I just ran across a business card for a shop I went into in San Francisco and had meant to tell you guys about but then forgot. It was called Loved to Death, and if you get a chance, you should go. Just because.
I’ve never seen another shop like it. It appeared to sell a mixture of antiques, silver jewelry, vintagey goth clothes, I think there may have been some skulls and… what was that other thing? Oh yeah, TAXIDERMIED RODENTS. Continue reading
Oh what a weekend. I was very productive. I went to the gym twice and I made a gigantic dent in my Christmas shopping. I’d say I’m at least 85% finished. Oh, and it was so fun. Aside from the mall and bookstore (I am naturally bookish and tend to gravitate to the bookstore for presents. I sometimes have to remind myself that not everyone likes to read), I attended a fabulous visual feast of a craft fair downtown.
Generally speaking, I have a strange relationship with shopping.
On the one hand, I am a practical sort. I don’t like to waste money and I tend to feel guilty buying myself anything other than food, as that money could better go to paying down the mortgage or traveling somewhere fabulous or helping some worthy charity or something. I also think that as a society, we have been brainwashed into becoming these consumerist drones who just shop for shopping’s sake, replacing things — not because they need to be replaced — but because we are bored with them. I think this leads to ridiculous waste on both a monetary and environmental level and I find that distressing. Also, a crowded mall is possibly the most depressing and life-sucking thing in existence. Continue reading
Witness: the beautiful shoe. It is a wonderful thing to behold. In itself it is a design marvel: elegant lines, quality materials, modern details, and my god, that colour. On you, it brings out who you want to be: a little taller, a little thinner, a little more pulled together. You walk straighter and feel a little more confident. In these shoes, you feel like you have the potential to be the best possible version of yourself.
From Edward Monkton's great little book, "The Shoes of Salvation"
My One Precious Life 