Oh, Hello, February!

January is holiday hangovers, adjusting to shorter days and longer, colder nights. It’s looking at a 12 month calendar with some trepidation because the slate is almost a little TOO clean.

February is settling into new routines. It’s celebrating love in all of its iterations. It’s warm, sweet, and pink like champagne bubbles. It’s red, hot, and intoxicating like the best first kiss. It’s self-care as self-love. It’s black excellence. It’s art, music, and literature. It’s joyous black boys and magical black girls!

Hello, February! C’mon in and stay awhile!

Worn|| Rambling

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For the first time in four years, I’m not living with a knot of anxiety in my soul. I’m a little lighter. There’s a tiny sliver of optimism that pops its head out every now and then.

Strangely, I’ve also been exhausted and really, really sad. It’s dawned on me that like a lot of us who have faced each day of the Trump administration braced for horror and new lows, I’ve been running on a mixture of rage and anxiety. Survival mode. The pandemic has just become another thing to “get through”. And now that one threat has been vanquished, I have space to grieve for the things that we’ve lost in this last year. The big things- babies being born, graduations, weddings, birthdays- and the smaller ones- Sunday brunch, afternoons at the art museum, spa days, and date nights- all gone for those of us who have been following orders to shelter at home. I used to think a lot about how absolutely normal and mundane my life was. The life of a middle-aged suburban housewife is only exciting when scripted by the execs at Bravo. I never would have guessed that the loss of “normal” would leave such a Grand Canyon-sized hole in not only how I perceive the world, but also in how I view myself. If my role as a wife and a mother is to comfort and care for my family and the ways in which I’ve done that are suddenly not accessible, then what is my purpose?

This long ramble is just to say I feel unmoored in this new normal. I think it’s part of grieving all that we have lost. And, if you’re feeling that way too, please know that you are not alone.

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Word Of The Year|| Unpack

Unpack.

To remove the contents of. To unburden or reveal. To analyze the detail of by examining in detail. To decompress.

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Photo by Tucker Good on Unsplash

I think we have all breathed a collective sigh of relief that 2020 is over. And are a bit apprehensive about what 2021 may bring. It would be foolish to think that everything will completely change once the clock strikes 12:00 on January 1. In spite of my pessimistic nature, I can’t help but hope that this year will bring all of the things that we were robbed of last year. In the spirit of letting myself have a little bit of hope, I decided to pick a word for this year. OR, should I say it picked me just as it did in the last two years. It struck me in the middle of another sleepless night, UNPACK.

How will I unpack?

I want to unburden myself of the rage I’ve been living with for the last four years and find a better way to channel that anger into something more productive.

These last 10 months living in lockdown I’ve started to embrace simplicity. Everything feels like a lot! When I look around my space, I want to be surrounded by not just the things I need but also things that I love. 2021 will be the year of going through all of the things and figuring out what stays and what goes in an effort to unburden myself of excess.

Finally, in the past few months, I’ve been working really hard in therapy to understand why I feel so undeserving of the love of friends and family. In a lot of ways, I fear that the more I am me. the more there is to reject. And so, I’m never fully myself in any relationship. This year it’s time for me to stop living like I have one foot out the door. To show up as my full self, unpack, and stay.

Here’s to 2021 my friends.

*I started writing this post on January 1. We’re 12 days in and 2021 is already a dumpster fire. So yeah. Also, fuck Donald Trump and his mob of terrorists. Now. And, forever.

Rambling Rose|| Worn

Six months into the pandemic with no relief in sight and I’m still working to maintain a sense of normalcy from day to day. Getting dressed everyday, even if it's only for a few hours has become an important part of maintaining that.

As summer fades into fall, I’m trying to find things that are technically considered clothing but are so comfortable to wear it’s almost like wearing pajamas!

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This dress checks both of those boxes! I have it in this floral, leopard print and I may have another two on the way! These are great layering pieces. As it gets a little cooler, I plan on wearing them over leggings with a chunky cardigan and my new fuzzy slippers. Although I rarely leave the house these days, I think this dress would also work with a jean jacket, tights and boots/booties on the rare out of the house day.

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When No One Is Watching||Well Read

“HISTORY IS FUCKING WILD.”

And with that, buckle up because Alyssa Cole takes us on a ride!

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This year I’ve read two of Alyssa Cole’s contemporary romance novels so when I heard she was publishing her first thriller, I was excited to read it!

When No One Is Watching follows Sydney, a New York native, as she becomes increasingly uncomfortable with the gentrification going in Gifford Place, the Brooklyn neighborhood where she grew up. After taking a walking tour of a place that she knows like the back of her hand, Sydney, unhappy with the whitewashing of it’s history, decides to put together her own tour. She wants to focus on the black and brown people who originally settled in the area and highlight all of the achievements of the community. Theo, one of her new neighbors who arrives with the first wave of Gifford Place gentrification, volunteers to help her do more background research. Over the course of a few weeks, strange things start to occur. Sydney is struggling to put her life back together after her divorce while caring for her terminally ill mother. The heat, stress, and sleepless nights have her on edge. Is she seeing things or is something diabolical happening in Brooklyn?

I really, really enjoyed this book! I waited until I was about half finished to read any reviews and I limited them to non-spoiler ones. I believe some of the negative opinions of the book had to do more with the marketing of it than the book itself. It’s being sold as a thriller. I don’t think it’s a thriller-at least not by traditional standards. This leans more toward horror. Let me say this, I’m not a fan of horror. I don’t want to watch it. I don’t want to read it. I definitely would have had reservations about reading it if it was marketed to me as horror. I don’t know the ins and outs of publishing and which kinds of books get more sales but if I had to guess, I’d say that the thriller audience is larger and perhaps publishers were looking to get a piece of that market.

I think if you approach the book as horror or a dystopian thriller(is that a thing?)you’ll have fewer issues with how the plot unfolds. The reader needs to be able to suspend belief in a way that you don’t when reading standard thrillers.

At times this book was difficult for me to read. I’m not often triggered by books but the microaggresions and flat out racism were often hard to process. Cole’s exploration of racism and the ways gentrification impact black and brown neighborhoods feels a timely despite it’s fantastical elements. These things are a part of history and still happening across the country.

The trauma of Sydney’s abusive marriage is also woven troughout the story. Sydney is a beautiful and smart woman. It is clear that her ex husband has robbed her of self confidence. The gaslighting she endured in that relationship is one of the reasons she has doubts about the things happening around her She no longer trusts her own instincts. That part of the character resonated deeply with me.

This was a (strong) 4 star read for me! I can’t wait to read more Alyssa Cole.

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Read more about racism and redlining here

Read more about how gentrification effects black communities here and here

Birthday Girl||Worn

Today I Turn 47! Forty-fucking-Seven. I remember being so young that I thought anything over 30 was basically the same as being 70. My how the times have changed.

No fancy date night out this year or drinks with friends but I feel remarkably happy to be here! I’m focusing on appreciating my life in the present and starting to (once again)to make plans for the future. Cheers to another year around the sun!

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Teenage Dream|| Worn


This is a full circle fashion moment.

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“My god, are we gonna be like our parents?” *bonus points if you know the movie ;)

I’m fairly certain I wore this exact outfit nonstop the summer between seventh and eighth grade. The sneakers were probably K-Swiss instead of Adidas. The watch was definitely analog by Swatch. And the shorts were, if memory serves, a little bit longer. I went through several decades thinking my thighs were too big to see the light of day. One of the many things I’d tell my younger self is to wear less clothing!

We aren’t leaving the house too often. But, our library finally reopened and I occasionally get to take a solo trip to pick up books. And for a second, it feels a little bit like how life used to be.

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Evolution

Right after my mom passed away I remember obsessively searching for quotes and articles about grief. I think in those first weeks I was searching for a connection to anything that would indicate that what I was experiencing was survivable.

It’s only fitting that the quote that I wrote down in my journal one gray January day feels so right for this evolution.

“Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you.”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

It just felt like the time for change. I can’t keep waiting for me to manifest perfection so here it goes.

Poppy and Gray is now The Bibliostyle, the place where books meet style. Let’s see what happens next!

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