“Does such a thing as ‘the fatal flaw,’ that showy dark crack running down the middle of a life, exist outside literature? I used to think it didn’t. Now I think it does. And I think that mine is this: a morbid longing for the picturesque at all cost”—The Secret History, Donna Tartt (via foxandfayvel)
“There was no one specific moment when the rigorous self-consciousness gave way to authenticity. It was more of a dim realization that the very act of playing the “Are we a New Yorker yet?” game means that you aren’t one yet. But it eventually happens, dawning on you after the fact, tapping you on the shoulder after you’ve passed it. It comes from an accretion of shitty jobs, deeply felt friendships that last, deeply felt friendships that end, funerals, marriages, divorces, births, and betrayals, and you wake up one day to realize that you passed the eight - year mark decades prior; that you are older than all of the characters in ‘Manhattan’, with the possible exception of Bella Abzurg; that you have been to a party in the garden at MoMA and watched the sun come up over Sutton Palace and the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge and decided that, in the end, you’d rather stay home; that only a rich moron would buy groceries at Dean & Deluca; and that, as fun and Margo Channing as it might seem to be drunk and witty and cutting, it’s probably better in the long run to be kind.”—David Rakoff in My First New York (via littledidiknow)
Tonight I’ll be attending Sleep No More's New Year’s Soiree, which actually begins post-midnight (perfect for me, since I’ll be working until 11:30 and ringin’ in the New Year in the locker room).
If you aren’t familiar with Sleep No More the performance, allow me to direct you to this review, because I’m been fumbling over an explanation with every person I meet. "Well - it’s like this performance art Shakespeare thing where you run around a fake 1920s hotel wearing a mask and look in drawers and stuff??" and people stare at me like I’m crazy.
I have absolutely no idea what will happen there tonight, but I DO know there will be all the champagne and spirits I can drink, and that all guests will be attired in gold and silver. (I’ll be in gold, this hot chick will be in silver.) What better way to ring in the new year than dressed up, drinking fancy drinks, with your best friend?
Hello ever-talented Caroline! I need help finding a dress to wear to a wedding on New Years Eve. The atmosphere is going to be party-heavy, and most of my family will be there. I'd like to look classy, but not too formal. I'm a little top heavy, so something without a plunging neckline would be ideal. I can't seem to find anything that is winter wedding appropriate. Help?! Budget--I'd like to stay under $60 unless it's a versatile piece that I could wear again. Please help?!
Here’s yet another question I’ve waited far too long to answer! I’m sorry, anonymous!
This was a pretty steep request due to your budget constraints, but I enjoy a challenge, and I am totally with you on trying to spend less on items I won’t wear often.
Here are my ideas for inexpensive classy party dresses that are not overly formal. Have a great time tonight!
Dear Caroline, I am a girl who never wears sequins or anything shiny but I want to for New Years Eve. Help! I want a great but relatively inexpensive shiny dress to ring in 2012 with, and am more than a little lost for where to start. I know you can help! (Waist-defined is preferable, open back is great.) Thank you, dear!
Damn, I know I’m too late on this one to be of any real use to you, but I put this together anyway. If there’s one night of the year when you can break out the sequins with abandon, it’s New Year’s, so I hope you decided to go for it. Here’s how I would style you, in case you do some last minute shopping.
“At the bottom of her heart, however, she was waiting for something to happen. Like shipwrecked sailors, she turned despairing eyes upon the solitude of her life, seeking afar off some white sail in the mists of the horizon. She did not know what this chance would be, what wind would bring it her, towards what shore it would drive her, if it would be a shallop or a three-decker, laden with anguish or full of bliss to the portholes. But each morning, as she awoke, she hoped it would come that day; she listened to every sound, sprang up with a start, wondered that it did not come; then at sunset, always more saddened, she longed for the morrow.”—Gustave Flaubert (via atomos)
“Sex with him involves so much adrenaline, and it starts before he’s even inside. It’s like he’s caught me wild, escaping from a fire. Like I’m trying to run from him before he fucks me.”—Control « Nightmare Brunette (via kathleenjoy)
“I wanted this character that was waiting through the whole movie because I feel like I’ve spent so much of my life waiting. Waiting for your parents to really see you, long past the point where that’s ever going to happen. Or waiting for someone to fall in love with you and save you from yourself. But it’s also just waiting itself, almost just like a character in the movie. A movie about time.”—Miranda July discussing “The Future”. (via sarah-is)
“Do you ever wonder whether people would like you more or less if they could see inside you? …I always wonder about that. If people could see me the way I see myself—if they could live in my memories—would anyone, anyone, love me?”—John Green (via eastatlanta)
What is coming home for the holidays for, if not to remind you that home doesn’t really exist anymore? Or, if it does, it is the tiny apartment you have decorated for yourself, with the slanting floors and running toilet and all the dishes in the sink. Coming home, you discover a new homesickness that exhausts you, and spend half the time napping in a twin bed that was never yours. The tree is fake and the fireplace is electric and all the Christmas carols in your ipod couldn’t make it snow this year.
Coming home for the holidays is for torturing yourself over ex-boyfriends. It is the eternal struggle over whether or not to have a drink with someone who knows best how to make you cry and has seen you in the shower with soap in your eyes. It is human to miss being known so well, but you can’t come back to him with all new bruises and expect him to know what to do with you. You wish for letters. It seems tawdry and grossly modern to let someone tell you they still love you over text message.
When you find yourself at your mother’s front door, which is not your front door, and you raise your fist to knock, you wonder what it means to miss so many things that don’t exist anymore. This is how it happens, halfway through your twenties, to know, suddenly and irreversibly, that you are a person who exists despite so many things disappearing. You are here without the house you grew up in. You are here without a boyfriend, or any discernible long-term goals. You are here. Your parents are divorced. Your father brings his girlfriend over. Your mother has a new ring. You are still here, goddamn it. That’s everything. Being here and trying so hard - that’s all of it.
“By now four months have gone by. You get asked if you still miss him. Don’t answer that. At this point in your life, you are about as stable as a table made even by sugar packets. Anything you say comes from the same self-involved brain that only weeks ago brought you such gems as ‘Is there a difference between wanting to be unconscious and not caring if you’re unconscious?’ In your spare time—and let’s face it, all of it is spare—you have been quietly ticking off private holidays and “this time last year” anniversaries. If you want out of this conversation, you’re going to have to cough up the big lie.
You miss the idea of him.”—Sloane Crosley, How Did You Get This Number (via whyimsingle)
“The world needs you. It doesn’t need you at a party having read a book about how to appear smart at parties – these books exist, and they’re tempting – but resist falling into that trap. The world needs you at the party starting real conversations, saying, ‘I don’t know,’ and being kind.”—charlie kaufman, in his bafta lecture [t] (via gowns)
Why are most girls so messed up? Why do they like to try to spread that mess to guys?
The truth is that we’re all so messed up, regardless of gender, and it’s helpful when someone else is willing to shoulder some of that weight. And until you’re willing, at least a little bit, you’ll never truly understand anyone.
I’m an awful mess. I’m only interested in being around other awful messes.
Finals/cold/life is getting me down. I need some bombshell fashion that will make me feel more like Brigitte and less like Brigitte's frumpy spinster cousin, you know?
I DO know! In fact, tonight I am going to my hotel’s employee Christmas party, which is something of a grand affair and last year included a catwalk and photographers, and I am debating about whether to wear my short, strapless dress that fit me perfectly when I was 10-15 pounds thinner, or my knee-length chiffon that fits well, but is probably a little more… matronly?… than most people will be going tonight. I mean, it’s pretty! It’s from Anthropologie! But I guess I kind of want to let everyone at work know that I have legs that extend beyond my knees, since during work hours I stick to a strictly conservative Suits Only dress code. Ugh. I’m overthinking this as usual.
But anyway, I made you (and me) some dream holiday bombshell alternatives: