Perhaps, like me, you'll find this op-ed piece called "The Triumphant Decline of the Wasp" that much more interesting if you've been watching "Mad Men."
So this is what they were doing on that pole on the Mall yesterday. The article actually makes it sound more exciting than it was.
July is National Ice Cream month. I love ice cream, but, to be honest, the description in the article turns me off.
I actually meant to post Robin Givhan's article on style bullies last week. Here is an especially striking excerpt:
To understand how style can be deployed to deliver such bloodless wounds, it's important to remember that style encompasses far more than good looks. In fact, it trumps beauty because it's rooted in deep cultural knowledge and self-confidence. Style is an expression of choices -- a declaration of individuality. And thus, the lack of it is not a matter of poor genetic luck. It is, a particularly judgmental soul could argue, your fault.
Style rises above trends and the fashion industry's abundance of cliches. A woman who dresses with both self-awareness and panache has, in essence, the ability to construct a public persona that speaks with power and precision...
Style at Chanel's level turns heads; it swaggers. But even at more modest degrees, it can make others feel terribly old-fashioned and parochial by comparison. Having conquered wardrobe insecurities -- that sense of uneasiness that perhaps you're not appropriately attired or simply not quite pulled together -- suggests that a woman knows something that others do not. Even if her audience doesn't favor her aesthetic sensibility, it still recognizes her certainty. What is her secret?
I've been meaning to ramble about a lot of things: the sanctity of public spaces (and, conversely, private spaces--which would bring about a post-RM ramble, which, in turn, would lead us to the issue of social paradigms and the myth of "nice")... but I haven't had time. I'll see if I can get to it tonight. I'll also ramble about a conversation I had over dinner with friends last night, over eco-sanctimommies, who make me more sick than regular sanctimommies. For now, here's a snippet of yesterday's dinner conversation:
Beth: I can't believe she called me on a Sunday. I don't work on Sundays.
Danielle: How old is she?
Beth: Don't know, but she's right out of grad school. Could do my job, though.
A.: [Sigh]. The summer interns have arrived to our office. They make me feel old.
Beth: Well... we are getting kind of old.
What? She's not supposed to say that! Age is just a number. If you ask me, we're still as young as when we all met almost eight years ago.
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