eye-opening, transformative, and completely necessary. I rediscovered myself and let go of a lot of things that no longer served me. It’s really beautiful out here, on the other side.

I forgot how much I love creating with my hands. Turns out it’s much like riding a bike, and I’m still quite good at it.

My studio days are some of my favorite. Those mornings are for coffee and research. Visual references from a stack of old magazines and books, and sometimes I’ll put on a film I haven’t seen in a while, not to sit down and watch, but to exist in the background that I can dip into when something grabs my attention.

I carry around a work bag filled with notepads, folders, and sketchbooks, each one holding different versions of ideas, outlines, random thoughts, lists, and simple sketches.

After a productive morning of brain work, I reset with a quick shower and then head into my studio. It’s my favorite place to be, aside from my bed. It’s where the things in my notebooks are (politely) forced into existence.

I turn on a playlist, grab my scissors, rulers, muslin, and paper, and begin working through construction. Patterns, samples, adjustments, more samples. The process is slow. It’s repetitive. It’s also the best part. You make something. You realize it’s wrong. You fix it. You make it again. You get a little closer. You do it all over again, patiently, until it’s just right.

There’s also the less romantic side: sourcing materials, managing spreadsheets, figuring out branding (which I actually love), calculating costs, markup, timelines, and the other scaffolding needed to run a clothing operation, even when it’s small scale.

I’m trying, as much as possible, to work with materials that already exist. Secondhand textiles, leftover yardage, trims, and thrifted pieces made of natural fibers I can rework or repurpose. I always buy secondhand silk when I’m thrifting. There will be some materials, inevitably, that I’ll need to source new, but I like the focus and challenge of making something fresh out of something old. I think it’s more interesting.

I purchased a stunning, mid-1800s, silk velvet piece from France (above). It feels almost too special to cut into, but I bought it with the intention of making a very small run (two or three, tops) of evening bags. I also found a couple of bolts of 100% cotton at a secondhand craft store, which were exactly what I needed. I’m not sure if it’s luck or just paying attention, but recently the things I’ve been looking for have strangely fallen into my lap.

Last week, during my daily scroll through Marketplace, I found a dress form that I’ve had open in a browser tab for a couple of months. It was listed “like new” and happened to be the perfect sample size I needed. The person selling it was asking $250, which is almost a grand off retail. I messaged her immediately asking if she’d consider $200 since I was two hours away but could make the drive. She accepted promptly, so I cancelled my day, jumped in my car, and was en route to adopt my new child.

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I’m very inspired by the vintage items I’ve owned for decades, impactful moments, places, and people in my life, specifically the pieces worn by my mother and ones I’ve seen in family photos. I won’t be creating traditional collections or seasons. Instead, I’ll be releasing one, maybe two things at a time. Small quantities. Often made-to-order. Each release will be capped. Sometimes one of two, sometimes one of ten. Sometimes more, sometimes less.

I’m not interested in growing a large brand. I’ve explored that road before, and things tend to shift rapidly in a way that can easily spin out of your control. I want to remain small, slow, manageable, and special.

I’ve been working on a handful of samples for upcoming releases: a dress that I am completely obsessed with, a piece inspired by a 1930s textile I’ve worn as a belt for years, a few separates (mostly tops), including one that I used to make in the early ‘00s. I’m recreating a little bag that was hand-stitched in Paris in the nineteen forties, and I just started a second dress inspired by one that my mom wore in the nineties that I stupidly put into a donation bag and have never stopped thinking about.

The belt and dress above are ready to be photographed and released for a small pre-order. There’s just one holdup. They’re waiting on garment labels, which I cannot order until I decide on…a name.

Yes, still. I know.

I’ve narrowed my list of prospects down from nearly a dozen to two(ish), so hey, that’s progress. The names are tied to my grandparents, which makes the decision feel heavier than it should and more important than it probably is. I’m working through branding mockups for each, hoping one will assert itself and help me make a final decision.

It needs to feel right. Not strategic, not cool, not clever, just right.

Until then, I’ll be right here, making things, making them again, and wrapping up a new collection of vintage for THEWANT that has been waiting patiently for my attention. There are still some amazing pieces available from the last drop. And if you click on #57 on the homepage moodboard, there’s a little discount embedded inside.

I’d like to share more of the process and development side of building a small label, with all its chaos and minor victories, if it’s something that sparks interest. If not, that’s cool. I’ll still be here with essays, recommendations, high-low outfits, and whatever I had for dinner.

Talk soon. xxJ

I have spent the last several weeks without my phone tethered to my side, and I need to tell you, it has been glorious.

Not in a dramatic, life-altering, let’s-sell-everything-and move-to-the-countryside sort of way. Just quietly, steadily better.

I started small. Leaving it upstairs while I drank my coffee. Tossing it in my bag and not reaching for it while moving through the day. Letting it exist somewhere nearby but not on me, not glowing, not asking anything of me.

This gave me a lot of anxiety at first.

Someone texted me and they’re going to think I’m ignoring them. So and so texted again. They definitely think I’m ignoring them. What if it’s urgent? What if I’m missing something? Am I being rude?

It took about a week and a half to realize something very simple. This is not my problem.

We have collectedly agreed—without actually agreeing to it—that we are available at all times. That every message deserves an immediate response. That silence, even for an hour, is suspicious. And I just… opted out.

Nothing bad happened. No one’s life unraveled because I answered later or the next day. The world did not end because I was unreachable for a stretch of time. The texts I feared could be urgent were not.

What did happen is I got my attention back. And once my attention was mine, everything else followed.

I started doing things that have been sitting quietly on the sidelines of my mind for months.

I demoed a bathroom by myself. Which, I have to say, was both difficult and highly satisfying. I deep cleaned and organized parts of my house I had been politely ignoring for an embarrassing amount of time. I built things with my own two hands, slowly and imperfectly, but completely.

I returned to hobbies that I didn’t think I had time for. I mended clothes that have been sitting in a pile for years. I drafted patterns. I made samples. I’ve been reading more. Not skimming or paying half-attention while checking on something else, but actually reading. Letting my mind stay there, undisturbed.

I’ve leaned into small rituals of self-care. Longer showers. Skincare that’s not rushed. Taking the time to get dressed on days that I’m working from home. Making a real breakfast. Moving slower in the mornings. Letting things take the time they take.

I’ve spent more time with my family in a way that feels undistracted. Conversations that stretch. Details obtained and remembered. Moments that aren’t interrupted by the impulse to check something, respond to something, or appease a short attention span by scrolling. There has been connection in a way that I didn’t really realize had been missing until I got it back again.

Work has expanded in a way where I’m accomplishing more than I did before. I’ve taken on more client work. I’ve been more present and focused on the task in front of me rather than splitting my attention or getting distracted and pulled away in different directions.

And Instagram—honestly, Instagram who?

I cannot tell you how long that app has had a strange, low-grade hold over me. Not in a way that I enjoyed, but out of habit. Boredom. Pick up phone, tap icon, scroll, repeat. I don’t get on for days now. Days! And it’s fucking incredible. I don’t miss it. And when I do get on, I’m off within a few minutes because I’d rather be doing something else.

There’s actual data behind these claims, which makes it all feel a little less anecdotal and a little more alarming. The average person checks their phone between 90 and 150 times a day. That’s once every ten minutes or so. Screen time reports regularly clock in at between 3 and 5 hours daily. Studies have been linked to increased anxiety, decreased attention span, and disrupted sleep. This figure is startling. Even more startling is that most of us have been aware of this for years but continue justifying our phone addiction while complaining about our anxieties and not having any time. I definitely did.

It’s not that technology is inherently bad. It’s that it’s constant. And anything constant becomes pressure. Expectation. A subtle anxiety that we should be checking, responding, looking, knowing, refreshing. And if we don’t, oddly, we feel behind or like we’re missing out on something big. We’re not.

Putting the phone down will not fix all of your problems, but it removes that hum. And in its place is something much quieter, something much more yours.

I’m not saying that I won’t be on my phone, on social media, or online. Of course I will. But things felt different for me over the past few weeks and gave me some perspective.

I don’t have anything revolutionary to offer here. No system, no rules, no rigid boundaries.

Just this:

Try leaving your phone in the other room when you’re at home. Leave it in your bag while you’re out. Go about your day without it in your hand, by your side, or in your pocket.

It is allowed.

You are allowed to not respond immediately. You are allowed to not be reachable at all times. You are allowed to move through your day without documenting it, interrupting it, or reaching for it.

The addiction is real. That part is undeniable. It’s kind of miraculous how quickly things shift once you create even a small amount of space from it.

I wanted my time back. And without much ceremony, I took it.

Let Me Tell You Everything is my monthly recap of noteworthy happenings, things consumed, written, worn, found, thought, felt, loved, and loathed.

My teenagers are on spring break and sleeping until noon, the dogwoods are starting to bloom, and the AC is running (bless). Here’s a look at the past month…

Valentine’s Day was Indian takeout and a movie on the couch.

Aubrey was supposed to work, so we didn’t bother making plans, but the job fell through at the last minute. We spent a quiet day at home. I’m holding onto a fancy dinner IOU to cash in later.

I did ask for a gift. What I wanted was a large wooden wall—something for my studio that can double as a changing area when I need it. He delivered, with a lot of help from our good friend Bru, and we’re hoping to bring it home this weekend, fingers crossed. Bru owns Claro Studio, a cabinet and millwork company that makes the most beautiful things. His talent blows me away.

Aubrey plans to spend more of his spare time in the Claro warehouse, working alongside Bru and learning the ropes, which works out well for me. There’s no shortage of woodworking plans for our house. A built-in Murphy bed and closet for a guest suite are at the top of the list. I’m hoping to have it completed in the fall so we can host guests comfortably over the holidays.

When I was nine, my mom worked at an architecture firm doing data entry. Some nights she stayed late, and I would spend those hours in the archive room down the hall, flipping through stacks of Architectural Digest. I’d sit there with zigzagged sheets of green-and-white lined printer paper, the kind with the tear-away edges, and a pile of pens drawing elaborate blueprints of the houses I planned to live in one day—there was always a trampoline room. Looking back, this was unquestionably the beginning of my mild, yet persistent, obsession with interiors.

There are a handful of things I’d like to have done here. Nothing too extreme, aside from a long-term plan to gut and rebuild the very steep staircase that leads upstairs. This will require some strategic engineering when the time comes. Everything else is relatively straightforward.

1. Raise the ceiling by at least a foot (more if the air ducts and pipes allow it.)

2. Replace the existing exterior doors with wider, taller glass sliders to bring in more light and open onto the lower deck.

3. Install a custom built-in wood wall with a queen-size Murphy bed and small closet.

4. Reframe the doorways with a thin, clean line of matching wood.

5. New flooring throughout.

6. Fresh drywall and paint.

7. The bathroom needs to be completely gutted and reconfigured. We’re exploring the possibility of extending the wall by about a foot without compromising the existing layout. There’s a storage room that houses the water heater to the left of the bathroom (not shown in my sketch) that I’m hoping to borrow some extra square footage from.

8. If possible, I’d like to add a pocket door in the hallway just before the bathroom. The area is currently open to the rest of the basement floor, and I’d prefer our guests to have more privacy.

9. Well-designed lighting and fixtures throughout.

I’ve been designing this space over the past year and a half, with guidance from friends who understand what’s doable when it comes to the bones of the house. It seems fairly straightforward and attainable, with small tweaks along the way, as needed.

The details are my favorite part and make me consider moonlighting as an interior designer. I was inspired by a color combination in one of my design books, and I’ve been slowly collecting material swatches, furniture, and vintage art for the space.

Here’s a look at the texture and color palette I’m building around, much of which will carry through the rest of the house.

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Early access starts now. Tomorrow, 3/2, at noon, CST, the site will be unlocked for everyone.

Enjoy! xxJ

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To my paid subscribers: the password is behind the paywall below. I hope you grab something you love!

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This collection is a deliberate mix of my personal style with select items from my vintage hoard, alongside some gorg ‘90s and designer pieces from Italy and Japan, well-worn Levi’s, and great shoes. I’ve also restocked our French Noir Barrettes.

Here’s a peek at some of what’s available. Prada, Marni, Isabel Marant, Dolce & Gabbana, John Galliano, vintage Saks, Barney’s, and more…

I’ll be unrolling smaller, more frequent updates after this one. I rebuilt most of the website so it can remain open between releases, which was a feat, but so worth it. You’ll now be able to access the shop, any leftover vintage pieces, and sale items while we are updating the backend.

As always, paid subscribers will receive early access to shop new collections 24 hours before everyone else. A letter will be sent out just before noon with the password.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support and patience.

xxJKM

P.S I have a new product launching next month that I’m very excited about and I cannot wait to share it with you. <3

Our babysitting money was allocated to the important things: clothes, magazines, and makeup. The summer before freshman year, we made what we called Beauty Books, which were essentially two-inch binders filled with college-ruled paper; every page covered in makeup tips, diet tips, and cutouts of all the girls we worshiped who wore clothes we couldn’t afford. Our version of today’s Pinterest board, held together with Scotch tape. Mine was red and overfilled, with snipped letters from magazines in mismatched fonts and colors to spell out beauty book on the cover, above carefully cut-out silhouettes of Kate Moss, Drew Barrymore, Niki and Krissy Taylor, Alicia Silverstone, and Liv Tyler—they were everything I wanted to be. We spent the entire summer (and most of the school year, up until I moved away) filling those pages like it were scripture. In a way, it was.

I loved that thing. It was undoubtedly tucked away into a box for safekeeping until someone tossed it (not me) without a second thought.

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I’ve gone through many eras and different versions of myself since then. Haven’t we all? Some were chic, some were questionable, and some were crimes committed with unlimited access to the tanning bed, boxed dye, MAC Prrr, and Wet 'n’ Wild 666 lipliner (IYKYK).

Here’s proof…

It took many of years of experimenting, of living, of making choices (some loud, and some quietly behind the scenes) to figure out who I was. And, more importantly, to actually like her. Somewhere along the way I finally learned what everyone tells us over and over, but you can only understand this lesson fully once you’ve earned it: less is actually more when it comes to beauty.

Beauty is subjective, of course. My definition of “the best” might not be yours, and that is the whole point. But if there is one main character in the story of looking good, it is not the concealer, the eyeliner, or the shade of blush you need to be pushing onto your cheeks according to the Internet. It’s skincare. It’s consistency. It’s the unsexy daily stuff, and I’ll shout it from the rooftops.

That, and living a reasonably healthy lifestyle, at least until you get older, when “reasonably” starts to look a lot more like “mostly.”

My version of healthy certainly wouldn’t qualify as health to everyone, and vice versa. I over-tanned through my twenties and did not meet sunscreen until my mid-thirties. They say eight hours of sleep, but at this phase of life I’m lucky to get six on a good night. At some point you realize it’s not about doing everything right. It’s about doing the small things, repeatedly. The ones that gently pull you back into balance.

If you missed my letter on skincare, you can find it here, but I have made an addition: Moisture Source by Sarah Creal. I purchased it back in December and slipped it into my stocking on Christmas Eve. To be clear, I have no affiliation with the brand. I’m just a recent but devoted fan. Creal’s line is formulated for aging and mature skin, and (waves arms wildly above head) I am its target audience and consumer, which made me pay attention. I did a deep dive into the brand last fall, as I do, my research left me ready and willing to splurge on the full-size bottle instead of testing out the travel version. It’s a water-based oil hybrid, meant to go on after cleansing or as a follow-up to toning and serums. It makes my under-slept skin look and feel awake, like I chugged a liter of water and took that whole living-a-healthy-lifestyle thing a little more seriously. It’s earned a permanent spot in my routine and a trusted recommendation on my Substack.

I don’t wear makeup all that often. Two to three days a week, depending on the schedule and the mood. When I do, it’s not a task that feels overbearing. I’ve nailed it down to right around six minutes, give or take. It would be less if I hadn’t overplucked my eyebrows back in the days when I was making that beauty book.

Here’s a breakdown of what’s on my face and in my makeup bag—the Travel Case Set from Cuyana. I listed my products in the order I use them and included a brief explanation on how I apply in case you want to know that sort of thing.

Face:

m.ph Underpainting Pallet in Light: This started out as a PR surprise in my mailbox and has become one of my favorite makeup products. When it arrived, it looked intimidating, and I didn’t think I would be into it. It’s a cream-based set: two highlighters and two contours. I am not a contour person. Still, I watched Mary Phillips (the artist and the brand’s creator) demonstrate her method, tried it under my base, and have since become a believer. The formula is buildable, forgiving, and always looks like skin no matter how much or how little you use. It’s probably my favorite step when putting on a face. My only quarrel is that I wish the pans were bigger, because I’m scared to run out. If and when you’re in the mood to try something new, let this be the one.

Ilia Super Serum Skin Tint, SPF 40 in Bom Bom: When I ran out of my usual Nars Tinted Moisturizer (a loyalist for 10+ years), I figured I’d see what else was out there. After a color match by the sweet salesgirl, who I discovered went to high school with my oldest son, I walked out with a bottle of Ilia’s Skin Tint. It took me some time to get used to. It’s dewy, almost luminescent, but subtle. Then I started getting compliments (lol), which, of course, turned me into a fan of both the product and the flattery.

I use the 56 brush from the Sephora collection to apply a light layer using a tapping motion, preserving the underpainting underneath.

Westman Atelier Foundation Stick in Atelier II. I wish I didn’t love this as much as I do, only because of the $70 price tag. But it’s the most natural-looking full-coverage foundation I’ve ever used. On days I need more balance, I’ll take the same brush and tap it where I need it, almost like a spot concealer. It covers redness and evens out skin tone brilliantly, and because I use it sparingly, it lasts well over a year.

Fara Homidi Essential Face Compact in Sable. Fara Homidi does luxe the way it’s supposed to be done. The packaging is heavy, beautiful, and refillable; the formulas are excellent; and the price reflects all of the above. Word of advice: use the color-matching tool to find the right shade. I originally ordered far too light for my skin tone. The concealer itself is unlike any I’ve used before. It’s creamy, buildable, and satin-soft, with a pot of balm alongside it for a hint of sheen. I bought the Buffer Brush, which is plush and slanted on one side for perfect application. I just saw the new Petit Conceal Brush that has a cap (bless). Now I need it.

If the fancy red compact feels like a stretch, skip it. It’s gorgeous but not necessary. The refill alone is enough and comes in a humble plastic case.

Saie Sunglow (mini). My first time trying the brand Saie, and it did not disappoint. I started with the mini and will size up for sure next time. I tap a small amount on my cheekbones, over the bridge of my nose, and on my forehead at the hairline using my fingers. It gives that just-back-from-somewhere sun-kissed glow. Ten out of ten.

Chanel Les Beiges in Soleil de Tan. I call this my hockey puck. It lasts forever, literally years, and earns its keep. A cream bronzer that’s not aggressive but packs more of a color punch than the Saie. I apply it on top with the 2 brush from Hourglass, one of my all-time favorites.

Benetint. The one product I’ve been using since I was a teenager, and am still crazy about it. The original rose color is the perfect cheek stain. Embalm me in it.

Rhode Pocket Plush in Toasted Teddy. Another sneaky stocking stuffer. Highly pigmented in the best way and for that flushed, almost sunburned look. Start slow and blend well. I use the same Hourglass brush above. Honorable mention for the days I’m in the mood for something a little brighter: Sunnies Face Airblush, in Carnation Pink.

Eyes:

Anastasia Brow Wiz in Medium Brown + Anastasia MicroStroke Brow Pen in Chocolate. My eyebrows, without question, are the longest part of my routine and the one thing that I won’t leave the house without. I’ve tried just about every brow product on the market, and these two used together give me exactly what I need and want: full, natural-looking brows. I lightly fill in with Brow Wiz, then go in with the MicroStroke Pen for the finest, hair-like strokes. There’s a bit of a learning curve, but with gentle, upward sweeps and patience, you’ll get there quickly.

A crucial brow tip: step back from the mirror when filling them in. This keeps them from getting heavy-handed and keeps them balanced and even. Then move in close for the pen work. Soften any hard lines with the spoolie, finish the rest of your makeup, then come back and reassess. Brow blindness is real.

Shiseido Eyelash Curler. Next step is self-explanatory. Make sure to replace the pad when needed.

My mascara journey is, somehow, never ending. I’m currently back on my Benefit grind after a short stint with Pradascope—I loved the brush, but the formula felt weak, and it dried out fast. I bounce between BadGal and They’re Real when I’m not trying something new. In a pinch, L’Oréal Voluminous gets the job done. I’ve heard good things about Sarah Creal’s Back of The Cab tubing mascara. I might try it next.

Chanel Ombre Première in Memory is a cream eyeshadow for my lower lash line. It creates a nice shadow that I like. It’s discontinued but it’s easy to find a dupe. This one from Charlotte Tilbury looks close, and Dior makes a powder that’s nearly identical. I’ve also played around with the contour shades from the Underpainting palette, which gave a similar feel without the shimmer.

Lips:

m.ph Overliner Lip Pencil in Tease. Creamy in the best way and easy to smudge out. I use it as intended, outlining and blending slightly just above and below the lips. Skinny Dip is a lovely color, too.

Fara Homidi Smudge and Contour Lip Pencil in Doux. The best lip liner I’ve ever used, and my forever replacement for Pillow Talk. Similar in tone, but this one goes on beautifully smooth and defines like no other. It comes with a cute matching sharpener, which is a nice bonus.

m.ph Lip Ciggy in First Base. Sheer, balm-like color for someone like me who rarely wears lipstick. Its cigarette size is great to throw in your purse.

Eadem Exfoliating Peptide Lip Gloss in Butter Mochi. A hydrating, clear gloss that feels fancy with its metal applicator. A little goes a long way.

Fara Homidi Soft Glass Lip Plumping Oil in Pomme. I don’t find this plumping, but I do like it. The glass bottle is another A+ vessel from the brand, and I love the large foot applicator. It’s not sticky like some lip oils. Again, less is more, unless you’re going for that thick, oil-slicked look. One note: it leaks. Mine does, and my friend Brooke’s does, too, so it’s not a throw-in-your-bag situation. Mine is parked upright on the bathroom counter.

Now that my makeup is done, I step back and observe, double-checking my brows to make sure they’re even, and then finish off with a finishing glide of The Essential Bronzer in Lumen (also by Fara Homidi). It’s the only powder product I use, aside from the compact I keep in my purse to battle shine. It smells divine, and I do think the Shader Brush is worth the splurge. Clearly, I’m infatuated with everything Homidi puts out. It’s expensive, yes, but the quality and thoughtfulness put into the brand are impressive. I’m dying to try the Essential Lip Compact in Nude 1 and Red 1. Maybe during the next Sephora sale, when I can pretend I’m saving money.

I have other products that I like, but this is my squad. The ones I use every time, the ones that come with me when I travel.

From night to day:

On occasions where I want to feel a little more glamorous and it’s worth the added effort, I’ll touch up my regular routine, and then line my eyes with Tom Ford’s Eye Defining Pen Liquid Eyeliner Duo. Nothing compares, and it doesn’t dry out quickly like most. If I’m going for a smokey eye, which happens maybe twice a year, I use the Nars Skin Deep Eyeshadow Palette (now discontinued, of course). I know Makeup by Mario makes an excellent set that blends out easily. It’s on my list.

If I’m in the mood for a red lip (rare), my go-to shades are Golde Red and Agatha Orange from Gucci Beauty. The Golde is a true, classic red. Agatha has a hint of orange that works well with my olive-leaning skin.

And finally, a shoutout to the toothbrush I’ve carried in my makeup bag for a decade to gently fix flyaways, calm cowlicks, and smooth splits in my hair when it’s pulled back. It’s my baby, and a must for fine hair.

With love (and good brows),

xxJKM

In the wake of a humbling ice storm that rocked my city ten days ago, hundreds of thousands of people were left without heat or power as temperatures dropped well below freezing. The day before the storm, I was sitting in bed, my back propped up by three pillows, as I drafted this post between sips of coffee. I had no sense of what was twenty-four hours ahead of me, expecting little more than a snow day, maybe two, and the merrily kids home from school. Meanwhile, my husband was out on a mission to find a generator just in case we needed it. Turns out we did.

Sunday, 1/25 Before the chaos:

The skylights in our living room are dimmed by a slow build of snow. A charming morning in the warmth of my bed with my latte and laptop. I’ve heard reports of two inches to twenty. A range that feels laughably noncommittal. I live in a city that panics at the whisper of snow. When it comes, schools close, businesses shutter, and market shelves empty as if it were 2020.

I drove to the grocery store yesterday to fill a prescription and grab a few things. The parking lot was full. I ended up in the extended lot by the gas station. Inside, every aisle was a crowd of hurried shoppers in their warmest coats, pushing carts piled high with frozen pizza, bags of sliced bread, bottles of soda, milk, cereal. The mood was impatient. Faces were grim. I made my way through the building and waited for my turn with the overwhelmed pharmacist. I left with only my orange bottle. No cottage cheese. No potatoes. They were out of my favorite chips.

We were awakened early the next morning by a loud and startling boom from the transformer in our otherwise quiet, forested pocket of town. The power cut instantly. What followed was what I described to my friend in a text as an eerie soundtrack of massive trees cracking and collapsing one after another, all around us. Panic. In the spring of last year, we removed a couple of 100-foot oaks that were pronounced dead from our yard and had the limbs trimmed from the others standing in good health. None of our trees fell that day, but an inconceivable amount of those surrounding did. The damage tremendous.

We were among the lucky ones with minor damage—dents on cars and a broken fence. Fixable. The generator Aubrey secured gave us just enough. Heat on the main floor, cold refrigerators, extension cords to charge phones in shifts, and lamp light after dark. Others were not as fortunate, forced to either brave the cold with crossed fingers or crowd into hotels in neighboring towns. Roughly 50,000 people are still without electricity (as of yesterday), down from the initial 250K. NES warns that power may not be fully restored until February 9th (!!!).

We’ve taken in friends, helped our neighbors, and continue to offer what we can. Our power has since been restored. The remains of the storm melting. Cleanup has begun. Still, there are stories of incredible loss, exacerbated by the cruelty of denied insurance claims. Our city is hurting. Our country is on its knees. There’s a pervasive fatigue that lingers while life’s routines settle back into business as usual. If you’d like to donate to the Nashville Rescue Mission, you can do so here.

Let Me Tell You Everything is my monthly recap. It’s akin to a well-made salad using the most flavorful and textured ingredients from the market, lightly dressed: noteworthy happenings, things consumed, written, worn, thought, felt, loved, loathed.

There are many things I could have done better last month. I only took my vitamins three days out of thirty-one, for example, but I did manage to take a moment at the end of each day to scribble down key moments from the day in my notes. I was inspired by Tavi Gevinson to create a physical calendar for my daily recaps. I don’t have cute stickers like she does. Maybe I’ll spice up the creativity next month.

I texted my dear friend Darrell, whom I haven’t seen or spoken to in far too long. Life does that. He was a bridesman in my wedding nearly fifteen years ago. A move that, at the time, felt slightly progressive. I remember briefly wondering if my Catholic grandmother would approve.

Darrell and I met twenty-five years ago at a strip-mall sports bar in Florida. A base for our congregation of friends on Friday nights, most of us barely legal drinking age, the rest welcomed with hands marked in black Sharpie. We were a semi-regular

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I’m distracting myself from working on obnoxious website coding by scrolling eBay (an affordable form of therapy, as long as I’m not buying), which has led me here to offload some of my saves. In no particular order…

1. I’ve had an unhealthy obsession with Giorgio di Sant' Angelo’s mesh bodysuits ever since I first saw them on the supermodels (styled with their own Levi’s) on the iconic January 1990 Vogue cover. It’s an archival piece I’ve been coveting for years. They’re not easy to come by, and even harder to find in good condition without snags or holes. This one is perfect and would absolutely be mine… if it weren’t very small.

2. The color and neckline on this hand-knit angora sweater are perfection.

3. God, I wish these Italian dining chairs were mine. If only there were six of them.

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I was an only child, raised by a single mother who had me at sixteen. Up until she got married, two weeks after I became a teenager, life was often wild in a child-raising-a-child kind of way. She couldn’t afford childcare beyond her work hours, so wherever she went, I did too. The rolodex of stories I carry from those years is unconventional, chaotic, and occasionally sad, but they’re mine. Threaded through all of it, always, was music.

My mom loved John Lennon. She sang “Beautiful Boy” to me when I was a baby, changing the lyrics to girl. His albums made up a large part of the soundtrack of my life, spinning quietly and sometimes loudly through apartments, cars, and borrowed living rooms.

The first concert I remember was The Grateful Dead at Red Rocks in 1983. I was four. Somehow, my mom got us backstage after the show. Maybe she knew someone, maybe she didn’t. She had a way of getting the things she wanted. We were invited back to the band’s cabin, where I remember sitting around the fire with strangers. Bobby Weir (RIP) was nice to me. He brought me snacks and signed the Michael Jackson “Beat It” shirt I was wearing (which I still have in a box somewhere). I fell asleep in the loft above the cabin’s living room until I was carried away. I woke up at home.

Saturday mornings meant the English Beat and the Go-Go’s blasting while we cleaned the house. Twirling to Kate Bush in an unfamiliar house with butter-yellow carpet, while my mom and a friend disappeared into a back room. “Girls Just Want To Have Fun,” “Thriller,” and “Hungry Like The Wolf.” The boyfriend whose name I can’t remember that gave me my first cassette tape: Madonna’s Like A Virgin.

Watching MTV (also, RIP) at the daycare house while my mom worked. Bruce taking me to see Pretty in Pink three times when I was seven because I loved Andie, Duckie, and the movie’s music made me feel things. Suzanne Vega, Whitney Houston, Lisa Lisa, and Pet Shop Boys.

“Bad Medicine” on the bus ride to school with my uncle Matt when I lived with my grandparents in Arizona. My first pink Walkmen. NKOTB—the only boy band I’ve ever loved. George Michael’s “I Want your Sex”, which I thought I would get into trouble for listening to, but didn’t. The Sugarcubes performing on Saturday Night Live. Tiffany, Martika, and Tracey Chapman.

Maureen and Shannon’s introduction to Beastie Boys and Stevie Knicks’ solo work. The summer at my aunt’s house, staying up all night watching music videos: “18 and Life” by Skid Row, “Fight the Power” by Public Enemy, “Patience” by Guns N Roses. Tone Loc and episodes of Remote Control. “Like A Prayer,” “Me Myself And I,” “Love In An Elevator.”

Trying to catch and record my favorite songs off of 102.5 FM. Making mixed tapes for my BFs and BFFs. Those black-and-white Parental Advisory: Explicit Lyrics stickers after 2 Live Crew’s Banned In the USA. The first time I heard “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” Color Me Bad. Boys II Men. Pearl Jam. Tribe Called Quest.

Writing down every word to MC Lyte’s “Poor Georgie,” so I could learn it by heart. Sleepovers at Kari’s house, doing our makeup like the girls in Seventeen, listening to The Cranberries and Dinosaur Jr. That time I was bored on the couch at my stepdad’s boss’ house, when “Nothing Compares To You” came on the t.v. and took my breath away.

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I hope your break was restorative in whatever way you needed most. Heartwarming, soul-mending, surrounded by the people you like and love, or at the very least a moment of stillness and quiet. We have one last day with our tree in full glory before Aubrey begins operation breakdown, efficiently wiping all evidence of the holidays from our home. I’m usually sad to see it go, but I feel ready. Ready for normalcy, for routine, and for the small pleasure of things moving back where they belong.

A brief update since we last spoke. Thank you, by the way, for the love. I fully expected most people to bail a quarter through, but I’m happy so many stayed committed. It was a beast of a write-up, but a satisfying one, and I’m already taking notes for next year’s.

On Wednesday night, we hosted an intimate yet sweet New Year’s Eve gathering for some close friends. It was our first time welcoming the new year as hosts, and I loved it. We kept it simple. We asked our guests to dress up and bring an appetizer and a bottle to share. The only thing I had to worry about was what I was going to wear.

I began the evening in my mother’s crushed velvet Betsey Johnson dress from 1993. I’d owned the shorter, long-sleeve version as a teenager and wore it to my freshman winter dance. There is photo evidence of this, though I’m not prepared to dig into the storage boxes required to prove it. I have no idea what became of my dress, which is more puzzling than tragic. I’ve seen it surface on the secondhand market often enough that I’m in no hurry to get a replacement.

In the nineties, my mom’s friend Heather owned a small clothing store in Davis, California, called The Wardrobe. She asked me to model in her fashion shows and paid me in clothes, an ideal arrangement for a fourteen-year-old with high taste and no job. Heather was the coolest in a way that came with ease. Her taste was impeccable and never felt overdone but was most definitely deliberate. She had a bleached blonde bob, resisted the sun and the urge to tan, and wore a shocking pink lip color, always. I looked up to her and think of her often, and I’m certain her closet remains an archive of sartorial treasures.

I believe Heather gave my mom the twinning Betsey dress as thanks for ushering me to and from rehearsals. I intended to wear it that night but changed last minute into a black number with an open back (also my mother’s). It was floor-length and hid the shitty pair of nylons I was wearing. I had spent the better part of a day prior combing multiple stores in search of the Legg’s Silken Mist pantyhose I’ve relied on for decades, but they were nowhere to be found. I also learned that Walgreens no longer sells nylons at all. (What?!!) I ordered a pair I found online with the same brand and the same name, but they were neither silky nor lustrous, and there was a split toe before even putting them on. A heavy disappointment. If the original Legg’s exist, or if you have a convincing replacement, I’m listening.

In hindsight, the red dress was the clear winner. The photograph is not pleading my case of how bad the nylons truly were, but you’ll just have to trust that they’re trash, which is precisely where they ended up. There will be another occasion to bring out the scarlet beauty soon enough.

We put out fondue with tiny boiled potatoes, bread, and cornichons; lettuce cups meant to be filled with chicken and sauce; and artichoke dip ladled into hollowed sourdough. Our friends arrived with deviled eggs crowned with salmon roe, fresh oysters shucked on the spot with a tangerine-vinegar mignonette, homemade pierogies paired with a rich sauce of shallot and briny green peppercorns I briefly considered drinking, and peanut butter balls submerged in dark chocolate. The night felt first-class, not because of the food or the clothes, but because the room was filled with exactly the right people.

I love the languor of the holidays once the shopping is finished and the presents are wrapped, when the kids are home and the house feels restored to its former state with the chaos, the loudness, and the mess. For those few days, from Christmas Eve through what follows, I feel whole.

In the days prior, I felt I’d reached max capacity and decided to nix the cookie boxes from my list of to-dos despite having already bought the ingredients. Instead, I put that time and effort into making my gift wrapping extra special. I spent a ridiculous number of hours on my bedroom floor watching Christmas movies while shaping and cutting tin by hand, creating small adornments and personalized nameplates to tuck into ribbon. They turned out better than I’d expected, and the process was surprisingly calming, therapeutic even.

Santa brought me a Juki semi-industrial sewing machine, which I am eager to put to work, along with some other things that put a smile on my face. Tucked inside my stocking were Calissons de Provence marzipan and the sterling silver apothecary bottle I mentioned in my gift guide. Shout out to those who honored my “do not buy” instructions. It’s much smaller than I’d expected but beautiful all the same. I plan to fill it with amber oil, a scent that brings my mother to mind.

The week before, we went to Sailor’s holiday rock band concert. He’s worked extra hard for a chance to play the solo on “Fox On The Run”. He got it and he nailed it!

Plum turned twenty-three on the 15th. She and I met at Dozen for our annual mother-daughter birthday brunch. She ordered the split baguette and scrambled eggs; I ordered the chicken salad on baguette, which was phenomenal and deserves its own paragraph. If you’re in Nashville, order immediately. Afterward, we stopped by her apartment to feed Ham, the cross-eyed cat, then picked up cake and headed home to open birthday gifts. We had dinner with the family at St. Vito’s that evening and ended the night surrounded by her friends, young and old, for a nightcap down the road. She was beaming.

The night before, we attended our friends’ annual Classy Christmas party, which predictably led to a few too many tequila sodas and several hours of karaoke that began with “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” and ended with Alice in Chains. I won’t say what time we made our exit, but it was a late one. On the way home, we asked our Uber driver to detour through the Jack-in-the-Box drive-thru for curly fries with buttermilk dressing and a Sourdough Jack, sub grilled chicken for burger patty, no bacon, extra tomato. (Trust!) ‘Twas a solid night.

December started with a challenge. I joined a three-day holiday market in the Neuhoff District with some friends. I hesitated at first because the workload was real and my plate already felt full, but I’m glad I said yes. It was so much fun—the kind that felt earned. Unexpectedly grounding, too, and a nice reminder of our storefront days and the community that surrounds one. I met many wonderful people, picked up a few new clients, and left ready to do it again. I’m already plotting another in the spring and was invited to pop up in Austin and New Orleans later this year.

It was a tightly packed but particularly meaningful December. I finished moving into and setting up my studio, which over the past month has settled into itself. I’m glad to be back behind my computer, writing to you now and working toward a long-awaited shop update. I’m also looking forward to sharing some of the things I’ve been working on quietly behind the scenes for my label.

I’m still deciding on its name. There are a few strong contenders, but I find myself wavering between a namesake, or some variation of it, and something else that feels symbolic.

I gave up on New Year’s resolutions many years ago. The demand for sudden, total self-improvement on January 1st seems absurd and somewhat punitive, and the guilt that follows when a novella of change attempted all at once inevitably fails is never worth the effort. Instead, I keep a small set of intentions. Ones I return to or may need reinforcement. Without further ado…

Showing up for myself

I’m good at showing up for people I care about. I lend a hand or an ear or can offer advice when it’s needed and do it even on days I’d rather not. I take a certain pride in that.

Where I struggle is in extending the same discipline to myself. This year, I want to keep my own promises with equal seriousness. If I say I’m going to do something, I do it. I take my own advice. I schedule the appointments, book the class, do the work, and show up for myself daily, without negotiation.

Three things

This is a practice I started in 2024 and one I’ve come to rely on. It helps me get things done and, more importantly, show up for myself. Most days it keeps me productive. On the harder ones, it keeps overwhelm from taking the wheel. My daily to-do list allows space for only three things. That’s it.

The first is nonnegotiable. Something that needs immediate attention, usually work-related or time-sensitive. It’s something that keeps me or my family on track or a step closer to whatever comes next. It sits at the top of the list because it can’t be ignored. It’s one thing. Do it. Do it first.

The second is the thing I’ve been avoiding. The doctor’s appointment. The DMV. A return that needs to be dropped off before the window closes. The phone call that will take an hour, when I feel like I don’t have an hour to spend.

The third is mine. Call it self-care if you want. Time spent in the kitchen prepping meals to make the evenings run smoothly. Mending a pair of Levi’s abandoned to the repair pile that I walk past each day. The deep-tissue massage my back’s been begging for. Finishing the book. Meeting a friend for a hike. Something chosen deliberately as a reminder that life is not only what needs doing.

Three things. That’s it. Everything else waits down below, patiently for another day and another list of three. More often than not, ticking those three boxes leaves me feeling accomplished enough to keep going. And sometimes, that’s when the real work begins.

A daily recap

I’ve never been able to keep a proper diary or journal. The closest I came was when I kept a blog years ago. This year, I’ve let go of whatever expectations I’d attached to journaling and set an alarm instead. A small pause at the end of the day to take stock and write down a few words. No full sentences required.

Here are my entries so far:

1/01/2026: Started the year laughing with friends. Hoping it ends the same. Bed at 5am, oops. Pierogis for breakfast. Watched Pretty in Pink (1986). Not hungover, but napped in the afternoon. A lovely lazy day. HNY!

1/02/2026: Worked in the studio. Feeling motivated to push myself and make this year my bitch. Crab cakes and Kettle-One martinis with KB and Bru. Damp January it is.

1/03/2026: Woke up at 4. Made a terrible latte. Quiet morning with the X-mas tree. Cat fashion show with the littles and friends. Need a cat. Plum called crying. Going to bed early.

1/04/2026: Laundry is done. Favorite sweatshirt is clean. Bought a chair off Marketplace. Wrote for hours. Made a mediocre dinner. A good day.

That is all for now, but I will be here sooner rather than later—I made a promise to myself. ;)

Happy New Year, and as always, thank you for reading!

xxJKM

P.S. Please share a goal or intention of yours with the class. We love this shit!

In the days before and between grocery runs, polishing silver coups, and the pedestrian task of ironing linen tableclothes and napkins, my mind is a tennis match of logistics. “Do we have enough chairs? Candles? Should I make the pâté this year? Are our lbs. per person calculations accurate? Will the custom matchbooks I ordered arrive in time? Do we need another dessert? I should double-check the oven schedule again. Yes, we need another dessert. The guests arrive at one.”

The only useful advice I can offer as a seasoned host is to ask your guests to bring the wine (two bottles per drinking guest) and always grab an extra can of jellied cranberry sauce. It’s an insurance policy for Friday’s turkey sandwiches. The day comes and goes fast and will be successful even if the potatoes are undercooked and the bird is dry. You’ll be left with a warm sense of pride, a sink overflowing with dishes, and a deep thirst for water and ibuprofen in the morning. Now it’s time to drag a tree home and start shopping for Christmas.

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Good gifting is a skill set not everyone has. I like to receive gifts (who doesn’t?), but I find that giving something with intention and thought behind it is incredibly satisfying. Mine don’t miss. It’s intuition. Maybe trauma. Hard to say.

When I was little, I would write Dear Santa letters to my mom in hopes I would receive something I truly wanted. The jig was up when I was five. (tragic.) Sometimes she gave me something I wanted, but most of the time I unwrapped whatever it was she thought I should have, usually chosen from a Fingerhut catalog. It’s the thought that counts, yes, but that’s hard to understand when you’re a kid. I became a decent actress at a young age, masking disappointment with enthusiasm on birthdays and Christmas. When I was 14, all I wanted was a pair of navy Bongo jeans with the exposed button fly. I got a Precious Moments Bible instead. I suppose she figured I needed God as badly as I thought I needed those jeans.

In my old blogging and editor days, I put together numerous gift guides for every occasion, loaded with recommendations targeting everyone from the ladies and gents to your hard-to-please mother-in-law, a new baby, and the boss that needs buttering up for a raise. It was overkill. I’ve decided that one good list of suggestions is all we need (and all I care to dredge up). It’s a glossary of things I’ve had my eye on. Some are from my own list; some I’ve given or am planning to, and some are purely recommendations. It’s a thank-you for being here, a gentle nudge to sharpen the way you approach gifting, and at the bottom of this letter I’ve included a recipe that I serve on my table every year. Let’s dive in…

I have a solid process when buying for people that has yet to let me down.

ONE: Make it personal. Be listening. Always. Know your people. Take note of the comments, changing interests, and the moments that spark an idea for something special you can pull out down the road. The best gifts show you were paying attention.

TWO: More is more. I believe that good things come in twos or threes, more if you’re lucky. Variety can turn a good gift into an unforgettable one. That doesn’t mean going broke; it’s thinking in layers and setting a scene. Pair a favorite book with a box of tea and a handmade ceramic mug. A fancy bar of soap with beautiful packaging is better given with a nice towel for their hands—go one step further with embroidered initials. A bottle of wine with a pair of unique glasses, tinned fish and an antique sardine fork. You get the idea.

THREE: The package matters. The box, the paper, the choice of ribbon. These are like foreplay and set the tone for what comes next. I usually go for a neutral box, a less-than-perfectly fastened bow, a handwritten note, and most times, a small something or ornament tucked into the mix.

My husband’s wishlists usually fall under the same two categories: things to amp up our record setup or the latest vacuum on the market. I joke that he’s a bearded Monica Geller because this man loves Windex and his Dyson more than any person should. He’s the kind of guy that follows closely behind you using his hands as a makeshift dustpan and broom to clear crumbs. The man cannot go to bed with a sink full of dishes. I have no qualms about getting him the records, cables, and cleaning supplies he asks for, but I like to get him something he wouldn’t likely choose for himself, usually something he can wear. They say jewelry is the way to a woman’s heart, but don’t underestimate the power of some sparkle on a man. Over the years, I’ve bought him a couple of very cool rings. This one from David Yurman (no longer available in store, but they pop up for resale now and then), and a gold and malachite serpent ring from my friend Brooke who runs Arrow and Anchor, a vintage jewelry business. Her collection is the best. It’s hard to say what’s better, the jewels or her descriptions, which are comedic brilliance. I can’t stop thinking about this ring. She also takes on custom projects, big and small, to create one-of-a-kind pieces. When I was in Italy this summer, I found him a small sterling silver vintage bull pendant from a jewelry store in Florence. (Similar ones here and here.) He’s a textbook Taurus, and it had to be his. I also found good ones for Aries, Cancer, Leo, Pisces, Scorpio, and Capricorn.

I believe it’s the understated, personal details in a home that make it feel truly special. The kind you almost miss, until you don’t and immediately know this person has taste. A small object on the mantle or a row of mismatched glasses, almost too small for use, displayed on the bar. Everyone loves a candle that smells good. It’s a solid gift, sure, but if I’m planning to give a candle, it doesn’t stop there. I’ll find one that you can’t just walk into any store and buy (here’s another great one from Santa Maria Novella), but I’ll pair it with something that steals the show. Perhaps a fire starter, quite literally. This Gemstone Lighter by Edie Parker is an art piece; the candle rides shotgun. I have this silver version on my coffee table. This one from Sophie Buhai is stunning, but no. The same idea rings true with this classic red box of paper incense and a vintage book of matches, or a box to strike from a spot they hold dear. Next time you visit Chateau Marmont, slip a handful of matchbooks in your pocket, and you’ll be armed with gift potential. Apparently, they’re selling on eBay for $40. I’ve always wanted a Dansk cast-iron candle holder designed by Jens Quistgaard in 1965 and was pleased to see that they have been rereleased. I’m ordering this one for myself and this one for a certain someone who shall remain nameless. These tiny taper candles fit inside and come in several colors. I’m curious to flip through the pages of David Lynch: His Work, His World by Tom Huddleston. It would make a great coffee table book.

When I was eight, I had a pen pal who lived in Germany. I don’t remember her name, but we exchanged letters and drawings for several months. I was reminded of her recently while sorting through old boxes in storage filled with letters from long-lost friends, cards from family, and old boyfriends. It made me miss the days when handwritten communication was the norm. A personalized set of notecards, a fountain pen and ink, a book of stamps—simple tools for a lost art and a purposeful gift to encourage more letters. Personalized gifts are wildly underrated. I would love to unwrap a crisp button-down (nothing beats the men’s oxford from Brooks Brothers) with my initials embroidered at the rib or cuff, or a set of monogrammed pillowcases. It’s giving Kathleen Kelly. The kind of gift she’d wrap alongside a first-edition copy of a favorite children’s book.

Speaking of initials, I have given this highly overrated lip balm embossed with golden lettering a few times. It looks luxe and feels special, but the product inside is anything but. I’ve linked it for you, but consider yourself warned. With shipping from Paris and a healthy dose of tariffs, you’re better off spending the money on a lip product that’s as beautiful inside as it is outside. Fara Homidi’s Essential Lip Compact delivers, as does this stunning one from Dries Van Noten that’s a palm-size work of art (good luck choosing a colorway). Bonus points for both being refillable. Side note: I bought this lip balm during the Sephora sale, and it’s excellent.

This Manuka honey mask from Activist works wonders and calms inflamed skin. I’m slipping a tube in my teenage daughter’s stocking. I use their oil/serum and recommend it to everyone. If you’re lucky enough to live near one of Officine Universelle Buly’s historic shops (or if the added tariffs don’t intimidate you), I want to circle back because I do love the brand. The initialed combs have my heart, as does this porcelain box, which I have gifted twice and then bought for myself. These scented matches are a nice and much-appreciated touch for a guest bathroom. I would be thrilled to receive any of the gift boxes. Even those that include the subpar lip balm.

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I collect the Apartmento cookbook series. Each one holds a collection of recipes contributed by different chefs and food lovers that are based on the book’s theme. I’m missing a few of the early volumes, but I have the others, minus #9, the one dedicated entirely to sandwiches. Always check the book aisle at the thrift store. I found this great for forty cents. To go with it, I suggest a subscription to the Mustard of the Month Club. Yes, it’s real. My friend Joel knows I’m a mustard-head (and a weirdo) and has given me the gift of mustard twice now. This box was my favorite—the Lavender Wine inside is phenom! I eat it on nearly everything and am scraping the bottom of my jar, so I’ll be ordering another. I’m aware that not everyone shares my obsession with mustard, so if that’s the case, consider this tinned fish gift set (they had me at tomatoey sardines), a Pet-Nat wine subscription, or a membership to the Levain Cookie Club. If you’re not into the gift-that-keeps-on-giving, you can put together a handful of specialty groceries or useful kitchen objects. My friend has this tiny spatula and influenced me to get one. It’s great for cookies. A delegated butter knife would be nice. I have this one from Sabre in red. During the pandemic, I bought a set of napkins from Madre. No complaints, other than needing to buy more of the color I chose, which is no longer available. I see now that they currently come in a set of four, when they used to come with six. That’s kind of a bummer. These ones are cute, as are these that can be personalized with initials or a clever word of your choice. Anything from Gohar is an exciting open, especially this mother-of-pearl swan spoon I’d like to load up with caviar. A box of Earl Grey (I buy this one) and this metal cup and saucer from Louise Roe. And, you can’t go wrong with a quality bottle of olive oil, a bucket of Maldon, or a box of maple candy.

I gifted my son’s boyfriend a Weck Jar with 100 grams of my sourdough starter inside, handwritten instructions on how to feed it, and my recipe spelled out in detail, step-by-step. I added a bag of bread flour, a jar of Diamond Crystal Baking Salt (the best), and a new toaster to seal the deal. He loves my sourdough and has since become an expert bread guy himself. I found this cute bento wrap situation and am thinking about sewing one together myself using French kitchen towels for a couple of baking-enthusiast friends.

The olive oil I suggested above is from Le Marké, an organic brand founded by my longtime Internet friend Karen Mordechai. She sent me a bottle several years ago after launching the brand, and I can vouch that it is very good. She and her family relocated to Rome (the dream) and secured an olive grove in Lago di Garda to produce her duo of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. I have a nice collection of European ceramics. It’s the thing I hoard besides clothing. There’s a particular design of hand-painted pottery that’s local to Puglia, Italy, that I’ve been trying to get my hands on for a long time. I thought surely I would find it during my trip in September but I left empty-handed. Lucky for me, Karen stocks a small selection of objects she’s sourced during her travels and from the Italian markets, including the Apulian ceramics (both vintage and new) that I’ve been searching for.

The first time I watched the movie Wicker Park back in 2004, I was filled with deep regret for quitting dance lessons as a kid. I attempted a beginner ballet class a few years ago, but my nerves got the best of me, and I never committed. This inspired an idea to gift a handful of classes to a venturous friend and myself so we can live out our Wicker Park dreams together.

Alongside the classes, I’ll be adding a pair of these ballet shoes. Diane Krueger’s dance 'fit in that scene has always stuck with me. I’ll be replicating with a leotard, this cropped long sleeve, and a pair of sweatpants (I thrift them for under $5).

For my friend Gea’s birthday, I gave her a long black wool coat. She’d been searching for a while but hadn’t found one yet. I have an excessive collection of coats (many hitting the shop soon), so it was a no-brainer. I chose one that checked all her boxes and added a bag of this Swedish fish candy from the kitchen store down the street. It’s one of my favorite treats and my go-to when pressed for time and needing an extra something. Shop local as much as you can, but I have to let you know that they’re a steal on Amazon at $7 a bag.

We all have that person who sends DMs of dream houses (guilty). I think the latest issue or a subscription (even better) to Cabana Magazine would make a nice gift for someone that loves design and interiors or is renovating their home. Cabana is a stunning biannual publication. It’s excellent. The patterned covers are in collaboration with incredible designers, artists, and fashion houses (Loro Piana, Valentino, Chanel) and are meant to be displayed, not stacked. Inside each issue is a well-done blend of culture and design inspiration that will have you second-guessing your current paint choices. Save it for a housewarming gift down the road and stand out in the jungle of potted plants.

I love a holiday party. Give me cocktails and carols, a formal dinner, or a casual game of White Elephant with close friends, and I’m there. As a guest, I never arrive empty-handed, and you shouldn’t either. It’s not just good manners; it’s insurance for next year’s invite. At the very least, bring a nice bottle for the table and a unique ornament for the host’s tree. I love this one. A box of Dark Bordeaux from See’s would suffice, or if you really want to impress, bring a lemon poppy mascarpone panettone from Roy. Fucking yum!

My friend KB ripped the page from a Japanese calendar of my birth date and added it to my birthday present a couple of years ago. I loved it so much that it’s now framed on a shelf in my living room. I found a similar calendar for $10 that I stocked up on to add to a handful of this year’s gifts. This one is nicer, and the price reflects that. I received a set of these Japanese towels from another friend and loved them so much, I bought a second set. This book on stretching is worth mentioning. It’s filled with easy-to-follow, hand-drawn sketches of positions that target different muscles and has saved my back on multiple occasions.

Remember those homemade coupon books we made for our parents when we were kids? I think an adult version could be charming, so long as it doesn’t include the typical “foot rub” or “dish duty for a week” vouchers. It should include coupons someone would be excited to cash in, like a romantic dinner for two (meal of choice) that you cook yourself with the good bottle of Champagne and a candlelight kitchen slow dance. A Real Real purchase under a set amount to cash in when a real gem pops up. Throw something good and enticing in there, like a day away spent with “the boys” or a blow job. Limit one coupon per month. Make each one count.

I love the Shaggy Dog Sweaters from J. Press. They’re made of hand-brushed Shetland wool in Scotland, and the quality is top-notch. My husband gave me this one for Christmas several years ago, and now I want one in every color. I’m inspired to stitch my name into one thanks to a screenshot of Chloe Sevigny in my phone. This cardigan from Babaa or this cashmere are candidates, though a neutral would get more wear. This crewneck from Alex Mill is also on my radar, it’s such a good shade of brown. Incoming texts from girlfriends are usually where we should meet for dinner, unloading after a stressful day, or to get the green light on something in one of our shopping carts. We swap secondhand finds and product evaluations like it’s a sport. In a recent conversation about socks, I encouraged my friend to try these Comme Si lookalikes before spending a small fortune on the real deal. I’m all for quality, but $35+ per pair is hard to get behind.

Some of the things on my list: this stunning Sterling apothecary bottle that I can’t stop thinking about. If your name is not Aubrey, and you aren’t married to me, please do not buy it. Here are some others that are equally as beautiful. This candle from Rick Owens is incredible. I stumbled upon a passport cover and this cosmetic pouch from Mulberry, and now I wish they were mine. Olderbrother just posted about this indigo waxed puffer jacket yesterday, and now it’s here. This ring from BAARBAAR was on my list, but I bought a vintage onyx and silver ring on eBay instead. I’m in the process of moving into my new studio space, hence the delay on my next web drop (apologies). It’s been a lot of hard work but is an exciting transition and evolution for THEWANT—well worth the pause it’s caused in the long run. I need a nice chair for my desk, and I am trying to hunt down an affordable, pre-owned Mario Bellini leather Cab chair in red. The dream is a set of two, but they’re not cheap and are hard to find. I talked about the shoes on my list here. Nothing has changed. I wear a size 41. Another pair I’ve been dying to get my feet into are these brown ballet flats from Repetto. I also like these from Yuni Buffa. Someone needs to grab these secondhand APC x E.Porselli flats on Etsy. They’re my size, but I am good on red shoes. Our table setting could use an upgrade. I’ve got my eye on a complete set for twelve of the Bistro cutlery from Sabra in solid ivory. I’m still wishing for an Omnichord. Last year my husband and I decided to buy ourselves a joint Christmas gift for the house: a USM Haller Credenza in sesame to hold our overflowing record collection. Now that our kids are older and our Doberman is no longer a destructive asshole, we’re slowly replacing our furniture with forever pieces, one at a time. It’s an expensive endeavor, but worth every penny. We’ve been looking for a new living room sofa because ours is trash and on its very last leg. Finding one that we like has proven to be no small feat. Maybe a coupon for the couch of my dreams (when I find it) is in order?

I’ve mentioned our records a couple of times and feel the need to share a winner my husband still talks about seven Christmases later. I got him an annual subscription from Vinyl Me, Please (VMP) that sent out a list of limited-edition records to choose from each month. It’s since halted business due to internal issues but was acquired earlier this year by VYNL. Right now, they’re striving to move offline, only selling records via catalog and text: (314) 300-9979. I’m here for this mission. We’re big music heads and like to source scarce vinyl for our collection. I surprised him with an early issue from the movie Good Morning, Vietnam, which was his dad’s favorite. We spent an ungodly amount on a rare 1997 pressing of The Lonesome Crowded West by Modest Mouse, and I’m still hoping to find an original copy of The Last Unicorn Soundtrack by America and the London Symphony Orchestra (a banger!). It was released in 1982, but only in Germany. There’s whisper of a global release on December 29th of this year—if true, I will be buying.

I wouldn’t dare spend $170 on this stocking from Bode, but I would spend twenty on supplies and an hour (two, max) of my time to make one. I’d spend the difference on small things to fill it, like these steel fish clips. I would use them for everything but chips. A Piave SF toothbrush. Daphnis and Chloe jars of Greek herbs and spices. I bought a few mini bars of Claus Porto soap from a shop in Europe this summer. These peanut butter stuffed dates are addicting. This French-style hairpin or a velvet scrunchie that reminds me of the Seinfeld episode where both Kramer and Jerry go gaga for Pam. The Lip Ciggy sheer lip balm from m.ph. This Penco pocket notebook that my oldest daughter has influenced me to buy. An Olga Goose peanut candle will bring a smile. My husband always slips a bougie can of tinned fish in my stocking each year. The kids get Toblerone.

Kids can be tricky to please. I take issue with the cycle of briefly loved and then forgotten “it” toys from the aisles in Target. Here’s a nice compromise that works like a charm, if you’re feeling the same. I’ll buy the toy-of-child’s-dreams so they like me, but I’ll throw in another little something that feels more like me. These wood animals by Holztiger are a sweet gift, and kids love to collect them. We still have the ones our kids outgrew for when we have small visitors. I’ve tied these finger puppets into many a ribbon over the years. I buy them locally at the Frist Art Museum gift shop, but you can order online from Etsy. Elephant and Piggie books by Mo Willems. Traditional toys like Pick-up Sticks, Jacks, a metal Slinky, Worry Dolls, and a Magic Eight Ball. There’s an incredible toy store here called Phillip’s Toy Mart that carries all the classics. When they get a little older, I like to give them a disposable camera. They love taking pictures, dropping off the film, and getting to see (and hold) the prints. A photo album would be a nice addition. For a baby, a Pepa Londom bonnet or a sweater from Misha + Puff. Darling.

I don’t overlook the sentiment that comes with something homemade. We spend days assembling boxes and baking cookies alongside small paper bags filled with my husband’s annual Chex Mix that we leave on the doorsteps of friends and neighbors. My friend’s mom knit her baby granddaughter a tiny 3-by-5-inch sweater ornament with her first initial on it to hang on the tree. It’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen and cost no more than the pattern, time, and some leftover yarn. I found another version with a free tutorial that’s just as charming. A loved photo or piece of artwork in a frame found for a couple dollars at the thrift store. These are gifts to cherish.

As easy as it is to get buried in the receipts and piles of wrapping paper during the holidays, the gift of family and tradition is at the center of it all. Covering the tree in ornaments we’ve collected over decades. Christmas movies and classic cartoons projected on the wall. The fireplace crackling, and the strong scent of pine in the air. Driving the streets at night to look at houses covered in lights while singing Christmas music. Baking together. Feasting together. The snow. The warm layers. The wet clothes after sledding and boots drying by the front door. Oranges poked with cloves and cinnamon sticks bubbling on the stovetop. Kissing under the mistletoe. Building gingerbread houses. Those silly paper crowns we wear during Christmas Eve dinner. The one gift we open before Santa comes—no names, just ornaments, and guessing whose is whose. A plate of cookies and milk, and a note for Mr. Clause. A pile of oats and a carrot or two for his reindeer. Waking up early and running downstairs to see signs of Santa. Full stockings and taking our time opening presents one by one, stretching out the day we’ve been waiting for. Latkes with applesauce, crème fraîche, and caviar; monkey bread and mimosas for Christmas brunch. Staying in our pajamas all day, dozing off in the afternoon, and ordering in Chinese takeout for dinner while we watch an old favorite: The Last Unicorn, Labyrinth, or The NeverEnding Story. These are the things that we live for. The rest is extra credit.

As promised, a holiday recipe from my table to yours.

Mushroom and Leek Bread Pudding (serves 10 or more)

• 6 cups sourdough bread, torn into bite-size pieces the night before

• 2 Tbsp good olive oil

• 2 Tbsp salted butter

• 4 sliced, well-rinsed leeks, white and light green parts only

• 1 1/2 lbs. cremini mushrooms, trimmed and sliced

• 1 Tbsp fresh tarragon

• 1/4 cup dry sherry or sherry cooking wine

• Kosher salt and black pepper

• 1/3 cup minced Italian parsley

• 4 large eggs

• 1 1/2 cups heavy cream

• 1 cup chicken or vegetable stock

• 1 1/2 (6 oz.) cups grated Gruyère cheese

Spread torn bread on two baking sheets and let sit out overnight to go a little stale.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Heat olive oil and butter in a large sauté pan over medium heat. Stir in the leeks and cook for 8-10 minutes, until tender. Add the mushrooms, sherry, and a teaspoon of salt and pepper. Cook for another 10-12 minutes, stirring occasionally until most of the liquid cooks down. Remove from heat and stir in the parsley.

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, cream, stock, and 1 cup of Gruyère. Add the day-old bread pieces, the mushrooms and leeks, and combine well. Set aside for 30 minutes to allow the bread to absorb the liquid. Stir one last time and pour into a large baking dish (13 x 9 x 2 inches). Sprinkle with the remaining cheese and bake for 45-50 minutes until the top is golden brown and the custard has set. Serve hot.

Enjoy! xxJKM

I am not the poster child for stellar healthy habits, far from it actually. I eat candy like it’s a basic food group; I will always opt for fries over the side salad, and I can kill a bag of Honey Mustard Kettle Chips in bed while watching murder or grown women scream profanities at each other on Bravo (don’t you judge me). I still enjoy a dirty little cigarette and a tall pour of wine on the deck with a close friend, and my drink order of choice is a skinny margarita on the rocks, no salt. I’m all-or-nothing when it comes to exercise (currently in the state of nothing), and sometimes I fall asleep in my makeup while binge-watching said trash TV and murder.

I’ve spent enough years not allowing myself to partake in a lot of things. Life is short. Everything in moderation.

Along with my puddle of bad habits, there are a couple of good ones that I feel may, on some level, help counteract some of the wear and tear I’ve bestowed on myself. I drink a shit ton of water every single day, without fail. I lug around my stainless steel water bottle (not a Stanley) like it’s a newborn baby and down H₂O as if my life depends on it. When I remember, I throw in some electrolytes. This one is the best I’ve ever had. It’s not sweet or artificial tasting like most and has a faint coconut milk-esque flavor.

Another goodie that I have dialed in is my skincare. My days as a beauty editor may be tucked away safely behind me, but my standards and quests to find the best are anything but. I don’t just research products; I conduct full-scale investigations and deep dives through reviews and Reddit forums with rigorous cross-checks. Obsessive? Sure, but I find the good stuff.

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Not to sound obnoxious, although it absolutely sounds obnoxious (sorry), but I get questioned often about my age and told I look younger than I am. Last week, I had to pull up photos of my twenty-something self, holding my now 22-year-old daughter when she was a baby, to prove that I was, in fact, her mother. These very kind and much-appreciated compliments are typically accompanied by a series of “How? What? Where?” type questions. My answers are kept simple: I believe genes are number one; sleep, hydration, and lifestyle come in at a close second; and a regular skincare routine can contribute significantly.

I’ve shared my routines and recommendations many times over the years, but it’s changed quite a bit since the last one, which was five years ago. We’re due for an update.

Before we jump in, let me preface by saying that skincare is not one-size-fits-all, and you do not need to go rogue (or broke) replacing all of your products with the ones that I stand behind. My advice is to start small, fill in the blanks, and finish what you have before trying something new. Nothing in this article is sponsored, but there are affiliate links that will give me a small kickback should you make a purchase through one of them.

Let’s start at the end of the day, where the workhorses come into play.

THE PM ROUTINE

In short: cleanse, tone, essence, serum/s, retinol, moisturize, sleep.

I wear makeup 2-3 times a week. I work from home and love my house, so the majority of my days are spent barefaced, donning only skincare and eyebrows because I have very few. Shout out to Drew Barrymore’s extreme influence to over-pluck when I was a bleached blonde teen.

If I’m wearing a full face, I’ll remove my eye makeup with micellar water using these cotton pads (they’re giving Shiseido, but at half the price). After all traces of mascara are gone, I double cleanse, starting with a

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There are a few things swirling through my head as I let this cup of coffee do its thing. 1.) I fell asleep well past midnight and woke up at 4:55am this morning. Thank you, hormones. 2.) October is almost over (what?). 3.) I do, in fact, think I need those expensive shoes. 4.) Aubrey and I are dressing up for a Halloween party/birthday bash in a few days, and I think our costume is pretty epic—TBD if it hits. 5.) The Thanksgiving panic has begun to set in. How did this happen? I don’t feel ready.

I’m wearing a chunky wool sweater and have a pair of my mom’s socks on my feet while the heater bumps on and off every 10 or so minutes, filling the house with swells of warmth and a nostalgic, smoldering scent as the leaves turn and fall outside. Halloween is next Friday, and then begins the race through the holidays until a brand new year. Time is something that I have a hard time wrapping my head around; it seems to be in a hurry, and I can’t keep up, but I read this quote earlier: “Time feels faster as you grow older because your brain tends to record fewer new experiences. Novelty slows time; routines speed it up.” Interesting assessment.

A couple of weeks ago, I bought a new couch. It’s a two-seater, so technically a loveseat, which I did not need, but I adore it. It was a Marketplace find in Atlanta. I made an offer that was countered and settled on a price that felt fair. It’s a vintage black and tan striped mohair Maralunga by Cassina, and she’s in mint condition. The new baby looks ridiculous and is giving doll furniture in my living room, but it’s a temporary parking spot that will move into my studio once its renovation is complete.

While in Georgia, I stopped at a handful of thrift and antique stores and spotted a set of eight chairs that has been haunting me since I left. Also vintage, also black and tan stripes, but I couldn’t justify the $1860 price tag after my previous purchase. I regret this decision and am plotting to go back for them. I’ll let you know if this story has a happy ending.

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As much as I hate paying retail, there are a handful of things I will spend big money on if I must. Specifically, sunglasses, jeans, jewelry, and shoes. I would prefer to buy everything secondhand, but these, along with some obvious necessities (underwear), are the exception.

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There was no playbook, amount of advice, or series of Reddit forums that could have prepared us for the hurdles we would experience during our trip. The beautiful moments often blanketed by the stressful ones. We felt like Europe had chewed us up and spit us out, so much so that I didn’t feel inclined to discuss our time or share the hundreds of beautiful photos taken while we were there. I just wanted to sleep it off.

I wrote this part shortly after arriving home, fresh with strong feelings I didn’t want to forget: as our flight touched down in Atlanta late Thursday afternoon, a wave of relief washed through my body as the wheels of the medium-sized AirFrance plane hit the paved runway—an unusually rough landing (figures). I turned my head towards my daughter’s and could see the same cathartic look on her face. We were mentally overextended and physically underslept. Our bodies sore and on the mend from an unwelcome bug that left us with a roaring cough that had neighboring travelers dishing out concerned and annoyed faces. Patience expired the day before after delays, missed connections, and an overbooked standby. Our bags filled with vintage treasures were lost, still somewhere in Paris. I craved my husband’s strong arms, a hot shower, and my four pillows. Before I left for Europe, there were a myriad of jokes among friends about never coming back or a chance meeting a handsome Italian man that would win over my heart and tempt me to start a new life. The latter was funny and foolish, but even I thought I would feel heartsick on my return after twelve days abroad. With beaming smiles and wet, delirious eyes, we both mocked our homecoming with an ironic hum of “God Bless America” and laughed through the first few sentences of The Pledge of Allegiance, hands on hearts, as the plane taxied to our gate at ATL. This was the biggest oxymoron for two strong-willed women who believe in equality and are exhausted living in America’s current climate. We were almost home, and to our own surprise, we wanted nothing more.

The first week back was a blur of reintegration, but as the dust of travel and jet lag cleared, the details of our trip came into focus. More than a vacation, it was a rare, uninterrupted chapter with my eldest daughter, one of my most cherished friends. The time away ripened the bond in a way that feels dear, immeasurable, and deeply personal. We returned with forever memories that warm me with gratitude, and I’m already missing those precious days tethered together so far away from home.

I fell into a bit of a K-hole trying to wrap my head around how I was possibly going to write about our trip in a way that would do the experience justice. Back in the old blogging days, it came simple—a flood of pictures with descriptions a few sentences long, linking to this place and that one. I’m not sure why I felt like this platform deserved something more profound and substantial, but I did. This thought left me in a state of overthinking, and my initial approach resembled the beginnings of a novel, far too lengthy for this space. After a brief step away to rethink and a heavy edit, I’ve come to a happy medium of highlights, a few good recommendations, and a shortlist of takeaways from lessons learned that I think could be useful—just like the old blogging days. Godere “enjoy.”

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I am writing to you from my bed, jet-lagged and coming down from a beautiful blur of twelve days spent in Europe. It’s 3:30 am, Aubrey is snoring quietly to my left, and there is black dog hair in our sheets—evidence that he let Roux, our 3-year-old Doberman, sleep upstairs while I was away. Against the rules, but I’ll let it slide.

There is much to say about the trip, and I will share once I sort through my photos and am caught up on sleep and able to put together a proper sentence. I’ll also be sharing the recipe for a ridiculously delicious salad that I had while in Rome—phenomenal! Here’s a favorite photo I took last week that I call The Quiet Strangers. It was taken from my window during the early morning hours of September 9, 2025, also in Rome. I love everything about it and have plans to make a few prints for myself and some friends.

For now, something that requires a little less brainpower: I have had this idea for a column rotting in my head since my old blogging days. Back then, it was going to be titled WWJD (“What Would James Do?”)—a play on the “Dear Abby” advice column with a focus on fashion and lifestyle. I chose not to run with it out of fear of backlash and the wrath of computer warriors, who would most definitely come at me for replacing my name with Jesus or offending someone in some way. I no longer care about that.

I did switch it up for this series and inserted the letter B, as it seems more fitting. Anyway, I present to you WWJB (“What Would James Buy?”)—a cull of Internet findings, often vintage, and things that I have saved to my private watchlists: items I’ve bookmarked, purchases I carry the torch for and feel worthy of a recommendation, or some that I haven’t bought yet but want to, and why. I spend a lot of time scrolling online looking for things and often help my friends and a handful of clients find items for their closets and homes. It’s something I’m good at and really enjoy.

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