anti-fashion shoot

these puritan photographs by tamara muth-king are haunting.
you can view the rest of this amazing shoot here
via black eiffel

La Chanson du Dimanche

These bearded, French hooligans make up a new song every Sunday.
Je l'adore.

An ode to the frequent strikes in Paris:

i'm itching for an adventure...

...and a really awkward dance party.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Next Time
By Mary Oliver

Next time what I'd do is look at
the earth before saying anything. I'd stop
just before going into a house
and be an emperor for a minute
and listen better to the wind
or to the air being still.

When anyone talked to me, whether
blame or praise or just passing time,
I'd watch the face, how the mouth
has to work, and see any strain, any
sign of what lifted the voice.

And for all, I'd know more -- the earth
bracing itself and soaring, the air
finding every leaf and feather over
forest and water, and for every person
the body glowing inside the clothes
like a light.

I distincly remember feeling suffocated by sadness on this day,
one year ago.
Life comes full circle today.
Wishing you all a peaceful and tasty Thanksgiving!
I hope your body is glowing inside your clothes like a light.
Mine is.

red tights and peacock prints

Obsessing over these looks at Nadinoo.

Holiday fashion aspirations:
1. pull off a pair of red tights.
2. acquire something peacock printed.
3. Do it all while still looking graceful.

Comme ceci:


Let the games begin!
via Greedy Girl

chicken nugget

...I am coming for you!


At long last, a week for family, old (best) friends, feasting, and relaxing. Can you hear my sigh of relief?

copenhagen street style

that blazer.

that scarf.


that crimson over those black and white stripes.


those tights. that bun! that scarf is so quintiscentially copenhagen. and she is only 15!


because i miss boys who don't wear cargo shorts and flip-flops in november.



via copenhagen street style
tusind tak to A CUP OF JO

My Parents Were Awesome

My Parents Were Awesome is a website where people can upload pictures of their parents from back in the day. I'll have to rummage around the next time I'm home. My mom could slink into a pair of bell bottoms like it was nobodies business and my dad had Michael Kelso hair. What a sexy couple;)






via A CUP OF JO

Mane Muse: Stine Bramsen

Can't get ENOUGH of these darling, Danish songbirds. I play with the idea of this pixie-cut for weeks every time I'm anticipating a haircut. But once I'm sitting in that salon chair, I never lose more than a couple inches. Someday...

Happy Snowy Sunday

Lines for Winter by Mark Strand
Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself --
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold
tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.

image via weheartit

aujourd'hui j'aime...

hygge = cozy


nest eggs.


socked feet.


skin to sheets.


tiny nooks.


foam mustaches.


secret hideaways.


slouchy sweaters.

via weheartit

peace.

Is there anything better than receiving a handwritten letter? I think the best way I've heard it described most recently is that it just "makes you feel all sparkley for the rest of the day."

I can't tell you how many times I have been complimented on my pretty notebooks and my pretty handwriting by people who take notes on laptops and text compulsively under their desks. There is nothing personal about a text; in fact, I think our generation has reached a pretty frightening threshold at which basic thought isn't even required for communication (if you would go so far as to call it communication.) Our thumbs are clicking away independent of our minds, and we push send before we've even thought it through. But when I imagine someone actually taking the time to sit, ponder what they intend to say, sip their wine, coffee, or tea, and write me a letter, well, it just makes me feel sparkley.

To the author of these little treasures which keep finding their way into my mailbox:


via freya @ etsy

aujourd'hui j'aime...

vintage travel posters via ffffound

les cheveux parisiens

Voila! The secret to a perfectly messy, perfectly parisian bun.


(I tend to find that I spend more time trying to make my hair look "effortlessly" chic than actually just going through my normal routine. But this morning, I am up with the sun and ready to wrestle with this curly blonde mop.)






while listening to this:



written instructions via Experience PARISIENNE
(I have a feeling that her secret is the homemade texturizing spray)

Dig elsker jeg

Last night, I assisted in CU's DIS orientation and chatted for an hour about my blissful, Danish semester. Copenhagen has been on my mind all day. The city that I am striving for.

This song pulls at my heartstrings for so many reasons. It was originally penned by Hans Christian Andersen during the Danish Golden Age: a stodgy, gangly, ethnic Dane who embodies Danish national identity and everything wrapped up in feeling Danish. He is the most well-known and stereotypically Danish Dane that has ever walked the streets of Denmark. Here it is performed by Isam Bachiri, a famous Danish rapper who was born in Denmark of Moroccan descent. In interviews, Bachiri describes his attachment to Andersen's piece and his desire to perform it as a response to the white-blonde Danes who constantly pose the question, "Hvor kommer du fra?" ... "Where are you from?"

He responds by singing Andersen's song: "I Danmark er jeg født, der har jeg hjemme"

"In Denmark, where I was born, where I am home."



1st Verse
"I Danmark er jeg født, der har jeg hjemme,
(In Denmark, where I was born, where I am home)
der har jeg rod, derfra min verden går;
(where I have roots, where my world spins)
du danske sprog, du er min moders stemme,
(Danish language, you are my mother's voice)
så sødt velsignet du mit hjerte når.
(in my heart so sweetly blessed)
Du danske, friske strand,
(You, fresh Danish beaches)
hvor oldtids kæmpegrave
(where old-fashioned gravestones)
stå mellem æblegård og humlehave.
(stand between apple farm and hops garden)
Dig elsker jeg! - Danmark, mit fædreland!
(I love you, Denmark, my fatherland)

Not only does his beautiful voice give me the girly giggles, but his interpretation and presentation of Andersen's piece brings up so many issues pertinent to modern-day Europe. From where does one derive their national identity? An attachment to the land? The blood in your veins? A sense of common values? Where your parents were born? Is the EU a threat these identities?

These are questions that spend far too much time rolling around in my head. Where would you say your national identity is rooted?

Mane Muse: Mette Lindberg

The lead of The Asteroids Galaxy Tour, I first encountered Mette on the stage at RUST nightclub in Copenhagen. This Danish band has a funky pop-rock, big-band feel and impressed Apple so much that they used "Around The Bend" in the Ipod Touch commercial back at the end of 2008. Mette's stage presence is fantastic: she moves like a little fairy and that HAIR. That hair is outrageous and I love it. What a darling little woman.

Hey Jude Flowcharted

click to enlarge:


via LoveAllThis

Rodney Smith Photography

I stumbled upon some glorious black and white photography this morning while sipping my coffee and I am obsessing over these photographs by Rodney Smith. There is something wacky and so inherently joyful about his work. I can't help but chuckle.







View more of his work here.

The Fun Theory

Ah, you inventive Scandinavians. You never cease to amaze and amuse me. Wouldn't the spontaneous discovery of a musical staircase instantly brighten up your day?

Inspiration

Love After Love
By Derek Walcott

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was yourself.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

This poem hangs on my bathroom mirror and reminds me to treat myself well every morning before the beginning of another day.