My So-Called Life
Wishful, hopeful, fantastical
I save recipes the way I buy clothes: Aspiringly, wishfully. Yucatán steak tacos that take three hours to prepare—that is, after you marinate the beef for twenty-four hours? Click, save. Transparent nylon tulle skirt with beading? Proceed to checkout. Oh my god. I have the most bright-eyed, buoyant New York Times Cooking recipe folder, bursting with things that take time I don’t have, that require ingredients I can’t find, that are occasion dishes. And I have a closet full of statement clothes, items so special that you need to review the instructions before you put them on, to wear with shoes I can’t walk in, to be used only in perfect weather or if an attendant stands at the ready with an umbrella.
Life, though, is not a series of occasions; it is a series of pretty decent days of stuff to do, while wearing clothes you wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen in, followed by a passably nice meal put together in a hurry unless you cave in and order pizza. I can’t tell you the number of incredible dinner parties I’ve hosted in my head. I would have fed the entire population of Los Angeles by now if I’d actually had them. And, by the same measure, I would be quite prepared if I suddenly had a calendar loaded with fundraisers and black-tie galas and I could go for quite a while before repeating an outfit; I’m just waiting for the invitations to pour in. I’m certainly equipped, closet-wise.
If I buy something that I really use, and use a lot, and am happy to have, and my cost-per-wear is down to nearly nothing, I feel sassy and proud, as if I’ve solved some great mystery. It’s like bragging about how long you’ve been married: See, I know who I am and what works for me; I am a successful consumer. But so much of the time, we aim for, dream of, something just out of reach. Why are we such delusional, cock-eyed creatures? Surely we know what we really need—and yet, it’s seductive to picture a life that’s a little more extraordinary. For a moment, you can convince yourself that it’s yours.
But here’s the thing: Is it so terrible to have an alternate persona? To leave a little room in your head for this slightly elevated version of the life you lead? Obviously, it costs nothing for me to save these ridiculous, complicated recipes that I won’t ever make, so I refuse to stop squirreling away things I fantasize about cooking. It’s an innocent pastime. On the other hand, it does cost actual money to buy the Sacai denim peplum pencil skirt that I just received from my good friends at Bergdorf Goodman. The skirt is wonderful and quite impractical and very much an item, if you know what I mean. I can wear it to meetings, I thought to myself, examining myself in the mirror. Ah, except I don’t go to meetings. Well, I do once in a blue moon, but almost all of them are on Zoom now, which I could participate in wearing a sweater and only a pair of underpants, given the limited reach of the video eye. And yet I love the skirt. I keep thinking that the one perfect use for it would be at a fabulous dinner party. Two birds, one stone.
SHOW NOTES
—I just subscribed to The Guardian and I highly recommend it. I’ve been very frustrated by the New York Times over the last few years, and in general I’ve found The Guardian much more interesting to read. I also read The Washington Post and of course Page Six of the New York Post, because where else would I get gossip about reality TV stars whose shows I’ve never heard of?
—I’m thinking about getting a sewing machine. I don’t actually know how to sew but wouldn’t having a machine incentivize me? Or would it end up in the basement with my no-longer-loved Instant Pot and rarely-used treadmill?
—Since I’m still in the throes of my Wolf Hall mania, I decided to watch the PBS adaptation, which looks a little dated but is still very good. Now I’m obsessed with the necklines on the gowns that the Tudor noblewomen wore. It’s a low, square neckline almost all the way across to where the sleeve attaches to the bodice and it makes them look unbelievably hot and at the same time modest. It’s miraculous! I actually have a top with a similar neckline that I bought in, of all places, Iceland, some years ago. Also, I recall that Romeo Gigli sometimes had necklines with the same effect. It’s pretty great.
Oh dear lord, I SO relate to this post!
First, that skirt is beautiful! Second, sometimes you buy an item for some meeting or event that hasn’t happened yet but the act of having bought it manifests the event where you will wear it. A born and bred New Yorker, have I been living in LA too long? Probably. But I do believe this to be true.