All posts tagged: featured

“Joan of Goat (Jeanne d’Chevré)” outfit

“To believe yourself brave is to be brave; it is the only essential thing.” – Mark Twain, Joan of Arc Sometimes, I feel the undying urge to stoically 1000-yard stare into the distance. I’ve learned that this is a sign to go into The Wilderness. Because if you don’t stare awestruck at nature, you end up staring at the back of your skull—into the abyss and whatnot. Insane, misguided wilderness adventures are sort of my specialty. I excel in: Late starts. Night hiking. Specious navigational skills. Getting way, way lost. Strange encounters with wild animals. Going solo everywhere because…I fucking can…and my plan is…very last minute. No one would be super shocked to hear I succumbed to vultures in the middle of nowhere. This September, the 1000-yard stare urge was breathing down my neck, and so was the end of backpacking season urgency. The where did your summer go again?#$%! I took off every Friday that month, and sojourned alone into the wilderness every long weekend. Did I completely nail every single one of the …

“Bloom (in the desert) where you were planted” outfit

My pale flesh and potatoey filling were genetically designed for perpetually overcast and infinitely melancholy Irish scapes. Yet here I am, planted in the unblinking desert. I had two (2) semi-disastrous / semi-humorous Sunday desert sojourns in just the past two (2) weekends. Desert misadventures…ill advised. But for me, constantly attempted. As if I am doomed to be spectacle for scavengers someday. One misadventure ended up with me fetal-positioned beneath a sliver of sagebrush shade beneath a noontime unrelenting sun, with just 0.7 of an impossible mile to reach the Bonneville Point trailhead, once a wagon-rutted route on the Oregon Trail. This is the place where, according to legend, the relieved French fur trappers declared “Les bois! Les bois!” pointing at the trees along the Boise River, a sight for sore just-slogged-through-the-most-hopeless-of-Utah eyes. This is the place where, according to that 99 degree day, I would perish of sunstroke. A member of the Oregon Trail video game generation dying alongside the Oregon Trail IRL. Irony lives…at the very least. My translucent white skin flushed bright …

“Ice scream” outfit

I scream. You scream. We all scream. (Dead stop.) This would be the tagline for my nihilistic ice cream store called Waiting for Fro-Yo. (With tortured irony, we would not serve frozen yogurt. But will perpetually imply it’s coming soon.) The sweet shop’s staff would posit in a monotone Werner Herzog droll: “Yes, we all scream for ice cream. Yet, do we also not all scream for the existential horror of our fleeting, insignificant lives?” And: “Would you like sprinkles on that?” For a cherry on top feel, I brought this vintage yellow sunbrella all the way up Squaw Creek (groans: racist nomenclature) for this fashion shoot at the waterfall dead end. (“No exit,” Sarte would say.) I hiked here in the early spring. The creek was ice cold and the trail upstream and underwater. No extremities had to be amputated due to frostbite however. Licked it. vintage yellow sunbrella with cane handle with the name Candi Miller handwritten on the band, $7 – Antique World Mall | screen-printed polka dot, acid-colored lips ice cream …

“Stewardess for the Galactic Federation” outfit

Put your tray tables in an upright position, and prepare for departure from 2020. On your right, a once-in-a-millennium scene of cosmic proportions and galactic significance. Though a rather shoddy photo of it (as I took it myself, handheld, shaking in the subzero temps of the Utah high desert). In a spontaneous gambit to witness the Great Conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter, I rented a magically-available yurt in the dark sky preserve of Dead Horse State Park near Moab, Utah. We could all use a little escape hatch from the universe. A shift into a new alignment. A different perspective entirely. Tho I imagine on the earth-bound Galactic Federation spaceship, the on-flight entertainment is exclusively limited to 1985’s “Cocoon.” Because we all know that when the aliens land—instead of delving into the timeless secrets of the universe—Boomers will just try to mine them for their next-level Botox and anti-aging secrets. Victoria’s Secret blue satin jumpsuit, $15 – Antique World Mall | Smithline Exclusive brown knit coat with fur trim, $55 – Antique World Mall | …

“Out of Africa” outfit

“Perhaps he knew, as I did not, that the Earth was made round so that we would not see too far down the road,” – Karen Blixen, Out of Africa Before I left for Kenya, I read Karen Blixen’s (nom de plume: Isak Dinesen) book, Out of Africa. Taking place at about this time 100 years ago, the Baroness owned a coffee plantation just outside of Nairobi. Her book is ripe with the soul of the country and its people, with less of the entitled colonialism than I expected. Karen wanted nothing more than for her bones to lie in rest in Africa. She did not get her wish. Her coffee plantation suffered locusts and other acts of God, and she was forced to leave the land she loved, later dying of malnutrition in her Dutch estate. A minor tragedy of dislocation. On the day I took this picture, I wanted nothing more than to make it out of Africa. I’ll likely process the full scope of traveling during the outbreak of a worldwide pandemic over time—peeling off …

“Safari in the time of Corona” outfit

In Swahili, safari means journey. Less than 8 hours before I departed on a two-day trip through the Maasai Mara, the US declared a level 4 travel advisory, urging all Americans overseas to return home immediately. Borders are closing. The unthinkable is happening everywhere. I could have to shelter in place indefinitely—no matter how far that place is from home. TMI, but I threw up all night from the stress. I had a ticket home through Paris in five days, but a 20-hour layover there (the original reason I bought that particular flight) in a European epicenter of COVID-19 (where even citizens must have a permission slip to wander outside) now sounded like a level of hell. My dad talked me into buying another return ticket through Dubai a day earlier, the best option we could find. I decided to still go on the safari. I chose the cheapest camp, and while the rest of my crew stayed at a luxury resort up the dirt road, I was the only person at the thatched-roofed, canvas-tented …

“Social distancing in Hell’s Gate” outfit

As the entire world entered into a certain sort of hell while I am in Kenya on an ill-timed vacation, I decided to go to Hell’s Gate, a national park near Lake Naivasha. I figured the wilderness was the most social distancing I could achieve while on this fated trip. Hell’s Gate has few predators, so you can bicycle through it alone. I passed by giraffe, zebra, warthogs, gorillas, and so many other extraordinary creatures great and small. Lake Naivasha is populated by hippos and thousands of birds. Paradise on earth. Even when the world goes to hell. no-label tropical greenery swim top – $3 (came with bottoms, too), ReStyle thrift store | Jones New York bronze silk skirt – $4, Idaho Youth Ranch thrift store | Spense white jacket with gold zip – $5, Savers thrift store (why I didn’t wear this during my bike in Hell’s Gate the next day where I got a wicked sunburn is beyond all comprehension)  Cheep it in the wilderness.

“Contagion” outfit

“Banish the ghost of coronaaaaahhh…” Before my trip to Kenya, I went to Passport Health, a traveler’s clinic for immunizations and fear needling. There, I was handed a terrifying brochure filled with the potential dangers of my destination. Typhoid. Hepatitis. Yellow fever. And a long list of other shit-inducing diseases borne of filth and mosquitoes and the social nature of human existence. It totaled $1500 to completely mitigate the fear of the unknown. I paid $500 to slightly assuage it, which my Kenyan friend found baffling and idiotic. I also paid dearly for taking the live Typhoid pills that made me vomit for hours on end over the course a week. I took off into an exponentially panicked world. When I left one week ago, the novel coronavirus drifted in and out of the public consciousness. It still felt like a somewhat foreign concept. Other people’s problems. A few days after I landed, COVID-19 did too. Blessedly not via the conduit of me. Since then, it feels like the entire world has screeched to a …

“Rosé-colored glasses” outfit

Wine pairing non-recommendation: A liver-cleanse acupuncture session immediately followed by a wine tasting trip to Walla Walla, Washington. My time-lapse progression in 6 tiny tasting pours. 1st taste: “Mmmmm.” 3rd taste: As giggly tipsy as I was when 14-years-old cadging cheap boxed pink Franzia at that one backyard wedding after which I was arrested for underage drinking while walking home, therefore losing my driving privileges before I could drive. 6th taste: Splayed slack-jawed on a fancy lobby chair nearly passed out. So, yeah. I couldn’t really drink, so I spent my time photographing myself at artful wineries. I’ll raise a glass to that. Heart-shaped rose-colored glasses – $2.99, Grocery Outlet bargain market | Black cotton jumpsuit with beaded waist band – $40 (this was slightly pre-Cheep but still on sale), Piece Unique & Shoez (I bought this from a “fancy for me” boutique approx. 15 years ago and it immediately popped a stitch on the neckline that I just fixed approx. 15 days ago. It feels good slipping into something you think you’ve lost, like your …

“My own private Idaho” outfit

“I always know where I am by the way the road looks. Like I just know that I’ve been here before. I just know that I’ve been stuck here. Like this one fucking time before, you know that? Yeah. There’s not another road anywhere that looks like this road. I mean exactly like this road. It’s one kind of place. One of a kind. Like someone’s face. Like a fucked up face.” – River Phoenix, My Own Private Idaho no label – vintage beach dress $5, ReStyle thrift store.