C'est la vie GP!

And here I was thinking that just because I'd upped my olive oil intake and committed to monthly bikini waxes I was on par with a french woman's beauty regime. Thank God I opened my Goop newsletter today so I could see how wrong I've been. GP took great care to boast about all the fancy french pharmacy essentials she loves to pick up when she's in Gay Paree. And by the length of the list, it looks like she's gettin' gay a lot. The whole newsletter was quite bittersweet.... Until now I didn't even know that these fanatic products existed or how life changing they could be. To bad it takes the Transatlantic flight to purchase them. Here's what's missing from my vanity table (also something I apparently need to buy):

Avene Eau Thermale Water Spray. GP says it "helps set makeup." I've been wearing makeup for over 15 years and have yet to ever set it with water. The only time my makeup and water mix is when I'm washing my face off. Am I missing some huge secret of the universe that pretty girls smugly keep to themselves?! I guess this means my make up will for ever be unsettled. It's not that surprising.






Decleor Aromessence Baume Spa Relax- Apparently it helps GP sleep. I'd sleep well too, secure in the fact that I was rich enough to afford $55 an ounce skin cream. Or maybe I would just be lulled to dreamland by the knowledge that I was hot enough to be sharing a bed with a rock star.






Alfalux Baume Levres- I really have no idea what this is. Not only is this product not linked to a web page (like ALL the others were), the only description GP gives is "I always pick this up at the pharmacy when in France. It has an incredibly silky texture." WHAT? How do you endorse something and then not endorse it at all? Am I just supposed to be so international that I'm already in the know? I'm not!!! GP, I have the beginnings of crow feet and eat gluten every day. You are supposed to be helping us ugly American gals, not taunting us with your silky secrets!




Somewhere GP is laughing menacingly while she coats her toned body in "huile."

Pretty as a picture...

I'm sure it's easy to guess how I feel about street style blogs; not only am I intimidated by what some gals can afford to put on their bodies, I'm also floored by the idea that a person could be seen out running errands, looking that good. Sure I can throw on a pair of cute (but uncomfortable) shoes for a party, but to traverse around the East Village? I'm usually the asshole in sneakers. This is all a long winded introduction to Miss Moss, which I am totally intimidated by.


Not only does it feature chic gals-about-town wearing high waisted pants that I could never pull off, but sometimes it beautifully pairs them with corresponding artistic images. Smart and glossy! Double blog whammy!


It kills me how good Diana is at this and how extensive her art knowledge must be. My only saving grace is that these aren't pictures of her, though she too is very pretty. Can you imagine if Sweatercups did this? I'd literally put a gun to my head.


Trying to make myself feel better, I wanted to figure out what painting I could be featured with. But because I only minored in art history, this is the best I could do:













Someone please hand me a gun.


Photo credits:
1. citizen couture / cecilio pla y gallardo
2. citizen couture / edgar degas
3.stockholm street style / henri de toulouse-lautrec4.
4. me/alice neel

Peek-a-boo I'm through

You guys, I'm not sure if I want to be a girl anymore. And I'm not saying that because I have a bad case of PMS or something. It's just... I'm really worried where we as a sex are headed when it comes to fashion.

Remember when Gretchen Jones won Project Runway and she wore this?

At the time I recall registering that what she was wearing was bananas but I was so shocked and appalled that Mondo lost, I didn't let the gravity of what was happening really sink in.

Until I saw this on Monday.
And I realized it's like, a thing. 'Cause if Sweatercups is wearing it, you know the rest of us are soon to follow. And then suddenly we'll be on the Topshop website converting pounds to dollars and wondering, "could I really pull off sparkly hotpants with a mesh overlay?"
And gals, that is a question that most men have never had to ask themselves.

The end is near

First it was glamping.


Then it was jeggings.


And now there are glittens.


Friends, I give up.

A little trip down memory lane

The other week I went to a party at my friends house in Mt. Washington. As I drove up the hill on San Rafael Drive I had a major case of déjà vu. Except then I realized it was real because for a brief two years of my life from age 4-6, I lived on that street!!! It was the first house my parents ever bought.

My memories are vague. I have a few photos of the front but the only details that really stick out in my mind was that our next door neighbor had 15 dogs and there was an amazing play house in the backyard that I loved. Not surprisingly neither of these facts helped me locate the residence twenty five years later.

I mentioned this discovery to both of my parents hoping that at least one of them would be able to recall the address of our first home. Sadly both have about the same lack of memory as I do. Neither could even tell me a cross street. I was disappointed but let it go... because I'm an adult and that is what adults do. They move on. (Pun intended.) That is until I saw this video from Young House Love:

Remembering Clara's First House from Young House Love on Vimeo.

How freakin' cute/sweet is that? Now I know it's irrational to wish my parents had made a movie about the memories of every room of that first house of ours. I'm not stupid, I know making films now is much easier than it was in the 80's. But you guys, my parents met as filmmakers! They lived in Los Angeles and were film editors by trade! Not only did they never take the initiative to thoroughly document our home for me (and the whole Internet) to see, now they can't even be bothered to remember the darn address??!!! Really, is the address really too much to ask?! It's not like I'm crazy and resenting them for not documenting every week of my life like these perfect parents! Why do baby Clara's parents love her more than mine do?

Clara's Weekly Photo from Young House Love on Vimeo.

Just FYI, if anyone would like to wish me a happy 1,578th week of life, it would really make my day.

Post Thanksgiving Pooch

Last night I ate dinner with my mother at Hipster Paradise aka Pho Cafe in Silverlake. And while eating out anywhere with the woman who produced me can be embarrassing, last night I felt a little cringe worthy as well. I blame the bright red Banana Republic sweater I was wearing and the dinner roll I was carrying around my midsection. How can I be eastside cool after spending 6 days in Denver eating Pub Mix, seeing PG 13 movies with teenagers (Morning Glory!, Harry Potter!!) and playing endless games of Dora the Explorer with a three year old? It was culture shock indeed. But you know what might get me back into Los Angeles starvation diet mode? Giving up the large bowls of noodles and the continual perusal of this blog.

Quick someone hand me a Kombucha.
Or meet me for coffee and American Spirits at Intelligentsia.

Or play some bootleg Thom Yorke while we stare at candles.

Hell, can you at least have the decency to mistakenly offer me a twenty for a handjob outside of 4100?With your help and hers, I know I can do this city proud.

Shot through the heart and they're to blame...

I remember back in college I had a girlfriend who moved in with her rich, handsome and slightly older bf. Their place was beautiful; crown molding, high ceilings and hard wood floors. She was the first of my friends to shack up and I was in awe of her domestic bliss. I also embarrassed to remember being totally obsessed with the photos they had of themselves that decorated the place. Many were framed and black and white. Some looked post coital. In each they both looked gorgeous, happy and so freaking in love. I vowed then and there that some day I too would find a boyfriend (who was tall enough for me to date), and who would also make me look like a fucking supermodel in photos that featured us kissing.

10 years later, I'm sad to report that while I found the tall men, I never got the photos. And even though now I know it's kind of gouache and regular dudes don't want to take these photos, I still secretly wish I could find lover who longed to make out with me on camera. This coupled with my more than an ironic love for Lifetime movies and my obsession with cheap Chardonnay proves that there are large parts to my womanhood that I'm just not proud of.

With all that noted, I'm sure you can understand why these photos affected me so deeply.

This couple doesn't even care that there's a wedding going on around them, their urge to kiss is too great! Help, I'm being reduced back to my 20 year old self.


I'm trying to be rational and tell myself these are not normal "first look" photos. I've think been a part of enough weddings to know that most people do not look this blissful/relaxed a half hour before the nuptials, right? But honestly, are these two going to consummate their nuptials BEFORE the ceremony?


I hate them for looking so blissfully happy but am also impressed that their love is somehow strong enough to absorb any stress that other less in love people might have been feeling just moments before the big event.


Or maybe this guy is a photographic genius. I just can't tell any more. You guys, am I crazy to still be envious of photos like these or are they too much? Please advise.