First things first, thank you, thank you, thank you for reading, sending suggestions, leaving comments, joining me in this world that once existed solely in my brain. 2023 was a big year for me. I was able to slowly transition from being part of a team to being my own team. What a scary thing, to be yourself full time and put yourself out there full time, to have nothing to fall back on but your own ideas. And there are infinity moments where I question my ideas, feel in the greater scheme like - what the fuck am I doing - and - who is going to care about this enough to read it, let alone pay for it?
When I did go out on my own, people I met would ask what I do for a living and I would kind of grimace and dance around the truth of it - I write two newsletters, write some other things for some other people/outlets (and write for myself - more on both of those in 2024), and I play with my kids. I also consult and do personal styling as well (virtually through Indyx and in person through my own body and face!) but it felt like “newsletter” wasn’t good enough or anything enough. It felt like a Ken job, like “Beach”. But this is what I do, your support lets me do it. I let my freak flag fly full time and live entirely in my own brain and on my own observations of the world. I cannot thank you enough for being part of this with me. This was the year that I think in many ways I came into myself. It took 37 years, but damnit, I feel funnier, smarter, cooler, better, hotter, dumber, brighter than I ever have. Maybe it was moving away from New York, maybe it’s age (boy, how many times have I written that in this NL) but I feel I’m in the prime of my life. I wouldn’t go back in time and be 27 again for anything in the world. Thank you for helping me get here.
Which brings me to now.
With my daughter napping next to me, I just did my little year-end highlight reel for Instagram. And part of it was looking back at a year of outfits. There were some REALLY good ones and some REALLY bad ones. The bad ones, however, were mostly bad because they were boring.
So much of what I write about is finding your personal style. I really believe in buying fewer things and wearing them more, and circling closer and closer to the core of you. That’s largely what I’ve been doing this year, and I think I’ve basically distilled my style into a pair of jeans (Wranglers un-washed Indigo that I wore in on my own) a navy sweater or sweatshirt, a blue baseball cap, and a pair of New Balances. It feels good to have such a tight uniform - it’s what I feel most confident in - but I’m also getting super sick of myself.
This morning, I read in
about “cringe” and I was reminded of how the cringe zone is where good stuff happens. That the only regret is being boring, not being tacky, or trashy, or try-hard, or poorly executed. (I have more on this, revising old looks, but I’m saving it for another letter). Similarly I was reminded by Rachel Tashjian of the “Daisy Fellowes Beaton-era philosophy of chic…. Chic is a very misunderstood concept. I lack her capacity for cruelty (and I could never survive on just grouse and cocaine; you at least need a glass of red wine) but I abide by her cold blooded dedication to fashion as a force for disturbance…. My 2024 fashion resolution is to dress in more upsetting outfits.”I always love Rachel’s perspective, and I read her newsletter, Opulent Tips, and am reminded of the fantasy of fashion, and the silent codes and signals that can be sent through clothes. And so I am going to try to break out of my rut this year, authoritative though it may be, and see what new combinations I can make with what I have, while also trying to stay very very close to myself and my own style, without creating strict rules for myself. (As tempted as I am to say - this year I’ll only buy navy - for the sake of an experiment.)
I’m at an age where trends don’t work for me, and dressing is 100% intuitive, like I think it is for a lot of us in our mid-late 30s (especially moms who spend so much time folding laundry, putting it away, forcing tiny feet into tiny socks, making sure butts are wiped that the last thing they want to do is pass another minute fussing with buttons or debating the merits of one pair of leggings vs another) we develop a uniform that is strictly that - a uniform - rather than our own distinct visual language. That’s what I plan to work on this coming year, refining my language. How does one land somewhere between Fran Leibowitz, Grace Jones, and a 1980s computer programmer? We’re going to find out.
So then here we are. A new year, a new whatever, basically nothing, just another day, but still. For me, this was a big year - I was finally able to be OK with being myself, aside from work things, I mean in all things, and man, what a relief that is.
Well. I’m saving some of this for next week, but here’s a look at what’s inspiring me right now.
Let’s see where we go from here. To another year of weird feelings!
Happy New Year!
x
Laurel
Here's to all the tired moms letting our cotton knit--sometimes bedazzled--freak flags fly in 2024!!
I will only buy navy one year!