“Well let me tell you something now, Johnny. Last Thursday, I turned 95 years old. And I never exercised a day in my life. Every morning, I wake up, and I smoke a cigarette. And then I eat five strips of bacon. And for lunch, I eat a bacon sandwich. And for a midday snack? Bacon! A whole damn plate! And I usually drink my dinner. Now according to all of them flat-belly experts, I should’ve took a dirt nap like thirty years ago. But each year comes and goes, and I’m still here. Ha! And they keep dyin’.”—
I have finally had the chance to sit in front of a computer for the first time in days after planning/organizing/and fulfilling me & the man’s engagement party. A few things are quite certain with the spring collections: bright colors are not out of style, patterns are sticking around, pencil skirts are here to stay, and pastels are no longer only for Easter, especially yellow which doesn’t help my cause since I look nauseous in it. Below are some favourites of each designers collection after each blurb.
Diane von Furstenburg with her wrap dress perfection takes a leap into the bright patterns we all love but find difficulty wearing - or is it just me that can’t seem to stop wearing black?
I have to say, I loved Prabal Gurung and their edgier spring looks. The slits of see-through fabrics and sexy stilettos took us far away from some of the spring looks that bordered on country club chic. There was black, white, cobalt, mint green and purple intermixed, but no one can say these looks were sweet or dainty, even with the pleated flares on each skirt. I have to say some of the looks reminded me of a few Balenciaga or Mary Katrantzou collections, but overall I enjoyed it immensely.
Marchesa had some gorgeous effortless shimmering fringe and feathered applique. See-through fabric with sequins and embroidered decor that almost resembled tattoos. This collection was a welcome relief from all of the color and patterns overwhelming the eye from the other designers. Neutrals will never get old for me.
Listen designers, no matter how many models you throw down the runway with frizzy hair that will never make it be in style again. I know this because I have it, and unfortunatelythe 80’s hairstyles will NEVER come back. I’m looking at you, Oscar. Oscar de la Renta’s collection had plenty of white but again was gushing with yellows and pops of color, and even a look with yellow poppies that somewhat resembled Rodarte’s sunflowers. Lace & tweed seemed to be the fabric of choice here. When the evening looks strutted down the runway they were covered in feathers, fringe, and sequins similar to Marchesa - trend here? I think so.
I miss Greece so much my heart hurts. I went from going every summer for one to two months at a time to not having been in four years. Most of my family is there, the warmest, kindest, loudest, most loving people you will ever meet, and I miss them to bits. I don’t miss the clear blue ocean, the scenic overlooks, the energetic islands, and anything else most visitors would say they love about Greece.
I miss the moments, the tastes, the smells, and the feelings:
It was the platea (town center) above that I grew up playing in. The wood of the gazebo I carved my name in and where I met my friends to yell at the boys on motorcycles we weren’t supposed to date.
It was watching my yiayia (grandmother) make me Greek coffee that looked like engine fuel. It was sipping it painfully, and listening to her tell me my fortune after turning the cup over and anxiously waiting for the sludge to change into shapes.
It was the beach town of Olympiada we stayed in every year. It was never jumping off of the jetty without a rush of adrenaline and goose bumps. It was being pushed off by older cousins.
It was waiting outside for the bakery to open to get the first batch of Bougatsa. It was the hot custard burning my mouth and powdery cinnamon and sugar getting all over my face and outfit.
It was watching my uncle and the old men of the town sit at the cafe gambling and twisting worry beads around their fingers.
It was the smell of ouzo burning off while the saganaki cheese was lit on fire tableside.
It was running to the backyard barefoot at sunrise to the chicken coop to get the fresh laid eggs. It was feeling them warm in my hands with feathers still stuck to them, and trying not to break one on the way back to the house.
It was picking figs off of their trees and peeling them open still standing in the yard. It was biting into the seedy flesh and feeling the juice run down my chin.
It was Captain Manoli’s tavern on the beach in Olympiada. It was staying there for 8 hours of the day and eating continuously the whole time. It was french fries with oregano and grated cheese, grilled calamari, mussels in red sauce covered with feta cheese, tomato and cucumber salad, eggplant chips, fried smelts, grilled octopus, sauteed greens, fried calamari, coca colas. It was watermelon and feta for dessert, and yogurt and honey.
It was the largest octopus I ever ate, every night. It was the taste of lemon and oil on the char grilled flesh. It was ordering myself one on top of the three already ordered for the table.
It was chain smoking at every venue. It was the only place where smoking felt like tradition. It was Davidoff Lights and Marlboro Reds while sipping a frappe or beer. It was laughing, singing, sweating, and yelling in Greek. It was dancing on tables and befriending bartenders. It was staying at the clubs until 8am and bringing sunglasses with you from the night before. It was going to the bakery straight from the club and getting the freshest baked goods.
I am hoping that next year I can go back again. That I can relive all of these moments and show my future husband what my summers were like. These moments have made me who I am.