Dear Ms. Birnbach, I would like to tell you two things. One: Thanks to you, I have in the past half-year acquired a new found love for Tommy Hilfiger; I realized they do indeed have great clothing (and colors!) and have two sweaters from the at the current moment. And Two: I wanted to ask you how prep my college major is - out of curiosity, of course: Double Major in English & Philosophy. It's English I love most, of course. I also hope you've been having a great year. Best regards,
A double major in philosophy & English is TPFW (Too Prep For Words). Zero practicality and yet so wonderfully enriching.
I would have written a long(er)-winded letter containing shameless name-dropping and professions of fandom. But, alas, Tumblr has a restrictive character limitation. I suppose it's better that you not catch my unabashed praise, as it would surely categorize me as "another trite fan" and quite probably bore you. Therefore, I'm going to embrace brevity (something I should have done several characters ago). My question to you is this: Does practicality have some place in the Preppy vernacular?
Dear Guy — yes, you.
I’m sorry I didn’t see this note until today — December 31st, but preppies do run on the late side.
Practicality finds its place in the prep home thanks to mummy or grandmother. She (or she) could be the one to remember to have a designated driver, or that it might be smarter to delay the voyage until after the thunderstorm passes, or that you already have a green fleece vest. Eventually — scarily — the wildest party girl can turn into the Voice of Authority.
Dearest Tumblrs (and make a note that I do not approve of this spelling)—-
It is with customary shock and I that I find we’ve reached the end of another year. And we’re still here. We’re intact, more or less.
There’s a lot of the less now and I find myself adjusting all the time to the “new normal.” I suspect that won’t change in the new year.
Personally I find I enjoy my offspring — my tender science experiments — I’ve named Exhibits A, B, and C — more than ever. (Sometimes I find them ornery and stubborn, but then, who isn’t?) They make me laugh; they laugh at me, and get me in ways that maybe no one else can.
Here’s what I’m looking forward to: No Bread in January (but not eagerly); Writing my next book, a new living room carpet, Exhibit B getting into the college of her choice, Exhibit A’s enjoyment of college, Exhibit C’s continued mastery of academia, good health & spirits for Mummy, a chance to be on the radio more often, and more great times with my wonderful friends.
I don’t want to be political here, but we have to make politics a field that attracts the best, not just the most ambitious. (I have no clue how to do that. Just a wish.) And while we’re at it, if one can pray away the gay, can one pray away the grey? That’s a dream of mine. (I spend a lot of time praying at the hairdresser’s.)
Let’s all live more and text less. And remember, this tumblr has been monitored for quality assurance.
It’s pronounced “Tesh shek cure. Ed eh reem.” More or less. It took me days to learn how to say it, and believe me, I repeated it under my breath constantly. Then I’d somehow forget how to say it. Then I’d invert the syllables and say Shekehtur and silently curse my wooden tongue.
Now, of course, that I’m back home, I’m practically fluent in Turkish. (Kidding.) But I had a fantastic time in Istanbul and still can’t believe it was real and not a dream.
I was invited by the editor and publisher of ELLE Magazine Turkey, to participate in their 2nd Annual Style Awards. I said yes without knowing my role — was I giving an award? Getting an award? Giving a speech? Part of the audience? A judge? A nominee? (You know what they say: it’s an honor just to be nominated.)
In any case, who in their right mind would turn down a trip to Istanbul? (I mean, who doesn’t have a job or who isn’t occupying a park, and isn’t nursing a baby or going into labor? There are exceptions, of course.)
From the first person I met to the last, everyone at Turkish Elle was lovely, interesting, hard-working, fun. They thought of everything to make my trip comfortable, exciting, elegant: a private guide with a car for sightseeing days, a wonderful dinner in a mansion on the banks of the Bosphorous, a trip to the hammam (Turkish baths) where we received the traditional scrubbing, massaging, bathing, and shampooing, and the less traditional blowdrying that centuries of sultans and their wives enjoyed.
It turns out I did win an award (a very snazzy statuette) for being an “opinion leader in style.”
At last someone understands me.
The fact that I’m understood 5,026 miles from home isn’t ideal, but the world is growing smaller. Everywhere in the world — even on Taksim Square in Istanbul — you see young women wearing tight jeans tucked into Uggs. (Turks! They’re just like Us!) In the Grand Bazaar — which I remembered as a rough and slightly menacing place as a 17 year old girl in the 70s — (men grabbing your arms to drag you into their stalls to buy carpets), there are now flat screen tvs hanging at intervals from the ceilings — to show how your other currencies are doing against the Turkish Lira. Most of the stalls are now stores — stores that are likely to accept credit cards. The fact that some of these stall-stores also have framed pictures of Sarah Jessica Parker or Senator Richard Shelby (R. AL) tells us that soon, seeing the great and huge mosques that punctuate Istanbul’s skyline may be the only way to remember where we are when we travel there. Sip your latte at the corner Starbucks across the street. You may just forget where you are, for a moment.
Jet lag has just taken over my brain, and I’m rambling.