Highlights:
Open air pet stores on Las Ramblas
Eduard
Flavia
the Barri Gótic
learning the history of Catalonia
museums being open from 8-11
La Sagrada Familia
the Parc Güell
an amazing croissant from the bakery around the corner (best in Barcelona)

Lowlights:
the rain on the second day
feeling nauseous for the greater part of the second day
vomiting at 30-45 minute intervals for 6-7 hours on the second day
having no energy on the 3rd day

Honorable Mention:
Starbucks, for being everywhere (notably quite near the Sagrada Familia), and for providing high-calorie frappuchinos, which come in handy when you’re on a liquid diet.

***
Among the animals being sold on Las Ramblas there weren’t just the normal cuties like kittens, rabbits, cockatiels and guinea pigs, there were more serious birds like roosters, and …pigeons. Yes, pigeons. Tim and I couldn’t understand who would pay money for them when you can get them off the street for free, but we decided that it must be a very lucrative trade. Everything you make off of it would be a profit. Whenever we saw pigeons after that we’d say oh – there’s an easy €10 right there! In fact, if I had been more enterprising, I bet I could have caught and sold enough pigeons to make up for the extra train ticket I had to buy for Amsterdam.

*
The history of Catalonia is quite interesting. Way back in the day Spain wasn’t Spain, there was Castille and Catalonia. Castille was backed by the French Bourbons, and Catalonia was backed by the Hapsburgs. The Castillians + Bourbons eventually won control, and the language and government of Castille became the language and government of Spain. Catalonia has remained Catalonia, but Catalan is not recognized as an official language in Spain. (I credit Eduard for teaching me everything I learned and just regurgitated)

*
Unfortunately, Barcelona wasn’t all sunshine and butterflies. In the late afternoon on the second day I started to feel very, very nauseous. At first I thought it was something I had at lunch, or perhaps the cookies dipped in sweet wine that we had for dessert. Then as the nausea grew stronger I thought maybe it was all the gluten I’d been having. Being on vacation, I decided that I would eat whatever I wanted. But then, walking down the Ramblas after seeing Eduard’s Barceloneta apartment, I nearly threw up in a trashcan on the sidewalk. And I thought to myself – in all my 24-odd years of eating gluten, it never once made me throw up.

Shortly thereafter (after we reached the hostel) I projectile vomited the entire contents of my stomach. I don’t know if you’ve ever projectile vomited – but it’s quite an experience. I felt my entire digestive system pull together, literally, to defy gravity. Everything contracted, as if I were encased in one huge abdominal corset, to push out the contents of my stomach with a force and velocity I had never seen. And it didn’t just come up and dribble out. It gushed out like my body had become a glorious fountain. Afterwards I sank to the floor, feeling spent like an empty casing. Unfortunately I had to return to the bathroom at somewhat regular intervals for the next 6-7 hours. I tried drinking water and shortly thereafter it all came up. For the most part though it was bile – that odd substance found at the bottom of the stomach; really scraping the bottom of the barrel.

The next day was our last in Barcelona. I felt entirely sapped of energy, but around midday I rallied for our trip to La Sagrada Familia and the Parc Güell (both beautiful Gaudi creations). And bless Tim’s heart for being so patient with me and my snail’s pace as we made our way to these famous sites.

Highlights:

The Van Gogh museum
watching a bad movie (The Parking lot) in a random coffeeshop
the beautiful canals
the beautifully classic architecture
Anne Frank’s house
Dutch pancakes
coffeeshops

Lowlights:

losing €110 on my train ticket to Amsterdam
the unexpectedly cold weather
discovering that unsavory characters start appearing in the streets after 1am
being lost in Amsterdam after 1am
leaving a piece of clothing behind in the hostel
cold apple pie

***
The best thing about the Van Gogh museum was the letters. The exhibit was replete with letters written by the artist to his brother, and his artistic contemporaries. Given that there are so many artists that we memorize facts as about as children, I really enjoyed getting more perspective on Van Gogh through his personal letters.

***
I have to admit, the Amsterdam segment of my trip was colored by a train debacle that actually took place in Paris. My friend and I obviously bought our train tickets in advance of our trip, and arrived at the train station armed with our itinerary and confirmation numbers. The ticket agent, however, would only issue the ticket if presented with the same credit card that was used to purchase the ticket. Not wanting to use that particular card on my trip, I left it in San Francisco. Very much to my dismay, the station agent offered no other alternative. So we hopped onto my friend’s Blackberry.

First, I tried logging into my account to get the information, but then we remembered that online bank accounts rarely display your full account number – and even if it had, I would need the expiration date too. We then got the idea to call one of my roommates in San Francisco (even though it was 1am) and have him read off the card information to me. Unfortunately I had left my cellphone in Dublin (my phone couldn’t even keep time in Europe), but I knew I could get my roommates’ numbers from Facebook! My friend pulled Facebook up on his BB… and I realized that I didn’t know my password – without a QWERTY keyboard, at least. Just for the record – I have a *very* secure password – it’s a combination of letters, numbers, AND symbols. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember the particular symbols, just where they were on the keyboard. I had one last option – I called MasterCard. But MasterCard, in case you didn’t know, doesn’t have 24 hour service. So there I was – I had tried every option I could think of and we were running out of time. About 5 minutes before the train departed I decided that if I wanted to continue my trip I would have to buy a new ticket. With hindsight (which is always 20/20), I realized I had had one more option – I could have spoken to the agent in French. It’s been my experience in France that if you’re speaking English, a person won’t try to help you – keyword, try. As it was, the agent first spoke to me in English and I answered in-kind.

I’m going to write a letter to SNCF (en français, of course), to try and get my money back. It’s ridiculous that they made me buy a second train ticket when I had clearly already paid for the first one. I doubt I’ll get anything more than a credit towards another ticket, but that would at least be something.
*
And so I entered Amsterdam smarting over the €110 hit my vacation budget had just taken, but the wonder and craziness of Amsterdam helped me forget.

This morning I sent my manager an email, opening it with:

“Hallo to ye from the green shores o’Dublin!”

Except so far Dublin hasn’t been very green, and the only shores I’ve seen are the (concrete) shores on the canal. But still… I’m catching the spirit of Ireland.. or the spirit as interpreted by me I’d love to get an Irish name while I’m here.

It’s not uncommon to have to push a button to exit doors here. Pushing the door open is not enough. You have to press a button and then you can push the door open. Forgetting about this fact makes it look (to an observer) like I’m running into doors. I’m not… I just get very very close.

Also true-but-embarassing story – my first morning here I was bested by Dublin public transportation. My friends told me that once I arrived in central Dublin (from the airport shuttle), I should take bus #1, 2 or 3 to their place. Well, bus #123 came along and I thought – oh, they must have combined all the routes onto this one bus… and I got one. Definitely one of the top 10 most boneheaded moments of my life – or at least the most sleep deprived/jetlagged.

Also, the view from the roof of the Facebook Dublin office is amazing. Pictures forthcoming – I just keep forgetting to bring my download cable with me to the office.

I’m excited to finally have this blog off the ground! Please check it out at:
http://fashionistalabsanfrancisco.wordpress.com/

Thanks

I rarely advocate the buying of any particular item in multiple colors, unless it’s my favorite pens (RSVP and Gelly Roll), or ribbed tank tops. Ribbed tank tops are a truly foundational garment. They’re an easy under-layer to wear in climates where layers matter. They instantly add texture and a pop of color to something basic, and they can be an open canvas to showcase a necklace or serve as the foil for a great cardigan. I even wear cheap men’s wife-beaters as pajamas. Another great thing about ribbed tank tops is that they’re so easy to buy. Once you figure out your size, the only variable is color. The fit is generally consistent among brands, and they’re trend-resistant. Ribbed tank tops are often on sale, so I only buy them when they’re on sale, and I rarely buy one at a time. For a while I was buying ribbed tanks from J. Crew when they were on sale for $10, and I very recently discovered great BCBG Max Azria tanks now on sale for about $12.50.

My first photo-tribute to ribbed tanks tops took place in Tokyo, and was actually a joint tribute to ribbed tank tops and magazines (and in a way, Tower Records):

Unfortunately I don’t have the full-size photos on my mac, but the magazines featured are Rolling Stone, Marie Claire, Surface, Vanity Fair, InStyle, and Vogue Special Collections. I guess at this point I was only wearing 5 ribbed tank tops, but I was obsessed with them nonetheless. The green one has fallen by the wayside, but the rest of them are still in rotation. In the next series of photos are all the ones I own and wear now. My collection has grown from 5 to 12.

note: i found the song “Black and Gold” by Sam Sparro very inspirational while composing this project tonight. The background is a print of a painting by Diego Rivera done in 1941.

Last Thursday I flew to Paris for a petite vacation; the plan was to spend the weekend in Paris and the week in Aix-en-Provence, relaxing and boning up on my spoken French. Here are some of the highlights of my trip:

Thursday/Friday
1. On the plane I sat between a cute but slightly bewildered older American lady, and a cute but slightly bewildered older French man. I knew he was French before he opened his mouth because he had his sweater draped over his back, the sleeves tied at his chest. A number of people wore their sweaters this way, all of whom turned out to be French.

2. The French man and I chatted quite a bit en français during the trip, and I even told him about my wheat allergy. I had forgotten to look up the words for flour and wheat before I left, so when he asked if I was going to eat the piece of bread and crackers that I had left on my tray I explained that “no, I have an allergy to… things like this.” After listing a few other things I couldn’t eat he understood what I was trying to say: la farine. We talked a bit about how much it sucked to not be able to eat so many tasty things that contained la farine, and I explained that even beer was off limits because of it. He was very surprised. La farine? Non! So I was like, mais oui! beer comes from la farine. The man was genuinely surprised and I wasn’t sure if he belived me. I realized a few hours later that I told him beer came from FLOUR (la farine), and not WHEAT (le blé). So he was correct; beer doesn’t come from flour.

3. I managed to sleep on and off during the flight from Minneapolis to Paris which was great, because I went straight from the airport to the hostel to drop off my bags – and then straight to the Facebook office in Paris because I had to kick of my vacation with… work. It was nice to meet the Facebook Paris crowd (shout-out to Xavier L.) and see another Facebook office. They too are well stocked with Red Bull, which I dearly appreciated.

4. Back in the hostel there were two other girls in my room – Heather and Julie – and we decided to go out and about in Paris together. One of Julie’s friends told her that students could get into the Louvre for free after a certain time on Friday evenings (or something like that)… and it worked! We didn’t even have to be students, just 25 or under. As it turns out, discounts for les jeunes is very widespread, and I was able to get one almost everywhere. It kind of made me sad that I have less than a year left of being 25.

5. As we were staying in the Marais, we set out to get the best falafel ever at L’As du Falafel. Some friends introduced me to this place when we were studying in Paris in college, and Heather’s guidebook said that Lenny Kravitz was a huge fan. Fortunately, Heather’s guidebook also had a detailed enough map of the area that we were able to find it pretty easily. Unfortunately, it was closed; but there were at least 4 other falafel stands around so we just had some that wasn’t the best ever.

Saturday
6. The three of us set out for brunch together and found a brasserie near our hostel with free Wi-Fi. When ordering I put my newfound (newly remembered) vocab to the test, asking of the sauce for the plat du jour had de la farine or du blé. The person who took our order (and who was filling in for our waiter until he showed up) assured me that it didn’t. Unfortunately, when my waiter brought out my meal it came in a big bowl of pasta! I explained my allergy to him and asked if they could switch out the pasta with some rice. He said they didn’t have rice but that he could give me fries, so I accepted the fries. When he brought the plate back out it had rice.

7. No, Paris is not a great place to have a wheat allergy. And I couldn’t be in Paris and not consume a crepe or a croissant, so I tried to choose my poison carefully. I ignored the bread that came with meals, made sure I wasn’t ordering dishes with wheat, etc, and then “splurged” on a crepe. At least in the beginning. Towards the end of the trip I was running out of money so I kind of started eating anything… but more on that later (stay tuned for Sunday-Friday).

*if you’re my friend on Facebook or in one of my networks you can see my photos at: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2097692&id=2900336&l=b68028be93*

Friday night my friend and I went to the mall to see a movie, but ended up at Target instead.  Having taken a fairly major spree on serious things at the mall earlier in the week, more shopping was off limits.  And somehow I ended up buying a gaggle of fun.  And then I read this article that a friend of mine posted to Facebook, and I began to feel guilty about my frivolous purchases.

Fast fashion is coming under fire; first from the CFDA (Council of Fashion Designers of America), and more recently from Great Britain’s House of Lords.  There are a lot of valid arguments against it, and personally I don’t believe in fast fashion (but then again, I also don’t believe in wearing shorts, athletic shoes when you’re not exercising, or rubber flip-flops on a daily basis.  I do, however, believe in wearing earrings every day), but I also can’t condemn it.

I wasn’t really moved by the argument of the CFDA.  They recently rallied against chains like Forever 21 because that chain (like others) brazenly copies designs and sells them for waaaaay less money.  It is indeed unfortunate that creative artists who design clothing have no protection for their creations, but the point of fashion is to be spread.  It spreads among designers and it filters out into mainstream culture.  In the autumn/winter 07 shows (which forecast for spring/summer 08) “painterly” prints were a huge trend.  Almost all of the top names – Chanel, Gucci, Dior, etc – showed items expressing the trend.  Instead of a backlash against copycats, word spread to buyers and editors that this was a major trend and clothing should be selected and bought accordingly.  That’s how the industry works.  Designers share the same shapes, the same silhouettes, the same color palettes, the same fabrics, and the same trends.

And if you’ve seen the Devil Wears Prada, you might remember the scene where Anne Hathaway scoffs at the debate over the choice of a belt, and Meryl Streep icily informs her that the choices made by the people in that room ultimately led to the color of her lumpy shapeless sweater purchased from the Gap.  Clearly designers want influence; their livelihood depends on other people wanting what they present.

Why then, is it a problem when lower priced retail stores offer what consumers want at a price they can actually afford?  Should only wealthy women be able to be well dressed?  This might be a news flash for the big-name designers, but most Americans cannot afford to pay $1000 for a shirt, or even $500.  Even for those who can, why does this shirt cost $500???  It shouldn’t.  What’s happening to the fashion industry happened to the music industry.  When the price of goods is artificially high, another party will find a way to produce the same good at a lower cost.  If you inflate the value of what you sell, somebody else will be able to sell it for less.  If you price for exclusivity, an entrepreneur will find a way to make your goods accessible.

There is also an environmental argument against fast fashion, which I find more palatable.  At best, cheap and trendy clothes crowd closets and distract women from what it actually takes to develop style and build a wardrobe.  At worst, these clothes are disposed of and crowd landfills.  Producing these clothes then, is also wasteful, if they ultimately have a short shelf life.  Even some of the longer lasting fabrics are degrading to the environment – and this is something that I haven’t resolved for myself either.  I am a huge fan of a new textile called modal (also called lyocell, tencel or rayon).  It is soft, hangs beautifully, and washes well.  It’s natural, made from wood-fiber, but the chemical treatment of these fibers releases toxins into the environment.  This is more of a macro-argument – how far back in the production chain should we take responsibility?  Is it enough to only buy clothes that will last a long time?  Or must I also know and approve of every step of the production process?

People also like to condemn fast fashion because sweat shop workers in developing countries are paid very little in order to keep costs low.  I’m going to put on my “asshole economist” hat for a second, and defend those sweat shops.  Even though these workers are generally paid very little, there is evidence that these jobs are better than the alternative of having NO money.  So I’m not going to say that low wages are necessarily a bad thing.  It’s easy for people to condemn sweat shops and bemoan how little people across the world are paid, but until people become willing to spend more money on clothes, and show that they’re willing by buying more expensive clothes, sweat shops will not go away, no matter how many people clamor against them.

It’s tough to say “no” to fast fashion.  I have an unfortunate ability to spend a lot of money on clothing, but as a young person who has felt broke most of my adult life (college included) I understand the lure.  I’m happy to spend $75 on a pair of jeans that make the lower half of my body look fabulous, or full price for a pair of well-made shoes that go with everything.  But I’m also still experimenting with my look (and my budget) and even I can’t justify spending the big bucks every time I go shopping.

For young people I think that experimental clothing is just as legitimate as investment clothing.  But in an attempt to find some kind of resolution, I think the cost-per-wear argument is the best way to go.  A while back I bought a beautiful top at Anthropologie because I thought it was perfect – and I had just gotten paid.  I’ve worn it maybe 4 times.  A few weeks ago I bought a purse at Target that I’ve used nearly every weekend since.  Sure, Target is a bastion of fast fashion, but at the end of day that bag was the better buy.

Other related articles:
http://jezebel.com/5040032/we-love-cheap-stuff-but-fast-fashion-is-hard-to-defend
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/04/us/04fashion.html?_r=1&oref=slogin

It has been a very, very long time since I blogged, and I have missed doing it.  Based on some inquiries from friends, it seems like other people have missed it as well.  I went from blogging more than once a week in Tokyo to blogging a few posts during my 6 weeks on the John Edwards for President campaign in Iowa, to a small handful of blogs over the course of a few months in the difficult transition from life after the campaign to living in California.  And since then, nothing.  It’s not been for a lack of time, or a lack of ideas.  I have to admit, I’ve been distracted… and not as confident.  I started blogging on a regular basis for the first time in Tokyo, and it was fairly easy because every experience, every interaction, every question could be turned into a story, and one that I knew hadn’t been told before – at least not to my audience.  And being so far from everyone that I loved and everything that was familiar I certainly had more of an impetus to share as much of my life as I could.  Even when I returned from Japan I had the ongoing Nova saga to blog about – in addition to a few missives about reverse culture shock.

Suffice to say, I’ve had things to say but wondered if they would be interesting; wondered if I didn’t need some sort of overarching theme to make my blog relevant.  I considered making this a blog about politics. Or making this a blog about my delayed transition into adulthood, as my 13 months in Tokyo now feels like a fantasy that I must have lived in a different lifetime.  I thought about consistently blogging about my attempts to be “green” while moving into a new apartment, buying regular household chemicals and consuming goods from Ikea.  And so, because I worried about the final product and not the process, I didn’t write anything.  I’m not sure why or how, but I think that’s finally changing.  My blog is for me, because I enjoy doing it.  Any pleasure that anyone else takes out of it is a side benefit.  I’d still like to blog about politics, and this new life that I have in California, and a lot of other things… but really, I have no idea what’s going to come out here.  I mean, I do, because there are ideas in my head, but instead of framing whatever content may end up here I’d much rather just post what I want to post and give it a name afterwards.

I am very happy to finally announce and present The Fashionista Lab, Tokyo!

The Fashionista Lab, Tokyo: Where 2 girls from 2 countries tell you something you haven’t heard about Tokyo Fashion.

My friend Ami and I both enjoy fashion and wanted to publish a magazine, so we decided to do it ourselves! Begun in September of 2007, the Fashionista Lab, Tokyo covers aspect of Tokyo fashion and fashion culture that are not traditionally covered in the well-known fashion magazines. While Japan has exported revered fashion names like Issey Miyake and Rei Kawakubo, stores like UniQlo and Takashimaya, brands such as Shiseido and Evisu, and of course the phenomenon of Harajuku girls, we wanted to show people what is not famous, but that is still everyday Japanese. We hope you take a look!

I woke up this morning, dreaming a dream that I knew wouldn’t come true. I was half-asleep, and so it was half by choice that I dreamed it.

I was content knowing the limits of my dream; I’ve already learned what not to ask for. I knew I could never live it.

But wakefulness and reality pushed their way into my dream, trespassed into my sacred ground. Denied me even my dream.

And still I’m a dreamer. I look at what isn’t and I dream of what could be. I see what will never be and I claim that for my desire. And that’s what I hold on to, the most impossible.

Such is the life of a dreamer, and my dreams. I choose what I cannot have; and I dream it anyway.