THE LOVE LIST

2013-05-19T16:27:00.001-04:00

I guess we can't have it all, all at once, but I'll give the weather this: we're at least getting a little warmth now. Next up, seasonal Gods, may we humbly ask for the sun to accompany the heat? These dreary gray days are no bueno. But I guess that's splitting hairs when life is this good - I've got some big things to announce super soon, but 'till then, here's what I'm pulling on as I knock around town this week.

I had the treat of visiting BoccaLupo during opening week with two great Mamas: one belonging to Van, and the other (who is my new favorite person), none other than chef Bruce's Mom, Wendy. It was a delicious, hilarious, wine-soaked meal and I can't wait to go try the joint's patio for lunch this week. And as far as that book party is concerned? Sorry in advance if I totally fangirl out on Julia Reed...

New week, full-steam ahead, things on the books: 1. Splendid gingham button down // J Brand skinny jean // ShoeMint Shiva sandal (c/o) 20% off + free shipping with code 20LUVUS // Caran DdAche flouro enamel pen (for Ms. Reed to sign a copy of "But Mama Always Put Vodka in Her Sangria!") 2. Everlane white tee // Sinclair Denim Lisette jeans (c/o) // Stubbs & Wootton camo needlepoint slippers (c/o) // Julie Vos Grande Soho bracelet

2013-05-14T13:10:00.001-04:00

GPS: Black Keys + The Flaming Lips concert as a #LexusVIP The Bag: Presmer Honey Python Crossbody (c/o) Inside: Ray-Ban Clubmasters, matchbook left over from drinks at Paper Plane, Fresh Sugar lip treatment, samples from Drybar post-blowout

Last week I was treated to a Black Keys show here in Atlanta courtesy of Lexus - they boozed Ginny and I up, seated us VIP, and even provided a driver (in a slick Lexus, natch) to haul us there and back. So yeah, we like Lexus. Key play? A crossbody bag from Presmer - big enough for all the essentials, compartments for cards and ID, but totally hands-free... leaving one hand open for a beer and freedom to dance around to "Next Girl."

2013-05-13T13:27:00.001-04:00

It's a safe assumption that Gatsby fever has wholly consumed the media. At one point, I thought to myself, "...isn't it really contrived to do the same roundup post that everyone else is doing? If we're going to write about 'Gatsby style', can't we do better that that?" Yes, Gatsby the movie is the kind of cinematic eyeful that aesthetes will marvel over, re-living in screencaps for years to come. And by golly, is Leo just devastatingly handsome, or what? The movie is brilliant in the sense that it shines so brightly you cannot help but linger on it's beauty - and who doesn't love a good artistic reinterpretation, especially at the grandiose fingertips of Baz Luhrmann? But we're teetering on the edge of over saturation here, aren't we? Lest we not forget, long after the movie has lost it-s big-screen glitter, we're left with where it all came from - a classic book from an enduring literary talent.

I first read The Great Gatsby in high school - for whatever reason, we were never assigned it, but my favorite Lit teacher pulled me aside, put it in my hands and said "Read this. Write me 1000 words on it. It's extra-credit for your mind." I had a vague idea of the story's bones - but I had no idea the infinite, life-long fascinations that would spawn from that first read-through. The Golden Age! I fell in love with it's history, it's characters - many fact-turned-folk heroes that I pored over - and probably where my obsession with Ernest Hemingway was born. I was fascinated with Fitzgerald, his tragic heroism, and positively taken with the Southern spitfire that was Zelda.

We Southerners are born revelers - our particular brand of living big permeates the world at large when our residents outgrow their zip codes, and there is no better testament to that than the folks who have called it home when they could have put down roots just about anywhere - people like the Fitzgeralds, or Hemingway in Key West. Their legends have far outlived them, they have had a ripple effect on the culture of the world - and for that, we are still re-telling their tales to this day. Excess, y'all. Glorious, glorious excess.

1. Rhinestone Flapper Headdress, Leslie Hindman Auctioneers 2. 1920's Sage Green Lace Flapper Dress, 1stdibs 3. Long Cigarette Holder, Etsy 4. 50's Silver Fox Tiered Stole, 1stdibs 5. 20's Diamante Beaded Purse, Etsy 6. Limited Edition patent-leather bound book, Graphic Image

Required Reading: Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald, by Therese Ann Fowler

...and Listening: The Great Gatsby Soundtrack, produced by Jay-Z

2013-05-01T10:42:00.000-04:00

Temps up, dressed down, tonics and limes: time for summer. The days are longer, the nights are weirder. You wanna dance with somebody? I've got you. Here are all the songs you love that much more when you're hammered.

Love Notes: Time to Get Weird

Track Listing:

01. Reba McEntire - Fancy

02. Michael Jackson - The Way You Make Me Feel

03. Whitney Houston - I Wanna Dance With Somebody

04. Alabama - I'm In A Hurry (And Don't Know Why)

05. Mariah Carey - Always Be My Baby

06. Looking Glass - Brandi (You're A Fine Girl)

07. Michael Jackson - Will You Be There

08. George Michael - Father Figure

09. Phil Collins - In The Air Tonight

10. Poco - Call It Love

11. John Secada - Just Another Day

12. The Outfield - Your Love

13. Nitty Gritty Dirt Band - Fishin' In The Dark

14. Warren Zevon - Werewolves of London

15. Celine Dion - It's All Coming Back To Me Now

16. Wilson Phillips - Hold On

17. Paul Young - Every Time You Go Away

18. Michael Jackson - Wanna Be Startin' Something

19. Go West - The King of Wishful Thinking

20. Righteous Brothers - You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'

...as always, click playlist title to stream, listen & subscribe on Spotify

2013-04-24T15:04:00.000-04:00

photo: Caroline Fontenot // shirt: C.Wonder // phone case: J.Crew

I have a minor complaint to register with my own generation - can we please hang out? Like, in person? Could I maybe hear your voice on the phone instead of a little blue bubble? And when we are hanging out, could you maybe put your phone away and concentrate on the person (that would be me) that you're hanging with? Cool, totally instagram that. But circle back around and let's be present afterward. With each other. Please? Just askin'.

2013-04-17T14:13:00.001-04:00

The thing I most love about an object like the one you see above isn't the fact that it houses little nips of sweet brown bourbon. No. My affection stems from it's innate irony. The quiet way it says "fuck you." Needlepoint - a decidedly preppy convention - in it's full form hearkens names like "Muffy" and "Skip." Paint it black and emblazon a criminal epithet on it's side though, and you have something a little different. Instead of something literal, you've taken tradition, warped it, and reissued it for twisted souls like me to delight in.

I've always failed when I've tried to reference my inner WASP in any literal way. It never felt genuine to prance around in anchor pants all summer as if I'd been issued an odd little uniform. Even though I was immersed in and surrounded by prepdom, my inner rebel (she kind of runs the place) rejected plain-Jane penny loafers in favor of high heels. And while I've always winked at preppy, while I think it will always be the roots from which my great Oak grows, I can no longer take myself seriously when I look into the mirror and see a headband - especially as a quantifiable adult.

These days, I'm calling Atlanta my home - as a former Texan and Floridian, two places often disputed by Southerners as the "real" South, I no longer have to argue the case for an odd little Dixie subculture. Instead, I'm fully entrenched in the heart of things, and with that, my life has started to cross-reference a little better with the likes of Zelda Fitzgerald than say, C.Z. Guest. And though I'll always be a gin girl at heart, due to my locale, I've recently acquired a real affection for bourbon whiskey. If you keep it in the freezer, it sloshes around a little slower in the bottle, coming to a near-syrup consistency - a state that sends it down easy if you're dealing with names like Evan instead of Pappy.

This little Smathers & Branson flask has served me well. It keeps the bourbon cold and by extension, the body warm, and counteracts long lines of beer-drunk sloppies at music festivals and the like. Its ironic middle finger to the standard-issue S.O.S. (that's same ol' shit) grants me a grin every time I pull it out. Me and my pirate flask, swashbuckling the South; a gruesome twosome that's sent more than one man off to walk the plank.

2013-04-09T19:09:00.002-04:00

I invite you to read a warm first-hand recollection of Lilly Pulitzer from CJ Laing in Palm Beach over at Taigan's Fetch blog (if you aren't familiar with the outpost, you can read my piece for Garden & Gun last year on the duo, written back when I was still a resident of the colorful island the infamous Ms. Pulitzer called home.) She is survived by her large and buoyant family: revisit the Love Lists of her grandchildren Chris Leidy and Amanda Boalt, who both clearly inherited her creative and entrepreneurial spirit. The world lost a vibrant force and one hell of a powerhouse business role model this past weekend. It stands to reiterate the obvious; that her legacy will likely outlive us all.

2013-04-06T11:08:00.000-04:00

I love me some Lauren Morrow. I crossed paths with her at Sudie's wedding, and we were insta-buddies (just add beer.) As lead vocals for on-the-verge country band The Whiskey Gentry, I can personally attest to the fact that she can grip it and rip it when it comes to a mic and a stage - and now the whole of this fair city and beyond will know (if they don't already) because the gang is this year's official Atlanta Braves band. In honor of opening weekend and the Cubs game tonight, I thought it would be fun to share a playlist that whistles Dixie almost as loud as Lauren sings it, straight from the woman herself. A few of her favorite country tunes of all-time, in her words, below... and don't forget to hoot and holler for the band just as loud as the Bravos this season.

Guest Playlist: The Whiskey Gentry's Lauren Morrow

01. Roy Acuff - Tennessee Waltz They call this guy the King of Country Music - he's one of the greatest. Also, did you know this song was one the biggest selling ever in Japan?

02. Hank Williams - I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry You can't talk about country music and not mention this guy. Listen to that voice. What an icon.

03. Elvis Presley - That's All Right Before The King wore sequins and studs, he moved his hips to songs like this one. This was his first commercial single, and my favorite song by him.

04. Loretta Lynn - Fist City My idol. My inspiration. What a badass woman. And, she's not afraid to hit a chick if she gets out of line!

05. Dolly Parton & Porter Wagoner - Just Someone I Used To Know My husband Jason and I sing this song with our band, The Whiskey Gentry. Such a wonderful duet.

06. George Jones - Walk Through This World With Me This was my first dance song at my wedding. My husband's grandparents danced to this at their 50th wedding anniversary. They had both passed away before Jason and I were married, so we danced in their honor.

07. Gram Parsons - Brand New Heartache Where would people like me be without Gram Parsons? He really paved the way for alternative sounds and attitudes in traditional country music.

08. Emmylou Harris - Boulder To Birmingham Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris were band mates, best friends, and lovers. When he died, she wrote this song for him. It gives me chills every time I listen to it. Pass the tissues.

09. David Allan Coe - Longhaired Redneck I like to get a little tipsy and scream out the words to this one with my bandmates. Great drinking song.

10. Waylon Jennings - Only Daddy That'll Walk The Line This man kicked all kinds of ass. Period.

11. Dwight Yoakam - Guitars, Cadillacs Dwight, I love you. You can do no wrong in my book.

12. Patty Loveless - I Try To Think About Elvis Patty Loveless has a voice that gives me goosebumps every time I hear it. I used to sing this song all the time as kid.

13. Garth Brooks - Calling Baton Rogue I ain't afraid to say it - I LOVE GARTH BROOKS. I grew up listening to his music, and I think he's still one of the best performers around. I mean, he used to fly in over the audience on a zipline! WHO DOES THAT?! Garth does. That's who.

14. Dixie Chicks - Sin Wagon I love the Dixie Chicks. They were a huge influence on me as a kid, and I think they're incredibly talented. I wish they'd get back together, dammit!

15. Ryan Adams - Oh My Sweet Carolina I have a tattoo on my wrist that was inspired by one of this guy's songs. He was/is a massive influence on me and my songwriting, and I can honestly say that had I not be introduced to his music, then I don't know what I'd be doing today.

16. Wilco - Outtasite I can't say enough about these guys, so I'm not even going to try. If you don't like Wilco, you're just an idiot.

17. Hayes Carll - KMAG YOYO My favorite "newer" artist and a band favorite to blast in the van on the way to gigs. One of the best songwriters around these days.

2013-04-01T00:01:00.000-04:00

Well, I never thought I'd be posting a photo of my own bra on the internet, but here we are.

I'm going to go out on a limb here guys, but I think it's a safe assumption that most of you reading this have had sex. If you have not yet endeavored the act, bear with me - chances are pretty good you will one day. I myself am not a virgin. I know - cat's out of the bag! I mean, hello I'm 27 and I'm single (sorry Mom!) These things happen. That being said, when sex is a part of one's life, it is root motivation for a lot of internal questions. Questions like, should I go to the gym today? How many calories are in this cheeseburger? Just how painful is a bikini wax? Altoids at the checkout line, yes or no? Does this perfume remind me of my Grandmother? Do these heels make me taller than him? How attractive will he be if I have another cocktail? Should I even have another cocktail?

It's no wonder we're constantly thinking about it. Sex is a high maintenance thing before you even do the actual deed! And then, we breach the subject of undergarments. Theoretically, if you're doing it right, this should be the last thing he sees before, well, you know... you're naked. Butt naked. And there's pretty much no going back at that point. You're committed. Something's about to have liftoff, and your undies serve as the final boarding call. So one must ask herself of the message her skivvies are sending.

You know a guy's seen his fair share of lady parts when he grumbles "...if I see one more pair of Hanky Pankys..." Yeah, direct quote from my dating past, and okay, pretty foul. But it makes you think - if we're all zipping around in the same stretch lace thong, is something that's supposed to be sexy becoming par-for-the-course... and (gasp) boring? Routine? Un-sexy? Hopefully, he's just happy to be confronted with your delicates in the first place, right? That still doesn't bar the unnerving fact that the bottom half is the easy part though! Talk to any girl about finding a good bra; one that fits, flatters, doesn't dig, and is still sexy, and she'll tell you that's just about as easy as finding the right guy to remove it.

I don't have answers concerning the male mind, but answers regarding the topic of undergarments? That I'm now armed with. Specifically, I'm more abreast - heyo! - with the subject of bras. The founders of True & Co. were pretty sick of the same ordeal that every girl goes through, too. So they wisely rounded up a roster of beautiful lingerie brands and put together a thorough, private online fit questionnaire. After it's complete, you pick three pretty bras based on your assessment, and then True & Co.'s experts drop in another two surprise styles (ta ta, boring and routine!) that they believe will work just as well, if not better. You give them a bit of info, and a few days later, there's a box of lacy goodness at your stoop.

Of course, you can pick up other pretty little things too - from sleep masks and silk pajamas to items of a slightly racier nature and yes, stretch lace thongs. But I digress, because the real point here is that every item in my box (oh, hush) fit me. I don't need to tell anyone with two boobs that five bras which flatter in one fitting is nothing short of a modern miracle. Whoever Victoria is and whatever her secret, I no longer care. I have the real scoop - the fit revolution is starting anew and online - with True & Co. Secret's out.

So... about that giveaway: Take your True & Co. fit assessment, and then leave a comment below, tweet me, or comment on Facebook once you do. One winner will be given her own complimentary bra box (that's five brand new bras), tailored to her own fit assessment. We'll pick one of you ladies by random drawing next week.

THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED.

2013-03-29T00:01:00.000-04:00

They always make fun of me at Holeman & Finch because they say I drink like a man. Aside from the fact that I primarily stick to gin, scotch, and bourbon, they know I do not like to imbibe things that are sweet or brightly colored, come in a silly glass, or have arbitrary bullshit in them like fruit or tiny umbrellas. The first time I met Jason Rager, I sat down at the bar, assumed he knew what he was doing, shrugged and said "I like gin." "Me too" he replied. In the immortal words of Humprey Bogart, it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Going on that Casablanca-centric thought, of all the gin joints in all the cities in all the world, I'm glad I walked into Holeman. Since that day, I've spent many an evening reveling with the James Beard-nominated bar team and any friend I can bring along for the ride.

For the next few weeks, Jason will be contributing his thoughts and recipes with cocktails he's created just for The Love List. We thought it would be cool if central to all his concoctions was a spirit or cordial made in the South, so it's only appropriate we kick things off with an American Spirit Whiskey drink called the Dixie Pomander. ASW is a labor of love from Charlie and Jim, who reside here in Atlanta and have effectively gotten me and many of my friends oh so very drunk partying with the likes of Billy Reid and Ledbury.

On the cocktail's name, Jason says "My mom is from Charleston, and whenever we would go visit my Grandmama, we would make pomanders - those oranges stuffed with cloves you see sometimes during the holidays. This cocktail has the exact same nose as one of those."

1.5oz American Spirit Whiskey

.75oz Amaro Montenegro

.75oz Imbue Bittersweet

1 barspoon Becherovka

2 dashes Xocolatl Mole Bitters

Served up, in a coupe glass with a lemon twist

...and about that glass: don't call it a comeback. Town & Country has some thoughts on the champagne coupe, a favorite of mine, on page 39 of the April issue.

photography: Caroline Fontenot, on location at Holeman & Finch Public House in Atlanta

2013-03-28T15:56:00.003-04:00

pants: J.Crew Leather Pixie Jodhpur // heels: Zara (similar)

There isn't much to say about the little black pant - every girl needs a pair (or three.) They're as perfunctory to me as my morning coffee. Here I'm in the oft-lauded J.Crew Pixie, which hit a touch higher on the torso and zip up the back (rather than sporting the traditional front fly) which eradicates that touch of extra bulk that can really peeve you when paired with the wrong shirt. While I love that, I got pretty frustrated trying to get in and out of them quickly because the hook and eye closure is convoluted, especially when you're doing it from behind. The thing I like about this particular pair though is the jodhpur detailing - those little leather panels on the inside of the leg up the ante of a wardrobe workhorse, making them just a little bit more interesting.

photography: Caroline Fontenot

2013-03-26T13:00:00.001-04:00

A friend's and my own well-loved Jack Rogers Navajos, in the sand on Palm Beach last year

If you're in Atlanta tonight, I'm proud to be co-hosting the grand opening party of the new Jack Rogers store at Phipps Plaza along with Danielle Rollins, Frances Schultz, and Duvall Fuqua, in partnership with The Atlantan magazine. From 6-8 PM, sips and bites will be provided by Davio's while guests shop and socialize. 10% of the evening's profits will go to the Shepherd Center of Atlanta. To RSVP, please email rsvpatlanta@modernluxury.com. I hope to see you tonight!

2013-03-25T13:22:00.000-04:00

Everlane Ryan tee // Sinclair Denim Coe in Deep Sea (c/o) // K.Jacques Petrone Sandals

You guys, I've found it. The perfect t-shirt. The Ryan tee from Everlane. I know, I know... I have talked about them a lot lately but the answer to your next question is no, they are not paying me to. I'm just that obsessed with this brand. But back to this shirt. You know how cheap t-shirts are so clingy, how they just don't drape right? Like they show your bra lines or they don't wash well or I don't know, they just don't fit.

The Ryan steps in to fill the shoes that every other tee in your closet cannot. I am so obsessed. One, with the fit which is really kind of slinky. For a tee, it's sexy - the neck is a not-quite-boat that could slip down your shoulder just so if you were going for that. It falls at just the right point of your torso, and oh baby, the fabric. Yum. Everlane, this is my personal appeal to you guys - please make more of these shirts! I want it in every color!

It goes to show you that a good staple, like a good man, is hard to find. Not only does it have to look good, it's got to feel good on and endure for years. To that end, I always have a tough time with jeans. After many years of sports, I don't think I will ever have super-skinny legs, and so I get stuck in this small waist/muscular thigh betwixt and between that makes shopping for pants in general a total headache. I've been happy with a few brands - Hudson, MiH... but my new love song is being crooned to Sinclair Denim.

I love the fact that they are USA-made in California of course, but special attention has been paid here - for example, here I'm wearing the Coe in the Deep Sea wash, which are a super-skinny pair with just a touch of give. The distressing, primarily in the rear, is washed out just so to make your tail end look like you spent all afternoon on the elliptical. I am picky about jeans. I get them in the mail rather frequently and I often send them back with regrets to the respective brand because they just don't fit me well and I don't feel right keeping them. The two pairs of Sinclair that landed on my stoop, however were two for two! I wiggled into both better than any pair I have owned prior. I may sound saccharine but frankly, I'm a little lusty for them.

photo: Caroline Fontenot // hair: Drybar Buckhead

2013-03-22T13:28:00.000-04:00

I keep telling myself the warmth is on it's way. Like a mantra I'm chanting it. That's the thing about Southern heat though - once it arrives, it increases it's brutality exponentially every month, and as the temperatures climb, by the time the first bite of fall breezes in, you're positively starving for the cooler weather. It's a funny cycle, really, because the same goes for these trying months after the holidays where it's just cold, gray, and wet. By the end of February, pretty much everyone is pale, in a shit mood and ready for some sunshine. So while I can't force the temperatures to rise today, I can whistle Dixie and warm up my spirit to the idea of the rays of Vitamin D so soon to come. Here's a Georgia-tinged #LOVENOTES playlist anchored in strings and soul that hearkens blooms piercing the earth, cold cocktails, and those murky clouds finally giving way to blue skies.

Playlist: Spring Down South

Track Listing:

01. Gov't Mule - Mr. High and Mighty

02. Little Milton - Grits Ain't Groceries (All Around the World)

03. The Decemberists - Calamity Song

04. Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit - Daisy Mae

05. Sugar & The Hi Lows - Stubborn Lover

06. Bruno Mars - Natalie

07. Raphael Saadiq - 100 Yard Dash

08. Sly & The Family Stone - Everyday People

09. The Oh Hello's - Second Child, Restless Child

10. Monsters Calling Home - Rain

11. Dawes - A Little Bit of Everything

12. Ryan Adams & The Cardinals - When Will You Come Back Home

13. Lucinda Williams - Can't Let Go

14. Dolly Parton - Marry Me

15. Otis Redding - Look At That Girl

16. Fitz and The Tantrums - Rich Girl

17. Brandi Carlile - Raise Hell

18. Ray LaMontagne - Jolene

19. Paul Simon - Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes

20. Blood, Sweat & Tears - Spinning Wheel

21. Mike Farris - Sit Down Servant

22. The Waterboys - Fisherman's Blues

2013-03-19T09:55:00.000-04:00

Annie Griffin Collection Paxton Blazer // Mast-McBride Blue Striped Pocket Square

// J.Crew Keeper Chambray Shirt // Vintage Cat-Eye Glasses (similar)

So duh, we all watch Bravo. Whether they're tailing a Real Housewife of anywhere or a Million Dollar Decorator, we get so involved in the well-appointed lives of the colorful characters the network always manages to unearth. One such character is the effervescent Brad Goreski - superstylist wunderkind and basically the kind of bubbling personality that everyone wants to be BFF with. Tomorrow night's episode of It's a Brad Brad World has our hero simultaneously styling funnygirl Rashida Jones and transexual model Connie Fleming (channeling FLOTUS, naturally) in the same sixty-minute block.

Brad may turn a dime from sending others out into the public eye looking their finest, but his own totally fearless style is just as notable - his sartorial signatures include the bright blazers, dapper details, and statement specs that I'm channeling here. "His for Her" is evolving with the advent of tomboy style, and menswear elements have begun to make a strong showing on the ladies' streets and runways. I've sung the praises of the trend more than once, so it was fun to give Brad's style my own spin - most notably implementing an Annie Griffin Collection blazer and Mast-McBride pocket square right from hometown brands here in Atlanta. If you're digging the blazer, Annie Griffin's offering 25% off just for Love List readers with code AGCLOVE25

Tell me what your favorite style moment was - did you kill it on a first date? Found yourself on a street style blog? Helped your BFF find the perfect pair of heels? Tell me! I'll pick my favorite response and compliments of Bravo, we'll send you a 200.00 Amex gift card to channel a little Goreski style of your own! And don't forget Wednesday night, tune into It's a Brad Brad World on Bravo at 10PM EST.

THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED, WINNER NOTIFIED BY EMAIL

Brad on Facebook // Brad on Twitter // Bravo on Twitter // BravoTV on the web

photography: Caroline Fontenot / hair: drybar Buckhead

2013-03-17T18:53:00.001-04:00

When I was born, my eyes were the same size they are now. Even on my now big-ass noggin, they're pretty big, so you can imagine that on an infant's face they looked pretty ridiculous. Mere days into my existence, they earned me the nickname "Bug." I've seen home video of my Poppy cooing at me with total affection. "Look at those big old bug eyes" he'd say. "Hey Bug. Hey girl. Hey Bug." It's to the point now where if my Mom calls me by my Christian name, I know she's pissed off, because I'm usually called "Bug," "Buggy," "Bugaletta," or some other alteration of the word inside my family.

I used to train those eyes on my Grandparents in the kitchen, fascinated by the process of watching my Poppy and Gram Gram make just about anything. They had a certain way of doing things, and even though there was no big fuss about it, you knew it had always been done that way, and when you got old enough to do it, you damn well better do it that way too. So I learned by osmosis, the way many kids do - absorbing every detail like a little dark-headed, bug-eyed sponge. These days, though my face has caught up to the size of my eyes, I notice myself doing many of the same things I fixed them on all those years ago. Not deliberately mind you - simply because that's the way I watched my Grandparents do it. When I make Gram Gram's pimento cheese, I mash the pimentos (Goya) with a fork in a little bowl (monkey dish) exactly the way she used to, sitting across the breakfast room table from my Poppy as he grated the cheese (extra-sharp cheddar, Publix.) My favorite kitchen knife isn't a Wusthof or a Shun - it's a banged up to Hell, steel-handled old thing which used to belong to Poppy that's been on this planet far longer than I have. When I sharpen it, just like him, I use a steel, testing the blade as I go by swiping at the fine little hairs on my arm as if the knife were a razor. I think my Mom would be proud.

There are probably better ways to do these things. After years of dating a chef and now having one for a roommate, I'm actually sure there are. But I don't much care. Maybe I'd look sharper in a crowd of foodies if I gave those pimentos a fancy rough chop with my even fancier knife. And there are undoubtedly more sanitary ways to check my blade. But the fact of the matter is, every time I observe these little rites, I think of Poppy and Gram Gram. To that end, every chef in my house from now until the end of time can continue to hover over me with his nose crinkled in disdain, but you can bet your ass I'm never doing things any different.

One time, the aforementioned chef ex-boyfriend used my Gram Gram's pimento cheese recipe as a base for a more elaborate one. He sent me flying straight into a blind red shit fit. "What the hell are you thinking?" I screeched. "That recipe has been in my family for generations! You should be grateful I ever even showed it to you!" To me, this was sacrilege. That recipe was only to be made one certain way. It was supposed to recall the same memories every time I ate it by tasting exactly the same, and that could only be accomplished by never deviating from the original recipe. Even more importantly, the recipe I have isn't all that exact, so you've got to taste as you go - more Duke's mayo here, more cheddar there, a heavier or lighter hand with the cracked pepper... it's something (outside of my Mom and her brothers) only me, my sister, and my cousin Shannon can make properly, because we know the way it's supposed to taste and smell by heart. It's sentimental in a way he could never have understood. It drove me crazier that he also never understood why it pissed me off when he put arbtrary bullshit in chicken salad like walnuts and grapes, and always laughed his ass off when I told him that putting dark meat in it was "tacky." But to me, putting a spread down in front of a crowd of hungry mouths is about love and memories. It's to be enjoyed, relished even. I'm all about creativity in the kitchen, but if you fuss with my Gram Gram's recipes, you're making it about you and forgetting the memory of the person who lives on through it's smell and taste.

The process of making a meal relaxes me. I love to put a plate down in front of someone, and one of the lousiest things about being single for this long has been the lack of mouths to feed. I love cooking - and not really because I get off on eating my own food, but because it's a tiny act of love. It requires time, thought, effort, affection, and consideration for the eater. Poppy used to peel the tomatoes for our open-face sandwiches because my sister and I turned our nose up at the skin. Recently, someone told me he hated his food to touch on his plate - that nothing pissed him off more than the juice from his greens running into his mac and cheese - I thought it was adorable and totally related, because all I could think of were those paper plates with split sections that Poppy used to buy because I have the exact same affliction. That, my friends, is love, and probably why cooking has evolved into such an expression of affection in my adult life - because that's how I learned it.

I can be a bit of a Princess sometimes, and maybe that's partially due to this kind of upbringing (my Mom cooks the same way, so I'm double-spoiled.) I've got a hot temper and I could teach a master class on being a pain in the ass, so you'd think that would extend into the way I dine - and maybe it has, but I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. My crazy life has seated me at many a varied dining table - from the best restaurants in the world to a paper plate on my lap. I'm lucky enough that I've learned along the way how to shuck an oyster (thanks, Lee) and pour a glass of champagne (kudos, Ryan) with equal aplomb. I'm a fearless diner and drinker - somebody puts a great deal of care into making any truly good meal or drink, and I feel like that that deserves an open mind and a taste for adventure. So instead of looking at it like I'm a snob, I'd prefer to think I just I pay attention. Food is a love language to me. It's much more than a means to an end. It isn't uppity. It's not pretense. It's care for detail. To me, that's just squeezing every drop out of life - quite literally sucking all the marrow out of it, as Thoreau put it.

So I ask... it might seem counterproductive to talk about food on what's technically a fashion blog, and even though I won't ever be the person snapping photos of my plate in a restaurant, I sometimes wonder if it isn't worth it to start bringing the things I cook into the fold here on The Love List. What would you guys think of that? Would you like to see more posts about entertaining? About cooking? Or do you think it's just out of place? Talk to me in comments. Let's get into it about food.

2013-03-12T19:07:00.000-04:00

Greetings, fair citizens, from the first sunny day Atlanta has seen in awhile. Spring is pushing herself up from the soil, and I'm here to greet her with open arms. It's amazing how a little Vitamin D can elevate your mood, isn't it? All the sudden the world doesn't seem so heavy. My bright outlook is only capped off by the fact that it's my birthday this week! I am one of those people who loves birthdays, I admit, so you'll have to excuse me if I'm a little over-celebratory on social media coming up. It all gets me psyched for springtime shopping... finally, I can ditch those damn boots and slip my toes into some sandals again!

On my wish list: Ann Mashburn Daisy Tail Shirt // Allyn Scura Sunglasses // Billy Reid for K.Swiss Sneaks // Miansai Rose Gold Bracelet // Tibi Starfish Tunic Dress // Steele Canvas Basket Co. for J.Crew Coal Bag // Rebecca Minkoff Marsha Sandals // MiH Jeans Two-Tone Chambray Shirt

2013-03-11T09:55:00.000-04:00

Michelle Armas

"That Bowtie I Like"

36 x 36 canvas Giclee print

2013-03-10T15:18:00.001-04:00

- Bastille

"Poet"

#songoftheday #lovenotes

2013-03-09T11:55:00.000-05:00

Last night's clutch: Gigi New York Embossed Python All-In-One (with monogram, duh.) // Inside: Smathers & Branson Jolly Roger flask (recommended nip: Lewis Redmond Carolina Bourbon Whiskey) YSL Golden Gloss in 19 Golden Petal, Laura Mercier'Art Deco Muse' collection Lip Lacquer in Laque Rouge, JCT Bar matches (from sitting outside on the first beautiful almost-Spring night this year), Le Pen in Pink, Terrapin Prints calling cards, Kiehls Lip Balm #1, Fresh Sugar Lemon rollerball, Tocca Florence rollerball (I wear these layered over one another for a signature scent on the go)

2013-03-08T16:04:00.000-05:00

Tumblr and I have a conflicted relationship. Mostly because I consider it a home for memes, menswear, and middle schoolers... and what the hell was the point anyway if I was going to be on Pinterest? But last night, in a fit of late-night inspiration, I decided tumblr didn't really need to have anything to do with The Love List directly. I'm better at obtuse anyway.

That Last Bro I Dated is a collection of inter-bits with a male slant, giving a home to all the boyish whatnot I'm always coveting and not touching on too much here on the Mothership. Primarily, it's inspired by the guys in my life - not just romances but friends, mentors, and family. Those little nods are woven in throughout the obligatory photos of Steve McQueen and whatever music I stumble across online that day (for those of you who starve between playlists.)

So follow the new tumblr, That Last Bro I Dated might have been a bonehead, but maybe he left something behind with me.

2013-03-06T09:55:00.000-05:00

I think "Fragments" is actually the perfect name for a jewelry store. Accessories are all the little bits and pieces that pull it together, after all. They can take something basic and elevate it to something extraordinary - that's their magic. The edit at Fragments is decidedly global - the designers represented explore influences evoking everything from 80s-era London punk rock to Indian tales of magic carpets and Sultans. While there are some familiar names in the mix (Suzanna Dai, for one) the store carries a number of beautiful, well-executed lines (both costume and fine) that are new to me, which is exciting stuff for someone who combs through look books and line sheets daily. Whatever price point you're shopping at, Fragments is worth your perusal.

Half-Moon Fancy Agate Necklace // Blue and Yellow Mosaic Earrings // Violet Drusy Studs // Happy Skull Earrings // Caravan Button Earrings // Neon Glamour Necklace

2013-03-05T09:55:00.000-05:00

It's Mercury Retrograde, guys. You know what that means: watch your ass, back up your backups, and try not to sleep with your ex. No throwbacks on this playlist, everything here is fresh - I figure we're all dealing with enough from our pasts right now anyhow, right?

Playlist: Retrograde
Track Listing:
01. James Blake - Retrograde
02. Bastille - Pompeii
03. Rhye - The Fall
04. Wildcat! Wildcat! - Please and Thank You
05. Jess Mills - Live For What I'd Die For
06. Anais Mitchell - Young Man in America
07. alt-J - Something Good
08. Calvin Harris, Florence Welch - Sweet Nothing
09. David Bowie - The Stars (Are Out Tonight)
10. Justin Timberlake - Mirrors
11. Mogwai - Hungry Face

2013-03-03T16:33:00.000-05:00

Exactly one year ago today, I had a only a few crates, some luggage, and two steamer trunks to my name. Inside were all my remaining belongings, having sold my life off bit by bit. First, I left a three-story town home in Gainesville, Florida. I said goodbye to most of the things that filled that house when a breakup spurred an amicable parsing off of "that's yours, this is mine." So I fled the scene to heal my heart and downsized into a lovely little hotel in Palm Beach, living like Eloise at The Plaza. Even there I eventually departed though, ridding myself of those last trappings to depart on what was supposed to be a months-long road trip to write and revel, one that required me to store what couldn't travel and throw the rest into a suitcase. An adventure that eventually was supposed to land me in my new home of Charleston, South Carolina.

So how did I end up here, in Atlanta, Georgia?

After college, after my breakup, after the five years of my life that was Gainesville, I feebly moved back to an area code I'd enjoyed many a happy memory in growing up. A place my whole life long I knew I could always escape to - Palm Beach. With the ocean a block away and nearly everything I needed within a mile or so, I lived, quiet and content, mentally collecting the many delightful characters the island had to offer, but mainly keeping to myself. I wasn't well, and this short stretch of sand and salt was my recovery ward. I sought respite. From many things. From loss, from death, from depression, from pain and change in all it's many forms - I withdrew, nursing my soul back to health, treating myself to macarons for breakfast, filling my room with flowers and answering email from the beach. It's as if I was visiting myself in the hospital, simultaneously playing patient and nurse.

A few months in, my strength began to return right as the Snowbirds flew South and the social season got underway. I became swept up in Palm Beach life, flitting around like a little moth to every flame that flickered in my direction. Old friends introduced me to new ones, and I found myself fully socially entrenched in a matter of mere weeks. It was a heady life, fast and frivolous and without a care in the world. Mixed up in the frothy blend of everything else, somehow, I found myself talking daily with a boy from Boston. As weeks blurred into one another, we got it in our heads that we would take a road trip across the Southern states together, doped up on youth and fueled by lack of guile. It was a romantic notion, though perhaps not a fully realized one. I was so seduced, so high on the fumes of my life that I'd lost touch with any sense of reality. So I leapt with blind faith and little consideration. Under his encouragement, I gave up my little hotel, sold most of my belongings, saved every penny I made, and embarked on what I thought would be the journey of a lifetime with a nonpareil co-conspirator.

On the first day of the trip, departing from Charleston, my best friend pulled me aside. "I don't like that guy." He said, "I don't trust him." But I brushed off the warning. I was as committed as I was deaf. So off we went, gassed up, partners in crime, ready to ride on daylight.

It didn't take me 24 hours to realize this was not the trip (or the guy) I'd signed up for. My anger boiled inside of me with greater strength every day as I realized I'd been completely manipulated. One morning, in Nashville, I woke up to discover that my most precious possession, an heirloom necklace, had fallen off my neck. I was devastated and I began to cry. He shrugged, said he was sorry it had happened. After I dried up, an hour or so later, he dropped the necklace in my lap. "You really ought to be more careful" he said. I blinked at him, incredulous. "When did you find this?" I asked. "Last night," he replied "I picked it up off the floor." "You just watched me cry my eyes out this morning and you've had it this whole time?!" I said, suspended in a state of complete disbelief. "You should be thanking me for finding it in the first place." He replied curtly. I narrowed my eyes at him, sick to my stomach, pitying his sick need for control. "You are an asshole." I breathed.

The fleshed-out story of his behavior in all respects was so grotesque that once I put it to paper, I easily sold it to a national women's magazine. But then I sat on it. I realized by publishing it, I was making it infinite. By giving it a page in my portfolio, I was giving it bearing on the rest of my life. So here, today, it suffices to say that the whole story will never see the light of day. I won't be telling it on The Love List, or anywhere else.

And so we hit fast-forward to the end of the tale of "The Trip that Went South." Set in a coffee shop in downtown Oxford, Mississippi, I am crying to him. It is days before Christmas, and I'm trying to appeal to compassion I hope he has. I am begging him to please just let me off the trip and be with my family for the holiday. But he refuses. He won't drive me, because it's an "entire day" out of his way.

You can dress a Yankee up in all the seersucker you want. You can put bourbon in his glass and watch him sweat bullets as he tries to choke down his first batch of hot fried chicken. You can drop him right into the middle of Charleston, South Carolina, tell him "go" and watch the little bunny beat his drum. But the fact of the matter is, no man born south of the Mason-Dixon worth his grits would leave a woman high and dry somewhere outside Montogomery, Alabama, without a care in the world whether or not she gets home for Christmas with her family. No Southern man would do that, because they simply aren't bred that way. And that's why you can never truly understand or embody that spirit unless you were born here, because you can't fake gentility. It's born.

My friend, the very one who issued that original warning, drove to the Godforsaken spot outside Montgomery (very much out of his way) to bring me home to my family. I threw my stuff in his car and immediately burst into tears. The overwhelming stupidity of what I'd done finally sunk in, but he didn't say "I told you so." Instead, he did his best to make me laugh. He reassured me that it was all going to be okay. I couldn't see how he thought that. After all, I didn't even have a home to go back to. But I listened, and he soothed me, and I'll be damned if he didn't eventually turn out to be exactly right.

On Christmas Eve, I drank so much that I blacked out and woke up on Christmas morning to discover that I'd been sick in my own family living room. That's what we call rock-bottom, folks. I drank out of shame and humiliation. I drank because my Mom didn't know I was coming and there were no presents for me under the tree. I drank because I wanted to punish myself. Most of all, I drank to escape the reality of the cold, hard truth: that I had nothing to go back to, and no plan B.

Not long after Christmas, my limp spirit floated along by my family and friends, I humbly crawled my way back to Palm Beach, into the open arms of my darling friends Van and Chris, who zipped me right out to a New Year's Eve party. The champagne flowed so freely that it never let me pause long enough between sips to think about anything but the moment. Clad in black silk and tuxedos, we danced and laughed and felt infinite and enviable. It was a perfect night.

The next day, the three of us walked the beach in a fit of giggles. Hungover and exhausted from laughing, we sat and rested, backs against the formidable wall of the Kennedy compound, toes in the sand, and made dirty jokes, recalling the antics of the night before. I remember thinking then how farcical it was that just a week before, life could not have seemed any worse. I felt more lost and confused than I ever had. Just seven days later, here I was in this perfect moment.

The promise of the new year gave me new resolve, and I quickly made up my mind that I would not be moving to Charleston after all. I still had my tail between my legs. But I knew I couldn't exist forever in the bubble of Palm Beach either. It was a place I had always come to escape, and I wanted to preserve that - how could I allow my respite to become my mundane day-to-day? Where would I run, then, when I needed (literal and proverbial) fresh air?

We'd made a stop in Atlanta during "the trip," and to my great surprise, I loved it. Here was a city I always made fun of for it's terrible layout and even worse traffic, one I swore I'd never live in, and all the sudden it was looking more appealing by the minute. It offered one very profound thing Palm Beach didn't - it was teeming with kids my age; old friends from high school and college, new ones from a freshly-forged Supper Club... something about that particular cocktail of people and personalities made me feel home.

On March 4, 2012, I took a one-way flight from PBI to ATL, one carry-on, one bag checked. A few boxes shipped ahead of me, arrived at my new house, it was shocking to me how little I really had when it was all unpacked. I was excited and terrified. God knows I didn't do it intentionally, but somehow, I'd given myself a genuinely fresh start.

So I opened a bottle of champagne that the kind guys at Country Club Prep sent my way and poured it into the only glass I owned - a Duke's mayonnaise Tervis Tumbler. As I sipped it, I toasted to the bravery I'd miraculously found inside myself. Amused, I remember looking at my glass and appreciating the juxtaposition of Veuve from a cup touting the only mayo my Gram Gram would allow in her Pimento Cheese. It was the perfect symbol of my two worlds merging.

Life is funny, isn't it? We never know where it's going to take us or why, but once we arrive at our destination, in hindsight, many things that made no sense all snap neatly into the puzzle. Even the worst of it - heartbreak, disappointment, loss... each one is a yellow brick paving our individual roads to Oz. For now, my Oz is Atlanta. I love this town and it's people more every day. There have been hard days that stretched into hard weeks, but time after time, the friends I have made here give me the strength and resilience I need to keep going. I feel as though I have arrived. Even now, when someone asks me "Why did you move to Atlanta?" I don't really have a good answer. I just wanted to. It just felt right. Will I be here forever? Life can't grant me that guarantee. But at this moment, precisely one year in this city behind me today, I know that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. For now, that is enough.

2013-03-01T15:36:00.000-05:00

Love Lists, literally, as featured on this site at least, are a list of items that someone cool loves. But I never say what I love, or rather, who... and I LOVE Ginny Branch. Love. We met at a fun luncheon at a really delicious spot here in Atlanta, Bachannalia for the release of Aida Mollenkamp's cookbook Keys to the Kitchen (which by the way, if you haven't spied her on Food Network or peeked her book yet... run, don't walk!) and from our first chat, I knew we would be friends. And then it was like, every event I went to, there she was. CFDA party? Check. Intimate sips at a local boutique? Oh, hey Ginny! Many cocktails, long nights of boy talk, and deep belly laughs later, I treasure every minute spent with her. It doesn't hurt that on top of being a great friend, she's also an incredible stylist with a killer eye. Read on for the rundown on what my favorite red-lipsticked blonde is into right now...

1. Simple silk t shirts. I am so lazy and I love anything basic and silk. The silk (like this, from Rag & Bone) makes me feel like I have put more effort into my look even though I haven't really... 2. Revlon Really Red lipstick and Love That Red lipstick are my everyday arsenal. I'm either bare-faced or sporting a good shmear of red. 3. The three shoes I can't live without: Frye Oxfords, E. Porselli ballet flats, and zara's High Heel Vamp shoes. 4. Flowers - fresh, pressed, or in botanical print form. I need 'em in my life. 5. My L.L.Bean leather Heritage tote bag. This thing is the best. They no longer have this style, but they should recut it every season. It is just so timeless. 6. Kiehls Musk. A dear gal pal of mine in New York wore it, my best guy friend wore it, my husband wears it, and I wear it. Completely transcends gender. 7. Rodin Olio Lusso. Linda Rodin came into a store I worked at and gave me a tiny vial of it before it had even launched. She was the most luminous creature I had ever seen, so I knew it was good. And it also smells divine. 8. I am obsessed with Fog Linen everything but this Cafe apron works as a cute tool belt for when I'm on a styling gig. 9. These scissors are my absolute favorite in form as well as in function. 10. `Catbird jewelry, especially their rings. So simple and delicate. I am addicted. 11. Red Cedar incense makes my whole house smell like a log cabin. 12. Another lazy girl staple is this Klorane dry shampoo. I've been using baby powder since high school but I'm a convert for this stuff.

Playlist Picks: I'm currently listening to a lot of Neil Young, Sam Cooke, and Fleetwood Mac in preparation for longer spring days ahead and trips to the lake.