My first signature scent was Anaïs Anaïs by Cacharel. It was actually the first perfume I ever wore, a gift from my French foreign exchange student when I was fifteen. I felt an immediate connection with the scent, probably because it was from France. I can’t explain it, though. It was as if the perfume understood me. Anaïs Anaïs became my aura, following me around, preceding me—explaining me to the world. At a time when I struggled to be myself, my signature scent empowered me to be me.
Dressed for Transition
Fall is coming, can you feel it? The days are getting shorter, the light is changing, and you can now find Halloween candy at your local drug store. Also, it’s still hot. Just last weekend I sought refuge from the oppressive humidity in an air-conditioned Williams Sonoma that smelled like pumpkin spice. And even though today the air feels crisp, I’m just not ready to drag all of my sweaters out from underneath my bed. As summer lingers and fall flirts, there’s really only one thing that seems clear: we’re in the throes of transition.
Brow Bar Confessions
I was eleven years old when I experienced my first beauty trauma. Much to my mother’s dismay, my grandmother had convinced me to cut bangs and perm my hair. At the time, it seemed like a fantastic idea, but the perm only solidified my awkward phase by becoming the tragic cherry on top of the braces, acne, and lime green school uniform in which I spent my tween years. It’s a look that still haunts me to this day.
Weekend at Home
I’m curled up on my sofa wearing ripped jeans and my favorite sweater, enjoying every single second of being at home with nothing to do. Actually, I have about a million things to do, but I’m not going to do any of them. That’s the real gift of spending an entire weekend at home: it’s an invitation to make a conscious choice to let go, spread out, and see what happens. I may just lounge around and veg, but I also know full well that as soon as I declare autonomy from my to-do list, I immediately feel reinvigorated to get things done; it’s like reverse psychology for my nervous system!
No More Stretchy Pants
I’m writing this from the comfort of my home, in the comfort of my favorite pair of yoga pants, an old t-shirt, and my Crocs flip-flops. I haven’t brushed my hair today; I just threw it up into a messy bun. I’m not wearing any makeup. I literally showered, brushed my teeth, and ran out the door to teach.
Today’s “outfit” is what we yoga teachers commonly refer to as the “yoga uniform.” Yoga clothes are not only comfortable, they have been my comfortable choice every morning for the past eleven years. Some days it feels like elastic has interdigitated into the fabric of my skin. While some have perfected the art of dressing up their stretchy pants, I’ve always struggled to transform the sporty look into anything other than what it is: spandex.