a girl with good taste
It's not enough for me to write in my journal, I have to share my thoughts on Substack too.
The "undoing of self" and other things I cannot understand.
I signed up for a yoga class today called Sunday Service. I don’t go to church often, yet sometimes, when Sunday rolls around, I crave a place to worship. Worship what, you may ask? I have no idea. But I like the ritual.
So when I saw that this warm (not hot) yoga class was called Sunday Service, sign me up!
It was exactly what I was hoping for. Everyone knew each other. The playlist was excellent. It felt like we were all worshipping some form of higher power without knowing what that higher power was. I loved it.
I like studying things or experiencing things I don’t understand. It provides me with a challenge. A challenge that I can never solve most of the time, but the act of working through a problem is my favorite part.
A dinner I had no business attending and a soliloquy on perfume.
Three weeks ago, I got a text from a man inviting me to a dinner to celebrate the perfumer Frederic Malle. Do I work in perfume? No. Does he work in perfume? No. And yet, we were invited, so we shall go.
Let’s back up to two hours prior: I’m in Le Labo, obviously. I smelled this, I smelled that, I picked up a candle that I didn’t know what lit and a wave of candle wax hit me in the chest. So yeah. An excellent way to start the evening.
Now picture me sprinting through CVS, looking through a Tide pen while simultaneously trying to scrape candle wax out of my fur coat. It was a low point. But not to worry. The tide pen (kind of) saved the day, and I was on my way to Bergdorfs.