In Defense of Dumb Choices

They’re where the fun is

I packed in a frenzy for my current trip, partly because I booked the trip in a bit of a frenzy. I was invited to a birthday party in New York that I didn’t want to miss, and then—logic being what it is—figured that as long as I was already on the East Coast, I might as well continue on to London. (For those of you not following closely, my travels to London are not casual; I’m writing a book that centers on London and I have tons of research to do on site.) So greetings from the United Kingdom. Last time I forgot to bring something to sleep in; this time I forgot a hat. Still, considering that I pulled this trip off so quickly, that’s not too bad.

When I try to pack fast, I rely on the most reliable of systems. The easiest thing to do is pack all black and white. At the risk of looking a tiny bit like a midtown waiter, it really is the simplest, safest way to pack, and it actually works quite well. I am blessed to be the owner of several black-and-white striped tops, which make a nice addition, and several white-on-white patterned things, which are far less boring than plain white.

I packed three pairs of black pants: My very-expensive-but-have-paid-for-themselves-in-price-per-wear High Sport kick crop black pants, which served as plane wear as well as regular wear; a pair of black straight-leg Levis which I probably didn’t need; and a pair of spacious, sort of balloony black Mother jeans, which I got recently and am obsessed with. Oh, and last minute I added a pair of flowy black pants designed by my friend Carol Young (UndesignedLA) because they look dressy and take up no space.

Black sneakers (yes, my shredded Onitsuka Tigers, don’t you know it); black Proenza creepers; black Zara pointy-toed flats that look really chic and yet are super comfortable. One black cardigan which I just bought, because weirdly enough I didn’t have a plain black summer-weight cardigan! I was just as shocked as you certainly are. Upon discovering this major hole in my wardrobe, I began pursuing a Perfect Black Cotton Cardigan, which is something you could do as a full-time job. I really wanted the cardigan for the trip, so I forced myself to limit the hours I spent online googling “Cute Black Cotton Cardigan”. I landed on a very simple, sweet one from Vivienne Westwood—very lightweight, with those pretty resin buttons and her cool orb insignia, a little cinched at the waist and slightly cropped. I haven’t taken it off since leaving home, so it seems to have done the job.

Tossed in a few tee shirts, including those striped ones, and an old white-on-white patterned Comme des Garcons shirt that I wear constantly: It’s always the right thing, somehow.

I left a raincoat in London, so I didn’t have to worry about that. I did indulge myself by bringing two pieces of sort-of outerwear: A new-this-season black Comme des Garcons blazer that I love, and a denim jacket (truth be told, I have a few, because who doesn’t?) The one I brought is a particularly cool Sacai jacket that’s sort of chopped off and lined in hunter-warning orange, found on TheRealReal a few years ago, amazingly enough.

I added a Block Shop scarf that is gorgeous, and can be worn as a pareo/skirt if the spirit moves me.

I was impressed with my discipline. It was almost monk-like, with its rigorous attention to the two-color palette. So I decided that no packing job is complete without throwing in at least one pretty dumb thing, just because. Because, what the hell! I’m not suggesting that you add a down puffer for a summer trip—that’s stupid, not dumb. I mean that if you’ve got an inch or two of space, you should add something that tickles you. It’s hard enough to be away from home; you need a few comforts, even if you don’t use them a lot. My dumb thing was a blinged-out rhinestone necklace/choker that had no business at all being included in this spartan packing job, but I grabbed it at the last minute and liked how it looked with my black cardigan and black pants. I actually wore it on the plane, if you can believe it. The flight attendant admired it when I boarded, so I felt like I’d made the right decision, even if I don’t wear it again on this trip. (Since I’m spending more than half my time in a university library I probably won’t.)

Crazy, right??

Show Notes

—As I finished writing this, I learned of the death of my friend and mentor Mark Singer, and I’m crushed. Mark was one of the first people I met at the New Yorker. At that time, in 1987, the magazine was clubby and insular, and it was vexingly hard for me to feel like I belonged. Mark was the first staff person to be nice to me and to show interest in my work. He was the funniest, most delightful person, a sort of ideal big brother. And this doesn’t even begin to tell you about his work! His piece about brothers who were supers of NY apartment buildings—a witty, intimate, humane portrait—cemented my desire to write closely observed, eye-level stories about “regular” people. Mark was the master of the form. He also could execute exquisite profiles of the rich and famous. He could do it all, and I urge you to read anything of his. His collection, “Mr. Personality”, is one I read again and again, and if I’m to be honest, I cribbed from it, conceptually, and am proud of it. I am heartbroken by his loss and am forever grateful we were friends.

Till the next time. Thanks for reading. If you cough up for a paid subscription, I will buy more cute clothes and describe them for you. XSusan