This is more of a “get the look,” since the original pants are Dolce & Gabbana and thus more than a mortgage payment (plus from designers known for racism, sexism, and homophobia)–but how easy would it be to use this fabric and the Winslow Culottes pattern to get some even cooler (i.e. non-floral) pants?
Inspiration via
(Did I already buy this fabric? Yes I did.)
Instead of a hike, we went wading yesterday. I’m not a great swimmer and have no desire to become one, but rivers (or creeks, in this case) have my heart. Let me stick my feet in one and see the hidden banks and suddenly I’m thinking of becoming a river guide and breaking out The Wind in the Willows quotes:
Never in his life had he seen a river before—this sleek, sinuous, full-bodied animal, chasing and chuckling, gripping things with a gurgle and leaving them with a laugh, to fling itself on fresh playmates that shook themselves free, and were caught and held again. All was a-shake and a-shiver—glints and gleams and sparkles, rustle and swirl, chatter and bubble. The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated.
A happy Mole, “bewitched, entranced, fascinated.”
1. I had no idea Maurice Sendak did set and costume design for opera and ballet in the latter part of his career. Some of his sketches and obejcts will be on view at the Morgan Library in NYC until October 6th–it looks wonderful.
Maurice Sendak, Design for Temple of the Sun, finale II (The Magic Flute), 1979-1980. © The Maurice Sendak Foundation.
2. This has been making the rounds, for good reason: Whole 60, or Laura Lippman talking about finally, at age 60, deciding she looks just fine.
I recently listened to an NPR show — NPR! — with a series of punchlines about granny panties, Angela Lansbury, and what was intended to be a gross-out image of an old woman in a crotchless thong. Every day, everywhere I go, the culture is keen to remind me how repulsive I am.
I thump the culture on the chest, push back and say one of the most infuriating things a woman can ever say: Actually, I like the way I look.
(The essay also includes this brilliant aside, to ponder for your weekend: “What would happen to the global economy if all the women on the planet suddenly decided: I don’t care if you think I’m fuckable”)
From Buzzfeed (I know), here’s a story about a woman who paid off student debt by getting a higher-paying job. Buzzfeed focuses on the amount of debt and the video the woman made to celebrate paying it off, but her method of knowing what to ask for after she realized her current job underpaid her is genius:
I went to work the next day and decided to talk to one of my white male coworkers. I said, “Hey, so what are you making?” He, being a normal American person, was like, “Oh, I don’t want to talk about money.” So I was like, “OK, I’m going to give you a number and I want you to tell me if you make over or under that number.” And I said a solid six figure number. And he said, “Under.” I went down by $10,000. He was like, “Over.” And that was all I needed. […] I blasted dozens — and I’m talking dozens — of people [on LinkedIn] with the same email, saying, “Hey, I’m looking to make a career jump into one of the big tech companies, and I just want to know what you’re making. Can you just tell me, are making over or under X?”
With that info, she was able to interview and negotiate into a new job that gave her a salary jump of 41%. As she puts it at the end of the interview:
There’s a burden that we carry by not sharing what we’re making with each other. It perpetuates this idea that it’s all up to you to figure out how much you should be making, when really you are working for a series of employers who have pay bands, or salary caps, or freelance amounts set by what people are willing to work for. All that the secrecy has done is put the burden — and the shame — on the individual. The only way to circumnavigate that fucking capitalist bullshit, which is built on secrecy, is by having these incredibly uncomfortable conversations.
This is what privilege is — to have a casual conversation with gatekeepers. I was always jealous of friends whose parents were able to set them up for a coffee, an email, or a phone conversation with these people, because it’s those things that give you not only a network, but a spectrum of what you’re worth. That is what I think so many people do not have access to, and that’s one of the reasons why I am vociferous about talking about this.
Doc had yesterday off, so I took it off too and we finally went up to my favorite lake and spent an afternoon there. I’m trying to “throw the comb away” about summer winding down, but that “hurry and do all the things!” feeling is strong, so I’m glad we were able to get to the lake–especially since we’ve talked about it for two years.
Culottes (they’re back!) are really the mullet of the fashion world: Business when you stand…
…and party when you move!
These are the Winslow Culottes in polyester chiffon from Blackbird Fabrics. They’re the first project I made on the new machine and this fabric (plus a poly lining) did not faze it at all. I mean, look at the PERFECT tension on this machine-stitched blind hem!
The pattern itself is nicely drafted, with really detailed instructions that give a nice finish–great for ambitious beginners. However, I went up a size because I was concerned about waist measurements and they’re a hair too big, so my recommendation is to stick with your body measurements, not the finished garment measurements.
I loved wearing these; the wide legs are so glamorous and they’re truly the best of both the pant and skirt worlds. I think there will be more fashion mullets in my future.
May you claim it with the confidence and comfort of Toby claiming the packaging from the new Bernina and discovering it has a cutout for his tail:
1. Austin Kleon on violence and Bach:
… I’m not just trying to raise “gentlemen,” I’m trying to raise gentle men, men who have a full range of emotions and expression available to them. But it’s just so hard. Even if they’re home with me all day right now, I can’t protect them. They were born into a country steeped in violence. A country where killing machines are sold in convenience stores. A country that has a longtime habit of dropping bombs on innocent children just like them. A country that sees kids their age shot to death in classrooms and won’t do a thing about it.
The only thing I feel like I can do is make my home a haven, a place where we celebrate things of beauty and rationality and love and peace. Bach’s music is one of those things.
2. From Buzzfeed (I know), 3 Anxiety Tips You’ve Heard, And 7 You Probably Haven’t. Number 7 is genius (“I keep photographic evidence of my [locked] door and my oven’s knobs when I leave for vacation“) but the suggestion to watch horror movies to channel anxiety is just right out for me.
I last posted this the day after the 2016 election; honestly, I could have posted it about every day since then. Keep your chins up–and thank you for this one, Maya.
Still I Rise
Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
