I myself have made a study of the Artsy style. Let’s not talk about the psychology, it’s fairly quickly assessed. Moving on the the practical, as one does, here’s a Sturdy technique. It works pretty darn well, as we are apt to say.

Pick a retailer and let them choose. Simple, no? This is not rocket science – except perhaps in the choosing of the outlet itself. For the Artsy comes in many variants. That’s what makes it so tricky for the Sturdy of spirit and aesthetic. We prefer clear rules.

So imagine a few Artsy options. Each come with rewards, and risks.

Girly Artsy

Minimalist

Steven Alan stores can be found scattered at the margins of America. It’s the kind of place where people know how to accessorize a plaid shirt – no gardening clogs allowed. Where maxi skirts start to make sense. The danger here is leaving in the clothing of a 12-year old girl. Anyone over 40 should avoid their short shirt-dresses at all cost, or risk channeling Dorothy Gale. Next stop hair-ribbons.

Urrrban Grrande Dame Artsy

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Have you ever done jury duty? Or at least been summoned for possible duty?

I spent a couple of days this week at our county courthouse. Here’s how jury selection works, at least in Northern California.

1. You receive a notice in the mail: “Call on this date to find if you have to come to the courthouse for possible service.” You do so, along with unknown numbers of other people. You may get excused.
2. If you are called, you show up at the courthouse in the morning, along with 200 other people, and wait to see if you’ll be needed. You may get excused.
3. If you are called, you go into a courtroom, with 30 other people. Jury selection begins, in which the attorneys attempt to seat a panel of 12 jurors, via the process known as voir dire. Attorneys question potential jurors to determine whether to excuse the candidates for cause, use a peremptory challenge, or accept them onto the jury. You may get excused.

For anyone with a Saturday in May waiting outside your door, we’ll cut to the chase. I was challenged, and excused.

But not without some observations.

Courthouses Are The Great Equalizer

The last time I had been in a courthouse was during my divorce proceedings. Oh how painful that was. And how little privilege mattered. We are all bare in the courthouse, accused, dissolving, petitioning for succor. Paint scuffs don’t discriminate.

People Do Their Jobs With Enthusiasm, Sometimes Too Much

Despite the, how else can I put this, human suffering that they witness, courthouse employees in my neck of their woods seem to like their jobs. The security guard bellowed happily, “Belts off! Cellphones, bags, keys, off!” The cafe cook made me an omelet with ripe avocado, even though breakfast was done. The clerk who spoke to the ~200 assembled in the basement juror room chattered like a late night TV host. In fact, she was so enthusiastic that I wanted to tell her to substitute speed for pep. But I didn’t.

People Are Unnecessarily Rude

Another woman did. Spoke up right in the middle of our clerk’s speech and said, “PLEASE! Can you just call upstairs and find out if we are needed? THEN you can chat with everyone?? I understood her impulse but not the action. The world is uncivil often enough for good reason. What harm did the extra 15 minutes do if it allowed someone to enjoy their life’s work? Not to get all self-righteous, but surely the system of justice warrants patience?

Many People Don’t Speak English In America

I also noticed how many people who are citizens of America can’t speak English well enough to participate in our civic rites. I am not of the belief that people should be forced to learn their host country’s language, or that said countries should stop supporting diverse immigrant populations. But I find it hard to imagine how it must feel, living in a country where you can’t understand the national leader, the police, or even many of the songs. I think it’s both the strength and weakness of America that singular cultures can persist in isolation.

I also wonder how people parent when their children speak a different language, hear a different narrative altogether? How do they explain the rules? The context? Maybe in my next life I will find out.

The Value Of Unplugging

Cellphones didn’t work in the basement where we waited to be called for potential service. I had to sit, and listen. And look around. I believe the Internet is largely a force for good, and in any case there is no turning back, but never underestimate the value of living in your body and perceiving the immediate and precious world. Noticing context.

The Curse And Blessing Of An Internal Monologue

In the end, though, I think for most of us the internal monologue remains our most compelling experience. Certainly it’s true for me. Because it’s so delicious, we have to try our absolute hardest to hear it clearly. Hard to distance yourself from yourself, but necessary sometimes. Often in the same moment when you have to be most present

I was in the second round of those chosen for voir dire. So during the first round I listened to the attorney questions and thought about what I’d say if questioned. Good thing I don’t yet talk to myself out loud. Warning, middle-aged lady muttering to herself in the courtroom!

Then they called me up.

I could tell that the case centered around police rough-handling, and whether it had been required or gratuitous. The defendant, Hispanic, was accused of resisting police. The voir dire sought to determine our bias for or against law enforcement, and by implication our beliefs about de facto racisim in America. I could see that it was going to come down to whether you believed the policeman or the guy, sitting with his balding head and anxious eyes, at the table.

Asked repeatedly, by both sides, whether I could judge impartially, I said “Yes.” The prosecution excused me anyway.

Our System Is Not Half Bad

The prosecution was probably right. While I am one of the most logical people I know, what logic reveals is that decisions often have to be made on feelings. Had the logic, the evidence, made a clear case one way or the other I would have been able to put my biases aside. Would have had to, it’s the law.

But without a clear answer, in a case of He Said He Said,  I’d have advocated for the decision that caused the least harm. And I believe the defendant would have suffered most from a faulty decision. Good job, Mademoiselle Prosecutor.

Blue And Red

To me that’s the core of our current uncivil politics. I believe America is so stubbornly split into Red and Blue because there’s no clear answer to most of our large questions. Without clear answer, we fall back on feelings. Some of us feel that the greatest societal risk is Harm to The Weak, some of us fear Harm from The Other.

I’m a big fan of the American justice system in general. And yet, as all systems do, ’twill fail and we’ll revert to our internal monologues. Which is why we hope people pay attention to their immediate precious world, and with any luck, do their jobs with enthusiasm. Job in the broad sense. All the way to civic if we can.

I wonder how it turned out.

Have a good weekend.

Above, a view from the 8th floor of the courthouse, and my fingers. The personal superimposed on the broad, in case I have been at all obscure so far.

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Don’t read this post. Seriously. Instead, stop by your bookstore, or newsstand if those are still to be found, and acquire the June edition of Architectural Digest. You will not regret it. Should you already be a subscriber, pick your copy up off the coffee table and open its lambent and ink-scented pages.

If you are in fact still reading here, what news! AD has featured the country house belonging to “Reggie Darling,” (for it is a nom de plume) and his husband, “Boy.” Perfection I tell you. As his blog would indicate. If you are in fact still reading here, go there instead.

My usual reaction to AD takes several guises. 1) Yikes! Too much chintz. 2) Oh no! Far too modern! 3) Worst of all, Too. Much. Decorator. 4) Finally, hey family member next to me on the sofa, mom, sister, brother, isn’t this beautiful? We would live here, right?

Reggie’s house gets Reaction Number 4. In a big way.

The icing on the cake is that Reggie is a splendid fellow, kind, generous, and deferential where he might instead hold court. So I hope you join in me in cheering on success for the good guys, and in contemplating exquisite green walls with tiger maple accents. Graceful chairs and subtle flooring. Harmony. Sigh. And most of all, congratulations to my generous and hospitable friend!

Image scanned in from my purchased copy. AD does not have Darlington House in its online edition. Saving the best, of course, for monetization.

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Yesterday someone stole my wallet.

I am not sure when or where it happened, exactly. My company had an offsite after-work event, and I noticed the loss after I had parked in a garage near the venue. Annoyed, I first assumed I’d left it behind in my office. I walked to the event, borrowed $10 to pay the parking fee, watched people play in a pool tournament, ate sliders, drank wine, and prepared to end my night inconvenienced.

Then I decided I had to return to the office, just to check. As I waited for the 7pm parking rules to pass – so I could leave my car on the street and scoot into the building – my phone rang. American Express, notifying me of questionable charges at two gas stations.

And so it began.

I took care of all the stuff, the credit alert, canceling cards, and so on. That took all of an hour or two. But I feel disturbed still.

People who have experienced real crime report a far more intense version of my reaction. By real crime, I mean violence, of person or house. I lost a blue wallet from Barneys and something like $100. That’s it so far and I hope will be the end of the matter. Thank you credit bureaus, card companies, bank chat support.

But at the emotional level theft is about the loss of trust. Trust, of all kinds, allows us to build an imagined world that extends us in time, space, or identity. When trust is broken, it’s not the event itself that hurts most. It’s the rupture of all previous assumptions about rules of the system. Whether that system be sidewalks, marriages, or fundamental personal safety.

I trusted the people of San Francisco, those humans who bustle down my little rectangle of city blocks, eat tacos, and take the occasional bus. Trust allowed me to navigate in a bubble. An unzipped purse wouldn’t matter in my bubble. Pop.

It’s not a big deal. I was careless because I’m a Pollyanna. My bubble involved a refusal to live with a sense of threat, and that’s dumb, in a city.

But other people suffer from much more serious breakages of trust. They aren’t living in bubbles, they are just trying to make their way. I find myself thinking about those of you who have endured infidelity, violence, betrayal, and this makes me feel all the more privileged, oddly. I also find myself hoping that the person or people who have my money, and bought some goods at gas stations, were nice. Or deprived, and maybe now they feel a little abundance.

Pollyanna die hard, I suppose.

One last thing. This morning I got an email, to my blog address. Someone, identified only as ShyB, found my driver’s license and some other cards, and is mailing them to the address they found on my license. I am torn between an impulse towards gratitude, and worry.  I’m going to go with gratitude.

Thanks, ShyB. As my mother says, A Simple Thank You Will Suffice. But let’s look out for those unable to return to a place of gratitude after harm. The capacity to thank, to come out believing that things will probably be OK, is in and of itself a privilege.

Have a wonderful weekend.

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Besides, the Style Archetypes clamored at my window late one night to say, “Do it!” Et voilà, some generous, Archetype-approved options. That $150 discount applies through Sunday, just be sure to set up an account and use the code SKYE. It might even be possible – give them a call – to get delivery before Monday.

The Grande Dame

She always wears jewelry, and it always matches. Given an already extensive collection, she appreciates the niche present, a direct reflection of occasion. No basics for her. So, a heart. This one will match, in a perfectly non-matching way, her amber ear clips.

Citrine heart with little diamonds: $1450

The Artsy Cousin

Why things sharp read so Artsy I do not know. Think about it – safety pins, razor blades, shark’s teeth. Must be that the term “edgy” means “cutting” as much as “on the margins.” In any case, the Artsy Mother will smile at her dagger pendant and wear it – with chambray – to paint.

Cathy Waterman dagger pendant: $1250

The Sturdy Gal

You may be tempted to buy the Sturdy Mother a pearl strand, or some sensible studs. Do not. She carries more tender secrets in her heart than any, albeit tamped down by many years of heavy lifting. Surprise her with something fantastical. Kiss her when you see the beginnings of tears. She hadn’t known you understood she’s been a romantic all this time.

Hints of India in dangling rubies: $995

I bought myself some danglies I’ve coveted for donkey’s years, seen here, using my extra-special $250 discount. I’m on Beladora’s mailing list, you see. You can sign up too.

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The other afternoon I was at a party with people in their early 30s. I was telling a story about things street people have said as I walked in San Francisco. Male street people. And I was surprised by the young women’s reaction. These are the stories.

1. Two or three years ago I was walking down the street, wearing Levis and a t-shirt. Nothing terribly tight, but since I learned not to wear my pants too big, nothing baggy either. I give you the details not because you want to replicate my experience, but to set context. Passed two men in their 40s, sitting on a set of concrete stairs. Probably drinking beer from a paper bag. Said one man to the other, “She’s sexy,” *pause* “for an old lady.” In fact he pronounced it “Sexay…,” drawing out the last syllable. I laughed, said “Thank you,” and kept walking. That was that.
2. Last summer, in 7FAM Dojo jeans, sensible Beautifeel heels, a white tee, blue knit blazer, and my Goorin boater, I passed a street man standing in a bus shelter. “Nice boater,” he said. I was a little surprised he knew the hat genre, but said, of course, “Thank you.” Then he said something else. I didn’t respond. “You could answer,” he said. I kept walking. “YOU STILL GOT IT!” he yelled at my back. In a friendly but loud tone.

I objected to neither event.

But at the party, as we sat in dappled sun, the young women listening made noises of mild outrage. Had they spoken fully, they might have said, “Can you believe it?”

But where’s the rub? This calls for deconstruction. More numbered points.

1. Ageism?

Should I have minded that the men pointed out I am no longer young? No. No and no. I much prefer “Old Lady” to the saccharine “Miss.” “Miss” implies you think I mind being 56. I don’t. That’s one reason I have let my hair go gray, to make it clear that I am exactly what I am, crepey neck, veiny feet, remnants of pretty and all.

Should I have minded that they implied that old isn’t supposed to warrant catcalls in the first place? Why? It is what it is. As a Darwinist I see it as mostly biology. The species’ relentless rush towards propagation built desire’s infrastructure. Not all desire follows the male-female plan, of course, but the underpinnings remain. Now that I’m out of the fertility game, I expect expressions of desire from those who do not know me, who see nothing other than my hip-to-waist ratio, to dwindle. To disappear, eventually.

I will continue to require them from the appropriately near and dear.

2. Aggressive Sexism?

Should I have minded that men made comments about my looks at all? That they referenced desire, albeit politely? As long as women are victims of sexual assault, yes, perhaps. While neither of my recent experiences happened in at night, no comments were made about my body parts per se, I felt no threat, I still respect the larger concerns around harassment and violence.

3. Passive Sexism?

But on those days, walking down the street, I didn’t mind the by now rare polite and threatless comments. I kind of enjoyed them, truth be told. However, there’s one last part of all this that I don’t like. I wish I were brave enough that when a beautiful man – hair springing from his forehead, broad shoulders, a certain smile – passes by, I could say, “Hey gorgeous!” But think of the rules I’d break, the mores I’d disrupt. A shift is required. For polite male comments of appreciation to ever be completely OK, I think society would have to come to accept the same from women. Of every age. Certainly we’d have to give up all talk of Cougars.

I expect in another 5-10 years I will relinquish all liniments of stranger desire. I will prompt nothing but courtesy. I will try not to mind.

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Sometimes even I have very little to say on a Saturday morning. Just let the swell of the day carry us where it may.

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Gang, it’s not about the avoirdupois, it’s the geometry of my bones. Well, it’s mostly not about the avoirdupois. I’m at peace with my figure. It’s not what it used to be, sure, but genetics, disciplined eating, and moderate activity keep me within boundaries for health and societally accepted shape.

However,  I think it’s possible to like your body well enough, and still prefer the silhouette certain kinds of clothes give you. And in my case, narrow hips and shortish legs mean that, after my shoulders, upper thighs are the broadest part of my body. Hence, what I refer to as the Bowling Pin Effect. Skinny jeans bring it on.

Witness a classic skinnies look. High-neck tee, J. Crew ankle matchstick denim, old pointy-toe ballet flats.

Not my favorite. Would look great on those of you long of leg, short of waist, or narrow of shoulder.

Let’s say I wanted to wear a slightly longer top. How about an Ann Mashburn button front and some Jeffrey Campbell platforms for leg-lengthening?

Nope. The hem dips where it should rise, and vice versa.

But surely there’s a way! How about a long Bompard cashmere tunic? Technically a sweater dress, but hey, belt it! Lord knows why I have a black grommeted belt in my drawer, but I do. Pull on the Isabel Marant Dickers.

A bit better. I don’t generally care for over-belting, as it provokes fussing and fidgeting, not to mention clothes riding up or riding down incorrectly. For example, the way the sweater is caught up above my bustline? That’s bound to happen over and over again. Still, this outfit was good enough that I left it on for a while. And guess what I realized.

Skinny jeans are skinny because they are Tight. A brilliant observation, right? That’s a lot of tough fabric constraining some generally softer parts. Sturdy Gals can take their sturdiness only so far.

And there we have it. I’ll be over here with Rachel Zoe waiting for my favorite trouser trends to return. But if skinnies work for your silhouette, I recommend you stay the course, even through the inevitable Trough of Disillusionment. This is not a post on self-dislike; it is more evidence that everyone ought to trust their sartorial gut.

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Congratulations! Beladora has launched their new website. I’ve been a blogfriend of the CEO for ages, have even met her in person. The site specializes in estate and occasionally antique jewelry. Try filtering by Blue. So many choices, or at the least so many pretty things to look at.

Consider. We will alphabetize so that we can pretend to be rational in the face of gems. You may actually have that gene. Quick, make yourself into a vaccine for the rest of us. Then consider a few choices.

a. The royal gesture of matched earrings and necklace. We’ll forgo tiaras for now. Options here range from pearl and sapphire parures, at a mere $19,000, to 18K modern earbobs for $800. One could acquire, or even make a string of aquamarine beads to match the bobs. Think about a small Tiffany sapphire starred with diamonds at your neck, contrasted with mid-century pearl and sapphire starred earrings.
b. While you can opt for a classic diamond and sapphire bracelet, I much prefer that pearl and sapphire grape cluster for $1850. To be avoided if you’re marrying in a vineyard – unless your theme is Full Bacchanalia, bridesmaids dressed as Maenads.
c. For a short-dress wedding, given the implied mid-century aesthetic, I think a blue zircon brooch is just the thing. And who says only brides get to play? Turquoise links and studs for the groom.
d. Rings. Opals hide their blue, in a flash here and there. Might be a good symbol in some relationships. Alternatively, commit to a honking big sapphire for a mere $5K and Kate Middleton the heck out of your day.

The icing on the cake, so to speak, that Beladora is offering $150 discount for each and every of you. Go to the site, sign in, create an account, and use the code SKYE for a $150 discount on any piece at Beladora.com or the more affordable Beladora 2. The code will be good until Mother’s Day. We do not cease to sparkle after our weddings after all.

Note: I’ve been given a $250 discount  without requirement that I write anything. Plus I haven’t figured out what I want yet:). It will be dangly, however.

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When your children are born, and young, you aren’t quite sure what’s going to stick. Is this their personality or a phase? I think it’s best to avoid attributing personality for a long time, to give room for their own selves to show up. You, as the adult, don’t want to construct a premature identity for them out of your own experience and feelings.

That said, it turns out that some things you can see in the young. While there was much I did not know about who my son would become, some of the enduring him was visible very early.

Several years ago I finally converted old videos to digital, vignettes of the kids we hadn’t seen in close to 20 years unearthed.  Oh my gosh he was cute. Watch a few fragments, if you could be so kind, to celebrate his birthday.

Here you might notice his thoughtfulness. He says, “Mommy see?” Then he looks away. Watch his eyes. I’m pretty sure he’s considering the relationship of the camera held to my eyes, and my “seeing.” He thinks similarly to this day.

And here we see his sweet trust in loved ones. So endearing. Let me interpret his toddler talk for you. He says, “Daddy do it. I will dance.” Don’t you smile instinctively when you hear this kind of baby voice?

On the other hand, you might miss his capacity for deft mischief. So deft that I didn’t see it myself until I looked at these videos again, decades later. Nor I could tell he’d grow up to wear pants that fit.

Thank you for hearing out this maternal pride as a present to him rather than a paeon to anything I did.

All of which is to say two things I have said before. First, let us all pay attention. Second, Happy Birthday Mr. Piglet! Don’t forget to tell me what you want for your birthday.

Have a wonderful weekend everyone.

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