Ill Seen, Ill Said

Friday!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Fri, 24 May 2013 16:14:00 +0000

This week was another big heave-ho and so my links are much more of the "look and feel" than "read and think" variety (though of course looking and feeling can also lead to thinking).

I loved Victoria's photo "Real life, Café Comercial, Madrid" and thought then about the singular deliciousness of reading in a coffee shop - is it the perfect blend of public and private, being alone and in-the-world?

I looked at Amy's flowers and felt all she said about her city. I thought about seasons and change a lot this week. About going home soon and the different me I am there versus the me I am here . And the solid luxury of never having to choose between, because the loss would be great on either side.

The little stuff that has been filling the in-between includes Sketch the Book (one of my favourite Tumblrs) and Hannibal (my new favourite show). Fragments of poetry, Winnie-the-Pooh and Maira Kalman are my go-tos on frenzied days.

This weekend: A haircut and buying the things I need to buy before I go to Ireland. Digestion of thoughts and ideas that haven't sunk in yet. Some sort of gathering. Some sort of peace.

Happy weekend!

Three of a kind

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Thu, 23 May 2013 13:47:00 +0000

1. Chloé sequined tulle dress from Net-a-Porter

2. Island nail polish from Chanel

3. Infinity 18-karat rose gold diamond ring from Anita Ko

A poem for Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Wed, 22 May 2013 13:57:00 +0000

I think it's because I seem hyper-aware of this 10-year emigration anniversary that I've started to crave change. Nothing dramatic, but some flavour of starting from scratch, ebeginning from nothing. Much as I love the idea of gentle change and evolution, there's something so beautiful about clearly demarcated beginnings and endings, even if they're our own artificial constructs. Maybe it'll be a fresh coat of paint. Maybe I'm getting ready to move on from my building. I don't have a clear idea of the particulars, only a desire to end one chapter and start a new one.

This is by Mary Oliver and, of course, I also love it because I'm also an astrological crab.

The Hermit Crab
Once I looked inside
  the darkness
    of a shell folded like a pastry,
      and there was a fancy face—

or almost a face—
  it turned away
    and frisked up its brawny forearms
      so quickly

against the light
  and my looking in
    I scarcely had time to see it,
      gleaming

under the pure white roof
  of old calcium.
    When I set it down, it hurried
      along the tideline

of the sea,
  which was slashing along as usual,
    shouting and hissing
      toward the future,

turning its back
  with every tide on the past,
    leaving the shore littered
      every morning

with more ornaments of death—
  what a pearly rubble
    from which to choose a house
      like a white flower—

and what a rebellion
  to leap into it
    and hold on,
      connecting everything,

the past to the future—
  which is of course the miracle—
    which is the only argument there is
      against the sea.

Monday flowers

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Tue, 21 May 2013 14:25:00 +0000

I took a short break yesterday and walked down to the flower market. In the glaring heat, the colours looked especially saturated. I had in mind muted pinks, but couldn't resist the brighter peonies, mixing them with lilac and white freesia, some yellow-hearted salmon roses and one hydrangea. By the time I got back up the hill, I was feeling slightly wilted, but thankfully the flowers withstood the walk better than I did!

Sunday best: Could / couldn't wear

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Sun, 19 May 2013 15:05:00 +0000

It's another working weekend for me, but I'm managing to squeeze in some small delights. Today, I'll nip down to the flower market and buy myself some pink roses and peonies and grab a coffee at my favourite coffee shop.

I read this thought-provoking piece on Friday (via TNI). I've never really (deeply) questioned the phrase "I couldn't wear that" though I've probably written it many times here about clothes I admired. I've also myself written many articles on the topic of flattering fit, what silhouettes complement what shape etc.

Occasionally - and I'm being completely honest here - I've run into a woman who lets herself wear what she wants, even if it's not flattering, and I've been confused about what I think. Where I used to perceive some kind of disconnect in self-awareness or judgement, I'm beginning to see, and love, the balls-to-the-walls braveness of it.

I myself am not balls-to-the-walls brave when it comes to letting myself wear what I love.

I don't just judge good fit. I judge how fat / thin / short / tall I look wearing clothes. I judge my body, my perceived assets and "problem" areas. I think about layers I could add or subtract to impact what I judge less favourable. I think about accessories and how they will draw the eye here and there.

I'm so deep inside all of this that I equate loving something with deeming it something I could wear. And I'm even judging what I can wear here in these Sunday bests. I used to think that made them more genuine; because I'm really thinking, "I could wear that". I never stopped to think what's behind that "could" - that it's very much about looking more or less like somebody with a different body.

I did have an outfit all ready for today's post, but it was something I could very much wear. Maybe instead, I'll think what I couldn't and wonder why.

Happy Sunday!

Friday!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Fri, 17 May 2013 13:17:00 +0000

My week was all work. In my few spare moments, I reached for easy things; magazines and Italian soda, my new favourite sweatpants (can you believe I bought coral sweatpants? I can't) and the beautiful fade of peonies.

Some more substantial things caught my eye too, but I mostly filed them away to later read. One piece I did read was Alexandra Molotkow's piece on friendship and loneliness over on Hazlitt. I fight this feeling, but I do sometimes feel that - as a single woman so far from home - loneliness is especially mine. But I also find that, for me, there's a tremendous and rarely articulated upside to brushing up against loneliness.

I often feel this way about insomnia too (not so this week, when I felt I might die on the subway one morning). But I love this piece, which I tweeted a long time ago and just dug up again. I believe it too speaks from the side more often unspoken.

Links I've saved for later: Read.Look.Think. | Hilma af Klint | Country Crushes

Ireland's new postage stamp - shown above - features an entire short story (found via Mark on Twitter). I must mail a few when I go home in June. (coming up fast now!)

It's a three-day weekend here, so I'm hoping to catch up with myself a little, enjoy the sun from the shade, start a new book. I'm excited about this one.

Happy weekend!

Links from image: Elle Decor | Sweatpants | Irish stamp

Mirror images

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Wed, 15 May 2013 13:04:00 +0000

Howe London is one of those most special shops. I usually go straight to their upholstery section, but last night it was the mirror images that struck me. These have got to be some of the most beautiful product shots I've ever come across — so painterly and atmospheric.

I also, you may recall, have a thing for imperfect reflections (see here and here).

A poem for Tuesday

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Tue, 14 May 2013 13:23:00 +0000

It occurred to me today that I'm coming up on my ten year emigration anniversary. And I remember arriving in Toronto and the taxi-ride from the airport, the driver saying he thought Spadina was the most beautiful street in the city and me knowing - even then - that he was cracked, heading to an apartment in Little Italy.

It was the summer of the big blackout. The summer of SARS. Biblical times, my arrival.

And we walked the city looking for a place. Figuring it all out. I strained for a sense of the town and found only fragmented neighbourhoods, all seeming so arbitrary. Until we walked into Glenn Gould's building.

I don't mind coming up on ten years at all, but I dread the year (I haven't done the math yet) when I'll say I've lived longer in Canada than in Ireland. I dread feeling less Irish over time, like sand in an hourglass, draining the top half empty.

When I flew back from Calgary, I got a towncar from the airport. The driver said he liked my accent. Never lose it, he said. I could have cried. It already shifts like sands.

This is by Alice Lyons.

Reverse Emigration
When I boarded the plane, everyone looked like Uncle Tom
ruddy, some were empurpled
gray hair or auburn in terrier thatches
pale blue of eye
a smidgen of resignation:
the tribe.
I thought We are driving to the interior
I thought holy god
the airline upholstery
was Yeats, Kavanagh and Heaney
handwriting. I thought
holy shit, this is the maw.
The maw.

Romantic greys

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Mon, 13 May 2013 12:27:00 +0000

I filled my place with colour on the weekend. Coral peonies, lemon and grapefruit-hued roses. Armfuls of lilacs and peonies. Corners of my apartment are alight with verdancy, in others basks a perfect yellow bloom under the glow of a lamp. And though I love all this colour, it's the backdrop of wispy greys and soft neutrals that feels more me.

I watched I Am Love on Friday night. So beautiful. Tilda's Swinton's character wears all kinds of colours, flaming reds and vibrant corals. And her character inhabits a world of cold and wealthy greys, a Milan subdued and sorrowful. Maybe I'm the opposite, muted in a world of colour. I don't know what that really means though. These opposites don't go anywhere. Yet, I know I stand a little apart, a little aloof, seeking mist and shadow, which seems nonetheless beautiful to me.

Image credits: Valentino | Horses Atelier | Fieldguided - Anabela's pictures from the MET | Saipua | Eliza Faulkner | Candela

Sunday best: Working Sunday

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Sun, 12 May 2013 14:32:00 +0000

I was exhausted on Friday and took the entire evening off working, so I'm paying for it today. It means I'll soon be buckling down to get a tonne of work done and e-mails written.

To be honest, I had a whole other Sunday best in mind, a gorgeous Helmut Lang dress with Lanvin flats. But it seemed so ridiculously far from the reality of my day that I couldn't bring myself to use it.

Still, favourite jeans and sweatshirts hold a special place in my heart too. Perhaps the most special place. And on days like this, when I won't venture farther than the local Starbucks, there's no need for anything more fancy than that. And even if there was, I'd probably wear this anyway.

Happy Sunday!

Products: Inflorescence from Byredo | Current/Elliot The Boyfriend jeans from Net-a-Porter | Dolman Sweater from James Perse | Tory Burch Eddie flats from Shopbop | Eddie Ballet Flats Rebecca Minkoff Endless Love Satchel from Shopbop |

Friday!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Fri, 10 May 2013 15:59:00 +0000

I'm three people at work for the next three weeks, so I really had to strain to remember my nice thing from each day this week. But they were there, like treasures hidden in forgotten pockets. I was grateful to make myself find them again.

For the same reason, I'm so very behind on my reader, but I did spot this over on TNQ's wonderful beauty blogosophere post. In the late 1980's and early 90's when I first was dabbling in lotions and potions, animal testing was a big issue. We'd get mad at our mums over it and demand to be taken to the Body Shop for our animal-friendly vitamin-E soap and white musk perfume. I can't say I'm massively surprised that a company (any company) would either adopt or abandon ethics when dollar signs dance, but this story still smarts.

While I'm on ethics and shopping, I'm feel very knotted about fashion lately. We all want the high-low mix. We also cultivate a love for beautifully, locally, ethically made brands. Most of us also support such brands and purchases by making compromises elsewhere. We save and splurge. We believe in treating ourselves, but also in consuming less. We promote constant lust on our blogs but we worry most about our own financial security. We worry about being seen as promoting inaccessible things but wonder about the real cost of what seems too affordable. We cry over Bangladesh factory collapses, but then cheer about Phillip Lim at Target.

This push-and-pull has been really pushing and pulling me lately. The Target collabs really put me off those designers, to be honest. But just because I don't touch those examples, doesn't mean I only ever the right decisions. And, of course, it's more and more (via) difficult to make the right choices, to know what you're really buying, to trust a brand no matter how much of a lovebrand you feel it is. But of course, we're not meant to solve these things and move smugly on. We're supposed to live with these dilemmas and engage with them and feel the burden of choice.

Two things I did recently contribute to that I'm proud of: Socrates and His Clouds, a play written by my dear friend, Bill. The image of Wittgenstein above is by Sean Lingwood and part of their Kickstarter campaign. Also, Miel Retreat Scholarships, a project by Éireann, who does so much to support writing and writers. I've also signed on to be a reader for The South Circular, a quarterly journal of short stories that I admire very much. I do hope you'll check it out - each issue blows my mind a little more.

Happy weekend!

Tuesday stroll

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Tue, 07 May 2013 23:19:00 +0000

I cleared my head after work today by taking a walk through the cemetery. It is my closest green space and I depend on it for my sense of the seasons. I get a glimpse into it each day, as the subway emerges from its tunnel briefly. And, when we're on the threshold of something, I go there to feel those animal instincts of change.

Tonight, it was filled with robins. I always miss the robins from home, such sweet fat birds, friendly with gardeners. The Canadian robins are bigger and less tame, but they signal spring the way robins at home adorn Christmas cards. One day in March, you'll see one and then quickly you see them everywhere and know it's afoot.

I thought it was another robin rustling in the leaves when I spotted a little bandit friend. We eyed each other up amiably and he followed me and my camera around for a bit. The eyes of a wild animal have a power to yank me out of my introspective mulling, commanding me to be fully present not only in my surroundings, but in the moment too. And that made whatever happened at work today seem suddenly so forgettable.

Home things

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Tue, 07 May 2013 02:46:00 +0000

Last week, I took a gander around Elte in Toronto. It put me in the decorating mood (though, to be fair, I'm nearly always in a decorating mood). For me, that's largely mean craving sensual things... chairs that are comfortable to curl up in with a book, light that warms, vases filled with heady blossoms and rugs that feel like silk underfoot.

I've so long hated broadloom (I grew up with it and always craved exposed wood). But one of my friends recently carpeted her entire upstairs in silken broadloom and walking barefoot on it is such a delight. I would never completely cover my lovely original oak floors (one of the few lovely features of my apartment), but a rug in my bedroom might capture the same pleasure.

Other than that, my list looks pretty consistent with sometime last year. I never did get around to finding a pair of leather armchairs. And lighting - it's always so difficult to invest in, even though it makes the biggest difference. A Frances Palmer vase, however, is starting to look like an annual investment. The two I own now bring me untold pleasure. A tulipiere seems like something I ought to own, no? I a little obsessed with them!

Links: Vases | Sofa | Lighting (1, 2, 3) | Armchairs

Sunday best: Summer flowers

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Sun, 05 May 2013 14:50:00 +0000

I'm throwing out the rulebook on seasons for the rest of 2013. The only thing to rightly call this weekend is summer. Everybody in my building has thrown windows open and last night the piano players played me to sleep.

It's one of my favourite times when the sun shines down on those delicate first blossoms, the tender shoots of green. I spent most of the day out yesterday, walking down side streets and envying those with magnolia trees taking over their entire front garden. Small groups of us looked upwards and held phones up to light and the blossoms. Parents told children the names of flowers and trees.

I came home with armfuls of flowers from the market; roses and peonies, hyacinths, tulips and freesia. At the checkout I threw in a posy of lily-of-the-valley. As I trudged up the hill on Poplar Plains a woman cycled by, huffing her way. She looked at my arms and breathlessly said, beautiful. The day was filled with such small moments, each one perfect, everybody seeming happy.

Products: Mother of Pearl tank top from Net-a-Porter | Velvet Gloss Lip Pencil from NARS | Frame denim jeans from Net-a-Porter | Galop Hermès from Hermès | 3.1 Phillip Lim 31 Hour Bag from Shopbop | Britta flat from Loeffler Randall

Friday!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Fri, 03 May 2013 13:29:00 +0000

It's nice to be back after my short trip away... it was also very nice to be away.

Calgary was unchanged in ways both reassuring and somewhat haunting. I expected any moment to see a past version of myself walk by the Heartland Cafe or walking by the Bow. I also spent time holding the sweetest wee man, establishing myself firmly in the role of unofficial auntie.

I returned to a Toronto replete with spring. The magnolias are blooming and I made my recurring resolution to one day have a garden with a magnolia tree. I felt that bubbling energy for change that comes with a shift in the light and temperature. I read an old book and bought a new dress.

This weekend: Flowers galore, inspired by Jessica. A browse in this lovely shop for something for wee Marcel. A new book to sink my teeth into... and just catching up to where I am from where I've been.

Normal posting resumed. Have a lovely weekend!

Links: Book | Plane | Dress

Thursday!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 11:05:00 +0000

An early Friday post this week: I'm off to the Rockies this afternoon for a few days of mountain air and scenery. Unusually, I think their Alberta's spring is further along than Ontario's so I might even take off my coat!

It's good timing for a little internet break. I usually try to restrict my internet use at certain times of day when I want to write and read. And by restrict, I mean completely swear off. I believe firmly that it's better to start the day creating content rather than consuming it. I don't log into Twitter or my reader or my e-mail even until later in the morning (considering I get up very early by most people's standards, I really don't miss much).

I'm wary of that urge to actively look for things to tweet (or to Instagram, when I had Instagram), rather than allowing that to happen organically. And because I'm the kind of person who, once she sets up these accounts, wants to maintain and grow them, it's better for me to really pick where I want to be and be there wholly.

This is not a "I'm going to quit my blog and Twitter" post. It's more about the kind of psychological hangover I get from these things, how they change my disposition, even perception. I look for ways of fulfilling them. My attention becomes more flickering. My story-telling contracts. Sometimes this is good... maybe blogging and Twitter have made me a better Flash fiction writer. But I would hate to be limited to that ontology for those reasons.

In the last few weeks I've been harried during my days, so my discipline has slipped away. I find myself reaching for the tasty morsels of online content rather than creating the space to read and write. I need a reset. The mountains will be my reset.

Also rereading this (a favourite) and this. And, no, the contradiction of linking to something else online is not lost on me. Like I said, I'm not being all hyperbolic about evils of online or quitting. Just reclaiming my own space too.

Have a great weekend! I'll be back next week, like so many Heidis coming down from so many mountaintops.

Meyer Maple Leaf Cocktail

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 14:22:00 +0000

I spotted this recipe on Quitokeeto over the weekend and filed it away for my next party. It seems a particularly delectable combination of tart and sweet. I tend to favour tart in my desserts and cocktails. But, of course, I couldn't be a Canadian if I didn't also have a penchant for maple syrup.

Images via Quitokeeto

New work by Bobbie Burgers

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 12:36:00 +0000

I love Bobbie Burgers' lush floral paintings. Her newest work, spotted at Bau-Xi is like a tonic for the eyes this subdued spring.

Sunday best: Navy and nude

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Sun, 21 Apr 2013 13:10:00 +0000

It's been hard to find those little pockets in the days when I'm not panicked by what I ought to be doing. I've got decisions to make, but I can't seem to find the right space to know which way is up, to trust myself.

When my days are like this, I lean right into the nicer things. I read a mix of poetry and fashion magazines. I make all kind of lists; clothes to buy, books to read. I mark up recipes to try in cookbooks. I plan new furniture I might buy. I decide I'm going to start wearing more navy and nude.

Next weekend, I'm going away to the mountains and I can't wait to look up at those familiar peaks and revisit a city I once called home. And I'm just clinging on in the meantime, hoping it all comes clear in thinner air.

And just this: A simple pleasure.

Products: Chloé ballet flats from Net-a-Porter | Splendid navy mini dress from Net-a-Porter | Lunar Necklace from Temple St Clair | Rider bag from Loeffler Randall | Byredo Fragrance Travel Case from Barneys

Friday!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 11:09:00 +0000

Work kept me busy all week. I stayed mostly quiet and to myself. Moments when whatever I could have said felt needless and dumb.

I found it hard to get up. Hard to go to sleep. I wondered if I was coming down with something. I seemed to come down with something (all my talk shattered). I kept working anyway, feverish and not quite right.

I saw some theatre. I read recipes books for flowers and food in bed. I drew baths, some too hot and some too cold. One just right. I slept, the windows open, an extra blanket. The rain woke me at 2am, my thirst unquenchable.

I printed and read this and was in its thrall. I saved this for later. I thought this beautiful.

Have a lovely weekend!

Links from image: Laura Mercier | Soulpepper | Illesteva | Studio Choo

The one that got away

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Tue, 16 Apr 2013 23:29:00 +0000

I wrote a little piece of Flash in my head on the bus today, coming down Leslie by the side of Wilket Creek, one of my favourite stretches of road for its smooth downhill cruise, a rare curve in a city of straight ups and downs.

I was holding my phone in my hand, thinking get it down now, the words are there. But I didn't. And now it's a fading thing and when I try to write it, it will be an anemic version of what I held then in my mind, watching the trees pass and knowing there were stables down there too, with conker horses who might nuzzle the crook of my neck.

This is always writing for me; degrees of removal from the bright thing in my mind, like a fish that loses its colour out of water. But I try to hold onto the words anyway, and occasionally I capture the glimmer. And there are plenty more fish in the sea. That too. Shoals of words in gloaming seas.

But always too the feeling that today; that was the one that got away.

Sunday best: April stroll

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Sun, 14 Apr 2013 13:27:00 +0000

It's still chilly. But I'm done pandering to the weather. It'll be 30 degrees soon and I'll be lamenting these in-between days, even the ones that feel like a cold grey stone in the palm of my hand.

I love today's ensemble - it feels like such a great mix of comfort and structure. I generally hate clothes that are super-fitted. I like sweater dresses and tunics, slouch and layers. But sometimes that doesn't feel smart or grown-up. This has it all.

Today, I'll be taking my slouchy old self to the flower market, to the coffee shop. I'll finish the book I'm reading, wallow in it a little bit as I always do. It's a little heartbreak every time; you never get that first read back...

A regular enough Sunday then... Have a good one!

Products: MIH JEANS Paris jeans from Net-a-Porter | Cotton Pindot Shirt by Raquel Allegra from La Garconne | Vector Felt Jacket by HELMUT Helmut Lang from La Garconne | Alexa by Mulberry | Cassiopeia ring from Sophie Bille Brahe | Bronte boots from Hudson

Friday!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 11:29:00 +0000

I'm trying something new for Fridays; a little visual highlight of my week. My days lately have felt so desk-strapped and dreary, this prolonged winter knocking the spring out of my step. At the same time, I do make an effort every day to find something lovely, even if it's small, to savour a moment before bed or in the very early morning when the weather always seems more promising. I want to celebrate that here.

I also enjoyed Rita Konig's already much-reblogged apartment over on The Selby and all this spring silk over on The Wardens. It was a new moon on Wednesday… it knocked me for six and then I felt so much better on Thursday.

This caught my attention:
"Self-degradation sustains the adjunct economy, and we see echoes of it in journalism, policy and other fields in which unpaid or underpaid labour is increasingly the norm. It is easy to make people work for less than they are worth when they are conditioned to feel worthless." - Thomas A Benton

And this did too:
"...it’s when you need to write yourself out of a pile of shit that the interesting stuff happens." - Edan Lepucki

In the last few months my life has changed; the people in it have changed. It's changed me. I've been thinking about the effect some people have on me. I don't often think like this — I usually consider myself a sort of island, aloof and impenetrable. I have so many defences against aggressive invasions, but I'm susceptible to those who creep insidiously in. I get fooled into thinking they're welcome, into thinking they're friends. And then I'm surprised when they're gone, that I feel released.

So, busy and cold as it's been, I've been drawing a deep breath and letting some things go.

Happy weekend!

Image links: Vita Fede | Astier de Villante | The Gentlewoman

Reducing

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Thu, 11 Apr 2013 23:39:00 +0000

I wonder sometimes if we've gone too far the other way hen we talk about dieting. In all our "diets don't work" talk, there's a sort of shame in saying you're going on a diet. I'm even a little scared of saying the word… it's so loaded with so many negative connotations, with fads and fables, with a set-up for failure.

But the truth is I could do with going on a diet. I'm reading The Bell Jar and Plath calls it reducing. I like that, "reducing". That's what I'm really doing; simply trying to eat less because I feel like I've been lately strapped to my desk, but eating more.

And I've resisted the idea of going on a diet, thinking, oh can't I just temper it gently, introduce some sensible moderation. It's not really cool any more to deprive yourself. I bet many of us diet in secret these days. The people who say no to desserts are considered party-poopers. Friends tell each other we deserve to shove treats in our cake holes instead of supporting each other's efforts or choices.

Some of this was articulated in the Orlando Gough piece I linked to last week. The want to be healthy, but conflicting want to enjoy all food (down with self-deprivation!)

"We want to be healthy, but we want to have fun. We’re keen on self-improvement, but we enjoy a bit of self-destruction on the side. We’ve got our calorie-counting apps, and presumably we’ll soon have chlorestorol-counting apps and hydrogenated-fat-counting apps, and at the same time we’re drinking too much gin. It may be that by some fluke this is leading to a beautifully balanced diet, and maybe, more probably, it’s not, but it’s definitely making us anxious."

It's got to be the same reason magazine interviews with celebrities often begin by telling us that the celeb in question shoves tasty morsels into her face throughout. Second helpings even! Oh, yes, let's order dessert! We don't really want to know what it takes to maintain that body. We don't want to think that it takes an extreme effort, especially from those whose bodies are lauded as being more "real" (though that's a bullshit thing to say too).

The idea that these people are not making a supreme effort is mostly a big lie and we know it. But we want to believe it can work that way, that we can have both. And some people can, maybe. But I cannot. That's one thing my body does not do.

My body does other things: Weight isn't only way to think about your body. I never catch the colds or flus when they're going around. I don't know why, but my body seems so strong in that way. I've only been on antibiotics only once in my entire life (as a precaution after my wisdom teeth came out). I'm grateful for my immune system. I also think it's mad and arbitrary luck, genetics, something I don't control...

So, there's some stuff my body is great at, that I love my body for. When I'm wishing I had one of those "can eat anything I want" metabolisms, I remind myself of all that my body already does so well. Wanting - and needing - to diet right now isn't about being at war with my body, or about self-hatred or self-punishment. It's about acknowledging that I'm off track in one area, that if I want to correct that, this is the reality of how I'll do it.

I started counting calories tonight. I can't remember the last time I really counted calories. It's sort of fun, to reduce all those complex messages and subtexts to the most straightforward arithmetic. Of course, not all calories are equal. And it's not that I really think it's just that simple. It's obviously not. When I overeat, it's not because I did the sums incorrectly, it's because something else is wrong.

At the same time, I also think we've become a bit hyperbolic about the emotional part. In many ways, that angle adds another layer of shame to weight gain. It's not perceived simply extra weight, it's now become some sort of psychological scar, a heart on sleeve ailment. I think we've gone a bit too far Oprahfying weight in that regard. It doesn't always mean something. Sometimes it just means I'm holed up and writing too much and skipping spinning. Sometimes, it just means I've been making repeated small, but unreflective, decisions about food.

And that's where I think the discipline and structure of a diet and exercise program is helpful. When my own intuitive sense of "too much" or "too little" is off-kilter, it quantifies and sets limits, establishes a framework for actively engaging with those decisions I've been making absent-mindedly. I'm not talking about following a fad, just setting some basic rules for myself, giving myself a structure to follow. I'm not talking about an extreme regime, just a commitment to a certain amount of exercise per day and week.

Mapping all of that out and acknowledging that's what it will take is just like budgeting and forecasting for your finances, rather than spending willy-nilly. This isn't about extremism, but structure and steps. I don't know why diet has become such a dirty word, but I'm going to say it: I'm on one.

Rose gold

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Tue, 09 Apr 2013 13:12:00 +0000

Sometimes I feel mounting pressure to pick a side here with my ole bloggy blog. You know, either be all serious and wordy all the time, or completely material and pretty. I resent this tug-of-war. Truth is, even if you put the screws to me, I'd give up neither.

So, yes, I'm reading The Bell Jar right now and I'm also working on a story that's a bit dark and wrenching, but maybe a little funny too (or funny to me at least). But - whole truth and nothing but - I'm also thinking about buying something that's rose gold and I've visited that Anita Ko ring at Augustina about a dozen times...

Rose gold: because it's pink and it still goes with silver.

Products: ELA | Illesteva | de Gournay | The Great Gatsby | Anita Ko | Sara Happ | Eddie Borgo | Valentino