Some fun book news…
BLUE BLOODS has been sold to France! It will be published by Michel Albin, the same house that published THE AU PAIRS and SKINNY DIPPING. In France, the Au Pairs is called “Un Ete pour tout changer” – The Summer that Changed Everything. Fun, no?
Also, FRESH OFF THE BOAT has been selected as one of the year’s Best Books by the Bank Street Bookstore Children’s Book List. Yay!
Till next time…
xo
Mel
You know how when you plan a party, you get sooo excited about it, and in your head, you’ve already put on your sexiest dress, your reddest lipstick, your highest heels, and you feel like you’ve already danced too widly and drank too much and woke up with a hangover, before it’s even happened?
That’s kind of how I feel about my big two-book launch party in May. I’ve been planning it for months now, getting all the stuff for the AWESOME goodie bags, figuring out what kind of fun stuff we’ll have at the party–blowouts from celeb stylists! makeovers by celeb makeup artists! a fashion show! shopping! what kind of food (mini pizzas!) and drink (Blood Kisses – basically a cosmo combo of my two book titles Blue Bloods and Sun Kissed for 21-and-overs) as well as Glaceau Vitamin Water and Tab Energy!
I even have the dresses I’m going to wear– a black satin Marc Jacobs dress with a string of pearls for Blue Bloods and then halfway through I’ll change into a sun-splashed Diane Von Furstenberg dress for Sun-Kissed! My family is flying out for the event, as well as some friends from Los Angeles, and I hope to see all my friends from New York on the big day…
But I know that on the day of the party, I’ll want to do nothing more than STAY HOME.
Because, really, how can any party exceed the expectations I’ve already built up in my head?
Ever since college, the start of my party-planning career, I have always been stricken by total party anxiety before the event–
What if no one shows up?
What if it totally sucks?
Maybe we just won’t open the door. Maybe we’ll just tell people the party is canceled!
I looooove throwing parties. When I lived in the West Village, the back yard of my building connected with the two other buildings, and I threw HUGE parties in my backyard every summer… I got kind of famous for throwing parties, and I still have fond, fond memories of every party I’ve thrown.
I swore I would never grow up to be the kind of person who threw boring dinner parties where no one got smashed and the most exciting thing that happened was a charades game… UGH!
My kind of parties were always the ones with the lights-out, open-bar, scandalous hookups, and blaring house music…the ones where you wake up and three of your best friends are passed out on the floor the next morning, along with one couple no one knows holed up in the bathroom…
Then we got really nice furniture.
And well, that was the end of that.
Before, we’d always let the apartment get trashed (we’d find cigarettte butts wedged into the hardwood floors, etc) but now, no way. Although I like to think our dinner parties aren’t boring since I’m very generous with the wine bottle. And we have never resorted to Charades yet. Although we have been known to bust out the Trivial Pursuit. (Ach, I’m cringing.)
So..the party… everyone is invited, and it’s going to be so fun, and I can’t wait for it to be all over so I can just resume my regular life again…
And if on the day of YOUR big party, you feel like locking yourself in your room and not going out until all the guests leave, I totally understand…
From Kirkus’ May issue!!!
"A juicy voyeuristic peek into the lives of rich Manhattanites–who happen to be vampires. As shown by a diary in a handwritten font, vampires came to this country on the Mayflower. In contemporary Manhattan, the ensemble of protagonists attents an elite prep school. They’re old souls, because vampires return in new shells (bodies) indefinitely; however, until mid-adolescence, they don’t know it. Fifteen-year-old Schuyler, intelligent and vaguely Goth, has no idea she’s a vampire. Neither does Bliss, newly arrived from Texas. Mimi and Jack, glamorously haughty twins with a suspicious bond, already know the scoop; the adults know too. The others are meant to learn slowly and keep strictly to the Code (for example, never suck so much blood that a human dies). Name-brand clothing and luxuries abound, but a mysterious danger lurks. Someone is killing the supposedly immortal. Schuyler’s destiny is to bring the vampires–cast out of heaven with Lucifer–back into a state of grace, but her immediate goal for the next installment is to find the murderer. Delightfully trashy."
AWESOME!! I love that I am delightfully trashy. I think they called The Au Pairs simply trashy. I am MOVING UP in the world, my friends.
I also found another great review of the book on a reader’s website:
"Blue Bloods" Melissa De La Cruz
With an increasing trend towards horror in YA literature, we’ve seen a plethora of vampire novels recently. Some of the better ones include "Peeps" and "Twilight". I am pleased to welcome "Blue Bloods" to the list of good vampire novels lately.
The plot is similar to most vampire books. Vampires, here known as Blue Bloods, are hidden from society, and there is a ruling government. There is a set of teenagers around whom the story revolves that not only discover their heritage as vampires, but also an ancient evil that could destroy the world. Naturally, no one beleives them and they must single-handedly save everyone from the threat. Luckily, the characters are more original than the story. Set againt the gritty backdrop of New York, the characters are real, wry, and funny. Okay, perhaps a Texan belle and some twins with incestual habits aren’t exactly ‘real’, but they’re certainly interesting.
De La Cruz seamlessly blends several genres including horror, fantasy, historical fiction, science fiction, and general fiction. The end result is this tantalizing piece of literature that luckily is appetizing to humans and vampires alike.
~Robbie, 17bookmobile.cjb.ne
THANK YOU ROBBIE!!! You made my day!!
All this praise can get to a girl, I feel like taking the day off and just skipping down the street going la-la-la-la-la… but alas, I have the Blue Blood sequel MASQUERADE and the first book on Angels on Sunset Boulevard to write, so no day off for me!
FUN "B-LIST" sightings…
The other day Mike and I were at the Poquito Mas (US Weekly calls it "Jennifer Aniston’s favorite Mexican taco stand") and we saw John Krasinski from THE OFFICE. (He plays the bashful guy Jim with the crush on the receptionist.) He was with a really pretty girl who looked like Thandie Newton. He was wearing jeans and a black American Apparel zip-up hoodie, the same one Mike was wearing. This is the essential cool-LA-guy hoodie, every time we go out, we see at least two other guys wearing the same one. Mike’s is all faded now but John’s was all crisp looking. He had a tan, and is really cute and thin. Not at all pasty like he looks on the show. I think he ordered a burrito. We tried not to stare too much.
Then yesterday at Fred Segal my friend MC and I saw Blythe Danner and Lisa Rinna. Lisa Rinna’s lips were like so pumped up, like Goldie Hawn’s in First Wives Club. She looked a little scary–the lips were way too swollen. Back away from the collagen, Lisa! Lisa was wearing a bandanna, sweats and a cute little zip-up top. She has a great body, it looked so flexible and limber. She didn’t walk, she SWAYED.
Fred Segal is such a funny scene, there’s been a lot written about it lately in the New York Times and the New Yorker, as if it’s this mythic LA place. But really, how different is it from Barneys? It’s all about showing off your new handbag. I counted five Fendi Spy bags, three Paddingtons, and several Guccis. It’s the tribe talking to the tribe. You know how people who shop at Barneys wear the clothes they bought at Barneys when they are shopping at Barneys? To show they belong? People like to hang out there because the cafe is outdoors but also private, something kind of rare, and there’s all that great shopping. Alex K in the Times sounded as if she was a little intimidated by it, which is weird—I mean, if any chick has attitude, she does. And for the record, the salespeople there are REALLY helpful and friendly. My only beef is that the Ron Herman boutique upstairs seems more like a showroom–they send so many of their clothes out to the stars and the stars’ stylists there is hardly anything left on the racks. And the place is always so empty of shoppers, it feels weird when you’re the only one there.
All this talk of shopping is making me want to go out and spend, so I’ll sign off for now!
I have some sad news to share–I am on a shopping diet.
I know, I know. It’s TERRIBLE.
I think it’s the reason I’ve been SO CRANKY lately – except for the blog about the Tri-Fab (what my husband and I call “FabulousFabulousFabulous!” in shorthand) launch party for my two new books in May, my other recent posts have been almost GLUM.
It’s probably because I have been living in the “real world” all this past month – and no, not the one in Key West.
When I shop, I escape from the world, and I go on vacation in my head. Every new outfit, every new bag, is a peek into a whole new life, a whole new situation–for instance, last month I just bought a mutlicolored ruffled caftan ($115) from Polka Dots & Moonbeams (a really cute store on Third Street that sells very “LA” stuff-C&C t-shirts, T-bags dresses, jeweled flipflops) and when I put it on, I thought, I’ll wear it strolling on the beach in Cabo! I’ll wear it in Malibu when I go to the Crossroads Diner and bump into Britney and K-Fed! Or, it’ll go with me to Saint-Tropez this summer! One caftan equals three great fantasies. And where have I worn this? Nowhere! But that’s not the point. I just get giddy thinking of all the wonderful places I could wear the new outfit.
When I was just out of college, and my best friend Morgan (who is gay) and I were living in what we came to realize was “low-income” housing (it was a three bedroom for $1200 on 23rd St! We just thought it was a steal until my mom came to visit, looked at the vinyl floors and the garbage cans INSIDE the lobby and our doddering elderly neighbors, and appraised us of this fact), we would hole up in Morgan’s room–with the airconditioning blasting on high–which was SUCH a luxury for us, since we had lived through consecutive summers in New York City without one–and mix up a batch of pina coladas, and declare we were going on “vacation” because the air-conditioning reminded us of being in hotel rooms, and the pina coladas of being on a beach.
I still get nostalgic remembering all the great vacations we embarked on, without ever leaving 23rd Street.
It also reminded me of that episode on AbFab where Patsy and Edina are totally rocking out, the lights are off, and they’re dancing wildly, the lights are flickering on and off like a glitter ball, but suddenly Sapphie turns on the lights and it turns out the girls are just in their own living room, and not at a cool club, and Patsy was just turning the lights on and off to make it seem like it was a dancefloor. They look kind of sheepish at the realization, but it’s so TRUE.
After years of going to nightclubs, nothing has ever been as fun as just Morgan and me rocking out on the couch. The ashtray overflowing with cigarettes, the pitcher of colada on the coffee table, and every edition of European Vogue spread out in front of us. Friends–they’re life’s vacation. BWAHA HA HA HA…I hate when I get so sentimental! I really like this new word “caggle” – which I read in the Observer – a cross between a cackle and a giggle. CAGGLE. Nice.
More often than not, shopping has been my ticket to escape–books too, although shopping sparks my imagination more, since I am too worried about being influenced by books that are similar to mine, so my reading pleasure tends towards the kinds of books I would never write, like Kathryn Harrison’s painful confessional novels and the like. I never watch “The OC”, “Laguna Beach” and I haven’t picked up a Gossip Girl and A-List book in a long time. Ultimately, we pull from the same sources, and I don’t want to subconsciously copy, or subconsciously pre-edit myself since those books might have “gone” there too.
But since I’m on a shopping diet, there has been no escaping in a while. And lemme tell ya, life without escape is pretty lame!
Mike and I are buying a house, so we’re trying to suck in the financial gut, I’m just glad I was able to score my Chanel classic bag before the lockdown!
I’m on massive deadlines too, which have resulted in my having THOSE DREAMS again. The ones where I’m about to not graduate from high school because I did not research or write or turn in my Art History term paper. I have this dream ALL THE TIME on deadline, and not once have I been able to tell my panicked high school self in my dream that I DID graduate from high school and there is nothing to worry about. It’s just my brain freaking out that I have two novels due and neither of them is in any shape for delivery, which is the same feeling as having wasted the semester doing nothing and then finding out one is going to flunk out because of one’s laziness.
So, compounded with the lack of shopping and the doom of deadlines, it’s been pretty frosty here at chez Mel and not just because the temperature is always 66 degrees. (BWAH-HA-HA…)
I also bought a five-inch wide braided belt ($110) which I have lately worn with everything–Harpers Bazaar declared this the season of the belt, and who am I to argue? It’s really fun to put it on top of all the floaty tops and tunics I own–it automatically gives you a waist! Although at the store, the salesgirl said, “Um, maybe you want to not cinch it so tight, it should lay, not squeeze.”
Lay not Squeeze!
Girls, it’s a manifesto.
I’m excited to wear the big belt on top of my Chloe jacket like I saw a blonde Amazon on Robertson wear it the other day.
But it’s been a month since the big belt, and I’m already a teeny bit bored of it. I’m such a trendy person, I love ANYTHING new and shiny, like Mini Coopers and Hummers, when they first came out…but now I’m over them. Minis now seem overly cutesy and Hummers, well, just gross.
By the way, I always say how much things are, because it’s the first question that would come to MY mind when I read about shopping–how much? I hate when people don’t say how much they spent – it’s integral to a shopping story, don’t you think? Because if you want it yourself, you would think, “Oh, that’s a good price for that, maybe I’ll get one too” or “Oh god, Byatch spent way too much, what was she thinking?”
Anyway, maybe I’ll just whip up a batch of pina coladas, turn the lights on and off with a flick of the wrist and make out with the husband and pretend we’re in the VIP room at the Spider Club…
BWAHA HA HA HA…
Yesterday my editor at HarperCollins emailed me the happy news–that Fresh off the Boat, my autobiographical novel about a 14 year old immigrant girl’s first year in America, was selected as one of the New York Public Library’s “Best Books for the Teenage” for 2006 (this means books published from the prior year).
I was really excited and I emailed the news to my whole family. Fresh off the Boat is a little different from my fun, escapist Au Pairs novels, and it’s a book I wanted to write ever since I survived freshman year in high school. It’s also the book that has garnered me my best reviews, and this made me think about the first-ever review of my book that I ever read.
The BAD one.
Cat’s Meow, my first novel, was published in 2001, and as a new author, I was very, very excited about its launch. I kept checking Amazon and Barnes and Noble.com just to see it posted on the site, with all the other books. Until I sold my first novel, for years, going to bookstores or libraries became very painful for me.
I literally would feel so sick in my stomach looking at all those wonderful books on the shelves, thinking that I would never see a book of mine among their ranks. I even stopped reading, denying myself my favorite activity–it just felt like the world had said ‘No’ to my dreams and to be a frustrated writer was just too hard to bear, especially when I was making a living writing computer code.
So when Cat’s Meow was sold, and then published, it was the happiest time of my life, and then I saw it–The Kirkus Review–the first review of my work, ever, in public. It was on Barnes and Noble, and it was a BAD review–an AWFUL review, it was so bad, that websites that covered the book publishing industry quoted from it, saying that my book (and my writing career) had “no lives left” (some kind of play on the “cat” in the title).
The review didn’t just say my book SUCKED, it said women would “burn their Blahniks” upon reading my book, because they wouldn’t want to be associated with my main character. YIKES!
And the weird thing was that, as I was reading it, I didn’t even realize the reviewer HATED my book until the very end–when he or she just comes out and says it. I turned to my then-boyfriend (now husband) in shock and horror. Mike was just as upset as I was, but his reaction was anger–it’s hard to have something hurt a loved one and not be able to do anything about it. He tried to console me, but I felt awful for weeks. That same sick feeling in my stomach returned. I believed I would never be able to write another book ever again, no one would ALLOW me to right another book ever again.
I told my parents, and like Mike, my mother immediately wanted revenge–the reviewer’s head nailed to the door, while my dad merely shrugged and told me to dismiss it, because “everyone is entitled to their own opinion” and reading books is a subjective, personal pleasure–there is no one great objective scale on which art can be judged. Stuff you love, someone else will hate. There was nothing I can do to change what someone thinks of me or my work.
At the time, I tried to come around to my dad’s way of thinking. But it’s taken years to really understand what he was saying–Madonna always said that if there were 100 people in a room, and 99 of them loved her but 1 did not, she didn’t care about the 99, she would be obsessed with making that last person change their mind. That was kind of how I felt–I didn’t care that Cat’s Meow ultimately got AWESOME reviews –it was even featured in the New Yorker! Ha! All I could think about was that one BAD review…
But not anymore. I guess I just grew up. And I’ve published more books since then, and I’ve had my share of bad, midddling and great reviews for my work. And when Fresh off the Boat got UNIVERSALLY great reviews, particularly from Kirkus (I have forgiven them now. Peace.), it felt good, but interestingly enough, not as great a high as the low the bad review took me too…
Because by this time, I knew my dad was right. Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, and you can’t change how people think about you, or your work, or your clothes, etc… You need to learn how to just live with it, and know that the freedom to have an opinion exists for you as well…
Which brings me to the New York Times Book Review piece today, by Naomi Wolf, on The Gossip Girl, A-List and Clique series of books. It’s a scathing review of the genre, she basically says that these books overturn the traditional viewpoint of moral values, like how poor-girl Claire in the The Clique wants to be more like rich-girl Massie rather than rebel against her materialistic values. Wolf called these books “candy covered corruption”. (My Au Pairs books are developed with the same company that created all of these books.)
And as I was reading it, I just thought, well, you just don’t get it… these books are guilty pleasures, and one of the things that is FASCINATING about the Clique is the way the Claire character isn’t the typical goodie-goodie–she wants what everyone else really, honestly wants too–to be popular. I very much enjoy the GG and Clique series, (I’m not a huge fan of the A List for some reason) and they strike a chord with readers–they are well-written, fun, escapist, with real, complex characters. I thought Wolf put out a cheap shot mocking Cecily Von Ziegesar for saying how Cecily thinks her books as “aspirational”, Wolf writes acidly: “As if that’s a good thing.”
Why is it so wrong to be aspirational? I don’t get it–it’s got a nice word in it “aspire” and to be aspirational means to want something MORE for yourself. I just read Jay McInerney’s new book The Good Life, and part of why I enjoy his fiction is because it IS aspirational–at 17, living in South San Francisco (“The Industrial City”), I read Bright Lights Big City, and I wanted so much to MOVE to New York to experience all that–dinners at the Odeon, inside jokes on the Colombian Marching Band, nightclubs, and in The Good Life I love all the details on how Park Avenue apartments are decorated, and what kind of olive oil to buy. (I thought the book kind of fell apart in the post-9/11 chapters, but I enjoyed everything else leading up to it.)
And as I was reading Wolf’s piece, my dad’s words of wisdom rung in my head: Everyone’s Entitled to their Own Opinion. Even Naomi Wolf. I wasn’t a big fan of The Beauty Myth either.
In more FUN news–I had lunch at Joan’s On Third the other day and who walked in but Kirsten Dunst! She looked so fab, she had long, messy red hair, a huge white v-neck T-shirt (probably like Hanes or Fruit of the Loom, it didn’t look like one of those “designer” white T-shirts), tucked into tight, tight, tight olive jeans and a thick olive belt looped around her tiny waist. And chic Lanvin flats and a big slouchy leather bag. She’s a doll, she waited on line like everyone else (although I noticed that the owner gave her a big hug), got her curry chickpea salad and beet salad and went on her way.
Then last night we saw David Lynch eating dinner at a sidewalk cafe in Los Feliz, with his shock of white hair and black suit. It was cool, we are big fans. My husband is the one who recognized him. Then today at the Coffee Bean I saw Michael DesBarres! Admittedly, he’s a D-List celebrity- those who even recognize his name must be Duran Duran fans, like I was. I saw The Power Station in concert in 1986, and Michael DesBarres subbed in for Robert Palmer on the tour, and so he’s a celebrity in my humble opnion! 🙂
Hope everyone is having a great weekend! BLUE BLOODS comes out in less than a month!!
xoxo
Mel
On Saturday morning my husband and I stood on line for forty minutes before it opened to get into the Modernica sample sale. I found this very amusing since it reminded me of standing in line at the Manolo Blahnik and Chanel sample sales, although the crowd at Modernica was a little different from the die-hard fashion warriors at the designer clothing sales.
Modernica sells mid-century modern furniture–Eames fiberglass chairs, glass Noguchi coffee tables, Case Study platform beds, all good stuff. (Mike is an architect and a modernist.) You can always tell an architect because of their offbeat eyeglasses (Mike’s current ones are rimless Prada) and their interesting shoes (usually Italian suede or Japanese sneakers).
Each subculture has its own uniform–when I was at Conde Nast, we all lived in Helmut Lang peacoats and Joseph leather jeans (this was in the late 90s). So when we got in line with all the interior decorators, architects and design enthusiasts, this being LA, there were a lot of girls with Betty Page haircuts and guys in vintage rocker T-shirts and plaid grandpa pants. It was a convivial group, unlike the slightly sour, competitive, shrill nature of clothing sample sales, although once the gates were opened, there was a MAD dash for the Eames rocking chairs ($199 from $350). “WHERE ARE THE ROCKERS???” was the desperate cry. We pounced on them as if our lives depended on it, quickly scoring a classic white one to call our very own. We also bought two Eames wire side tables ($55 from $135).
We couldn’t buy as much as we could have liked since we’re moving from our apartment to a house later this year, but since we don’t have the house yet, there’s no space to put anything–like the wall-length Eames Storage Units (ESU’s) we were looking at longingly ($600 from $2000).
It was a very bonding experience for the two of us since I love to shop, and Mike loves modern furniture, so we both enjoyed it very much. Plus, it was fun to bump into a bunch of like-minded friends who had also made the early-morning trek. (When we first moved to LA, we joked that we should put an ad in Craigslist, “wanted: Modernist couples” since we seem to get along best with people with the same design taste.)
I was never much of a modernist before I met Mike–my parents decorated with classic Neo-Colonial-Tropical-style, a lot of dark woods and hefty armoires and hand-carved rosewood tables, cane-backed chairs and the like. They think all Scandinavian furniture equals IKEA. (We love IKEA, don’t get us wrong, but too much IKEA is like wearing too much GAP–everything starts looking too bland and “moderately priced” after a while.) It’s good to have some amazing, one-of-a-kind “couture” pieces of furniture…we always joke that we would throw ourselves on top of our Capellini couch to save it in an earthquake rather than take shelter underneath it.
Afterwards we had brunch at the Newsroom Cafe which always reminds me of my dear friend Karen Robinovitz, who introduced me to the place. Karen always liked the Newsroom better than the Ivy (the famed celeb haunt) across the street, she said it was more “naturally” LA, rather than the tourist-infested exhorbitantly-priced Ivy. At the Newsroom, everything is organic, lowfat, vegan, good for you, and tasty–damn, I’ve really become an Angeleno.
The Ivy is fun too, but you have to be in the mood, and have a reservation, and steel yourself with attitude. It’s not a spontaneous choice, although my friend Gabe who’s lived in Los Angeles all his life swears it can be…that in the past he’s just walked in and been seated next to Michael Douglas because everyone in LA looks so casual they have to treat you well in case you’re “somebody.” But I don’t want to find out–I hate trying to get in somewhere “cool” without making the proper arrangements, sitting in a bad table or not being able to get into (the club, or the VIP room, wherever) always seriously bums me out so I always make sure it doesn’t happen.
The secret to life is planning ahead and avoiding the triggers that make you question your lifestyle choice, and I’m not self-hating enough to make myself feel bad for “caring” about some “dumb club” because I wasn’t let inside–not getting in always takes the fun out of an evening. So instead I follow the ‘trendy’ rules religiously. As in, I call ahead, I call the publicist, I make the reservation two months ahead of time, or do whatever I need to do to ensure an enjoyable experience…So far, it’s served me well. I’m not one to question why I am not one of the people who can just swan in anywhere hip and get a table on second’s notice. We can’t all be Gwyneth Paltrow…
Speaking of celebs, we finished brunch and walked down Robertson and there was an immense crowd of teenagers in front of Kitson, that popular store made famous by US Weekly where one can buy “Team Jolie” or “Team Aniston” t-shirts. I’m a big fan of Kitson, it’s got the cutest accessories, and the best selection of jeans, and really nice salespeople. It’s better to go during the week, because on weekends, there is such a big crowd that they have to stagger entrance in front of the velvet rope. I thought it was just another crowded weekend, but it turned out Nicole Richie was signing her book inside, and all her fans were standing outside, waiting for her.
Nicole came to Karen and my How to Become Famous in Two Weeks book party in Los Angeles three years ago–I believe she even hosted it with Kimberly Stewart–she was really sweet, and this was before the Simple Life had aired, and she looked very different–at our party she wore her hair in pigtails, a tanktop, a fluttery denim mini skirt, knee-high socks and sneakers, and she was normal-sized. Now she is a swan–with that shiny bob of perfectly blonde hair, the oversized sunglasses, the skeletal frame, and the carefully chosen drapey, vintage outfits. She looked utterly poised and absolutely fabulous. The total star. Ok, yes, very thin, incredibly thin, (but remember Nan Kempner? she was like that too), but she is also very tiny–about 5’1″ or something.
Her fans were so cute–how cute are all you teens now! Everyone was so stylish, wearing their fluttery dresses over leggings and holding these giant, slouchy leather handbags. I was a fashionista when I was thirteen too, but it was the 80s, not a good time for fashion. You guys are so lucky–when I was in high school, preppie was the rule, and being too creatively-dressed was looked down upon. The fashionistas were the misfits, and my friends were the metalheads and the punks.
Roberston is my favorite street in LA–Diavolina carries all the great designers (lots of new names, like Doo Ri) and Chloe sandals (I’m holding out on those for now, those wooden wedge heels, I know I will succumb soon enough but they look TOO much like Balenciaga from two years ago don’t you think? And I still haven’t forgiven myself for not buying the Balenciaga wooden wedge heel sandals at the Barneys warehouse sale for a mere $189 (from $700) because I thought it would be too dated. But lo, now the Chloe sandals look EXACTLY the same. Argh!).
And there’s also Curve, where I spotted Michelle Rodriguez once buying shawl sweaters and skipping out on the tax by having the stuff “mailed” to her “address” in New York–wink wink–she walked out of the store with three humungous shopping bags. There was a sale at Ghost, a Brit design brand, about fifteen years ago I was really into Ghost, and I pop in once in a while to see if they have anything new. They were having a sale so I bought a black ruffled dress, very flapper-y, very slimming, for $144 from $400. Steal!
I’ve been buying black dresses because I have my book launch party in May and several of my friends are getting married this year so I have to stock up on party dresses–you can never find a good event dress when you need one, so I tend to buy formal frocks (isn’t that such a great British word?) all through the year. I have a black Marc Jacobs one in satin that I might wear to the book party, a Max Mara black dress in chiffon with spaghetti sleeves and ruffles on the bottom that I plan to wear to Karen’s wedding in Miami in April, a black cocktail dress with a gold band from Fred Segal (it’s some new British designer, I can’t be bothered to check the label right now) that I might wear to a friend’s engagement party at the Bel-Air hotel this Saturday, and now, the black ruffled Ghost one–and another friend just emailed me to say she just got engaged, so I’m glad I have all these dresses in hand.
I’m also a sucker for the new granny-type print dresses, I bought one from Corey Lynn Calter (big LA designer–great casual-girlie stuff) that looks like a 50s housedress, with a sash and cute little sleeves in a brown floral print. I thought it would be great for summer, so much of my shopping means fantasizing about the “image” the outfit displays, and I thought the dress looked so cool-boho-Silverlake-chick I couldn’t resist. I’m solidly a bourgeouis bohemian, so it didn’t bother me that the “vintage” dress was brand-new ($98 from $168). I’m too old to reconfigure old vintage dresses these days, when I was 19 I lived in $5 granny dresses that I would get re-hemmed and reconstructed for $20 at the tailor’s, but I don’t have the time to go through the bins at thrift stores anymore…and the benefits of getting older do include clothes that don’t need to be fumigated before wearing! 🙂
Till next time,
Mel xxoo