The kale and the conscious uncoupling
Hello, I’m minutes away from spending a month’s childcare budget on shoes that the baby won’t be able to see unless they’re on a high contrast background.
Right before Meryl’s notorious breakdown in The Hours, she pours Richard’s ex-boyfriend a glass of cold Perrier from the fridge and it’s the chicest thing I’ve experienced since William of Orange ended Feudalism. Like… a glass bottle of Perrier in her two-door fridge, in her lesbian-ass, dawn of the noughties, Manhattan pied-a-terre. Oh to be a loft-living lover of ladies, spinning the cap off the feminine curves of green glass, not having to deal with those maddening plastic bottle caps that don’t fucking detach. You just pour one out and concentrate on the existential crisis of your trivial life. Ocado don’t sell glass Perrier, but Amazon can ship some from France (chic, non?), meaning I’m essentially lining Bezos’s pockets in the pursuit of performative hydration. I seem to be unravelling.
Louis Wise put Fortnum’s honey on his Christmas list and—as gay as squeezing a bear to extract his syrupy sweetness could read—it’s a perfect self-gift for a casual breakfast of light whimsy. Nothing says we don’t take mealtimes too seriously in this house like a £12.95 teddy of nectar.
A jacket I commissioned with Michael Darlington that is a joy to wear and has never made an appearance on Getty because walking down a red carpet with your back to the photographers is fucking psychotic. It’s the kind of blazer the guy that trains raptors at Jurassic park wears to the gala unveiling of a new hybrid dinosaur, before the electrified fences inevitably fail.
Lawrence looks like an Aesop handwash with the pump taken off (complimentary). I don’t know what we’re calling this shade? Cigar brown? Beaver brown? Brown and out in London and Paris? Anyway, I’m also not sure who I am without this labia-grazing origami pea coat.
Thinking about them again. Thinking about them jamming on the piano of an evening. Thinking about them kissing on the mouth. Thinking about her and the baby and the ear-guards watching daddy at the festival. Thinking about Shakespeare in Love because why the hell not? Should I put Yellow on like it’s sixth form again? Thinking about one cigarette a week and your boyfriend writing Fix You to literally try and fix you. Thinking about her Velcro shoes and his scruffy beard, the kale and the conscious uncoupling. Don’t is always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone?