Less-Effort Beauty

In addition to a few suicidal thoughts, blow drying my hair in our pea-sized bathroom during this unseasonably warm weather has inspired me to do something new with my hair.

The something new I am ready to do is nothing.

It is not just the hellish bathroom inferno, hair has been on my mind since last month's visit to New York City. Through my recent trips out of the Midwest, and browsing street style blogs from around the world, I realize, that here in Indiana, we try really hard when it comes to our hair.

In addition to drastic dye jobs on both ends of the spectrum, it is commonplace to spot highlights in streak or chunk form. We meticulously straighten, use smoothing serums, and fortify with hairspray. It is a lot of work, and too often, this shows.

I am guilty of all of this too. Until a few years ago, I no longer knew what my actual hair color was. At some point, it has been every shade, from platinum to black, and most colors of rainbow. Despite choosing more natural colors for some time now, I still spend a lot of time attempting to tame my thick, wavy hair.

Not ready for my grays to show just yet, I will continue to color my hair, but I am ready to give blow drying and straightening a rest. I am tired of working against it, trying to make it something it is not. If a woman can confidently rock a less than perfectly styled mane in Paris or New York, I am declaring this bit of less-effort beauty good enough for me too.

Lost in New York

Not only are my thoughts still in New York City, but so are my favorite pair of thrift-scored vintage sunglasses.

Last seen on a gloriously sunny and windy day at the Brooklyn Bridge Park, where I hope they were picked up, and are being sported around town by their lucky new owner.

I'd rather not think of them being smashed to pieces on a sidewalk somewhere.

So long sweet, sweet shades.

Haven't Given Up

I haven't given up on blogging already, it's just difficult to get ahold of our shared computer during Garrett's last weeks of the semester.

New York was fabulous. Rainy, but fabulous. Enjoyed browsing at some vintage shops, but did not fall in love with anything enough to pay prices that were shockingly high to this midwesterner. Loved the abundance of sexy-messy hair and oxfords, and laughing to myself that the line at the Whitney was so much more stylish than the line outside of Abercrombie.

And just clarify, I was not in the line at Abercombie, just happened to pass by on my way to a rainy walk in Central Park.

Parisian Rejects

I found these photos while just now getting around to cleaning off the memory card from last summer's vacation for my trip next week to New York City. These were skipped over for our vacation photo blog, and not saved in the file of photos we hope to some day print for an album, but they provide inspiration for my upcoming trip.

Yeah, I ran around Paris in pretty vintage dresses, and gasp, even light colored ones, and a comfy pair of vintage sandals. I survived, and even enjoyed myself. As I am already dreading packing four days worth of clothes into only a carry on, I will remember how nice it felt to feel pretty in one of the prettiest cities in the world. I will be packing a dress, or four, and at least one pair of vintage sandals.

After our peacefully dreamlike visit to Pere Lachaise Cemetery, my husband and I were briefly lost in a neighborhood that felt more genuinely Parisian than much of the city we saw during our week-long stay. We stepped into this cafe for un cafe, the restroom, and to get our bearings. Although I did not feel comfortable pulling my camera out for the full on tourist shot, I did steal this one from under the bar just to have a small reminder of the place.

Leaving the cafe, on our walk to the metro, we came across a street market where we bumped elbows with real Parisians (literally, they are seriously aggressive shoppers) over pristine produce, seemingly unending varieties of fresh meats, bubbling vats of sausages and sauerkraut, and bins of ladies under-things.

These two spots, and the few blocks of sidewalk in between, will remind me that the unplanned can sometimes be the most memorable and beautiful part of being anywhere but here.