This winter has been unseasonably warm. Not quite naked-outside-in-a-hammock warm but maybe oh-shit-is-this-global-warming? warm or there-would-be-no-balls-shrinking-in-this-polar-bear-plunge warm.
Since I won’t be wearing these beautiful wool and fur creations in the wild anytime soon, I showed them off in the spare room I now call the “tropical oasis”—a nome de plumage stemming from the vintage illustrations on these custom-printed blinds I bought from Etsy-Greece. One shade covered the door in my recently-departed apartment. So I got it a companion palm so it wouldn’t feel all deserted-island up in here.
The tropical illustrations are from Historia naturalis palmarum—an early 1800s triptych travelogue through Brazil and Peru by a German botanist—illustrated exotically.
circa 1960s – no label except for Bolura: Exclusive Fabric from California cream long coat w/ fur collar. (whisper *exlusive*) Christmas gift from Ryan. Victoria’s Secret botanical nightgown w/ lace & pearl details, $5 – ReStyle (I washed it first, OK?) .
circa 1970s? – no label black short textured wool coat w/ fake fur collar & cuff. I can’t remember where I got this (Antique World Mall?) but it was some cheap beautiful thang.
circa 1960s – no label save for 100% Cashmere: Dry Clean Only red long coat, $12 – Idaho Youth Ranch. 
circa 1980s – no label wool long coat w/ subtle red, white and yellow check pattern – $54, Antique World Mall.
Cheep!
I wanted to look like Patti Smith, the iconic OG punk rocker poet from the 1970s, as pictured (in a photo by her BFF Robert Mapplethorpe, no less) on the album on my record player. But apparently, upon internet image searching, I look more like Pattie Boyd, the iconic 1960s model who was the first wife of both George Harrison and Eric Clapton. (Way to nail it, girl.) At least I’m still mod AF (as fuck) or AP (as Patti(e).
Ryan marvels at the oddity of native Idaho creatures. Featuring, at upper right, the real moon.
Sorry, Lovey. Sometimes, undersexed on your ensemble-cast deserted island, you catch a glimpse of each other on the cabana. No matter what the class and age difference, sometimes, things get a bit heated on Gilligan’s Island, like any undiscovered slice of paradise.
His-after: Cremiux Sleepwear blue premium cotton post-boinking robe, $150 – Dillards | Passages pinot noir CA circa 2015, $6.99 – Grocery Outlet bargain market (uhh, huh)
These colors don’t run. They just become easy targets. “Where are your war-time, manners, sir?” the startled British asked with dying breaths, done up in red, scarlet as the blood issuing from a blue-blooded redcoat.
It’s not quite a feather headdress at Coachella, but it’s got some pale-ass(hole) interloper, Native American cache. I went to Canyonlands in Utah last week, and hiked a trail called Aztec Butte (that I pronounced “Aztec butt” like a 13-year-old every-time I read it, but only in my head, because I have class-act self-restraint). These Puebloan granaries once held the life-sustaining provisions of desert-crossing native travelers. Now, they provide Instagram-aiming photo backdrops for desert-crossing white tourists. #manifestdestiny?
