little golden age

The Madonna (like a prayer).

The Madonna Inn! If you don’t know about it, The Madonna Inn is a quirky ass hotel built into the side of a hill in San Luis Obispo, about halfway between San Francisco and Los Angeles. The rooms are themed, each one uniquely decorated in the most over the top maximalist way. Everything is gaudy romantic faux floral and carved hearts and flutter winged angels, all centered around the color pink. It’s got this warped sort of nostalgia to it, like an episode of Twin Peaks meets a John Waters movie meets Pee Wee’s Playhouse. There’s also a dash of Victorian California gold rush vibes (like the Victorian California gold rush town I grew up in). There is a pink umbrella’d pool for sunbathing and beautiful flower gardens and the world’s most incredible pastries. Also the waitresses used to wear dirndl dresses (sadly this is no longer the case), which is obviously the best uniform ever. Maybe it’s all the psychedelics I took in the 90s or the fact that I am a Leo with Libra rising and Cancer moon, but the Madonna Inn just feels so very me. In fact I am not entirely sure that it is an actual place and not a fantasy dreamland hatched inside of my brain. It’s my happy place or my mecca/where I belong.

Of course I am not the only person who hearts the Madonna Inn, it’s a destination for sure and pretty much never not packed. Which is kind of a drag, because you have to contend with the busloads of European tourists who buy up all the cookies (the Almond, Angel & Lemon Coconut cookies are drops of heaven). Then there are the middle aged dads whose wives send them in to buy all of the pastries (the almond croissants and figure 8 danish- also heaven). And the old folks in their RV caravans who come in and buy up all the pie (seriously tho, THE PIE). And the Zillennial girls who buy up all the french pastries and cupcakes for their instagram photo shoots. Additionally there are the packs of Valley moms who monopolize all the lounge chairs by the pool for the entire day so that they can get wasted while their kids splash around unsupervised, and those Zillennial cupcake girls taking mirror selfies in the amazing twinkle lit circus canopied bathroom. But it’s worth it. It’s actually worth all that b.s. because really truly if you don’t get a slice of their Pink Champagne cake before you die, you can’t really say that you have lived.

This time around I spent most of my time lurking around the pastry counter with my camera, much to the irritation of the Cal Poly students working it. Maybe it’s my midlife crisis talking but I have this feeling like I was destined to be a pastry chef at the Madonna Inn but I missed my chance. Like my potential for greatness lies there, unrealized. Like if my parents had actually loved me, maybe I could have been somebody, and that somebody would have been a pastry chef at the Madonna Inn. But instead I took too much LSD and ended up…baking cakes nobody eats in my kitchen in the Bay Area. Sigh. So instead of living the dream, I can only visit every few years and gain a solid 10 pounds eating everything I can get my hands on.

So here is the photographic evidence of its existence, including multiple daily pastry case checks, the cakes pies and cookies I managed to snag for myself, and my own glorious moments on a highly coveted lounge chair watching my kid splash around, and flexing my lil’ handbag in front of those rad bathroom mirrors. Also there was a little trip to another quirky wacky gaudily decorated joint called Hearst Castle, strangely adorned with many Madonnas. Annnd a couple of Mexican delights including Watermelon Fresca with a chili limon rim (holy shit) and the world’s most perfect al pastor Gordita. Then, back home to sugar detox.

Diary.

Here’s the moments from the month of June 2023. Brief glimpses of sunshine, a surprisingly swell baseball season, vintage try-ons and my dream punk rock prom dress by (of course ) Margiela (of course). A tart and delicious strawberry rosemary shortbread with strawberry sugar on top. A backyard barbecue and a cloudy morning car show. All the heart eyes for white Mustangs, a raven haired cutie and an actually fabulous seafoam green Thunderbird. Kamali pockets & Miu Miu ballerinas and the sweet smiling faces of my besties. Garden roses and cupcake roses and a pluot rosette almond custard torte and Thee Suspended Rose Bag which I created with my own two hands and am in love with. Thrift store moments and a beautiful self-portrait by my son. Red stripe mania, adventures in bag making, vacation outfit planning and overpacking as usual. Hope summer finally comes for us all.

June Outfitting.

vintage jacket (here), Hunza G swimsuit (here), Margiela tabis (here)

Oh here are some outfits from this month, which was a drag but also flew by in a gust of wind and a blur of cloudy days. T’was the most un-summerish June I eh did see and I’ve sorta given up hope that it will turn around. So I spent most days in the in of doors making shirts into other shirts and skirts and bags. K bye.

Outfit Recipes: DIY/Upcycled Shirt Skirt.

I am currently going through my Saturn Opposition, which is also known as the second adolescence because it’s a transit that occurs at the age of 14-15 and then again at age 44-45. For me this is happening in my 5th house of creative self-expression, hobbies, romance, children and play. Personally I believe the Saturn Opposition is about rebellion- revisiting ways that you defied or pushed against the authority figures and structures in your teen-age in order to individuate and become your own grown ass person. I’ve been revisiting and rediscovering a lot of things from my teen-age. For example I’ve re-confirmed that eating raw cookie dough will not cause salmonella like my mother said it would. Additionally I discovered that the hole in my nose from the time I jammed a safety pin through it while drunk on vodka at 15 is still a functional place to hold a nose ring. I’ve also re-discovered my love for deconstructing clothes worn by crusty old white dudes and making them into shit for grrrls.

I’ve heard the term “upcycling” a lot lately, which I believe is taking shit from thrift stores and making it into other shit aka DIY. Which was my jam, back in the 90s. I realize waxing nostalgic about the 90s is equivalent to my parents getting buzzed on boxed wine and telling me stories about AM radio and hitchhiking to Haight Street in the 60s, which was super “cringe” and would always have me rolling my eyes and saying, “ugggghh you’re soOoOooo old.” They no longer do this because they are now actually old and only talk about actual old people shit like doctors and taxes and politics (peppered with rants and quips about God and guns and good old fashioned sexist racist homophobic bullllssshit). So while I’m no Gen Z Zoomer or Millennial or Zillennial or Alpha baby and just a semi-old/cringe Gen Xer, if there is one thing we can all agree on it is that Boomers are the worst and 90s shit is “drip” (as my son likes to say). Ok that’s 2 things. But I digress! Back to upcycling or the DIY projects of my inner teenager.

I am, decidedly, a skirt person. I also love an oversized pocket moment. One of my most prized possessions is my vintage Norma Kamali suspender skirt, mostly because of the amaze-badaze giant pockets. One day my local Salvation Army aka The Salv aka Sally’s was having a BOGO sale, so I scooped up a pile of men’s button down shirts and decided to figure out how to make them into skirts. I tried a few options to perfect the Kamali pocket lewk, but I can’t choose just one because I heart them all (hashtag Libra rising). This is all I do now, I make shit out of old shit and eat raw cookie dough and wear nose rings and cry myself to sleep on my 1980 Empire Strikes Back pillow case, just like I did back in the day. I am preeettty much the world’s worst sewer, but this is easy enough for even me to do, so I thought I would share this recipe with the cyber world because if I can make it really anyone can! Here is the recipe for a couple few versions of the upcycled DIY Kamali pocket shirt skirt:

First option is one shirt! One single solitary shirt! Obvi you need to try on to find the right size, but you can use a smaller size and unbutton slightly to sit on the low waist, or go big and button up if you don’t want anyone gazing at your navel. You can also put a small cut at the back, splitting the collar to make more room in the waist. My favorite shirts to use are tuxedo shirts, because they have amazing extra large/stiff cuffs and cool ruffle detailing, but stripes, plaids and solids also make my heart sing.

Once you have sized it, you want to turn the sleeves in, then reach inside of the sleeves and pull the cuffs out to make the pockets. Align the bottom/base of the cuffs with the armpit seams and sew along them. This will create the oversize Kamali pocket look. Once you have created the cuff pockets, go inside and sew the interior of each folded sleeve to close up your pockets. To finish, you can also add a ribbon trim around the pockets. I laid ribbon along the bottom and let it hang down on each side, and did the same along the top of the pocket. Looks romantiqué and gothy.

The next option is a backwards shirt! This option is probably the simplest, and also the most Kamali-esque. Just turn the shirt around, pull the sleeves inside, and it creates a natural pocket look. You’ll need a larger shirt for this option so that you can slightly criss cross and button at the back, which will create a slight v effect (for showing off yer tramp stamp). Follow the steps above to finish the pockets and voila! Easy like Sunday morning.

Last and probably cutest is to combine two shirts. You’ll want two shirts that are the same size, but you can mix and match colors and prints, or do two of the same color. For this option you’ll align the two collars of the shirts and button at the waist. Also depending on size of the shirts, you can go low or high waist.

For the front two sleeves, you will create the pockets with the cuffs as shown above. For the back two sleeves, you will turn them inside and then you’ll need to pin the shirts and sew to hide the sleeves. The shirts create a natural seam along the chest, so you’ll pull that forward to overlay the arms. The easiest way to do this is to pin it while on, so you can see how the skirt sits on your own booty. Once you have pinned the shirt on both back sides to hide the sleeves, turn over and cut off the back sleeves from the inside. Then you’ll sew across the chest to close it up. You can use a sewing machine or hand sew, which I prefer because I am olde and don’t trust machines in general! You may need a supervisor/pal to read to you while you do this. My pal was v v helpful.

Once finished, you can add some bows and ribbon along the back seams (if you fancy).

The End.

June Playlist.

shut up kiss me hold me tight.

Diary.

Some snaps from the month of May. Red doors and blue hues and flowers at my feet. Garden roses and dahlias and mums in the perfect shade of San Francisco Giants orange. My first Strawberry Charlotte cake, which I surprisingly nailed and feel like has moved me to a new level baking-wise (from mediocre to slightly less mediocre). Some thrift store moments and shoe-gazing around Berkeley. Running into old friends in the punk section at Amoeba and try-ons from Mars. Rewatching a suddenly relatable Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, and Night of the Comet- which not only predicted the future but seems to me to be the direct inspiration for the show The Last of Us. Also perfectly ripe tomatoes & cherries & rhubarb and blueberry lavender fudge brownies and cucumber fresca and caldo siete mares and birria tacos and salt water taffy, because I have decided to eat my feelings which are exquisitely sorrowful and oceanic and only slightly bitter and mostly ambrosial. Annnd the sweetest love notes from my loving son. Goodbye to May and please, please, please let me, let me get what I want which is FUCKING SUMMER not cold crappy cloudy windy crap.

May Outfitting.

Maryam Nassir Zadeh top (here), Comme des Garcons leggings (here), Margiela Tabis (here)

Here are my fave things I wore this very strange month. My dream Comme des Garcons padded leggings and thee Puppets and Puppets cutout stirrup leggings. A neat-o Eckhaus Latta catsuit with snappy cutout panels (for showing off yer cellulite). Vintage dresses, Vaquera skirts, Laura Ashley & Jeanne Marc thrift store scores and my totes fave $3 karate pants (with the poofiest balloon legs). Annnd a rare and rad vintage Jean Paul Gaultier denim suspender dress, all the way from Japan. It is Memorial Day weekend and allegedly summer is going to happen but around here the weather is still utterly bullshit. So I hope the sun is shining wherever the fuq you are and it is warm and golden.

MOTHER.

Ok Mother’s Day! Here are some gift ideas for you because I am a bossy Leo and I love to boss.

This Jacquemus polka dot corset top has been haunting me for years and will never not look beautiful to my eyes.
If you have money to burn this little Louis Vuitton dot bag is fire.
The snooty bidges under Anna Wintour’s regime at Vogue are saying wedges are where it’s at for summer and to that I say: You Need Yves. I’m having a major Tom Ford era YSL moment of late and these wedges circa 2004 are a work of art that will beautifully adorn any mommy’s ankle or bookshelf.
Phoebe Philo Céline sunnies are every mother’s dream.
A frequent topic of conversation lately is my general sense that nothing makes sense anymore. I don’t understand social media or fringe politics or the baseball schedule or the housing market or the financial market or the retail market or whole foods market anymore. Part of it is getting olde and most of it is astrology but shit is diff’rent, and in ways my Gen X brain and deeply nostalgic soul have trouble processing. Case in point: for several years, without fail, every time I would go into a thrift store I would find one of these pie pans with a recipe on it. I mean every time. Sometimes a strawberry pie, sometimes apple, sometimes blueberry or cherry or the occasional quiche or tamale pie. But over the last few years they, like all good vintage things, have disappeared from thrift stores. Walk into a Goodwill these days and it’s all amazon.com and Ikea throw aways for $39. So I say buy your mama a vintage pie pan because if there is one thing left in this god forsaken world she can count on it is that that recipe will produce a delicious pie in a pretty dish every single time.
Speaking of amazon.com I love these ceramic pasta bowls.
Nest perfume oils are my favorite smell.
Everything the Gohar sisters make is magic and here is an amazing hazelnut chocolate lace hand that I am sure is magically delicious.
I am obsessed with these apron blazers which are one of a kind pieces handmade in Mexico City from deconstructed vintage.
I don’t give a shit about Karl Lagerfeld or the Met Gala but Chanel nail polish is a nice little luxury for your fingertips.
If jewelry is your desire and you’re not going with a heart shaped pendant from Kay’s (every kiss begins with Kay’s, you guys, EVERY KISS), I love every thing Melissa De La Fuente makes! Especially these Warrior rings, this Possibility double snake ring, and this pretty pretty simple Facet ring . If you prefer the vintage route Elsa Peretti is forever.
I heart these Sow The Magic tarot themed seed packets.
This out of print Marina Abromovic Phaidon book is a rare gem. Also I’ve been waiting for this Martin Margiela The Women’s Collections book to go on sale 4-ever and that day has finally arrived.
I feel like all mommies need this crazy gorgeous Moroccan lip and cheek stain which comes in a lil’ terra cotta pot and is made from poppy petals and pomegranate.
Eckhaus Latta jeans are perhaps the only hot mom jeans. Tapered leg mmm.
Speaking of hot mom things: Prada hot pants. Obviously.
Lastly this little 35mm Kodak camera is neat-o. Say it with me: POINT AND SHOOT!

The End.

Season Creep 2023.

I fee like I’m really getting logjammed (gross. sorry.) with the outfit photos in my phone but I’ve just been so busy! So busy. And anyway I had a moment last month where I, like Chloe Sevigny hauled everything out of my closet and decided to shed most of it. But I, unlike Chloe Sevigny, had to send an unholy amount of shit to the real real to be sold for pennies because nobody be lining up around the block to touch my magic. In the process I tried to narrow down what matters to me, sartorially speaking. Specifically- what am I actually wearing? But the thing is Spring has not felt like Spring. It’s felt mostly like 6 months of winter punctuated by strange little rando summer-like days. So I made a pile of things I felt like encapsulated my season-less season of Spring and then I made cooky outfits out of them.

It broke down like this:

Dresses: a vintage Anne Klein black vest dress, and a vintage Margiela slip dress.
A unitard/catsuit: while I’m hopelessly devoted to my Mary Quant lace one, most days I reach for my American Apparel one circa 2009. I loooove this Puppets and Puppets cutout one, this Gauntlett Cheng lace one, and this Norma Kamali one.
Tops: a Reformation cropped ribbed tank top, a vintage lace tank top, a vintage Cramps t-shirt, my desert island can’t live without Rodarte t-shirt and Maryam Nassir Zadeh cherub blouse with the prettiest ruffle collar.
Favorite vintage Ralph Lauren men’s sweater, and my desert island can’t live without vintage Esprit sweatshirt.
A Margiela nude bodysuit and a vintage lace bodysuit.
A vintage Margiela black vest (but this vintage DKNY one is perfect for a song)and a thrifted cream vest (but this Maryam Nassir Zadeh one is a beauty too).
Bottoms: Stacey Nishimoto P.E. shorts, Vaquera scrunch jeans, and Comme des Garcons leggings.
Skirts: Vaquera vinyl slip skirt, a sheer Comme des Garcons skirt, a thrifted Y2K era ruched cargo skirt, and a vintage denim maxi skirt.
One pair black tights and one pair cinnamon- both Wolford.
Escada cream pant suit but also consider this Tom Ford era Gucci suit, or this 90s Gaultier suit with the so beautiful it hurts my feelings sleeves, or this sweet as pie 90s Givenchy peter pan collar satiny suit, or this vintage Prada suit that gives me major late 90s/Y2K Senator Hillary Clinton vibes.
Shoes: vintage Chanel cap toe slingbacks, Margiela tabi ballerinas, vintage Prada studded loafers.
Bags: vintage Tom Ford era Gucci bag, and a Louis Vuitton mini speedy bag.
Outerwear: vintage leather cocoon coat, and a vintage Burberry trench coat.

I’d love to tell you I have been cured of my shopping addiction/outfit hoarding and have stuck to this formula, but there’s a hole in my heart that can only be filled by Jews-i mean- shoes. And I’ve already re-cluttered! So the dream of a small capsule wardrobe has once again died on the vine. Oh well.

Diary.

So it’s Spring. And I want to see all the flowers and cakes and blooming things. I have been perfecting my grain free quiche and strawberry rhubarb pie recipes and they are pretty much perfect aka crazy fuqing delicious. I weeded and seeded the garden and am anxiously anticipating the birth of many baby poppies and peonies and lilacs and flowering artichokes and sweet mini peppers and cherry tomatoes and zinnias of course. In the meantime the roses are insanely giant or tiny with heart shaped petals! And they smell like heaven and are can’t believe my eyes beautiful! There was a little farmers market and thrift store lingering and taking my Tabis about town and back yard sun bathing in my Esprit bikini. My favorite outfits included my Mary Quant (RIP) lace unitard and Paco Rabanne mini, Comme des Garcons lavender leggings, Helmut Lang sheer layered midi skirt, my pleather bondage bodysuit and my trusty Soundgarden (RIP) t-shirt.

Additionally I had my mind blown by closed captioning on a movie I have seen countless times in my life: Pretty In Pink. In the prom scene where crazy eyed Blaine confronts a flustered and gawky Andie, I always thought the line went: “I always believed in you. I just didn’t believe in me.” But according to my modern age television set the line is: “I always believed in you. You just didn’t believe in me.” I mean WTF. Because if that is actually the line, crazy eyed Andrew McCarthy is just as much a gaslighting narcissistic prick as his buddy James Spader, only fully devoid of the swagger to back it up. And I was thinking if that is actually the line, everything is different. I mean it’s an entirely different movie. And the thing is that at this point in my life it would actually make sense. At this point in my life if the movie I have seen possibly most in my life is actually a totally different movie than what I believed it was…well, sounds about right. If I have learned anything in my suddenly long lifetime it is that nobody knows shit. Least of all me.