Iceland! A Retrospective

As I mentioned way back when, my family spent a few days in Iceland between Christmas/Beyoncé visiting and the New Year. And as has now become family tradition, I filmed the trip to add to the growing collection of Strasburger trip movie memorabilia (a concept which I have discussed at length here) alongside: Southeast Asia, Cuba, the Stans, and Brazil.

Just a few months later (okay, seven), I've finally got around to editing it! But the tricky thing about this little Icelandic production is that we were no the island for approximately 62 hours, only 4 of which contained actual sunlight. Because Iceland in the winter is essentially the shadowland, it's a short film, but one full of the odd and beautiful sounds of Iceland's own Sigur Rós. Enjoy the stark scenery, and let it serve as a friendly reminder to embrace summer's warmth before we go back to the hell that is cold weather.

P.S. Stay tuned for the India video! But maybe don't hold your breath...

How to Dress for Gov Ball (IMHO)

A photo posted by chantal strasburger (@chantagold) on Jun 5, 2015 at 2:51pm PDT

My third Governor's Ball Music Festival has come and gone, leaving me with some all too familiar souvenirs: muddy feet, a tender sunburn, and an increasing frustration with humanity. Yes, music festivals are about music, duh, but ask 80% of the crowd what they spent the past week preparing for and I'll bet you two overpriced beers their answer is not which bands to see, but rather what outfits to wear. I watched photographers stalk the fields looking for the next big festival trends and interesting silouhettes, and my heat ached with them because THERE WERE NONE. Now I'm no festival junkie, but I've religiously attended Austin City Limits for the past 11 years of my life and the only sartorial change I've seen is an increase in flower crowns and skin exposure. Sure, flash tats were an exciting addition in 2014, but when you're blinded by metallic designs everywhere you turn, they begin to lose their sparkle.

When I first moved to NYC, my city-savvy friends convinced me to invest in a ticket, and I naively showed up to the scene in what I deemed appropriate festival wear: rain boots for the rain — what else would you need? So I was surprised when I was asked to be photographed for Urban Outfitter's blog, and that's when I realized the Randall's Island hoopla was about more than just music. This concept was new to me because ACL hasn't quite caught up with the fashion-meets-music scene yet. So when I was at Nylon magazine I offered to snap some street style pics while I was home for ACL, but spent the three days in complete frustration and disbelief: not a single interesting or unique outfit. There just isn't a culture of pushing fashion boundaries at ACL, which is why I hadn't expected there to be such an emphasis on it at Gov Ball, but boy was I wrong.

This year I spotted more than a handful of style bloggers I recognized posing for pics in front of the graffiti art in their wide-brimmed hats and heart-shaped sunglasses, the bands playing behind them merely a pleasant soundtrack to their main event. But I'm not going to lie, I would be just as happy sitting in the grass licking an ice pop and people watching as I would standing in a sweaty crowd listening to Tame Impala. It's absolutely fascinating to see what the majority of the population chose to wear to New York City's big weekend out. But if this is the place to see and be seen, why does everyone wear the exact same thing? It's like the Gov Ball committee sent out a flier with an attached Urban Outfitters/American Apparel catalog and circled the three halter tops that would be allowed in and mine just got lost in the mail. Sure, it's a safe bet to roll up in what your friends are sporting, but where's the fun in that? The sky is the limit when it comes to risk-taking at a music festival, so why not take advantage of the three days of trend freedom? I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the fourteen-year-olds stumbling around in exposed bra straps and short shorts displaying what I can only describe as "under-butt cleavage."

But as I waded through the underage drinkers and first-time smokers, I began to wonder if I was wrong to be so condescending of this unspoken uniform. Is it really so bad to have a pack mentality when it comes to dressing for events? Is herd behavior really so shameful when it means sporting a tried-and-trusted outfit? No, of course not. But my disappointment lies in the lack of interest in trying something new. Every year I look forward to the new accessory that will define that year in festival wear, and every year I'm faced with the same make-your-own-flower-crown stand with an impossibly long line of tween girls.

So you're probably thinking, "Alright Chantal, if you're so high and mighty about music festival outfits what did you wear?" Well, nothing that will break the internet, but I spent the an afternoon combing through the racks at various thrift stores around my BK neighborhood to find one-off pieces that no one else would be wearing — something interesting that most people would pass up, but if paired with the right accessories could actually be pretty badass (a much harder task than you might think, mind you). But I scored a rather fabulous retro jumpsuit from People of 2omorrow which I paired with a leather and snakeskin bag (below left). For the first day I threw on a silk robe my aunt and uncle picked up from Uzbekistan, a country I also recently travelled to and couldn't get enough of the incredible textiles (see above). And for the third day I went with a '70s wide-legged jumpsuit that zipped up the back (below right).

I got many nods of approval and compliments on my non-crop tops and was thrilled to be stopped by a few photographers and publications. But the main takeaway I got from my weekend in jumpsuits?

Peeing in porta-potties naked is the WORST.

Other than that, it was a pretty successful weekend of gawking and observing. But there are a few tips I would give a Gov Ball first-timer (take these with a grain of salt and a pinch of snobbery):

1. Go to a thrift store to buy your outfit for guaranteed originality.
2. Step away from the flower crowns.
3. When it comes to footwear, practicality is key to endurance.
4. LAYER! It might feel like a pain to truck that light sweater around all day, but when the sun sets not even Lana del Rey's crooning can keep you warm.
5. There's no such thing as too much sunscreen. 
6. I'm all for self-love when it comes to showing off your body (really, I am) but there is a certain fabric minimum required for shorts to be called shorts, and I would recommend sticking to that. I believe there has to be an inseam of sorts.
7. If you have a chest that requires a bra, don't buy a backless halter top that barely covers your nipples. You will not be comfortable. Cheating the system and wearing a bra with it anyway is just as ill-advised. You have to know what works for you body, and stick with it. 
8. There's no detail too small. Want to load up on your pin collection or heirloom rings? The strangers packed in next to you for that hour and a half set will appreciate every single one. 
9. Remember that your purse it not just a cute accessory, but should also be able to hold your water bottle, wallet, snacks, camera, phone, keys etc. etc. So that tiny little fanny pack you were planning on buying? You might want to grab two. 
10. On that note, backpacks/fanny packs are the way to go when it comes to carrying supplies. Hands-free dancing is the best kind of dancing.

There are a million other thoughts I have on the subject, but we'll keep it at that. So please, next time you're planning on hitting up Lollapalooza or Bonnaroo, accept the challenge to rise above the crowd and find yourself a getup that will shine. Might I suggest sequins?

P.S. IMHO = In my humble opinion.

The Slow, Steady, and Tragic Decline of the Man Bun

The movement started with a faint whisper—tales of glorious strands being pulled back into a tight little knot and sman-manes billowing in the wind, only to be tamed by the strength of an elastic band. Originating with dirty Australian backpackers and steadily finding its way onto the heads of Brooklyn's elite, the bohemian hairstyle, centuries old, began to find a new life. But from these arcane subcultures it streamed forth, ensnaring men who had previously sworn by a clean cut and a fresh shave. These former prepsters found themselves starring into bathroom mirrors and asking friends, "Yo, what do you think about me growing out my hair?" with mock nonchalance and heightened self-awareness. However, when the top knot started appearing in the most mundane of settings—a fast food commercial here, a Forever 21 ad there—there was no denying it: The man bun had gone mainstream. They could be spotted on subway cars, at the Met, in Trader Joe's—there were even sightings in Murray Hill, much to the outward disgust and secret pleasure of the local fro-yo imbibing females.

Then slowly but surely, articles started popping up defaming the holy aesthetic, vindictively announcing the "shocking" amounts of bacteria found on beards and smashing every germaphobe's dreams (not mine, of course, I embrace all forms of microorganisms). Moreover, a recent study confirmed that 63% of women now despise the man bun trend. So when did the tide begin to turn? Why did popular opinion rise against, and what was the catalyst that started denying the man bun the admiration it deserves? 

Perhaps it was the same fate that happened upon flower crowns: While beautiful and pure in appearance, well-meaning and ethereal, they belong to a different time, a different place. Floral headdresses were created to grace the heads of nymphs in Botticelli paintings, so at music festivals they come across as trite and overeager. One could argue that by exuding masculinity and strength, the man bun belongs in a world of battlefields and armor, bloodshed and glory (think Jon Snow meets Thor). Even I, self-proclaimed lover of all things facial hair, sensed my own recent recoiling when I unfollowed Man Bun Monday, an Instagram account whose images I used to tag friends on religiously, but has gradually begun to feel tired and erroneous. 

With that said, it is still with great sadness that I bid the fad farewell, and usher in an era of close crops and undercuts. Au revoir man buns—society may be moving on, but I will never deny you a subtle nod of appreciation when die-hards pass me by on the street, throwing all cares of trend and popularity to the wind, along with their beautiful heads of hair. 

The L Train; or, Why Some People Choose Not to Live in NYC

A photo posted by chantal strasburger (@chantagold) on Jul 18, 2014 at 8:47am PDT

Today I'm going to write about what's currently on my mind: public transportation. Sexy, eh?

Here's what's up: I live two blocks from the L train. The line runs straight from Brooklyn to Manhattan, and I'm off the first stop out. So it would make sense for me to take the L into Manhattan, transfer at Union Square to the 4/5 and make my way down to the brand-spankin-new-but-also-sort-of-falling-apart One World Trade Center. SUUUPER convenient morning commute right? Right. Except also very wrong. Let me explain how this route goes down IRL (and why I no longer take it).

6:30am: Alarm goes off. I lace up my sneaks and head to the gym for an early morning sweat sesh.

7:30: Realize that was only wishful dreaming and I have just been repeatedly hitting snooze every five minutes for the past hour.

8:40: After bathing, clothing, and feeding myself, I head out the door.

8:45: Descend into the pits of hell that is the Bedford L stop on a Monday morning. Platform is packed with rows upon rows of impatient New Yorkers (redundant?).

8:55: MTA voice from above kindly informs us that there is a delay, and that the next train arriving will not stop. We all miserably watch as a packed L passes us by along with our hopes, dreams, and aspirations.

9:05: The first train comes to a stop. It is so full that an exact average of 1.5 people make it onto each car.

9:10-9:25: This continues as the population of the platform grows and people save twitter drafts of crowd-selfies (why)(because there is no cell service).

9:30: I use my creative problem-solving skills and deductive reasoning to realize that if I take the L train going further into Brooklyn a few stops, my chances of actually making it onto a train increase. I take it three stops towards Rockaway Pkwy, cross over ABOVE ground and re-enter on the other side to squeeze onto a Manhattan-bound train. ha HA! My plan works and I am feeling smug even though I am making direct skin contact with no less than four strangers.

9:40: Half-sympathetically/half-maniacally watch as no one at the Bedford stop can get on. Sayonara, suckers (also sorry!)

10:20: Arrive to work late, commiserate with co-workers about living in bRoOkLyn ugh, and vow never to take the L again.

SO. That is the story of how I left my abusive relationship of one and a half years with the goddamn L train and started taking the J.

The J is a dream. The cars are wider, rarely packed, and—best of all—it crosses the Williamsburg bridge so you start your day off with a stunning view of Manhattan looking out over the water and you remember why you love this city ha ha ha. Above ground time is time well spent. The only catch is it's about a 30 minute walk from my apartment. So it now takes me an hour to commute. Which is fine because I view my morning walks as "me" time where I listen to podcasts, observe the slow but steady gentrification of South Williamsburg, and think about how I didn't go to the gym that morning. It's also the perfect distance to hit just the right amount of cardio so that when I leave my apartment I'm freezing but by the time I get to the platform I'm sweating!

Next time on Daily Commuting with Chantal: "The Ferry: New York's Best Kept Secret, Sort Of".

A Song of Ice(land) and Fire

Okay, so I didn't get around to following up on my gift guides which is INFURIATING because I had carefully chosen all the products for each person, but family time got the best of me and I decided not to spend my precious holiday time in front of the computer screen (one of my New Year's resolutions). Speaking of holidays, my parents surprised us with a trip to ICELAND which was AMAZING. It's a very cold, dark country (the sun rises at 10:30am and sets at 4pm in the winter...) but with beautiful people, stunning scenery, and delicious food. Also, fun fact, many of the Game of Thrones scenes is filmed there (think North of the Wall) so we even went on a GOT tour, I kid you not. In fact, the way our parents told us we were going was by gifting us a map of Westeros on Christmas Day. Needless to say none of us guessed "trip to Iceland" from the illustration, but cousin Harry was quick to point out our shortcomings. The cherry on top of the trip was the knowledge that Beyoncé and Jay Z had just been there to celebrate his birthday, so we were walking on hallowed ground indeed. I even swam in the exact same waters Queen B did at the famous Icelandic Blue Lagoon. I'm never bathing again.

A photo posted by chantal strasburger (@chantagold) on Dec 12, 2014 at 7:54am PST

Here are a few more snapshots of the Viking land.

 Thrift shopping with Selina at the must-visit Spuutnik in Reykjavik. Don't worry, I bought the coat.

 Explorer Roy

 Trolling the town's local music scene. The fam loved this band--def check them out: 1860

 

 THE NORTHERN LIGHTS!!! Not the best picture ever but insanely mesmerizing in person. 

 An example of a waterfall you would not want to fall into.

 

 

We spent New Year's in London and it was a wonderful end to an exciting and busy year. Here's to 2015!

Gift Guide Part I: For Your Sisters Who Recently Moved to London, Are Currently Obsessed with 'The Big Lebowski', and Have Just Begun University

SORRY this is a bit late—due to a busy holiday season and travel plans (writing this from London--cheers!) I was a tad behind deadline. But better late than never, no?

1. Ariella Elovic Pet Portraits, $60 When they can't take their beloved dog Prada to college with them, hang this on the wall for the next best thing (almost).
2. Anthropologie Pop-Print Measuring Spoons, $25 To put that British cooking course to use, in the quaintest way possible.
3. Cute Tape Mini Vintage Floral Washi Tape, $2.50 The only way to decorate any surface, damage-free (aka a college student's best friend).
4. J. Crew Brushed Scarf, $72.50 Keep them chic and warm during those cold Boston winters.
5. Amazon 'London Style Guide: Eat, Sleep Shop' by Saska Graville, $22.69 The best technique for getting to know a new city? Eating your way through it.
6. Glossier, Phase 1 $80 Because everybody needs to jump on the Glossier train (I know I have…).
7. Vinca USA Arrow Studs, $16 A pair of simple gold arrows to decorate their ears.
8. Etsy Vintage Leather Bowling Shoes, $40 To up the game when she and her friends sip white Russians and refer to each other as "the Dude".
9. Pintrill Pin Hundred Classic, $10 Better than a text.
10. ModCloth Glitter Hair Ties, $12.99 To add a little sparkle to their day.
11. Lady Luna Small Laced Cuff, $125 Because when they aren't looking, you can steal it back.
12. Bobbi Brown Metallic Cream Eyeshadow, $25 For rambunctious office happy hours.
13. Paperless Post Party Invitation, 2 Coins To inform their guests the time and place of those cocktail parties they're going to start hosting.
14. In God We Trust Leather and Knit Gloves, $115 A gorgeous color combo and a genius fix to the biting chill that attacks that naked bit of skin between the gloves and coat sleeve.

Stay tuned for more! (T-minus 4 days!!)

Brazil + the World Cup!

Sitting on the shelves upstairs in my house in Austin are albums after albums filled with photographs of various travels from my childhood. Trips to Bali, Thailand, and the UK have thankfully all been physically manifested into books because my memories wouldn’t do them justice. But towards the late ‘90s, the documentation stops. Photo albums just aren’t a thing anymore. Sure, we still take pictures, but how many are being printed and placed methodically into heavy leather-bounds? Even the culture of picture-taking has changed. Freshmen year of college, I remember having my trusty, little red digital camera glued to my hand for EVERY SINGLE THING I ever did (interesting or not, and let’s be honest, most of them were not) before I gleefully uploaded them all onto Facebook. Today, however, you could be at the most exciting event of your life, but you're only limited to one Instagram. Just the one. Any more than that is seen as over-sharing or annoying and will just "clog up your friends' news feeds". 10 years from now, we will all look back at our major milestones with only one (highly-filtered) image to remember it by. 

What I’m trying to get at is that I can no longer rely on photographs as fulfilling souvenirs, so I have turned to video. Capturing little moments while traveling and putting it all together at the end is so much more satisfying as a means of looking back than your occasional #tbt pic from studying abroad in Shanghai. My only regret is that I didn’t start doing that sooner (imagine the possibilities!), but I now have a (hopefully growing...) collection of videos from trips around the world. The first one I made was for my dissertation on my textile research grant in Southeast Asia, followed by a family trip to Cuba, then the Stans, a Catskills adventure with my friends, and now (drumroll, please): the World Cup in Brazil!

This past summer the six of us spent some quality time in Recife, Brazil during the 2014 FIFA World Cup. Watching the games was exciting, to say the least, but there was also plenty of coconut water-sippin, food-eating, and beach-lounging that needed to be done as well. Returning from that country was not easy; once you get used to the lifestyle of fresh fruit on every street corner and spending your days reading and being with family, it’s makes coming back to the concrete jungle that much more painful. But I'm so thankful to have been given the chance to be in the middle of such a global phenomenon, even if it is the only sport-watching I do all year…

Check out the video below and try to forget about the depressingly cold weather outside.



And now I will conclude this post with the exact tendency I mentioned above: singular Instagrams!

That time that Teen Vogue regrammed this picture of Selina, Lorelei, and myself:

Happy Independence Day! 🇺🇸Celebrate the red, white, and blue in style with tips from TeenVogue.com/fashion. #regram from @chantagold.

A photo posted by Teen Vogue (@teenvogue) on Jul 7, 2014 at 6:48am PDT

Re-hydrating:

Mondays, amiright?

A photo posted by chantal strasburger (@chantagold) on Jun 6, 2014 at 1:57pm PDT

The most spectacular sunsets:

Not tryna leave.

A photo posted by chantal strasburger (@chantagold) on Jul 7, 2014 at 5:21pm PDT

What we woke up to every morning *sigh*:

The Last Breakfast #tchau

A photo posted by chantal strasburger (@chantagold) on Jul 7, 2014 at 5:24am PDT

Stay tuned for the next installment—who knows what it will be! Perhaps India, or Bhutan, or maybe even Nepal? One can dream xx

Teen Vogue Handbook: The Second Edition

 

Exciting news! Last Friday the second edition of The Teen Vogue Handbook: An Insider's Guide to Careers in Fashion launched! Our team worked tirelessly on it for months, and I was thrilled to have had the opportunity to interview the likes of Chanel Iman, stylist Micaela Erlanger, our very own Andrew Bevan, the Man Repeller's Amelia Diamond, and Nasty Gal's creative director Lina Kutsovskaya for the guidebook. There are some truly insightful profiles on some very talented men and women, and you can even get a glimpse of me on the page featuring Teen Vogue's most liked Instagrams! Who knew? (I sure didn't until I opened the book.) Buy yourself one here for good karma and even better advice.

Talk about coming full circle. When I first decided I wanted to be in the magazine industry and move to New York, I was told that the Teen Vogue Handbook was the first thing I needed to buy. I remember picking up a used copy at Strand Bookstore on a rainy day and pouring over it at a nearby coffee shop (I was unemployed and had plenty of time for these kinds of things). I remember a few tips that stuck with me: Karl Lagerfeld pointing out the significance of knowing more than one language (I immediately signed up for Chinese classes again), the importance of having a strong personal brand (I went home and wrote 5 blog posts), and the overall message that you just need to get out there and experience as much as you can as soon as you can. Now I work with many of the people featured in the book, and it's mind-blowing how far I've come since then. Not a day goes by that I don't walk past the Teen Vogue sign on my way into work and think, "Woah, wait, HOW did I get here again??".

Life's just crazy that way, I guess.

Desert Chic

Fashion inspiration can strike in the most random of places, from subway rides with strangers to street art in the 'hood. I recently watched the short film Lady Lonely, and I can't stop thinking about this cropped shirt/overall combo worn by Sosie Bacon. The boxiness of the collared top protruding out from the sides of the bib creates a wonderfully playful silhouette, and I'm dying to track down substitutes to cop the look. Now, if I was swimming in money (give me time), I'd just buy those exact pieces—the flick is outfitted by Brooklyn-based boutique In God We Trust. When I pass their storefront in Williamsburg, I have to manually restrain my head from checking out their display. History has proven that I WILL want that quirky printed dress in the window and that I WON'T be able to afford it. But so is life.

The short film, written and directed by Janey Feingold, is also worth a watch for it's whimsically abstract characters and though-provoking plot. Beautifully shot, its fashion plates are just a bonus prize. Watch the video below and keep an eye out for a cropped button-down for me, won't you?

Keep On Keepin' On

This past weekend a few friends and I bundled up in a rented Jeep and made our way upstate to the beautiful Catskills. We airbnbd (verb?) a little house smack dab in the woods and did our best to pretend we didn't live in the most populated city in the United States that also happens to have recently come down with a slight touch of Ebola. I decided to take a little footage and make a short film because you're not really truly in nature unless you have a camera strapped around your neck, right? Isn't that what Thoreau said? Also because I think this will be funny to watch in 30 years.

Sidenote: I actually had the surreal experience of interviewing First Aid Kit last week, and I think being in their magical presence was what prompted this little endeavor. So as we stomp through the forest to their sweet sibling harmonies, pretend we're Swedish and everything will be 100x better.

And here are the beautiful ladies behind the soundtrack ("Stay Gold" was a close second but it's a little dark so "My Silver Lining" it was):
      

   A photo posted by chantal strasburger (@chantagold) on Oct 10, 2014 at 11:17am PDT

Oh, and on the way back we made a pitstop to the Vanderbilt mansion because why not?

Playing on Repeat: Hozier

I cannot for the life of me stop listening to Hozier's "Take Me To Church". Not entirely sure where I first came across it, but it's addictive.

There doesn't seem to be much information on Hozier, but I've gathered that he's a 24-year-old Irishman by the name of Andrew Hozier-Byrne. If you have Spotify check out his other tracks—they're far and few between, but I recommend all of them, especially "Work Song". Not sure where he came from or where he's going, but I'm hoping we'll be hearing a lot of him soon.

 Here's a gentler, more soulful live rendition of "Take Me To Church", and another track called "Sedated".

Can't. Get. Enough.

Pinterest Picks of the Week

As I mentioned in my last post, I've been spending quite a bit of time on Pinterest lately. One must practice constant vigilance in planning for their future house, defining their personal style, and finding fitness motivation, otherwise who knows what might happen. I figured I'd start sharing my favorite images each week because there really are some beautiful graphics on that site. Check out my Pinterest boards to see the original pins, and don't be surprised if you get sucked into the blackhole of DIYs and OOTDs.

Selfie Journalism

Guess what! I wrote an article for Teen Vogue about living my life as a YoPro in the big apple. Pretty cool, huh? Check it out here for some tips and advice on everything from where to eat on the cheap to how to decorate your apt. 

The Tiny Transforming Apartment

Ariella and I renewed the lease on our amazing apartment last night(!), and signing on to the same space for a whole other year made me think a little decoration-tinkering might be in order—you know, to keep things fresh. So as I was Google-ing "how to transform your average NYC apartment" (because, as always, Pinterest has me wanting more), I stumbled across an interesting solution to the severe lack of space in NYC. "The Tiny Transforming Apartment That Packs Eight Rooms into 420 Square Feet" was designed by LifeEdited and is the brainchild of Graham Hill. Creative? Yes. Liveable? Perhaps, depending on your character and if you are the kind of person willing to pull out your bed every night and unpack your oven tops. I personally am not, but I love the concept of endless storage units. It is a firm belief of mine that one can never have too many places to put things. But the every-surface-is-a-closet situation doesn't leave much opportunity for wall hangings...I guess you can't win 'em all.

Would you live here?

Emoji-Nation

More fun with modernizing art! Ukrainian artist Nastya Nudnik pairs famous paintings with applicable social media-speak. My favorite is the Edward Hopper piece below, which reminds me of this Banksy-esque street art. Because isn't that feeling of no new Instagram followers the worst?

A 4-Day Work Week? Sign Me Up.

I just read the thought-provoking article, "5 Reasons It’s Time for a 4-Day Work Week," and I must admit, I'm convinced. The piece's main stance is that a shorter work week will make people a) happier and b) more productive. The idea is simple: By compacting the hours we have to get work done, we'll waste less time and be more efficient. And imagine having a FULL three days to reset, relax, explore, and live. A few US company have already employed the tactic and report "increases [in] both output and morale." There's also the interesting point that one less day of running electricity in millions of office spaces and one less day of gridlocked commuting would positively impact the environment.

When I got my first full-time job in NYC, it was the middle of winter. As I accustomed myself to a 45-hour work week, not only was I dead tired by the time I headed home, but the lack of sunlight and freezing weather didn't leave much desire to go to the gym, much less socialize. Happy hours? Forget about it (both figuratively and literally ha). I began to realize that the only time I felt like I was doing something with my life was on Saturdays and Sundays. Friday nights didn't even count, because I would go straight home and fall into bed. I promise I'm not as lame as this is sounding! (Just kidding I totally am.)

Needless to say, summer in NYC is a whole other planet. Getting out of work when there's still sunlight left makes it feel like a crime to head home. I've shifted my routine so that gym time comes at 6am (groan) and the infectious joy of summer nights has made me start making plans after work. Revolutionary! Now I'm getting drinks with friends on Monday night, watching a movie with the roomie Tuesday night, heading to a rooftop party Wednesday night, hosting a dinner party Thursday night, and--lo and behold!- going out on Friday nights. Weekends are no longer my only window to fraternize, so I can take things outside the city. This past weekend I rented a car with some buddies and headed upstate to Dia Beacon and Storm King (instas below). Usually I would suffer insane FoMo leaving NYC for so long- but I knew that whatever was going on in the big apple could happen again tomorrow or the next weekend, and life as we know it would continue.

Now as much as that sort of digressed into an argument against the before-mentioned case, my point is that even if you are living your work week to the fullest, it's still exhausting. Having three days to catch up on rest, visit family, or just learn to exist in a new city would raise one's level of living dramatically. Several other highly-productive countries already have the Mon-Thu rule, so let's say we give it a shot, eh?

Things I could do more of with more time: art appreciating.

Playing on Repeat: Vance Joy

Vance Joy has been on my radar for a while now (thanks, Selina!) and "Riptide", their biggest hit, is what I wake up to every morning (sorry, Ariella!). But even though the Australian singer-songwriter's latest track, "Mess is Mine," seems to be featured on a multitude of Spotify playlists, I feel as though it's not getting the attention it deserves. I mean, the music video doesn't even have 200,000 views on YouTube! And I'm convinced that half of those views are mine...So what's up with that?

Let's all take a minute to appreciate good music and creepy polar bears and show the song a little love—it's worth it, I promise.

Hip Hop + Art = Fly Art

It's a surprisingly beautiful marriage you don't often see: the aggressive (if not occasionally witty) rap lyric mixed with the classical beauty of fine art. It's the type of stuff my mother would hate because she would detest the foul language and wouldn't understand the written references. I would suggest she listen to more Jay-Z, but I would also most definitely not suggest she listen to more Jay-Z. A classic catch-22.

Fly Art is a project "born out of boredom, frustration, and the internet" and inspired by other genius art hacks like Swoosh and The Carter Family Portrait Gallery. Class and taste aside, I think it's pretty on point for Millennials (excuse the obnoxious self-awareness) and hip-hop aficionados. The juxtaposition ends up breathing some cultural relevancy into the Old Masters and everything ancient is new again.

I've curated (if you will) a few of my favorite NSFW images below. If you can name the songs titles, you get 2 points. If you can name the paintings, you get 5. And if you can name both, let's date.

Spotted by Ariella.
Spotted by Danielle: Wearable Fly Art x Rad.

 

Playing on Repeat: Champs

Stumbled across "My Spirit Is Broken" by Champs and haven't been able to stop playing it. Give it a whirl and lemme know what you think.

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Starlight Express

My friend Grant was in town the other week, and the first thing he requested to do? "Roller disco". More specifically, the "Crazy Legs Skate Club" roller disco.  Located inside a Salvation Army in Brooklyn, this spectacle happens every Wednesday night with a live DJ.

The three block radius of this building is completely dead, so we heard the music blaring from the gymnasium before we even turned the corner. If we hadn't been about to enter a rollerblading disco party, I might have feared for my life. The street was dark and there was no one in sight, but slowly, one by one, people started to roll up. Literally. Out of the shadows, people came skating up to the door in their roller blades. They meant business. My care-free attitude about the night's events quickly turned into an, "Oh My God I am so in over my head." As we walked in, people were standing around in their skates, socializing with drinks and snacks in the entry room. It was a mixture of young hipsters in high-waisted mom jeans and older, die-hard locals in un-irconically high-waisted mom jeans. We paid our $15 (steep!) and sat down to put on our skates.

On our way over, Ariella had been confessing her anxiety about getting back on skates for the first time since the '90s. While I was in the same boat, I had this idea in my head that rollerblading is one of those things that, even if you were terrible the last time you attempted, the power of time and maturity would magically have enhanced your skills. I would pop into those bad boys and skate away like Nancy Kerrigan pre-Tanya Harding. Fun fact: Nope. I refused to stand for the first 10 minutes, terrified out of my mind. These weren't inline skates, mind you. These were those terrible, old-school kind with the "brake" in the front. But the "brake" is actually impossible to use so you have to adopt a kind of pizza-wedge technique I typically reserve for skiing. And while Grant and Michael swore they hadn't skated in years, they zipped away like the graceful water nymph and child of an ex-Rollerblade employee (true story) that they are.

My second mistake of the night: "Oh, a disco-themed roller rink? What fun! Let me just throw on my most obnoxious '70s gear and tease me hair! I'll blend in with everyone else and look fabulous at the same time!" Apparently, "disco" refers solely to the type of music played and not the dress code. All of a sudden my furry coat, patterned pants and gold sequin top became my worst enemy. I turned into a shining beacon of light, slowly orbiting the gym in such a pronounced way that when people started lapping me (which they did. over and over again) they knew. They were well aware. No blending in for this gal! Every time Michael or Grant whizzed past me, I'd get a tender, encouraging touch on my upper back and a supportive wink. Sometimes these intimate gestures came from other people. I think that's part of the skating culture(???).

By some great act of God, I never fell. I must say, however, that when you're going at a snail's pace, it enables you to really take in the endearing details of Crazy Legs Roller Club. For example, the way star crossed-lovers skate arm-in-arm, backwards, with their eyes closed while you claw along the wall like a leper from Jesus Christ Super Star (honestly, that's the only comparison I could think of at the time). And while people skate laps around the dimly lit gymnasium, center court is reserved for the break-dancers. Yes, break-dancing in roller blades is a thing, and these guys are good. The majority of them are middle-aged men and I found it fascinating that this is obviously their Wednesday night, every Wednesday night. One man took pity on us as we encircled the seasoned pros and gawked at their talents. He tried to teach us some moves, and Michael was dedicated enough to actually get on the ground and bust a few. Grant, being a naturally elegant swan, didn't need any lessons and floated away.

Michael attempted to convince the DJ to play Beyoncé's Blow, because, duh, but the DJ stuck with B-list disco songs (except for when he played Lorde's Royals...?). But once our back sweat had thoroughly soaked through our paisley button downs and fur, we decided it was time to turn in. And like the true Brooklyn-dwelling, disco-skating bohemians that we are, we Uber-ed back to our warm beds and called it a night. While I can assure you that Michael and Grant will be back for more, I will probably opt out for a new, slightly less death-defying adventure. Canoeing down the toxic Gowanus canal, anyone?

getting our blades on.

Photo cred: Michael Offerman. See, I wasn't kidding about the shining beacon of light. Or the being in pain thing.

xx