Me thinks these are perfect stacking bracelets! (Ruby Kobo Spring/Summer 2012)
Pink on pink - flowers, that is — Juan Carlos Obando Spring/Summer 2012.
You can never have too much neon! (Min Agostini for the Argentine Designers show, Spring/Summer 2012)
More mint! (Tibi Spring/Summer 2012)
Drawing room chic at Fotini feels very Blair Waldorf. (Spring/Summer 2012).
Spotted, quite literally, at Callula Lillibelle. (Spring/Summer 2012)
Love the Monet prints at Timo Weiland! (Spring/Summer 2012)
It appears that the majority of my week in Amagansett will have been spent making a spectacle of myself.
Tuesday’s visit to the beach included an afternoon peep show when a rogue wave swallowed my towel, where I was peacefully stretched out belly-down and had just untied the strings of my top. I quickly sat up, kneeling in the soggy mess of sand and terry cloth, bikini dangling around my neck. Realizing that I was now exposed to the family-friendly Tuesday-afternoon crowd, I slapped my hands over my breasts as my visiting Dutch friend scooped up my blackberry, which was safely protected by my panama hat. Somehow I managed to retie my top, I think by stretching one forearm across my chest and pulling the top down with the other hand. After which, because under such circumstances there is no alternative but to embrace the situation, I announced to the families sitting nearby, “I’d like to apologize to anyone in the vicinity who may have witnessed that public display of nudity…”
And now, I have just terrified the whole of Amagansett town, particularly the cashier and customers at Mary’s Marvelous, with my alarmingly red face. After 3 1/2 hours at the beach and a short bike ride “uphill”, I could feel my cheeks pulsing with heat (and I always argue it’s the heat and not the sun). I’d hoped to keep my sunglasses on indoors, as if they would hide the white line that always forms around my lips when my face is on fire, but it was too dark in the daylight-lit cafe. As I paid for my sandwich and lemonade, the polite cashier asked timidly, “What’s it like out there?”
“Oh fine,” I replied. “Just came from the beach…” as if that would explain the hairs sticking up on my head, if not my face.
“Yeah, I can tell,” said the cashier, smiling trepidly.
“Oh yeah, my face shows it,” I stumbled. “I mean, you can see it in my face.”
When I got home and looked in the mirror, I exclaimed out loud, “Oh my god!” But even after splashing cold water on my face and wrists, drinking two glasses of water, and standing three inches from the air conditioner, half an hour later my cheeks still matched my raspberry bathing suit.
My mother always said that when I was a baby you could tell that I was hot because my face would get red, but this is ridiculous.
Two mounds on the beach…