This is the way I want to be loved–this is the way every girl deserves to be loved. The kind of love that appreciates and celebrates our “audacity to be beautiful,” beautiful in our minds, our hearts, our dreams, and even our shoes: this is the kind of love I aspire to.
I promise to love you like it’s the only thing I’ve ever done correct.
I want–I deserve–someone who is brave. Someone who has the courage to risk pain, disappointment, and broken promises, just so we can realize everything we could possibly be. Someone who can cast fear aside for the opportunity to say, “I’ve never told anyone that before.” Someone who is strong enough to deal with his past without expecting me to be the antidote. Someone who can overcome insecurity and trust me to love him.
I want to be your ex-boyfriend’s stuntman. I want to do everything that he never had the courage to do.
I discovered the blog post below thanks to Lauren, who posted it on her own blog a few days ago. Seriously, this is one of the best pieces of writing I’ve come across in a long time–and the fact that it has an amazing message makes it even better. It reminds women to celebrate their intelligence, their wit, their headstrong determination to never settle. A girl who reads, as Warnke describes her, is the Katie girl for the 21st Century.
The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. […] You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied.
You Should Date An Illiterate Girl
By Charles Warnke
Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.
Let the anxious contract you’ve unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi, and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale, or the evenings get long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn’t fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice.
Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn’t, smile all the same.
Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail, frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return, or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn’t read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love.
Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent as a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, god damnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.
Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived.
Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.
Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.
…
For more inspiring, thought-provoking, culturally significant blog posts like the one above, check out Thought Catalog. Happy living 🙂
With the boomerang nature of my emotional state at the moment, I need reminders every now and then to help me put everything into perspective. I fluctuate between productive, content days and dog-tired, I-just-can’t-get-past-it days, and generally I’m in a constant state of purposeful distraction and pretending to be more OK than I actually am. So an occasional “hmm” moment that has nothing to do with what’s going on in my head–well, directly, at least–is a nice change.
Thanks to Lauren (who seems to be the friend I have the best conversations with), I stumbled across a site called Makes Me Think, where people post daily stories about the moments that make them smile, cry, and, of course, think. Just what I needed to get my mind off my own issues–and to re-characterize some of my feelings. Hearing other people’s stories really does make you think about your own life…and whether you’re getting it all right, whatever that means.
A few of my favorite finds from MMT so far:
“Today, as a young ‘up and coming’ lawyer, everyone in the firm was congratulating me for winning my first big case this morning. And all day long all I could think about is how I used a technicality in the law to help a murderer walk away a free man.” [Personal ethics: living up to the great responsibility that comes with great power. Reminds me of the kind of work I don’t want to do.]
“Today, after the funeral, I went back to my parent’s empty house – the house I grew up in. As I gazed around in awe of all the great memories we made in it, I noticed an old photo of my parents in their 20s sitting on the coffee table. In my father’s handwriting, across the back was written, ‘In this moment, we were infinite.’” [Endless possibilities–in our careers and in love.]
“Today, I met an amazing guy at a local diner during the breakfast rush. He was sincere and handsome. We agreed to meet back at the diner for lunch, but he never showed up. I found out this evening from a mutual friend that he was in a fatal car accident on his lunch break two blocks away from the diner.” [Would you still want that moment, knowing he’d be taken from you? Tough questions. Appreciate every minute.]
“Today, after telling my grandmother that I didn’t want to risk making such a huge mistake, she looked at me and said, ‘Looking back on it all, there are so many mistakes I wish I had had the courage to make when I was your age.'” [At the end of my life, I want to be able to say, “No regrets.”]
“Today, my father told me, ‘Just go for it and give it a try! You don’t have to be a professional to build a successful product. Amateurs started Google and Apple. Professionals built the Titanic.'” [Think differently–there’s no substitute for creativity.]
“Today, I interviewed my grandmother for part of a research paper I’m working on for my psychology class. When I asked her to define success in her own words, she said, ‘Success is when you look back at your life and the memories make you smile.'” [Probably the best way to periodically evaluate your life.]
“Today, my dad saw the tears in my eyes and asked, ‘You’re not crying over him again, are you?’ ‘Just let me be,’ I said. He started walking out of the room, then turned around and said, ‘If someone won’t lift a finger to call you, see you and spend time with you, it’s time for you to lift five fingers and wave goodbye.'” [Something every girl needs to hear when it counts–but sometimes, we need help waving goodbye.]
On the subject of seeing events in my own life more clearly through someone else’s experiences, I didn’t realize how cathartic it could be to give another person the support she needs in a situation similar to my own. Alyssa’s ading is going through her own heartbreak, and in a recent 3:00 am conversation at Marissa’s apartment, it all came out. When she says she still cares about him, everyone tells her to move on–and while this advice is coming from a loving place, I’ve never found it helpful. It’s more of an expectation, almost a command or direction, than it is a means of support. And you should never have to apologize for your feelings. So in the midst of all those voices telling her what she should do, I tried to tell her what she could do. Moving on is harder than everyone makes it seem, especially if you two have the same friends–seeing him is inevitable. You’re going to still want him from time to time, and that’s OK. It’s normal. It doesn’t make you stupid. It doesn’t mean you’re waiting for him. All it means is you gave him a part of you for a while–and now it’s time to try to fill that space again. It’s going to take time, and it should, because that’s how you know it meant something, even if it meant something only to you. I have a feeling these words were as much for me as they were for her.
So much perspective in just the last 24 hours. I’ve found a source for daily doses of inspiration. I’ve discovered how to put words to everything I’ve felt over the last two years. I’ve resolved to finally let more people in–I hope my newfound courage doesn’t steer me wrong. I’m learning to stand in emotional integrity. I don’t know what all of this adds up to mean, but it must be indicative of some level of strength. At least, I hope so.
Thanks to HuffPost Women, stumbled upon what promises to be a great website for young, professional women: the Daily Muse (http://dailymu.se/). I’ll definitely be consulting this site in the future–nice to have something other than the male-dominated, Wall Street Journal perspective on how women can succeed in the workplace and in life. Not just advice, but the sharing of experience.
Or, as Cathrine Ann asks, why are you even trying to balance your life at all?
As I browsed through the HuffPost Women section of the Huffington Post this morning, I came across a post that literally challenged everything I’ve been told about leading a productive and happy professional (and ultimately, personal) life. Cathrine Ann, the author of this game-changing post, wrote the following under the title “Balance, Schmalance–Become an Entrepreneur!”:
Do balanced people give us a reason for living? Do they challenge us to become better people?…When I think of any extraordinary visionary, creator, writer, leader, artist or entrepreneur, you will learn the complete opposite of what these living in balance people suggest. They were anything but balanced. They didn’t seek nor crave balance. They craved and sought out passion, engagement, discovery — extreme intensity. And THAT is something very important that I have always known.
Wait, what? So you mean my formerly overachieving, barely socializing, perfectionist self was actually doing something right? And that the more balanced person I’ve become since going through four years of college is not taking the path of a visionary?
Well, maybe not exactly. Ann doles out this advice from the perspective of an entrepreneur who struggled for nearly a decade before finding success. She adds an important caveat to her renunciation of balance: in at least the first five years of your career, you cannot have balance if you want to be the most successful you can possibly be. You must be absolutely devoted to your work, so dedicated that your work becomes your life. There it is, justification for overachievers everywhere.
Enough said.
Based on Ann’s blog post, it’s unclear whether she’s writing off balance completely or just until a person reaches the pinnacle of his or her professional goals. I would hope it’s the latter, but if Ann is a true Type A overachiever, which she seems to be, reaching one goal simply means moving on to the next one. Could this pattern of behavior, rather than being indicative of a visionary in the making, merely point to an inability to be satisfied? Not complacent, but truly, joyfully, completely satisfied with life?
I originally wanted to write this post because I found Ann’s words inspiring, especially considering the educational and professional hurdles I have ahead of me that will render balance nearly impossible. (And for the record, I still plan to post the above quote from her post near my desk–you can never have enough motivational nuggets in law school.) Yet the person I’ve become over the last four years–admittedly, a social butterfly but still someone who cares about achieving at a high level–is hard-pressed to subscribe to the idea that balance is unnecessary. I will concede that I probably could have done better academically during my last few semesters if I spent less time with friends–but at the same time, I still graduated Phi Beta Kappa, with honors, so I regret nothing. And maybe, as my mother believes, I could have received more financial aid from a Top 14 law school if I had cut everything but the LSAT out of my life for six months. But despite all those what ifs, I’m happy with where I am. I’m going to a Top 20 law school in a city I love, and I have amazing friends and experiences I wouldn’t trade for anything. So yes, maybe if I had said “balance, schmalance,” I would be at Harvard Law. But I may not be nearly as fulfilled.
We need to have the courage to renounce balance when it’s absolutely necessary: many careers require us to put in long hours to even have a shot at getting where we ultimately want to be. Law is one of those careers, especially during the first year of law school and the first year as an associate at a large firm. In cases like these, the world is telling us to live balanced lives, but the fact of the matter is that it’s just not possible–we would be unhappy if we did anything less, because we may not reach the coveted destination we so desperately seek.
But we also need to have the courage to find balance when we’re established and when other similar, overachieving, Type A personalities are encouraging us to keep doing more. Giving up balance may indeed allow you to become the next Einstein or Van Gogh, but what good is your success if that’s all you have? They say it’s lonely at the top for a reason. So maybe it’s not always necessary to be at the top–maybe being in the middle, with a great professional and social life, is more than enough.
I’m still not sure if I want the Big Law path. But of course, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that’s an option for me if I want to take it. Which then means that balance for the next year is going to be out of reach, if not completely nonexistent. But that’s all right, because I know I have to renounce balance in order to reap the rewards later. Ultimately, however, I’m not sure if I want to live my life this way. It may be tolerable and even fulfilling (financially, anyway) for a few years, but I can already see myself craving more time with friends and wanting to start a family. With any luck, I can rediscover my Type A personality and still have balance in my life. But until then, I’ll stick to overachieving…with some breaks, of course.
I’ve been meaning to create a post for quite some time now that includes all of the beautiful things that inspire me, emotionally, artistically, professionally, and in every manner in between. Yet since I’ve had other thoughts and issues occupying my mind lately–and yes, that includes that epic trip to Vegas–my Pandora’s box of muses has had little chance to take shape. But here it finally is, in all its wildly eclectic, heartbreakingly beautiful, unabashedly indulgent, whimsically deliberate majesty. For every time I have ever needed to be pulled out of complacency, to be steered away from the trap of the comfortable yet mediocre unlived life, to understand myself better…I have my muses to turn to for an extra kick in the ass–and sometimes the heart. So here it is, a snapshot of what makes me tick–in the form of my favorite things.
Fearless Female
Lisa Ling doing what she does best: speaking up.
I am of the belief that every girl learns best how to become the woman she was meant to be from the female influences surrounding her–her mother, grandmother, aunts, sisters (by blood and by spirit), friends, and mentors. While my mom will always be my first and most instrumental role model, I’ve found a kindred spirit in Lisa Ling, a journalist and fellow Trojan (why did I not find this out until now?!?!) who puts herself in peril almost daily to expose corruption and injustice at home and abroad. Her most recent documentary series, Our America with Lisa Ling, tackles subjects the general public rarely acknowledges and barely understands, such as increasingly popular marriage tours (basically the modern-day version of the mail-order bride) and religiously oriented movements to “pray the gay away.” Previously, Ling was a correspondent for National Geographic, going undercover to experience life in North Korea, exposing and tracking Colombian drug cartels, and investigating the fate of Chinese baby girls discarded because of the country’s one-child policy. She has also dedicated herself to advocacy, using her series on Oxygen, Who Cares About Girls?, to speak for one of the most vulnerable population segments of the modern age: young girls, many of whom have lost their mothers to the prison system, have been trafficked as sex slaves, or have lived in similarly shocking and tragic circumstances. In a word, Ling was everything I wanted to be when journalism was still my profession of choice–and her work reminds me that no matter what I do, I should always be conscientious, strong, courageous, willing to listen, and ready to speak.
Dance Routine
I may tell people that my first love is writing (and I suppose if we’re talking about what ultimately defines me now, writing would be it), but in truth, my first love was dance. I started ballet at the tender age of four and danced that paradox of grace and control for about six years–and then hip-hop captivated me, and I traded in my satin shoes for a pair of kicks. The beats and the bass held my attention until I started college, when life became even busier and the number of weekends I spent at home diminished. I haven’t danced that way–regularly, feverishly, individually–in years, and I’ll admit that there are times I regret refusing to dance en pointe and skipping out on my hip-hop classes. But I’ve managed to feed my dance habit with America’s Best Dance Crew and So You Think You Can Dance, and just like it did all those years ago, a routine that transforms emotion into an experience, from the music to the lighting to the dancers’ movements, leaves me in awe. So thank you, Wade Robson, for this beautiful, heartwrenching, breathtaking piece: one of my favorite songs, so achingly beautiful in its melancholy, has its story told through the simultaneously fluid and staccato movements of dancers who understand the pain and desire of a crumbling romance. I dare you not to cry…or to be inspired.
Book
As a writer, I could never actually pick just one favorite book: writing is centered on a purpose, and purposes are as varied as the authors who possess them. Depending on what part of myself I’d like to explore and indulge that day, I choose the work of an author whose purpose matches mine in the moment. I’ve read many books in my life, but when I think back to those that have truly inspired me, that have made me engage in the type of mental and emotional gymnastics that every writer wants to evoke in her readers, three stories come to mind, all from different genres.
The book that inspires me to explore the recesses of my mind--and reach past my own experience to produce something incredible.
From the classics–and because I believe looking to the annals of literary history is mandatory for anyone who calls herself a writer–I haven’t connected with any novel in the same way I have with Wuthering Heights. How Emily Bronte, who at least to my knowledge had no personal experience with the type of dangerous passion Catherine and Heathcliff share, imagined such a torrential, beautifully destructive world fascinates me every time I read the novel. She wrote just one book–and got it right. Impressive, to say the least.
The book that provides a remedy for the unlived life--and shows me why I should do everything to ensure I have no regrets.
From nonfiction, I’ve found (and highlighted) so many live-your-life-like-THIS maxims in Eat, Pray, Love. Elizabeth Gilbert’s memoir of self-discovery is the ultimate travel guide, both to some of the world’s most beautiful places and to the human soul. Her vivid descriptions of culinary and romantic decadence in Italy, quiet yet powerful devotion in India, and the beauty of simplicity and balance in Indonesia have made me fall in love with life when it seems that I’m surrounded by nothing but monotony. (And for the record, I read this book before the movie came out, so I didn’t need Julia Roberts to tell me how lovely and inspiring the story really is.) It’s not escapism–it’s merely a model for how to live life with a little excitement everyday.
The book that is so revealing in its simplicity.
And finally, from allegorical fiction, I have yet to discover a story as deeply moving and effortlessly beautiful as The Alchemist. Paulo Coelho’s story of a young shepherd boy in search of his destiny has prose that is so simple, so minimalist, but manages to speak volumes about the meaning and purpose of life. As Santiago seeks his own personal legend, I often find myself reflecting on mine–and wanting to do all I can to ensure I never lose sight of it.
The book that tells one of the greatest stories of love lost--and never regained.
**Update, July 22, 2011: I was browsing through the Huffington Post this morning and stumbled across a post entitled “What Your Favorite Author Says About You.” (As an aside, apparently my love for Jane Austen pegs me as “in love with love” but also “extremely independent, headstrong, brave and resilient,” as well as “an ideal best friend.” However, I think I’m more inspired by the character of Elizabeth Bennet than I am by the story she takes the leading role in, as evidenced by the fact that Pride and Prejudice isn’t on this list. The story is classic boy-meets-girl, but I have yet to find another character like Elizabeth in literature. Anyway, I digress.) It was only then that I realized I had forgotten perhaps my favorite work of classic American literature, which I have now resolved to reread as pseudo-penance for my oversight. It’s a novel of lost opportunities, second chances, enduring love, and devastating consequences–and word on the street is Baz Luhrmann is making it into a movie (YES!). This masterpiece is none other than The Great Gatsby, which, yes, I had as required reading in high school, but there’s just something about that story that still renders it enigmatic. Maybe it’s my love of the 1920s, or the image of the eternal green light, or the fact that we all, in a sense, have or will have a Daisy that keeps me under F. Scott Fitzgerald’s spell. The story is beautiful in its hovering mist of “what ifs,” and it reminds me of the pain of acceptance–acceptance of the person you really are, acceptance of what you cannot have in this life, acceptance of not being good enough. In a word, acceptance of reality. It’s the kind of novel that makes your heart ache–but in a contemplative, understanding sort of way. (As another aside, the Huffington Post article mentioned above oversimplifies what an appreciation for Fitzgerald represents: supposedly, Fitzgerald fans are “likely to find the beauty in everything just as he does in his writing,” “have a refined way of looking at things,” and are “what some would call a romantic. Rather than dwelling on the heartache of life, [they] focus on the good, the easy and the exciting.” The Great Gatsby is all about dwelling on the heartache of life; this idea drives the novel. Gatsby’s lavish parties are both a means of bringing Daisy back as well as a band-aid to disguise and alleviate his feelings of inadequacy. Essentially, Fitzgerald hits on a practice still prevalent today: we use the good, the easy, and the exciting to help us get over the heartache of life…but of course, it may only be a quick fix.)
Musician
My iTunes library is an amalgamation of almost everything: what I said above about books can also be said about music, especially because the latter is particularly suited to expressing a spectrum of emotions for a variety of circumstances. But in the same way that I have a selection of books whose stories have spoken to me more than others, I have artists that I especially admire for their sound as well as their lyrics. A great song is a combination of multiple elements, some tangible and others part of that je ne sais quoi quality, but in the end, the ones I remember are those that, like an awe-inspiring dance routine, allow me to fully immerse myself in an emotion. When I listen to Adele and John Mayer, it’s more than therapy: I’m often able to finally put words to feelings I didn’t know I had. That awakening is the true hallmark of great art.
I love a girl with soul, and no one does it better than Adele: no Auto-Tune, no spectacle, just her voice and the music. With influences of Motown and jazz in her work, Adele knows how to sing about heartache, longing, resentment, and even quiet retribution beautifully. Every word, every note, has meaning–which is a lesson in how everything we say, and don’t say, counts.
As far as lyricists go, John Mayer is one of the best, which only makes his guitar skills even more impressive. How he comes up with these metaphors, like “slow dancing in a burning room” for a breakup, astounds me–I often find myself thinking, “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Everything he writes is so poetic and so complex, but it’s also relatable–and that is artistry.
Fashion Era
My favorite vintage Vogue cover, shot in 1957. So classic, so effortlessly beautiful, and so representative of the fashion era I love so much.
I’ve often described my style as vintage-inspired modern: feminine pieces in classic silhouettes, combined with the elements of today’s trends. OK, I just made that up on the spot, but you get the idea. I love timeless fashion: a day-to-night little black dress, ladylike peep-toe pumps, a tailored blazer, a pair of jeans that fit like a second skin. The fashion of the Kennedy era, often described as the period in history that gave birth to classic American sportswear, seems to me to be the source of many of today’s recycled trends–or, at the very least, it provides me with a template for celebrating my own femininity. A-line skirts and dresses, cinched at the waist; delicate heels; luxurious yet relaxed sweaters and blouses; well-tailored pants and jackets; and, of course, the original make-you-look-like-a-celebrity sunglasses: these pieces complement virtually every woman’s figure, so it’s no surprise that they’re making a significant comeback. And pairing that modern yet classic A-line dress, shorter hemline and all, with a boyfriend blazer, flats, and a fedora? Well, that’s not just interesting–it’s a younger Jackie O. for the 21st Century.
Film
When making a list like this, it’s easy to confuse “favorite” for “inspiring”: I can think of dozens of movies I’ve loved and watched over and over again, and will likely continue to watch over and over again, but as I sat down to figure out which film was my favorite in the sense that it awakened my mind, heart, soul, whatever, I realized the list was shorter than I anticipated. Like every girl, I have a DVD library of my favorite chick flicks, but that doesn’t mean any of them are particularly thought-provoking–they may be cute and amusing (The Holiday, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days), heartbreakingly beautiful but unrealistic (The Notebook, Titanic), or only minimally intriguing due to their borderline shallow philosophizing (Sex and the City, When Harry Met Sally, He’s Just Not That Into You).
So maybe I don’t have a ton of movies that ignite some sort of fire within me–but I have realized that the few that have managed to find the light switch in the (sometimes) dark recesses of my mind all have something to do with love. No surprise there. The difference between these films and the ones listed above is simple: they’re about love in its real, everyday, normal-people form, without cheesy gimmicks, over-the-top gestures, or a final chase-the-girl-through-the-city scene. Escapism is all good and well, but sometimes you just want what’s real.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind: The real effect of memories, joyous and painful. With Jim Carey in a serious role (who knew?) and the always captivating Kate Winslet as his balls-out, free-spirited love lost, this indie film is an interesting game of “Would You Rather”–essentially, would you rather love, passionately and completely, and deal with the heartwrenching breakup, or live free from pain…and from that love? Really makes me question whether eternal sunshine is so great after all.
500 Days of Summer: How many real relationships run their course. This film is an exercise in whether being in love really means being together–and whether you can have the former without the latter. I don’t know the answer yet, but if it’s yes, it just seems like the universe’s cruelest joke. But Joseph Gordon Levitt, in his adorably genuine way, manages to come to terms with it, which means we probably should, too.
City
Samuel Johnson once said, “When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life, for there is in London all that life can afford.” Now I’ve been to London–granted, it was with my parents, so I’m sure my experience would have been drastically different had I gone in college–and for the most part, I can see where Johnson gets this idea. London has nightlife, culture, history, cheap food, and fashion–but I think the same can be said of almost any other modern-day metropolis. (In Johnson’s day, of course, London was one of the few cosmopolitan cities around, so I guess I can understand why he uttered that now famous quote.) At this point in my life, however, I’m not sure if I could live there: the one thing London doesn’t have is a lot of sunshine. And as a California girl, I like my warm weather. It’s good for the complexion and the attitude.
Rome: awe-inspiring yet accessible.
I was once asked what my favorite city in the world was, and after thinking about it for all of 10 seconds (I’m relatively well-traveled, although compared to the person I was having this conversation with, I sound like just a lucky tourist), only one place came to mind (and if you’re astute, you’ll deduce the answer from the picture header of this blog): Rome. Henry James’ use of Rome as a symbol of decay in Daisy Miller completely misses the point, in my opinion. The Roman ruins are not the archetype for lost greatness–they’re seamlessly woven into the modern architecture and pace of life in the city, providing a prime example of how the past continues to influence and inform the present. The city is warm, sun-kissed, golden, and above all, alive. Italian culture manages to balance decadence with class and style–look no further than Italian fashion, after all. The food, the people, the city itself are welcoming, alluring, hypnotizing. You can’t help but fall in love with life all over again in Rome.
Los Angeles: the (other) concrete jungle where dreams are made.
But of course, you always have to come home–and to me, there’s no better place to come home to than Los Angeles. This city is one of the most diverse in the world, which means interesting people as well as amazingly delicious food: the sprawling nature of the place has allowed ethnic enclaves to spring up almost everywhere, and visiting a new one is like discovering a hidden treasure. L.A. is an odd mix of a gritty, urban concrete jungle and luxurious gated communities–a city of contradictions, if you will. (The film Crash is actually not too far from the truth in terms of its depiction of racial tension and hypocrisy. Welcome to L.A.) But those contradictions are what make the city so captivating and exciting. You can experience every part of life here–and finding what’s real in a city notorious for fakes is part of the adventure, as true Angelenos know.
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On first glance, I’m sure it seems strange that I’m taking the time to post and explain my favorite advertisement: most people just have a good laugh in front of the TV and call it a day. Or they wouldn’t spend precious time writing commentary about an ad unless it was for class. But as a communication major and former journalist, ads are even more deeply tied to my daily experience than they are to everyone else’s: I not only flipped through them as I was channel-surfing, but I also dissected them for class and relied on their financial support at my news organizations. So really, it’s only natural that I would have a favorite advertisement–or two.
Neither of these ads is so much an overt marketing ploy as it is a mini-film. And frankly, I like my consumerism served with a little art, thank you very much.
Dior’s commercial for its youthful, effervescent perfume, Miss Dior Chérie, showcases the loveliness of Paris–and with Sofia Coppola at the helm, it has that intriguing femininity about it. This is the first ad that really made me put down the remote and say, “Wow. I love it, but I don’t exactly know why.” (After thinking about it years later, I have a feeling it’s how the ad celebrates life–in all its girly, carefree, sunny luxury.) Nice use of je ne sais quoi, Ms. Coppola.
Chanel’s commercial for its Coco Mademoiselle perfume has a similar femininity but in a much more mysterious, alluring form. I wrote a blog post about this ad for an advertising class I took during my final semester, and the motif of a powerful yet elegant woman was what drew me to the commercial in the first place. The ad seems to be saying going home alone isn’t a rejection but a choice–and that’s a message I can definitely endorse.
Food Find
Giada de Laurentiis, showing us how life can be truly dolce.
Call me fat and gluttonous, but I find delicious food inspiring. Not only is food perhaps the one thing most associated with happy memories for many of us–we gather around it over the holidays, showcase it to display pride in our culture, and share it with each other as a source of connection and comfort–but eating amazing food, made with love, can be a religious experience. Now I could go on and on about red velvet cupcakes, Serendipity’s famous frozen hot chocolate and New York strip steak sandwich (which my friends and I have dubbed the orgasm sandwich–yes, it’s that good), food trucks (dimsum, boba, kogi, Armando’s), Los Angeles Korean BBQ and Japanese ramen, pupusas and mulitas, Italian pizza and gelato, and Filipino fried chicken (and I think I kind of just did there…oops), but it’s important to remember that the food is only as good as the chef who makes it. And as far as celebrity chefs go, no one does it better than Giada De Laurentiis and Ina Garten.
"WWTBFCD?": What would the Barefoot Contessa do? (Have a party, probably.)
These two women have their own television shows on the Food Network and specialize in perhaps the most beloved cuisine on earth: Italian and French, respectively. Every dish they make has so much love, so much attention to detail, that it looks simply delicious. Watching them inspires me to venture into the kitchen and try my hand at perhaps the one basic skill I haven’t quite perfected–and to have an accent as lilting and soft as theirs when I attempt to speak French and Italian. These women don’t just know how to cook; they know how to enjoy food, and when I enter their kitchens, I’m always reminded how scrumptious the simplest things in life can really be.
Big Idea
"One for One": TOMS shows the business world how helping others can be a real win-win.
As a future attorney who hopes to work in intellectual property, I plan to make a career out of protecting people’s valuable ideas–but there are some ideas that are just meant to be copied and shared. Social entrepreneurship certainly fits into this category. It probably isn’t that novel of a concept, but it seems it’s only just now that the business community is latching onto it. Essentially, it’s a business model that allows a company to effect social change while still making a profit. The prime example is TOMS, the shoe company that donates a pair of shoes to a child in need for every pair purchased in-store or online. The idea that helping others can be good for everyone, emotionally as well as financially, is encouraging. I attended an event last year focused on the idea of social entrepreneurship, with panelists speaking about their successful business ideas, and even got an internship out of it. It reignited a passion within me that had been dormant for some time, most likely because I was focused on getting into law school and getting ahead–and I needed that wakeup call. I still ultimately want to work for a big firm that counts big companies among its clients, but I’m determined to find ways to supplement that job with some good old-fashioned social justice work. And who knows…I may even start my own nonprofit one day.
Media Artistry
Full disclosure: I created this term because the work of the directors I admire, Sofia Coppola and Baz Luhrmann, couldn’t exactly be called my favorite movies, at least in the traditional sense. Rather than encompassing the true art of storytelling, their films are, for me anyway, more of an escape from reality and a demonstration of pastiche at its best. Yet that fact is still worth celebrating–because not everyone can weave different pieces of media, from different eras, together quite as masterfully as these two. Their work is paradoxically fantasy and reality, which makes for an eclecticism difficult to find anywhere else.
Marie Antoinette: The film that introduced me to Sofia Coppola. One of its many trailers was set to The Strokes’ “What Ever Happened,” and I saw how Coppola fused images of the Bourbons’ France with rock-n-roll riffs–and I was instantly captivated. The film was so infused with media that it mirrored our own media-saturated society, and I love how the montages of luxury at Versailles almost took on the character of a music video or a tabloid-focused television show. To revel in the opulence of Marie Antoinette’s daily existence, and to milk it for the camera, took voyeurism to an entirely new–and stylish–level.
Moulin Rouge, William Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet: The films that left me speechless at Baz Luhrmann’s eccentric, wildly beautiful, fiery vision. If any director knows how to capture unbridled passion on film, it’s Luhrmann. He understands the double-edged sword of love, knows how it can take us to the greatest and most breathtaking heights but also plunge us into the darkest and most dangerous depths. His Red Curtain Trilogy, which includes these two films as well as another titled Strictly Ballroom, uses elements of modern life to tell stories with classic themes. Like Coppola, Luhrmann knows how to fuse the past and the present into one mind-blowing, racing, unforgettable experience.
Cultural Expression
By now, I’m sure it’s become apparent that I love eclecticism, fusion, whatever you’d like to call it–and I suppose that penchant is a by-product both of my indecisive nature and my love for extraordinary things that make me think. Pastiche doesn’t have to mean a lack of originality: rather, it can be the epitome of a unique vision. Especially when we mix what is classic or traditional with what is contemporary or unorthodox, we make a bold statement about the complexity of the human experience.
David Lazaro’s art incorporates the characters of Baybayin, an old Filipino tribal script, into pieces celebrating universal themes like love, freedom, and strength. In the last few years, Baybayin has become popular among young Filipino Americans as a symbol of tradition and cultural pride; in its original form, it remains one of the few artifacts that doesn’t possess the bad aftertaste of Spanish colonization and influence. The reemergence of this script in everything from art to cultural festivals to jewelry to tattoos marks my generation as aware and innovative–and, of course, dedicated to preserving the beauty of our heritage.
Mahal kita: One of my favorite pieces, featuring the Baybayin characters for "mahal" ("love," "expensive") woven into a heart.
New year: The Baybayin for "dalawang libo't sampu" ("2010") forms the vines and roots of the sampaguita flower, the national flower of the Philippines.
Dozens of Filipino dance companies, along with Filipino student organizations, have performed Singkil, a traditional dance from the southern part of the Philippines, an area with a large Muslim population that still retains much of its Middle Eastern cultural influences. The story behind the dance is as varied as the groups who perform it, but on a very basic level, it depicts the romance between a prince and princess. As if the jewel-toned, regal costumes and props weren’t beautiful enough, the Leyte Dance Theatre has incorporated ballet-inspired elements into its version of Singkil–and despite some of the criticism they’ve received for “corrupting” the dance, I find it stunning. It’s a refreshing celebration of Filipino culture that also gives a nod to one of the most graceful genres of dance.
Three Days…
That’s how long it took me to finally finish this post. It was a labor of love, but I’m glad I have it. I wrote it–composed, edited, arranged it–with me and my need for inspiration in mind…but also so anyone who happens upon it can be with me, in (my) mind, and come to understand me better. So here’s to the beautiful chocolate fondue of life: so many ingredients, tried-and-true as well as new and exciting, that must be tended to attentively in order to realize their full potential. Delicious and deep, as it should be.
The title of this category is a somewhat obscure reference to Sex and the City and probably gives away how obsessed I’ve become with this show over the past year. For anyone who’s familiar with (read: can’t get enough of watching) the show, you’ll remember when Carrie sits in a cafe with her friends, only a few blocks away from Big’s engagement party, and tries to make sense of why he could never commit to her, declaring, “The world is made up of two types of women: the simple girls and the Katie girls. I’m a Katie girl!” Naturally, this makes Big’s fiancee, Natasha, a simple girl–the kind that many men will ultimately choose over women they can’t tame. To better understand the meaning of this sentiment, I’d suggest watching the clip above…or, better yet, watching The Way We Were, the movie that gave birth to the original concept of a Katie girl.
The posts in this category could easily be about relationships, but they’re not–that’s what the Little Black Dress category is for. Instead, I’m using this category to house everything and anything that inspires me, that lights a fire under my ass and motivates me to do something–in a word, everything that can help me to become a better Katie girl. A good friend once told me, “You have this feistiness about you–don’t lose it, because I know it’s going to get you so far.” I think all Katie girls have this quality about them; the question is simply how often they unleash it. Those who let it run free in the most crucial of situations, to assert their worth and their talent, are the ones we label Katie girls–the rest are simply Katie girls in the making. I consider myself to be in the latter group at the moment, and I would prefer to be in the former one. Women who change history are Katie girls: Eleanor Roosevelt, Jane Austen, Hillary Clinton, Gloria Alred, Lisa Ling. I hope I can add to their legacy.
With the boomerang nature of my emotional state at the moment, I need reminders every now and then to help me put everything into perspective. I fluctuate between productive, content days and dog-tired, I-just-can’t-get-past-it days, and generally I’m in a constant state of purposeful distraction and pretending to be more OK than I actually am. So an occasional “hmm” moment that has nothing to do with what’s going on in my head–well, directly, at least–is a nice change.
So much perspective in just the last 24 hours. I’ve found a source for daily doses of inspiration. I’ve discovered how to put words to everything I’ve felt over the last two years. I’ve resolved to finally let more people in–I hope my newfound courage doesn’t steer me wrong. I’m learning to stand in emotional integrity. I don’t know what all of this adds up to mean, but it must be indicative of some level of strength. At least, I hope so.
Suit Yourself 