When it comes to seasons changing here in the city, I'm a big believer in walking through Central Park. It's the best way to really witness firsthand just how much is changing around you -- the trees, the crowds, the families, the couples, the activities, the air -- they're all buzzing with something palpably different than the season before it. On the cusp of something so new, you can almost taste it. And when it comes to springtime in Central Park, well I truly don't think our city playground has looked any better. She practically glows. Fresh blossoms. Vendors now selling ice cream to eager children. Folks stretching out to embrace the sun in Sheep's Meadow. A lone saxophone player at Bethesda Terrace. Couples holding hands, sharing a secret laugh.
That said, when BHLDN approached me about styling some of their wedding guest dress collection, the romantic in me jumped at the chance to shoot them in Central Park. Considering my wedding season is pretty packed this summer and I need something to wear in four different cities, I loved the idea of paying my own homage to a park that is home to countless love stories. If your wedding season is filling up like mine, keep scrolling for 4 easily-shoppable wedding guest dress options -- perfect for everything from a black tie affair to the rustic countryside fête.
Fun side note: While shooting this red Cynthia Rowley dress out on the lake in Central Park, Lydia and I witnessed a marriage proposal in a boat near us. If that's not a sign that love is in the air, then I don't know what is!
This post was in collaboration with BHLDN. As always, all opinions and styling are my own. Thank you for supporting all This Time Tomorrow collaborations!
If you're like me, you've probably watched more than your fair share of Audrey Hepburn movies (and maybe subjected a few boyfriends to it as well). And while, yes, Breakfast at Tiffany's will always hold a special place in my heart, it's actually Funny Face that made me truly fall in love with Hepburn. Between the custom Givenchy gowns, the singing and dancing in Paris and, of course, who can forget, the beatnik cafe dance off (thereby inspiring low ponytails, turtleneck sweaters and cropped ankle pants for years to come), Funny Face is probably one of my favorite Hepburn films.
So when I landed in Paris last month, fresh off the plane for my marathon, you can imagine I couldn't help but think about the scene where her editor, the photographer and Jo all traipse around Paris for their first 12 hours, doing anything and everything they feel like. Hopping to cafes, ducking into museums, walking along the Seine -- whistling bonjour and cooing merci at every opportunity.
And as cliche as it sounds. Paris really does have that effect on you, doesn't it? It's that feeling of fleeting delight, of afternoon indulgences, of turning around just one more corner to see what little tucked away store might await you. It's magical and enchanting and mesmerizing and if you give it just the right amount of time, on just the right afternoon, in just the right pair of cobblestone friendly heels, you feel unstoppable.
Naturally, when Via Spiga invited me to join them as their May Footprint influencer (you can read my interview here!), I jumped at the chance to sport their shoes in Paris. For exactly that type of afternoon. I love this particular pair (the Dorians, which you can snag here), as I'm always looking for a new nude spring heel each season -- one that transitions easily from day time wear to evening (perfect for those expat whims when you just don't want to go back to your hotel and admit that the day is over) -- and this pair does exactly that. They carried me from the Eiffel Tower steps at the Trocadero, to the Seine, to a few cafes and eventually a long scenic walk back to the Champs-Élysées.
And yes, I may have been whistling bonjour and cooing merci at every opportunity. As any good Hepburn fan would do, naturally.
This post was in collaboration with Via Spiga. As always, all opinions and styling are my own. Thank you for supporting all This Time Tomorrow collaborations!
You may have noticed a new designer crush around these parts, namely if you spied this post, this post and this post, featuring some undeniably twirl-worthy frocks. My friends always tease me that my dress collection is flirting with hoarder territory, and they very well may be right, but when a designer like Sarah Lai comes along, it's hard to say no.
Sarah reached out a few weeks ago, asking if I'd like to style a few of her dresses. Truth be told, it was this dress that sealed the deal. I love pieces that strike that beautiful balance between feminine and structured, whimsical and yet timeless, a feat that I think Sarah pulls off quite effortlessly. So in efforts to round out my selection from Sarah, seeing that the first several looks were much more playful, A-line cuts, I saved this shimmy dress for last. Because who doesn't love a good mermaid flare moment?
Because, sometimes, life is just too short to buy yet another black and white dress. So you grab the brightest floral print dress in the store, you throw on some gangster rap (am I cool enough to say 'gangsta'?) and you face the day.
If you're in the market for some new floral frocks to add to your rotation, keep scrolling! I rounded up my favorites below, including this Kate Spade rosebud dress I picked up recently on a whim...
"This is what you do on your very first day in Paris. You get yourself, not a drizzle, but some honest-to-goodness rain, and you find yourself someone really nice and drive her through the Bois de Boulogne in a taxi. The rain's very important. That's when Paris smells its sweetest. It's the damp chestnut trees." ~ Audrey Hepburn, as Sabrina Fairchild in Sabrina
I absolutely love that quote from Sabrina because I think it captures so many sensory cues to Paris. The dampness in the air come springtime. The sweet scent of chestnut. The promise of a smile from a stranger. The idea of an afternoon spent wandering with no where to be, but perhaps that cafe just up around the corner that you've never been to and possibly that old bookstore afterward. Until you're eventually back out in the evening air, walking to wherever you're walking back to, rain now seeping into your coat that would otherwise bother you in any other city, but you don't call for a cab. Not here in Paris. No, you walk back, with everyone else now walking back in the rain, unbothered and smiling. Because you're in Paris! The city of light, the city of love, the city where you wouldn't dare miss a chance to take the long way back home.
If I'm romanticizing a bit too much, forgive me. I hadn't been to Paris in over 10 years, and the previous trip was drastically different. I was a sophomore in college, studying abroad in Italy, doing the backpacking thing on the weekends with a ragtag team of friends. It was, hands down, a beautiful way to experience the city. After all, it is Paris. But to say I had been looking forward to this second trip around with my mom would likely be a huge understatement. And while I don't expect this little guide of mine to be as nearly comprehensive as say others' guides to Paris, I did want to share a slice of our time there, especially since I received so many wonderful recommendations from you guys! So, without further adieu...
For starters, let's talk cafes...
I think it's always very telling when locals in a certain city give recommendations and they happen to highlight a disproportionate amount of a certain type of business. For New York, I think most folks can ramble off a ton of great, boutique bars. For San Francisco and the Bay Area, folks love fro yo and niche bakeries. For Paris, it's cafes. I think once we landed, I had accumulated at least 15 different "must-try" cafes on our to-do list, each sounding more amazing than the last. Unfortunately, my mom and I didn't get through all of them, but here were our favorites.
Cafe Kitsuné: Hopping over to this little spot near Le Palais Royal was easy most mornings as it was a short metro (or brisk walk) away from our hotel on the Champs-Élysées. It's small, cozy and tucked away in their beautiful courtyard and secretly made me wish I could have been born in Paris, working at that shop, writing my poetry in between customers.
Angelina: Perhaps more than a cafe, Angelina came recommended so many times, I lost count. I also lost count of how many cups of the hot chocolate we drank. Let's just say, I had to work a bit harder during the marathon to run these bad boys off.
Holy Belly: Also, more than a cafe, Holy Belly reminded me a lot of some great American brunch spots back in San Francisco and New York. The wait was a bit crazy, but the breakfast tacos were certainly worth it.
Ob La Di: Delicious and insanely Instagrammable. Usually the main criteria we're all looking for in a cafe, am I right?
And then sweets?
We made a few obligatory sweet tooth stops along the way. Because how can you not, when in Paris?
Ladurée: Of course, this was a no brainer. Especially considering we were staying at the Marriott on the Champs-Élysées, right down the way. And even though I indulge in the SoHo shop every once and a while, something about a Ladurée just never gets old, oui?
Pierre Herme: Because stopping off at more than one macaron spot is mandatory when in Paris. Between the two, while I think Ladurée has the instantly recognizable charm, there is something to be said about Pierre Holme's macarons (in all honesty, I thought they were better, but I realize those are fighting words).
La Droguerie du Marais: On my first visit to Paris years ago, we stopped off at many a street vendor for many a fattening crepe (usually an entire meal by itself). This crepe spot came highly recommended from a reader's email and I really wish I had gotten a photo of my mom's reaction after her first bite of our Nutella and banana crepe. Absolutely priceless. We may have gone back. A few times.
A moveable feast indeed...
I'd by lying if I didn't admit to daydreaming a bit about Hemingway's Paris while we were roaming around -- cafe rendezvous with F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, splitting bottles of wine with Gertrude Stein, wandering city streets late at night with James Joyce. It made stopping into restaurants that much more of an experience, thinking "what would Hemingway think of our little dinner party of two tonight? Would he want to join us?"
Les Papilles: Truly the pièce de résistance meal of the trip. Without a doubt. It's an intimate, traditional French restaurant, tucked away in the Latin Quarter -- with a menu that changes every day. No variations. No options. Your server runs through your four courses, encourages you to pick a bottle of wine from their floor to ceiling wall of options, and then you sit back and relax. Butternut squash soup. Lamb ribs. Poached pear panna cotta. My mouth is literally watering at the moment.
Brasserie La Lorraine: This stop actually happened rather serendipitously the evening after our marathon. I headed out with a few of my fellow runners, all of us slightly limping at this point, for a hearty steak dinner, preferably near our hotels off the Champs Elyses. And we were not disappointed by the filets served at Brasserie La Lorraine. I think what was even more memorable for me was the incredible people watching you can do here at this restaurant. I love watching couples, young and old, meander in and then coming up with their stories -- how they met, how long they've been together, who's seeing a mistress and who's lying about her age. I do this often in New York, but it's such incredible fun in Paris!
Ellsworth: So I typically try to avoid restaurants in other countries that specialize in American cuisine -- because it almost defeats the purpose, right? But Ellsworth, known for their spin on American comfort food, came highly recommended numerous times, just for the fried chicken alone, so I finally caved. It's small so I definitely encourage you to make a reservation, but my main thing to say about this place is this: if you happen to be caught walking back in the rain, I hope you offer your umbrella to a cute stranger and invite them here for an impromtu date (I realize that would require you to have some sort of previous reservation, but let's not get caught up on details here). I loved this little restaurant -- classic Parisian charm that makes you want to lean in a bit closer at your already small table.
Where we stayed and what we got up to...
Paris Marriott Champs-Élysées Hotel: Of course, where to stay in Paris? Each neighborhood has it's own unique charm and flair that deciding almost becomes like picking a favorite child. Or in my case, a favorite corgi. As you may recall, I headed down to Mexico with the Marriott team for their JW opening in Cabo back in January. After chatting with their team about my upcoming marathon in Paris (several of their team members are big runners as well), I was ecstatic to hear they wanted to partner together for my Parisian stay, specifically for their Champs-Élysées hotel. Not only were we so conveniently located to the Metro making it easy to hop around town, but the marathon start line was literally at our doorstep on the Champs-Élysées (always a plus when you have an early start time). The property itself is stunning -- our room in particular boasting the most darling of balconies overlooking the bustling avenue down below. But I have to say, most of this pales in comparison to the staff, all of whom was incredibly kind, thoughtful and incredibly patient with me and my unfortunately sad knowledge of French. Each night we had a lovely treat waiting for us on our bed (yep, more macarons) -- it really did feel like we were returning home each evening, after a day of exploring, eating, getting lost and getting found again.
As far as what we did? This is where I'll happily admit, I was a tourist all over again. The Eiffel made me smile, the Louvre made me swoon and the Tuileries Gardens made me sit and sigh. And it's exactly what my mom and I had planned to do. A revisiting of familiar places that make you look at them again with new eyes. Or as Sabrina so aptly puts it:
"Oh, but Paris isn't for changing planes. It's for changing your outlook, for throwing open the windows and for letting in...letting in la vie en rose."
A huge merci is in order to the Marriott team for hosting me and my mom during our lovely stay in Paris. We both hope to be back very soon. And who knows, maybe I'll try the marathon again, next year! (Stay tuned for tomorrow's post -- I'll be sharing my marathon experience then!)
OUTFIT DETAILS: Katie Ermilio striped dress (similar style here) // Sarah Lai floral dress // Self-Portrait lace dress
This post was in collaboration with the Marriott. As always, all opinions and styling are my own. Thank you for supporting all This Time Tomorrow collaborations!
Growing up with my name, you can imagine I've had a certain affinity for all things crystal for as long as I can remember. Namely, when we were really young, my mom used to take my sister and me antique shopping around downtown Reno (Reno and antique malls go hand in hand), which usually ended up with my sister and I wandering around the brimming aisles, gazing into different cabinets, trying to figure out old toys and flipping through dusty books with notes and dedications written in them from years past (my personal favorite).
One particular antique shop though, had a dedicated crystal cabinet at the very back of the store, filled with different figurines, trinkets and, of course, jewelry. And oh, the jewelry! Each piece more delicately beautiful than the last -- I recall staring up at that case, imaging how each piece might look on, what dresses it would pair well with, what events I would be attending while donning them, building an imaginary collection that only I had access to. My own private jewelry box, if you will.
I suppose there's something very elegantly, decadent about crystal jewelry, right? The way it catches light, the way it feels more ethereal than other jewels -- more like stardust -- and what better authority than Swarovski, to make it feel incredibly modern and statement at the same time. I recently met up with the jewelry power house's creative director, Nathalie Colin, for a day of roaming around New York City, visiting some of our favorite haunts (hello Bryant Park!) and chatting about some of our go-to jewelry pieces for the season. Mine? Wrap around rings that look like they're just ever so slightly hugging your finger. Nathalie's? It was a tie between stacked bangles of different materials (leather and crystal embellishments) and this amazing collar necklace.
Here's a peek at our afternoon...hope you enjoy!
This post was in collaboration with Swarovski. As always, all opinions and styling are my own. Thank you for supporting all This Time Tomorrow collaborations!
While fall will always be my favorite season in New York, there's something about the onset of spring that I think will always get me to stop in my tracks. Of course, the weather is beautiful and after months of winter's bitter grips, it's like the city literally thaws out right in front of your eyes. And of course, the cherry blossoms give everyone a reason to stop looking at their phones (for a second, until they take a picture of said blossoms). And then, there's the excuse to drink rosé. On. Every. Corner.
But none of the above really compares to how spring brings New Yorkers to life. Literally to life. It's as if everyone smiles a bit more easily. They say hello to strangers a bit more freely. And for a second, you're left wondering why in the world New Yorkers get a bad rap for being curt and blunt. Until someone yells at you for using the wrong dog leash and flips you off. (True story.) And you smile back and say hello.
Because, well, it's spring. In New York.
And in the spirit of spring in New York, it never hurts to pick up a few new little white dresses for the occasion, especially if they have eyelet details. This particular dress was a steal from the new exclusive (and might I add limited) REED for Kohl's collection (and the bag, too!), that I have a feeling will be making many appearances for late afternoon rosé sessions.
This post was in collaboration with Kohl's and ShopStyle. As always, all opinions and styling are my own. Thank you for supporting all This Time Tomorrow collaborations!
When I was much younger, I used to write stories. A lot of stories actually. Most of them were usually scribbled on scraps of paper, in notebooks and along the margins of class notes, snippets of characters' names and plots. Little windows into a different time or a different place -- and usually no more than a few sentences, a few paragraphs at most. Truth be told, I think I always had the intention of turning them into longer, more in depth stories -- the inklings of a novel, I told myself -- detectives solving crimes, a war hero returning home, two young lovers meeting for the first time. And yet, there they sat. Half started, on the brink of something bigger, like they were caught mid-sentence before someone unexpectedly cut them off with a wave of their hand.
I always felt a bit guilty for abandoning them, like I had failed them somehow.
Fast forward many years and I never really gave up on writing, I just happened to find that shorter formats are indeed my jam -- print journalism to be exact -- where I could dive into a different storyline, a different problem, a different perspective every day -- digest it and share it with the world (or in this case, the greater Reno/Sparks area). It was the exact writing pace I had craved all along -- daily, quippy and informational -- and at the end of roughly 500 words, it was time to move on to the next story.
There was one minor snag though. It was 2009 and we were in the middle of what would be the worst recession in recent memory for most folks. So what did I do? I pieced off my own little space of the internet and started a blog. On this very day. Seven years ago. I still remember that day too, sitting in my tiny studio apartment on West 11th Street near the University of Nevada, Reno campus, and punching in "This Time Tomorrow" as my blog name in the Blogger set up (because I happened to be listening to this song at the time). I didn't know what I wanted the direction to be. I didn't know exactly what I would share. I just knew it was mine and that whatever the years ahead, post college had in store for me, it would be an interesting exercise for me to stick with a "story" -- my story -- past 500 words.
Well. Seven years later, and here we are. And what a story it's been! This blog has been through some incredible numbers. Three different cities. Five apartments. Four jobs. Four and a half boyfriends (all at different times, thank you very much). One layoff. Two "I quits." And one big "I have no idea what's coming next, but I'm diving into this head first." Countless pinch me moments. And similarly, countless lows. Many tears. A lot of laughter. Way too many cameras to count. A few tripods. A lot of new friends. More uncertainty than I would like to admit. But always, a lot of hope and curiosity.
At the risk of getting sentimental again after last week's post, I just wanted to say, it's been an incredible ride with you all. And in a weird way, perhaps all those false starts of stories prepared me for this -- one bigger story that I would want to work on and share every day.
Of course, I still play around with the idea of creating a collection of short fiction stories. But that's another post, for another day.
I often get asked what my dress collection looks like and where in the world I store it. Simply put, here are my two answers. 1. It looks like an overflowing mess and 2. I really don't have anywhere to store it, especially since moving to New York City last year. While both of my San Francisco apartments were kind to me in the walk-in closet department, I have to say, finding a similar storage situation here in New York, especially in the West Village, was next to impossible. So I make do with one bursting at the seams closet and one very precariously balanced rolling rack. And shoes perched in nooks and crannies.
First world problems aside, I've been meaning to find a better way to really streamline what's in my closet. I'm trying to be much more discerning about what comes in and stays, evaluating each piece and how much joy it actually brings me. By now, you've probably all noticed I have a major soft spot for all kinds of dresses -- some more statement than others -- a lot of which, have been with me for years (a sign of a great dress!). It also means, when it comes time to do spring cleaning around these parts, I have a hard time deciding which ones have true staying power.
With spring already here, and cleaning not far around the corner, I'm excited to be partnering with Closet Collective, a new rotating closet community that allows you to rent pieces from other stylish women, most of which start at only $45. I love the idea of my dresses getting a bit of new life and styling and similarly, I love being able to throw in a few new-to-me additions into my closet rotation without the commitment of buying yet another piece to store.
I've rounded up a few of my favorite dresses and collected them here, all available to rent now. But please do let me know if there's a particular dress you've been meaning to borrow from me but never really knew how to bring up the topic -- I'll see what I can do.
As an added bonus, the folks at Closet Collective are offering your first month on the service for free, with a $20 discount off your first rental. Simply enter the code KRYSTAL at checkout.
This post was in collaboration with Closet Collective. As always, all opinions and styling are my own. Thank you for supporting all This Time Tomorrow collaborations!
True to form, I'm not sure how to begin this post. But this seems like a good place to start: THANK YOU.
Thank you for the words of kindness and support in regards to yesterday's post. Thank you for reading. Thank you for reminding me why I love to write and create and share. Thank you for being this incredible group of women (and men?) that I imagine sitting on the other side of that screen, nodding, smiling, or maybe even crying together when the moment seems appropriate. And thank you for letting me do the same, on my side of the screen. Thank you for inspiring me. Thank you for letting me be weird and imperfect and human. And thank you for doing the same! God knows, we need more of it! Thank you humoring me. Thank you for indulging me. Thank you for reminding me just how grateful I am do be able to do what I love every day. I will never take it for granted.
I'm not sure where the next 7 years take me, but if the last 7 are any indication, I can only hope I have another long list of thank yous to show for it.
On a gingham kick like me? Great. Here's a few of my favorites from around the web shopping aisles these days. It's like Dorothy grew up, moved away from Kansas and started wearing crop tops.
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There's a favorite T.S. Eliot quote of mine and it goes like this:
"At the still point, there the dance is."
While we could discuss (at great length, I'm sure) what this excerpt means to each of us, I simply wanted to share how much it's actually impacted me on this particular trip to Paris with my mother. While seemingly every memory, every sunset, every skyline, every meal is inevitably documented for some social channel or another, I can't tell you how comforting it was to just sit back this past week and be present. With my mom. And snap photos when I felt like it. And just be a tourist when I felt like it. And just be a daughter when I felt like it (OK, I was a daughter the entire time, to be fair). And just let my inbox get a bit messy. And share when I wanted to. And not share when I didn't feel like it.
I'm by no means complaining or bemoaning what I (and plenty of other entrepreneurial millennials) do. In fact, I love it. And of course, I shared bits and pieces of my trip along the way. I'm just saying it's nice to take a step back from time to time and appreciate the dance, even in the still moments. It's necessary.
That said, I'm officially checking out of our Paris home away from home tomorrow morning with renewed vigor and some pretty sore legs from the marathon, ready to tackle some exciting projects, BIG updates and a lot more personal writing pieces. Some good, some not so good and some just downright weird (which hopefully makes them even better?). You be the judge.
In the meantime, I meant it when I said it last time, watch this space. Plenty more to come!
Apologies for the lack of normalcy around these parts. There are a few (big) exciting things in the works that I'll be sharing very soon -- but in the meantime, I'm just trying to stay afloat while gearing up for the final week before my marathon in Paris next Sunday. I'm excited to be hopping over the pond (this time with my mom!), for a long overdue visit to the city of light. My last trip to Paris was as a broke college student and it happened to be the middle of February (it snowed on us while we went to the top of the Eiffel). This time around, I'm looking forward to some spring rain as we hop from cafe to cafe.
Watch this space -- more to come very soon, I promise!
"Two drifters off to see the world. There's such a lot of world to see."
Sometimes there's moments that literally make me stop in my tracks. Have you ever experienced that? A slightly surreal, out-of-body consciousness that overcomes you -- where you have to remind yourself to rejoin the moment, instead of appreciating it from the outside? I can vividly recount some of these moments on two hands -- Easter morning at the Vatican when the Pope came out to address the morning mass, floating high above Cappadocia, Turkey in a hot air balloon, saying a prayer at the Western Wall -- for a few minutes, you're suspended, almost waiting for the other shoe to drop, but until it does, you sit and smile and revel in it.
And sometimes these moments aren't all that significant in the scheme of things either. Take an afternoon at Central Park, for instance, on one of those early spring days that lure New Yorkers out of their winter habitations. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just sunshine on your face and the promise of spring around you. And then you happen to stumble your way over to Bethesda Terrace, as children run by, street performers are dancing and one solo guitar player is strumming "Moon River" ever so gently into the early afternoon air.
It's enough to make you stop. In your tracks. And hope that no one wakes you up from your daze.
It was election night, November 4, 2008, around roughly 8pm in Reno, Nevada. At this point in the day, I had already been waiting outside several polling places for hours -- schools, community centers -- where children's artwork scattered the hallways -- while inside voters quietly cast their ballots. What was I doing exactly? I had already cast my vote earlier that day, proudly wearing my "I voted" sticker across my chest, and was now politely stopping people as they exited, asking them who they had voted for as part of the Sparks Tribune live exit poll update. For context, Reno and Sparks, both situated in Washoe County, were contested cities in a contested county, that could literally swing Democratic or Republican at the drop of a hat -- in turn, swinging Nevada Blue or Red. And yes, possibly, definitively swinging the election in favor of Obama or McCain. And in some small way, at least to me, I was in the middle of it, waiting to see how it would all pan out.
I stood there, idly, texting my editor all the while, notepad in hand, waiting for moms, dads, college students and grandparents alike to shuffle past me as they left. "McCain" and "Obama" got casually thrown around left and right, as I furiously notched away tally marks on my notepad. From what I could tell that evening, and from what I could sense in the weeks leading up to the election, it was anyone's game. And my tally marks sat there, staring back at me, as if shrugging their shoulders in agreed confusion. I called the evening at 9pm, updated my editor with my rough tally marks and exit quotes, and headed to my next assignment for the evening -- to cover the Democratic watch party at a nearby hotel/casino, as a colleague of mine went to cover the Republican watch party. I don't think that I could have wished for a better venue to cover the election. Everyone needs to go to a casino at least once in their life, or if this isn't possible, you could always look at sites like bossku club and the games they have on offer because this becoming an even more popular way to earn more money. Of course, I didn't have time to check out the games that were in the vicinity, so I may need to get my fix online instead. But for now, I had more pressing concerns to worry about.
"Your love keeps lifting me higher..." a deep, recorded Jackie Wilson's voice belted over the loudspeakers as I entered that grand ballroom at the Grand Sierra. Large TV screens set up around the room had every major television network blaring live updates as states reported their vote counts. Blue and red lighting up the United States map like a paint by numbers set. The room had this palpable energy, buzzing with electricity and purpose -- a common goal uniting young and old, of different backgrounds and races together. I took it all in (as unbiased as possible, since I was on assignment), but it was hard not to get swept up in it. I took a spot on the floor, cross legged, to watch CNN and listened to the conversations going on around me. Absorbing every little detail of the evening that I could.
Now, it's been years since that evening and I can't tell you what I was wearing and the boyfriend who met me there that night is no longer in my life, but I still vividly remember two elderly African American women sitting in front of me, also on the floor, their arms wrapped around each other, slightly rocking back and forth. As Nevada reported their results (Blue!) and other western states followed suit, I watched their reaction, taking breaks from clasping hands to clapping their hands, until finally the election was called -- and Obama had won. I watched them both break into tears and an infectious laughter simultaneously.
And I couldn't help but tear up at the sight of it, as Jackie Wilson continued to play on the overhead speakers.
I still think of that night every time I've gone to go vote since then, and in some way, in sharing this story, I hope it makes you think of a time when you realized your voice and your vote mattered, too. Regardless of what party, candidate or issue you support, it makes a difference. You make a difference.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to drop off my voter registration form for the state of New York in the mail.
I mentioned this on Instagram the other day, but the next few weeks I'll be hopping around a lot. Last week's cruise in the Caribbean kicked things off, I'm currently in NYC this week until Friday, when I bounce to SF for a few days (to do my taxes and a fun video project) and finally, Paris for a week (and that marathon I've been training for). Needless to say, my bags are in a state of unpacked/packed limbo at the moment, my laundry pile is embarrassingly high and my email inbox, even higher.
Despite the crazy long to-do list before I leave again, I can't wait to set things into motion. I like to think I'm at my best when things around me are moving quickly and I'm working under deadline -- I think it's the former news reporter side of me kicking in. I used to love working in a newsroom (and often find myself missing it) -- the pace, the adrenaline, the feeling after a long deadline night wrapping up. I loved that no two days were the same, there was always a new source to talk to, a new location to hop over to and a new story to tell. It was chaotic and frantic and yet, somehow comforting once you saw it all in print the next day.
It's a former life that I miss from time to time -- one that I think I'll need to return to eventually in some capacity. Until then, it reminds me of this excerpt from a poem I came across on @FrassyAudrey's Instagram the other day (she has beautiful stuff, you should really go follow). The poet is Lang Leav and the excerpt goes:
"Sometimes I picture all my other selves, standing in line like a row of dominoes; separate but part of the same disjointed whole. How can I hold a single one accountable?"
Raise your hand if whenever you walk alongside the perimeter of Central Park, you can't help but think of one of the last scenes of Cruel Intentions when Ryan saves Reese? Yeah, me too.
Confession: I don't like being in photos. Never have. And likely, never will.
Now, this may seem strange considering I write a blog where I post photos of myself, every day. Actually, it may seem pretty counterintuitive. Or perhaps even neurotic that I, someone who shies away the camera, could keep up with this for over 7 years. And it's something that I thought would get easier with time (and in some ways, it has), but the bottom line remains, if my photographer and I shoot together for longer than 20 minutes, I get anxious.
It's not that I necessarily hate the process of taking the photos (I mean, we hopped down to the subway the other day and had a lot of fun dodging crowds and capturing the movement of the trains). I really do love the art direction and story telling involved in it. What sets me off is more the idea of my face being in the shots -- it leaves me unsettled. Suddenly, my insecurities, as if I'm a teenager all over again, come flooding to the forefront of my mind. "Who do you think you are? You're not tall enough to pull this off. This angle is all wrong for you and your arms. Everyone can see how awful your skin looks here." And I don't think I'm preaching anything new or surprising here. We've all been in this position: our critic and sometimes our biggest enemy, is ourselves. Especially when it comes to our self-image.
As I've entered my late 20s and now early 30s, I've gotten much better at quieting these doubts and self-inflicted insults. I know where they stem from, I know that most of them are only in my head and I know the ones that perhaps have some truth behind them, are by no means, worthy of ruining my day or my outlook. I'm a healthy, active 30 year old living my longtime dream of writing and living in New York, with many other blessings in my life to be thankful for. If I happen to breakout or I'm not feeling as thin or as toned as I would hope in a certain dress, it's a first world problem and I need to put into perspective as such.
Of course, I'll be the first to admit, it's not easy to do every day. Especially with the ease to which social media makes comparing your life to this person or that person -- it's a relatively slippery slope, even for the most positive of people (which I do consider myself one), to not slide down. As supportive and accepting as I think we can be of others (again, not a perfect situation either), we still hold ourselves to these unrealistic expectations of what we think we should look like and be like -- and, unsurprisingly, always coming up short and disappointed.
And we're usually the first and the only people to point it out about ourselves.
That said, when Dove approached me about their latest #SpeakBeautiful campaign, I couldn't have nodded my head faster. In an effort to change how we portray self-worth and self-image online, Dove has developed an algorithm that will essentially measure your 6 month Twitter history, looking for key words and phrases, to provide insight into how your words impact others. And whether you recognize it or not, words are powerful. So powerful. And the minute we can start impacting the tide of how women view their own beauty and body-image and empowering them to take control of it, I think we will have turned a pivotal corner. But it starts first with recognition.
I received my results just the other day and found the data breakdown fascinating. In general, my tweets have an overwhelming positive sentiment to them, and those pertaining to beauty and body-image, were actually 7% more positive (hey, go me!). But what I found even more interesting, were the simple take away actions. As it turns out, my positive tweet time window is between 6 and 8am, meaning, I'm more likely to say something body-image positive during this time, whereas most women, are more prone to tweet something negative about themselves between 9am and noon. And I totally get that. It's the grind of the morning, schlepping to work, rushing to that meeting without getting a chance perhaps to put yourself together just the way you would have liked. I've been there more than I would like to admit. A little task I've given myself lately is when I like something about someone's outfit, or hair or general attitude/look, I tell them. Because it takes 5 seconds for me to say, and sometimes, it's all it takes to turn someone's day around.
Have you guys had your tweets analyzed? Were you surprised by your results?
This post was in collaboration with Dove. As always, all opinions and styling are my own. Thank you for supporting all This Time Tomorrow collaborations!
Grand Central has these amazing walkways that criss cross back and forth running the width of the expansive windows flanking both sides of the main concourse. As the day unfolds, with morning light peeking through and eventually splashing onto the floor down below, you can occasionally see someone walk across -- usually in a hurry -- from one side to the other. I'm not sure who has access to those walkways. I can only imagine it's a very important person, rushing to fix a very important detail to the very important train schedule of the day. Or perhaps they're just a very savvy New Yorker taking a shortcut we don't know about? Either way, I always find this fascinating. Down below, we're caught in the chaotic rush of morning traffic, unrelenting schedules and the ticking of a grand clock. And high above, there's a quiet escape route, untouched by the madness. Unruffled by the flurry. Unaffected by time.
I like to imagine that someday, I'll eventually get to sit up there to watch the morning spill over. And then I also like to imagine that there's someone down below, looking up at me and wondering, just what I'm doing up there.
Top and skirt: Nicholas (from last year, love this similar set here and here); Shoes: Steve Madden; Bag: Chanel; Sunglasses: Celine
SoHo, home to incredible cobblestone streets, dizzying fire escapes and some of the most dangerous shopping you'll ever do. If that's not reason enough to skip through the 'hood, then I don't know what is.
If you're just now joining this little black dress series, you can see my other LBD outfits here and here.
Perhaps it's the fact that my dad is a lawyer. Perhaps it's the fact that I always admired Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird. Perhaps I don't know the reason. But regardless, I've always loved courthouses. They look so regal and so polished; like nothing bad could ever happen to you there. And when that afternoon light happens to hit the New York State Supreme Courthouse down in FiDi, it's magic. Pure magic.
If you're just joining this little black dress series now, you can see yesterday's Tiffany's homage right this way.
Dress: Little Black Dress; Shoes: Saint Laurent; Coat: MM. LaFleur; Clutch: Vintage (gift from my sister); Necklace: Vintage (gift from my mom)
As you might have spotted on Instagram the other day, I'm currently out at sea with Celebrity Cruises (roaming around the Caribbean). But while I was away, I thought it might be fun to do a little tour of the city, that no matter where I go in the world, I'm always happen to return to: New York. There's something about touching down at JFK and seeing the skyline and the lights sparkle through the clouds below that gets my heart racing.
And since my heart gets racing for a little black dress as well, I wanted to pair the two together, a visual tour of the city in nothing but the most iconic dress any woman can own. An inseparable force. A dynamic duo, if you will.
First stop? Well grab your coffee, croissant and alligator shoes. We're heading to Tiffany's.
As someone from a relatively smaller town (well, Reno is called the Biggest Little City after all), there are a few things that would signify the start of summer for me, namely the first weekend camping trip of the season up to Lake Tahoe and the opening of the drive-in movie theater.
The latter holds a special place in my heart. There's just something so nostalgic about going to a drive-in theater -- the tuning of the radio station to the movie channel, grabbing popcorn and Junior Mints at the concession stand, cozying up with someone cute under a blanket as you settle in for your double feature under the stars on a warm summer evening.
Many of my weekend nights growing up were spent at the drive-in, with friends, with family and sometimes with that aforementioned cute someone. Each time, it made me experience the movie in a much different way than had I gone to a regular movie theater -- there's something much more tactile, experiential, sensory about it -- that makes even the most mundane of movies that much more enjoyable and memorable. Heck, I can still remember seeing one of the Transformers movies in college at the drive-in and while I can't stand that franchise (sorry, not sorry, Shia), I can still look back on that experience and my date at the time, and smile. I think it's why we love eating outdoors and drinking rosé the minute it hits 65 degrees outside. It transports us in a different way.
All of that being said, you can imagine it's been a few years since I've gone to the drive-in. And I do miss it. Dearly. So to my surprise and delight, the folks at Celebrity Cruises recently invited me to their take on the drive-in -- with a twist. As part of a new experiential initiative on a few of their cruise lines (primarily the Asia, Alaska, Caribbean Bermuda and South America trips), they're introducing A Taste of Film, a dinner and movie experience, where cruise goers can enjoy a movie screening under the stars on their rooftop terrace, while different courses, each paired in time with pivotal meal moments in the movie, are brought out to enjoy. Each film is selected for its relationship with and centering around food and a destination -- think along the lines of "Julie and Julia" or "Chocolat." For our evening just last week, we watched "The Hundred-Foot Journey," the story of a young Indian chef's journey to earn a coveted Michelin star. The cuisine, as you can imagine, blended Indian flair with French flourishes. And Michelin-star chef Cornelius Gallagher did not disappoint (my personal favorites included: the Jerusalem artichoke veloute and the lobster feuille de brique). They say smell is one of your strongest memory triggers. Well, the minute I smelled truffle coming out for one of our main dishes, I was sold. And will likely not be forgetting that movie, that meal or that experience of the two together anytime soon.
Huge thank you to Celebrity Cruises for inviting me and reminding me how much I love watching movies outdoors (especially when great food is involved along the way). And I can't wait to set sail with you this Sunday (stay tuned -- we're heading to the Caribbean soon!).
This post was in collaboration with Celebrity Cruises. As always, all opinions and styling are my own. Thank you for supporting all This Time Tomorrow collaborations!
You know what they say, you can take the New Yorkers out of New York, but you can't take the New York out the New Yorkers. Meaning, we will travel any and everywhere in a leather jacket. Even if the destination happens to be Austin and then a Caribbean cruise with Celebrity Cruises, which just so happens to be my travel schedule as of late. Luckily, I have one of my favorite partners in crime (and longtime friends -- can you believe we've been friends for 7 years?!), Christine with me for the better part of a week.
It's gonna be a busy next couple of days -- follow along on SnapChat to see more of what I'm up to (username: krystalbick). And in the meantime, while we're sailing next week, I have a fun week-long series coming to the blog, featuring some of my favorite little black dresses around iconic New York City haunts. Hint: it may or may not include me at some point eating breakfast a certain jewelry store.
Hope you all have a wonderful weekend! If I were you, I wouldn't make too many responsible decisions. 😉
Guys, it's supposed to be 72 degrees today in New York. If that's not enough reason to skip (instead of walk) wherever you're going, then I don't know what is.
Enjoy the sunshine, New Yorkers. I, for one, will be skipping up to Central Park today. Follow along on SnapChat (username: krystalbick) -- Lydia and I will be shooting more fun pieces from Sarah Lai today (she's the designer behind this amazing, pleated top I have on here).
Ladies (and gentleman), in honor of International Women's Day today (and every day), I pledge to help women both in this country and elsewhere to achieve their ambitions.
And for those who haven't seen it yet, I cannot recommend the documentary Half the Sky enough. I've rewatched several of the episodes a few times now already (and have cried progressively more each time) but the underlying sentiment gets me every time: as a population, as a country, as humanity, we're only as good as the talent and workforce and minds that we foster and support. If only half that population is being put to use (that being men), we're doing ourselves a disservice. It would be like living without half the sky above us.
And in no particular order, I give you, 20 confessions of a New York City subway rider:
I can never remember which trains are express and which make local stops. This usually results in me ending up many, many, many stops past where I originally intended to get off. Either deep Brooklyn or WAY Upper West. And I kinda end up feeling like this guy.
Is it weird that I feel bad for the PATH train? It's like the red headed stepchild in the MTA family.
I hate the revolving door subway entrances, mainly because it takes me a good 5-6 seconds figuring out which side has the gate arms that block your way. This has resulted in some embarrassing moments at rush hour.
I will probably judge you if I can a. hear your music b. see what you're reading on your kindle or c. spot you playing Candy Crush. And I fully expect you to do the same with me.
I follow @HotDudesReading on Instagram and I'm dying to snap a secret submission of mine own. The right guy just hasn't come along, I guess.
Dear Subway, You smell really funky during the summer.
Speaking of summer, interesting pedicures (or lack thereof) on the train when everyone is sporting their sandals. I'll let that one sit there for a while in awkward silence.
This is how I feel when I successfully tell a tourist what stop they need to get off at in order to get where ever they're going.
This is how I feel when a tourist asks me for directions and I have no clue what to tell them.
At any given time, I probably have 54 Metro cards just sitting in my apartment, scattered at the bottom of different bags and in the pockets of multiple coats. Most of them probably have balance on them, too.
I once saw Gabourey Sidibe on the A train.
My dream subway companion would be Daniel Radcliffe so he could rap this song while we kill time on the 1 train (one of the SLOWEST trains in the mornings).
I can't help but wonder, why was there NEVER a subway scene in SATC? #DeepThoughts
My favorite subway station artwork is at 50th Street and 7th Avenue, where they have Alice in Wonderland tile work.
Subway musicians get me every time. Especially if you're playing the cello. I'll probably just stay on past my stop to listen to you play.
If you happen to be standing in front of an open seat on a very crowded train, WHAT POINT ARE YOU TRYING TO PROVE, MISTER?
Randomly running into friends on the subway = one of those magical, serendipitous, "OMG, out of all the trains in NYC, you walked onto mine," moments.
Dear Men, if most of the population can abide by the subway manners that are outlined in all those ads, can you please, please, please stop sitting with your legs SPREAD wider than the Grand Canyon?
There are two types of subway riders: Those who LOVE making eye contact and holding it past the point of comfort. And those who AVOID eye contact like the plague. Unless you're Tom Hardy, I'm the latter.
For as much as I love to complain about you and threaten to take a cab or an Uber instead, you're pretty fucking awesome, subway. And cheap. So thanks for that.
Sometimes, when your to-do list is miles long before you head out of town, you just need to throw on some comfy flats, a newsboy cap to hide your unruly hair and some cropped flared jeans (for optimal skipping/jumping opportunities).
And blasting some Simon & Garfunkel certainly doesn't hurt either.
Happy weekend everyone! Or perhaps more appropriately put: happy weekend where we all stay in and watch Season 4 of House of Cards. 🙂
What can I say? As much as I love a midi length dress, I can always get behind showing a little thigh from time to time. Balance it out with a great pair of boots, a longer jacket and a quirky hat, well, to be honest, your friends might still sing out Pretty Woman to you while you're walking down the street, but hey, personally, I'll take any Julia Roberts comparisons I can get.
When I was much younger, I remember, every few months, my parents would go out for a nice dinner and possibly a theater date. My sister and I, with toys in tow, would be dropped off at our grandparents' house for a few hours. I remember loving these visits, because not only did it mean we could sneak a few extra cookies after dinner (at the approving wink of my grandpa) and stay up a bit later than normal (again, thanks grandpa!), but because I got to see my mom in this beautiful fur coat. There was something so elegant about it to me, almost queen-like, and I had to resist the urge to steal it from her closet on numerous occasions.
Fast forward a few (OK, a lot of years), and amidst packing up my life in San Francisco to head east to New York, my mom surprised me with this coat of hers. I was speechless. Not only is it still stunning in my eyes, but it reminded me of a little girl in awe of something seemingly out of reach. It goes without saying, it's the softest thing I own in my closet and on a few frigid days here in NYC during NYFW, it's proven it's functionality, too.
Whenever I can, I will always opt for faux. I can't speak to how the animals were treated in the making of this coat and I can't say that it's been passed down many generations. But I can say, I would like to start that tradition. I'd like to be able to someday pass this coat on to someone who appreciates it just as much as my mom did and as much as I will. I know that doesn't justify much, but with any luck, it won't have been in vain.
Shop my favorite faux fur coats right this way...
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