Archive for January, 2014

Small-scale redecorating, continued

I like using cloth napkins: they bring a little extra added dignity to a meal, even if I’m just dining on cheeseburgers with one of my sticky nephews. And they’re always nicer for when company comes around, and you want to appear fancier than you maybe actually are. The only full set I’ve got are seriously ancient—as in, I got them as a wedding present and I’ve been divorced for close to a decade ancient—and so it occurs to me that it might be time for an upgrade. Something on the more durable side of things, like these from Schoolhouse Electric & Supply. Maybe a mix of a few blacks and yellows each is what I’ve got in mind.

Wolfum makes so many spectacular napkins I honestly don’t know which I’d choose.

Thomas Paul’s stuff is always rather cheeky, but pretty at the same time. I like the orange with the blue here a lot.

Classic, classic and a not bad price.

Print of the week

You say crazy, I say crazy genius. (But alas, too crazy pricey for consideration.)

 

 

Thursday links

• I am amused and thoroughly charmed by these photos of the adventures of a tiny Batman. (Laughing Squid)
• I suppose it was only a matter of time. (A.V. Club)
• Monica McLaughlin writes a column about antique jewelry for The Hairpin, and this interview with her is pretty fascinating, even if you’re pretty sure you have no interest in the topic at all. (The Hairpin, Collector’s Weekly)
• Astonishing statistic of the day. (Slate)
• A whole bunch of big Superbowl commercials, so you can be part of the conversation without having to watch the big game. (Atlantic Wire)

 

Goodbye to all that

Loyal reader Nancy wrote in yesterday to say she was surprised I hadn’t weighed in on the passing of Loehmann’s, and to ask if I had any special memories of the place. And indeed I do, although they don’t involve any momentous scores, but instead, epic humiliation at the hands of my bargain-happy grandmother Gelta, for whom Loehmann’s was an opiate as powerful as heroin. It was the only place she would take me shopping, and one of the few where she would buy for herself, even though my grandfather was a successful man who wanted only for her to have the nicest things. Part of the horror of going to Loehmann’s with Gelta was that she had no filter, and this could spell trouble for an easily embarrassed 14 year-old girl in a communal dressing room. Like the time I’d just tried on a pair of white jeans with rainbows on the pockets and she started picking indelicately at the inseam, and announced, “Kimberly, these are TOO TIGHT IN THE CROTCH, ”  loud enough that all of the women in our direct proximity actually turned around to see what she could be referring to. If the ground had opened up and swallowed me whole at that moment, I would only have been grateful.

That’s my memory. Now I want to hear yours. Was it something like an amazing Helmut Lang coat, like Nancy, or a markdown-crazed family member, like me?

Cheap and chic of the week

Just latch this satisfyingly sturdy double chain link bracelet on your wrist, and poof! You’re Coco Chanel.

Tuesday links

• A look back at some posters created by 80s women’s artist activist group The Guerilla Girls. (Flavorwire)
• A nifty piece comparing New York movie locations in The Godfather to what they look like today. (Scouting New York)
• Turns out that in the 40s and 50s, Brooklyn was a mecca for marijuana cultivation.  (HuffPo)
• Not that we needed a study to prove it, but it turns out retail therapy is real. (The Cut)
• Soon, your hotel room key will be your phone. (PSFK)