Casting call

I remember first coming across this comp card years ago. Helping to cast for a shoot, I flipped right past this model, who I thought looked too unusual in the otherworldly way. She did her share of editorial work, was popular among certain stylists, and went by her last name, Stam. What a difference a few years—i.e., going back to her natural hair color (blonde), not to mention numerous high-profile advertising deals—makes.

Fading beauty

I used to think I could get away with wearing the same foundation color year round. Wearing scarves and high necklines usually did the trick to get me through those handful of weeks when fading was most noticeable. Or so I thought.

"Did you know your neck is a different color than your face?" my sister remarked on a recent visit.

Busted.

Spring fling

Forget Punxsutawney Phil and his shadow. The true telltale sign of spring in the city: girls without socks. Just today I spotted three pairs of sockless feet in flats. I'd say spring's just two weeks away...

Sweet talk

"In France we would never put macarons in a bag," said a French woman to me at the local bakery, as I was getting my macarons in a paper bag. "We put them in boxes with windows so that we can appreciate their beauty."

Ah, yet another reason why French women don't get fat.

Purse envy

I first saw this A.P.C. purse with plastic chain-link strap online. I remember liking it. The remember thinking about buying it (the blue version). I remember picking it up in the store and trying it on. And I remember the exact moment when I wanted to buy it: standing at the till, watching the very last one (the display model, actually), being sold before my very eyes.

Prada satchelus

Bergdorf blonde no. 1: Do you like this bag better or that other one?

Bergdorf blonde no. 2: Oh, you can't compare them. They're two entirely different species.

Neverland

My skinny jean about-face reminds me of the time I was standing in line at the movies and overheard a lady tell her gentleman-friend that she could never wear short dresses or skirts because she didn't have the knees for it.

I, too, have my share of "nevers." Let's see, I'm never going to wear shorts (except for during sports). I'm never going to wear cap sleeves. And I'm never going to wear square-toed shoes.

I call it going to Neverland. We all have our reasons for going. It's a safe place, and once you're there, it's hard to leave.