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“Yeeeeeehawwww” outfit

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For some obscure reason this outfit makes me think of Major Kong riding the nuclear bomb like a bull in Dr. Strangelove. I always thought he said, “Yeeeeehawwwww!” But he actually yells, “Whaaaaahooooo!” So we all learned a bit of annihilation cowboy trivia.

I wore this to a saloon-themed awards ceremony, The Rockies, for the Boise advertising industry. I’ve been a writer in this ad scene for nearly 20 years, and it’s been one of the strangest years yet. AI has warped some brains, including mine. I had a horrific client who fed my work into ChatGBT to rewrite and it sounded like a high schooler with a thesaurus trying to sound smart. (Then she stiffed me for $6k. I should’ve known.) Demoralizing doesn’t begin to describe the way AI twists my painstaking writer mind into knots with its instant spitting out of mediocre paragraphs.

My mind has been spinning for several reasons. I’m attempting three equally ambitious projects this year—run a successful business, launch a new brand, finish a book—and it appears I’ve bitten off more than I could chew. My mouth is comically full. Instead of immediate gains in the first quarter, I lost gobs of hair (likely due to stress) and had to cut it off. I lost my appetite. I lost my desire to Cheep. I lost my clear vision for my future. The comedown from my delusions of grandeur feels like Major Kong with less enthusiasm. It feels like bombing.

But I’m getting a second wind with the spring. A friend told me today about the way trees push into the hard-packed ground to root in before they reach out into the air. And when they do, they branch out in many directions. I am no tree, but I believe I can fly. I can touch the sky. I’ve had to change a lot about myself and my habits and my work patterns to even make it to the point where some sort of progress might be visible on the surface. All I can do is keep pushing forward, and stop being frozen in the gates before the bull ride of it all.

“Believe in yourself,” says the psychiatrist talking to the unicorn on his couch. I believe. I believe. I believe.

Banjo Dallas, Texas red western shirt with cowboy boots & rope pattern & gold buttons – $5.99, Idaho Youth Ranch thrift store | Maxima by Wilson black leather skirt – $7.99, Restyle thrift store | Frye knee-high black leather boots – $75, Bombshell & Blokes “head to boots” fall make-up event

Cheep it like a nuclear cowboy.

“Queen of the North” outfit (aka Lucrezia Borgia of the Idaho Wilderness)

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By the favor of the free and cheap, Cheep Universe, I ended up on an exquisite hand-painted pink-and-purple wooden Viking ship (ok, a Dory, but it felt like one) floating down the Main Salmon River for six days through the vast Frank Church Wilderness.

For weeks before, I had been seeing salmon everywhere. Then a college friend spontaneously asked me if I wanted to take a last-minute cancelled spot on her long-planned birthday trip. I think she knew I’m one of the few on earth who could drop everything on a moment’s notice to simply float for a week.  

For a last-minute gift, I went thrift store shopping and gave her the Caitlin River Capsule Collection in a neon green duffel bag. Because what do you get for the woman who embodies everything, but more ways to embody herself? Each outfit had a ridiculous name and tagline, ala Cheep, and brought such weird magic to every beach night. I am finally using my superpowers for good.

Lately, magic has been a running theme. At long last, I am learning how to paddle in the slipstream of my life. To recognize the movement of current, however slight. To not fear the big waves, but to anticipate their thrill ride, even when butterfly-stomached. To realize that life is a river—like I’ve been telling my storytelling students this whole damn time—so go with the flow, take the rapids and rough times as they come for the wondrous stories you’ll spill over them later, and don’t worry too much about the course ahead, but let yourself run like water. Fluid and dynamic.

I am not exactly sure what is happening—but it looks like the silver sparkles glittering in the river sun; it feels like the giant heart made of rocks I found on the island at the confluence to the South Fork—and I am floating on for dear, sweet life. For this one wild and precious life.

vintage Jones New York bronze silk skirt – $4, Idaho Youth Ranch thrift store | vintage Isabella’s Journey (matted like an OG merkin) brown fake fur apron – free (for the night), Canyons Inc river costume dry-bag | unlabeled psychedelic pink-and-purple pullover – free (for the night), Canyons Inc river costume dry-bag | unlabeled bronze & black pants fashioned into a headdress (the crotch on these was dank, but I’ve had some dank crotches on my head before so no bother) – free (for the night), Canyons Inc river costume dry-bag | square wooden earrings with a pinprick hole bored in the middle of each – $15, Buckskin Bill’s historic hideout upstream (handmade by a local who lives on the Salmon)

Styled by Brandon Megorden, my ultimate creative “yesander.”

Cheep it into the slipstream.

“Desert bougie solitaire” outfit

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No one will read this because it’s Treefort in Boise but I’ll write it anyway. I stopped at a thrift store in Las Vegas and bought…everything. This dress says, “I sell crystals to heal your chakras from my Mercedes sprinter van. #vanlife”.

My dad gave me this sweet cowboy hat right before I left. It has a Harley Davidson emblem in the middle. I was, indeed, born to be wild.

pink & patterned Sage boho dress with fringe – $13, Savers in Las Vegas | Harley Davidson cowboy hat – $0, gift from dad | hot pink Columbia trail shoes – $80, REI outlet

“The Dunes are Alive” outfit

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The Kelso Dunes in the Mojave Desert sing. Like Julie Andrews with less Astroturf. When you break off a swath of sandscape, it vibrates the entire dune in this guttural hum. Earth throat clearings.

Over 20 years ago, I camped on the side of this dune while on an “Into the Wild” style backpacking trip. More of an escape. Sand, everywhere. Coyotes, too. Another howl that cannot be captured by audio devices. The vague always lit vibe of Vegas haloing the mountains.

Dune side that night, I dreamed of an orange beetle. It broke open to a radiant white goo. Now I’m writing a novel adaptation of this stint in the desert. (If not of the David Lynchian dream.)

Strange and surreal, to come back here looking like you wear the sky with a backcountry sheepskin BDSM bodice. This place, already a sort of fiction in your mind. You, a sort of fiction, too.

Sage sky dress – $13, Savers in Las Vegas, NV | The Comstock Load sheepskin vest – $60, from a friend’s familial clothing inheritance | no label, made in Italy leather boots with fur trim – $30, Restyle thrift store

Cheep it to the place you remembered it last.

“The End of an Era” outfit

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It’s the fin de siecle—and fin de this sick outfit. This will be the last time I ever wear this dress. It’s from the 1920s. Over 100 years old. It’s silk and velvet brocade with tassels and a fur-lined skirt. It’s the most exquisite dress I’ve ever owned. And I’ve owned a lot of exquisite dresses.

But the seams rip every time I move. I kept painstakingly sewing it back together. The last time I wore it (before this last, last time photoshoot), I hand-sewed it for a half hour before going to Story Story Late-Night’s “A HOLiDAY NOT TO BE REMEMBERED.” It was a powerful show. The stories were riveting in the way that makes you put one hand on your heart and one hand in the air to feel the palpable electric buzz of the collective human experience of raw, real storytelling. I’m glad that this was the last event it will ever go to. I will not forget it.

But sometimes, beautiful things cannot be resurrected. Because they are simply done here.

Seven years ago, I had an ego death of sorts. Tho painful, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. I learned the hard way the vital lessons I desperately needed to learn before I could ever become the person I truely want to be.

Lately, I’ve been feeling like that line from Taylor Swift’s Look What You Made Me Do: “The old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Oh! She’s dead!”

The old Jessica is dead. She was lovely and weird and porous and fragile and low self-esteemed and always seeking ways to escape. She had zero healthy boundaries. I both hated and adored living inside of her. She loathed herself a lot. She was miserable too often. She projected all the time. Only her fantasy life and ungrounded idealism kept her alive and lit.

But as Cheryl Strayed once said to an aspiring writer: “You’re up too high and down too low. Neither is the place where we get any work done.”

This bitch no longer lives in fantasy. She spent seven years in a cocoon. As goo. Trying to figure out what is real and what is not real about herself and her dreams and her perception. Finally, she has emerged. A butterfly. Still delicate but fierce as fuck. She is free and she is responsible. She lives in clear-eyed vision and inspired daily action. She is far kinder to me. She is deep-down content. She is pretty fly. I can’t wait to see where her new wings take her.

I assume I got this unlabeled antique dress from In Retrospect like 10 years ago but I can’t really remember that or the price | Frye boots with brown antique leather – $200, TheFryeCompany.com

Cheep it like a metamorphosis.

“Watermelon Sugar High Seas” outfit

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When you buy a wicker watermelon clutch purse on the beaches of Isla Mujeres, make sure you pretend to eat it and spit out the seeds into the sand, so that when you later randomly pass a clutch of servers standing in front of a restaurant, they’ll mouth out your action and laugh. Making you a legend. A legend of the sandìa mime jokes.

When I quit my job 8 months ago, I wanted to travel for one week out of every month. Finally, this year, I am nailing all my goals. Travel-wise and client-wise and money-wise. I’m exhausted, frankly. And I’m learning to adjust to reality. And realize the value of routine and a sense of place.  

But I’m proud of myself. For going there. Over and over and over again. (Yes, this is my third trip to Mexico this year.)

I’m proud of myself that I woke up at 5:30 am to catch the sunrise and silence of this abandoned shell beach house on the south tip of the island. Especially after I failed to take one decent shot in 300 frustrating attempts the day before.

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been one to immediately give up when I’m not perfect at something. “Live impeccably or die” – my motto, apparently.

This year, I try, try, try. Even when I’m bad at it the first time. Because I think Yoda was wrong. Between the do and the do not, there is only the try.

This go around, this next half of my life, I am not giving up on myself. I will make my dreams happen. Even if it’s hard. And sweaty. (That’s what she said.) And a total do-over.

I am remaking myself into my highest vision of myself (by making infinite adjustments as I go). Don’t believe me? Just watch.

geniune batik Keris cream empire waste cotton dress with black seaweed design made in Solo, Indonesia – $75, Blue Foot Vintage (aka my friend Danielle) | handmade wicker watermelon clutch – 500 pesos ($25), beaches of Isla Mujeres | black & cream sun hat – gift, my other friend Danielle | Steve Madden leather sandals – $3.99, ReStyle thrift store (that broke shortly after this from too much seawater and sand)

Cheep it to the (watermelon) core.

“Reading Myself at the Japanese Reading Room (NYC)” outfit

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A read is an insult pointing out one’s flaws, according to Urban Dictionary, which I consult for my job, OK? (One time a corporation I worked for blocked out this site for obscenity and I had to take it to the top…of the internal chat gossip thread.)

I love Cheep because, even after 11+ solid years, it makes me realize how mediocre I still am at so many things. It keeps me on my toes (literally, in strange modeling poses just Googled near the Guggenheim). It makes me look at and interact with the world strategically. Peculiarly. And pack my bag with intent.

When in New York, I tend to listen to New Yorker fiction stories and wander around town. This particular Monday, my only mission was to get a Cheep shot, any cheap shot, in the Upper East Side.

No sweat. Until you’re sweaty under a Central Park bridge like an outdated middle-aged fashion troll. For what…exactly? I tend to ask myself…at unusable photo 300.

TBH, I don’t really know how to take a good photo. (Or shoot my shot in gen.) My camera is generic and subpar and set to auto. My fashion is still often questionable. I do not know how to edit out even earbuds. I can only tweak the color badly. All of this…is OK.

The nature of a good creative project is that it keeps you guessing. Curious. Pushing yourself to make a fool of yourself. It makes memories of mere moments. It gives you the occasion to meet the occasion. To capture the inherent drama of that particular place and time.

This is why I Cheep.

Tori Richard Honolulu for McInerny vintage black & pink floral empire dress – $35, Antique World Mall | black & silver metallic clutch – $4.99, ReStyle thrift store | Betsey Johnson rabbit shoulder duster earrings – gift, aunt. Apple earbuds – gift, parents | Chloe butterfly rose-colored sunglasses – $70, Nordstrom’s Rack | Frye boots with brown antique leather (the perfect packable travel boot that go with anything) – $200, TheFryeCompany.com

Cheep it to get read in the ultimate reading room.

“The dress my grandma wore to my mom’s wedding” outfit

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I officiate weddings in the dress my grandma wore to my mom’s wedding. This last Friday, I cried more than the bride, seeing her float toward her groom (and me, peripherally) through rows of perfectly arched trees in an idyllic rural Idaho garden in the glow of the golden hour.

I love that electric feeling of real love. Like that time I almost got struck by lightening in the Sawtooth peaks, you run your fingers through the air and feel the sparks. It makes magic of mortals.

The love stories in my family are legends. Epics. My grandparents loved their way through jungles and concentration camps in the war-torn Philippines. My parents found their way back to love after a tragic 10 year split. Though it seems unlikely, so do the plots of all great Lifetime movies, I hope to someday have my own love story of legend (or psychological romantic thriller with shocking twists….oh, wait…*crosses off list*).

Until and if I do, I’ll feel the vibes in this dress.

vintage 1970s – no tag but looks like Gunne Sax light pink & cream boho wedding guest dress – passed down, Grandma Margaret Moule

Cheep it to the real love that sparks between your fingers (but does not electrocute).

“The Eyes Have It” outfit

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In 1984, the Telescreen, peering into your room like a dull mirror inset in the wall, recorded every private act for the nosey overlords to look / listen in. “Never,” we claimed. Then came Alexa. And all our George Orwell / Jeff Bezos dreamscapes came true. “Watch me now,” said the Danger Twins, and the populace. In the end, we opted in.

Apropos for Apocalypse Capitalism, it’s like we got the Splenda version of the dystopia. Fake, saccharine…tastes like the uncanny valley…and conveniently comes in tiny packages.

OK, maybe I’m dark. But only dark in the sense of a Salvador Dali surrealist film obsessed with high contrast and the eyes. What we see and what we don’t see. What is visible and what is invisible. What we choose to look at. (Like Lou Reed.)

Sweet dreams.

no label (handmade?) 1960s electric blue starburst gown – $45, Antique World Mall.

Cheep it looking upside down and sideways.

“The House of the Rising Sun” outfit

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This dressing gown would only be house-of-ill-repute hot in 1718, the year New Orleans was founded by French knaves, and reputable women were in scant supply. Meticulously unbutton with your eyes this Reformation Era chic boudoir cosplay in the French Quarter. Patterns for days. Swampy-heat languor for miles.

In my fevered imagination, this dressing gown is the mirror image of the one the woman—taken in the bloom of her youth by consumption—who haunts this historic house wears. Her gray train shuffles against the hardwood. “Did I hear something?” one asks. Just the wind near the French doors. You imagine.

Misslook dressing gown, $14. Antique World Mall

Cheep!