TV shows come alive in immersive installations, such as “The Friends Experience” (left) and “Downton Abbey: The Exhibition” (right).
By Nancy McKeon
WE GROWNUP girls are far too jaded and, well, grownup to acknowledge crass broadcast-TV habits (Golden Bachelor? What Golden Bachelor?) But our younger selves? Didn’t we have Seinfeld, which gave us snark? And Friends, which gave us a healthy dose of heart and a nostalgia for just hanging out?
Speaking of nostalgia, did we not (many of us, anyway) swoon over the trappings of Downton Abbey? (See slideshow below.)
As part of “The Friends Experience,” currently on tap in several cities around the world, visitors can hang around on the Central Perk sofa (above) . . .
Derivatives of derivatives! There may be no better examples than two exhibitions catering to our love of our favorite TV shows, whose sets we enjoyed and perhaps imagined living in. So, if you have a way to get to one of a half-dozen cities soon, you might want to immerse yourself in the world of “The Friends Experience.” New York runs through the end of the year. Then there’s Miami and Salt Lake City and Amsterdam and Dublin and Melbourne. The exhibit has different dates in each city; go to each site for more info. Melbourne is the shortest run, through November 26, and Miami is the longest (in Aventura Mall, Aventura, Florida), through March 24, 2024),
As you might expect, the Friends set will allow you to sit down at Central Perk (Phoebe finally got the play on words!), hang out in Monica and Rachel’s kitchen (no food: Monica’s rules!), even pretend to “Pivot” to get the sofa up the stairs to Ross’s new apartment.
And if you can make your way to Chicago (or to be more precise, the Westfield Old Orchard Shopping Center in Skokie, Illinois), you may be delighted to learn that “Downton Abbey: The Exhibition” opens there on Friday, November 10. It will be there through the end of March 2024.
. . . and even help Ross get the sofa up to his new apartment (“Pivot!”).
We have written about the Downton Abbey exhibition before. This review is based on the exhibit’s 2017 installation in New York and has been revised.
I COULD QUALIFY to be the Cook at Downton Abbey! I learned this by taking the interactive multiple-choice quiz at “Downton Abbey: The Exhibition,” while it was on display in New York, in 2017.
The quiz, an “application for employment,” seemed to be assessing my sense of organization, my loyalty, my ability to press forward in the face of interruption or bad decisions by others. Nowhere did it ask me if I could cook, something to remember when watching a rerun of Mrs. Patmore doing battle with the biscuit dough.
The woman ahead of me was told she qualified as a Lady’s Maid; another woman (because, yes, the quiz asks your sex) was tapped as a Housemaid. I guess all the above-stairs positions were taken, what with nepotism and all.
The exhibit, produced by NBCUniversal International Studios and a list of sponsors and contributors that takes up an entire page in the Souvenir Programme, is a well-calibrated mixture of sights and sounds from the show, which is apparently the highest-rated PBS “Masterpiece” drama series ever, seen by some 120 million people around the world. Even the late Queen Elizabeth II is said to have been an eagle-eyed viewer, pointing out the occasional anachronism (she noted a WWI soldier wearing medals awarded in WWII).
Most of the visitors to this celebration of a lost, or discarded, way of life, have been happily steeped in the minutiae of Downton Abbey for its six seasons, where life “in service” was shown to be as appealing as the life of those served. This is a chance to walk through the hallowed kitchen and butler’s pantry and other below-stairs areas, opening the occasional drawer, reading the odd book on a table, absorbing the information on wall plaques. Although we visitors get to walk beyond the green baize door separating the family’s living areas from the servants’, the upstairs rooms aren’t quite as well kitted out because they were real, shot on location at Highclere Castle, which played the role of Downton Abbey.
We were able to walk through a portrait-laden grand dining room. Then we sat on benches in Lord Grantham’s library, with its projected image of book-lined walls, only to watch as the walls crumbled to ruins, replaced by scenes of wretched trench warfare. The ebb and flow of images was as dazzling as it was sobering.
Commercial exhibitions such as this one are more like World’s Fair installations than proper museum exhibits. But I’ve been to the French fry museum (in Bruges, Belgium), a chocolate museum (Barcelona), the pasta museum in Rome, and others, and I find that the wall plaques and artifacts in these displays are more detailed and give more historical and social context than those in many a Smithsonian exhibit.
And the Smithsonian doesn’t invite me to “upgrade” my experience by buying a night’s lodging at the hotel on the Biltmore grounds (when the exhibition was in Asheville, North Carolina).
Or, in New York back in 2017, my friends and I were invited to indulge in an Afternoon Tea Package at the nearby Whitby Hotel (the Whitby still offers afternoon tea).
After the “dressing gong” was rung (by three selfie-taking Korean schoolgirls), we visitors faced the final Downton display, a feel-good video appearance by Lord and Lady Grantham, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. What would the family do without the staff? Lady Mary asked, not entirely rhetorically. To which Mr. Carson replied, What would the staff do without the family?
See? There once was a proper social order, and the world has been going to hell every since it got blown up. What’s left to us are shows such as Downton Abbey that allow us to peer longingly into another age. Never mind that most of us would be staring up at those drawing rooms and libraries from below-stairs.
Downton Abbey: The Exhibition, November 10 through March 31, 2024, Westfield Old Orchard, 4905 Old Orchard Center, Skokie, Illinois 60077.
“Downton Abbey: The Exhibition” sets the scene well, although fans of the television series probably don’t need the background. / MyLittleBird photo.
Here Mrs. Hughes greets exhibit visitors cordially, in video form. There are filmed “appearances” of the major characters at various points throughout the exhibit. / MyLittleBird photo.
Visitors enter “Downton Abbey: The Exhibition” through the Downton kitchen, which is a far cry from today’s trophy kitchens, albeit with far more hired help. / MyLittleBird photo.
Snug little meat pies right from the oven embody the hearty fare of the Edwardian era. The subtle kitchen soundtrack is a constant clink of spoons striking pottery bowls and knives chopping against wood boards. / MyLittleBird photo.
Some of us think a dozen eggs is too many to buy at one time. This wooden egg holder shows much more ambition. / MyLittleBird photo.
Ah, the bell board, summoning staff to the world above-stairs with its many needs. At the exhibition, bells ring intermittently from various rooms. / MyLittleBird photo.
Mr. Bates, Daisy and Mrs. Patmore are some of the below-stairs characters whose likenesses punctuate the exhibit. / MyLittleBird photo.
This is the Butler’s Pantry, where Mr. Carson locks up the silver, examines the household accounts and decants the wine in the metal contraption shown. / MyLittleBird photo.
Upstairs is where the family finery comes out to play, including a life-size image of this memorable moment, when Lady Sybil shows off her new-style silk pantaloons to a rather dumbstruck family. The real pantaloons are exhibited on the third floor with other pieces of vintage clothing. / MyLittleBird photo.
Most of the Edwardian accessories in the exhibit are the real deal. / MyLittleBird photo.
A couple of “rooms” unfold behind oversize images of Downton characters beckoning visitors. / MyLittleBird photo.
Lady Mary’s Bedroom is a calm affair, here enlivened by a dressing gown and period lingerie. / MyLittleBird photo.
The vintage garments on the third floor are from the show. Some were too delicate to be laundered and, as a result, cast members have said, don’t smell very good. / MyLittleBird photo.
Costume designer Anna Robbins found some of the Edwardian clothing in secondhand shops in her native Scotland, which are, she says, less picked over. / MyLittleBird photo.
The butler Carson as a Christmas tree ornament, in the Downton Abbey shop. Not one branding possibility is overlooked. There’s Downton tea, Downton writing pads, Downton tea sets and trivets and tea towels, you name it. / MyLittleBird photo.
The key to wearing a cropped jacket is understanding the importance of proportion. This chic plaid style is from French label Ba&Sh.
By Nancy McKeon and Janet Kelly
THE HEADLINE in Saturday’s Wall Street Journal read: “It’s Peak Crop Top. Even Tweens Wear Them.”
My two cents: Maybe those are the only people who should.
Talking to you, Gwyneth Paltrow.
I, Nancy, may be the last person on planet Earth to notice that there has been an onslaught of bare tummies over the past couple of seasons. Well, of course I noticed, but I didn’t know it was Official Fashion. I thought that the well-aerated women I saw on the street had gained weight during the pandemic and didn’t realize that all their parts didn’t fit inside their clothes anymore. Slowly I came to understand that I was witnessing what the WSJ called Peak Crop Top for Adults, and the passers-by knew what they were doing.
But did they really? Did you see that picture of Paltrow a couple of months ago in the outfit with the bandeau top (see above)? Very I Dream of Jeannie, right? Here’s a woman whose physical presence (and odd ideas about crystals and other Goop cures) are her claim to fame and fortune. Yet there she was, looking pasty and untoned, for all of her followers to see. Slim? Yes, of course—you can see her ribs, like those of an underfed dog. But bare-able? Hmmm.
Picking away at a woman’s physical attributes is not a sisterly thing to do (besides which: Oh, hi, Pot. I’m Kettle!). But La Paltrow must have a small army of stylists, none of whom apparently fought the urge to have her look like a hip tween.
That same urge not to remain all hidden away is no doubt behind the “cold shoulder” blouses and dresses that have plagued us (and begat cheaper and cheesier versions) ever since Donna Karan introed them to the public on First Lady Hillary Clinton (yes, it was that long ago). But I digress.
Full disclosure: MyLittleBird may be an outlier here. London’s Hello! Magazine called the “upper midriff reveal” the “most flattering styling hack of the moment.” But we both agree it’s better than belly-button baring.
Nonetheless, the general croppiness afoot creates a dilemma: Our eye for the updated proportion naturally wants a piece of it, but how to achieve it without revealing That Which Should Not Be Revealed?
In search of answers, I turned to LittleBird Janet Kelly, whose eye is keen and whose taste is trusted and true. How can grownup girls get a cropped look without really cropping?
Janet’s answer is the selection of styles that follow. All of the tops are on the short side, but none betrays a muffin top or a belly button.
As I, Janet, have mentioned before, I’m not a fan of maxis, but when this almost-ankle-length skirt is paired with Massimo Dutti’s denim bomber jacket ($129), my perception changes. The top of the high-waisted skirt meets the hem of the jacket so there’s no chance of a muffin top hanging out. Moreover, wearing the jacket open over a white T-shirt draws the eye up to the center of the body for a slimmer silhouette. This model doesn’t require the help, but most of us would be pleased with looking taller and slimmer.
Made from lightweight ramie, Dôen’s Flute ladylike blouse ($200, Net a Porter) hits just at the waist of these high-rise, straight-leg jeans and billows out a touch. The wide Peter Pan collar and puffed sleeves with ruffled chiffon trim add to the illusion of volume at the top to balance the elongated line of the bottom half. Although they’re the same color, the difference in texture between the fabric of the blouse and the jeans makes the combination more interesting—and attractive.
A mid-rise jean paired with an embroidered wool cardigan ($195), both from Alex Mill, strikes the right balance between top and bottom. The cropped sweater, worn open, layered over a white blouse, just brushes the beltline of the jeans without clinging to it. To play well with the sweater, the jeans are cropped at the ankle (with a slight cuff), and the sleeves of the blouse are rolled up, too. The black loafers pick up the black embroidery of the knit to complete the picture. Even the model’s hair coordinates! If you have a sweater that’s a little too cropped (shows a slice of belly), layer a long button-down shirt under the cardigan and leave the bottom half of the shirt hanging out. Personally, I like to pop the shirt collar for a sporty vibe.
Drawstring pants require cropped tops. End of argument! These silk-blend jacquard Alumnio trousers by designer Emily Bode Aujla were inspired by an 18th-century style. For a perfect pairing, unite the yellow, purple and green cropped trousers with the olive, purple and green of Bode’s wool cardigan with intarsia-knit swans and a grass-and-fence-post pattern running along the hem. The vintage-look children-inspired sweater sells for $1,080 at Net a Porter.
The combination of the red hue, v-neck and gold buttons on J. Crew’s wool-blend lady jacket makes an unexpected but cheery choice. The one quibble I have is that the jacket just barely hits the waist of the jeans, and the underlying T-shirt doesn’t give tummy coverage either, so the risk of an exposed midriff is high. Maybe that’s kind of okay in the summer, but come on, people, it’s fall and it’s cold. Wear a longer T-shirt underneath. The “Maritime” jacket sells for $189.50.
Instead of the usual lady jacket with its buttons and decorative trim, I prefer the look of Ba&Sh’s zippered motorcycle-style plaid jacket. Wear it open over a slim-fitting toasty brown funnel-neck sweater in a cashmere blend. The two make a pretty pair, hitting precisely at the waist of slightly cropped, straight-leg jeans—to hide that which should not be revealed. Accessorize with the same-color boots or loafers and a braided belt, and voilà, you’ve got balance. The jacket sells for $485.
MyLittleBird often includes links to products we write about. Our editorial choices are made independently; nonetheless, a purchase made through such a link can sometimes result in MyLittleBird receiving a commission on the sale. We are also an Amazon Associate.
I CAN’T HELP it. Anthropologie’s tableware designs make me want to clear out my dish closet. Over the years, my dishes and serving pieces have come from antiques stores, and I still love the old stuff. But I love a little jolt on the table.
But by a “little jolt” I mean just that, little. It’s why I buy, and recommend buying, dessert sets—you can get four or even eight dishes and use them for a separate course, so they don’t have match or even coordinate with, your other dishes. More important, you won’t have a whole bunch of dinner and salad plates and soup bowls, etc., that you rarely use.
Okay, that’s my rationalization. Here are my favorites among the current offerings—dessert plates and more, of course—by Anthropologie, which taps design talent from around the world to fill their stores and website.
Quail Ceramics in the UK makes pitchers and vases and butter dishes and salt & pepper shakers in the shape of foxes, mice, even a ram or two. But I think this hand-crafted 9-inch-tall Goose Pitcher is the one I’d most like to invite to my table. Just for the conversation. Back-ordered until around November 15, it’s $158 from garden-store sister shop Terrain, at the Anthropologie site.
I happen to believe that the world divides into two camps: green people and blue people. Happily, Anthropologie’s Abi stoneware dessert plates are available in both colors, see above and below. A set of four is $72. For the completists among us, there are also Abi dinner plates (four for $112), soup bowls (also four for $112), mugs (four for $56), cereal bowls (four for $72), and, in the blue motif only, adorable floral-decal teaspoons (four for $36).
Anthropologie’s Abi pattern also features, in blue only, adorable floral-decal teaspoons (four for $36).
From House of Hackney, for Anthropologie, these moody flora and fauna patterns from Hackney’s Trematonia collection. The dessert plates are stoneware and $18 each: in dark yellow (with the gamboling goat), dark turquoise (long-tailed pheasant), brown motif (animal-print ground), and peach (daylily and a lion—why not?).
No, you cannot have enough vases, particularly for the dinner table. These especially sparkly glass Crinkle Bauble Vases, from Anthropologie’s garden-store sister, Terrain, come in a set of two, dainty and daintier (the larger is 5¾ inches high, the smaller one 3¼ inches high). I’m thinking two sets of two should do it, at the listed price of $28 per two-vase set. They’re back-ordered until around November 9, but they’re also specially priced (30% taken off in your cart). They come in the green/turquoise shown, also sets of white and pink.
English artist Lou Rota gives her unique interpretation to the Twelve Days of Christmas with this set of stoneware dessert plates. Rota’s cast of characters does have three French hens and four calling birds, but it also includes “nine ladybugs dancing,” “eleven penguins piping,” and “twelve drum fish drumming.” The set of 12 is $240. Given their different shapes, the plates range from 8¾ to 9¾ inches across. If the playful theme truly resonates with you, know that there is a set of a dozen matching cotton napkins, $78, and a 15-inch-long oval platter, $68.
For a bit of winter fun, try these Holiday in the City stoneware dessert plates. They’re $18 each, and you can choose from New York, Chicago, Paris, Rome, and London. You can extend the theme, if you wish, with stoneware city mugs ($16 each) and mouth-blown juice glasses ($12 each). The New York pattern also offers a 16-inch-long oval stoneware platter ($48).
More than many retailers, Anthropologie enables the playful. They make these scallop-edged Adley glazed glass dessert plates available in kelly green, medium pink, sky blue, and lilac—choose one color or buy a set containing one of each color. Assorted or single-color, the plates are four for $56. A set of 13-inch-diameter chargers is also available, again all in one color or one of each ($88).
Now, this would be a fun addition to the dinner table! Terrain’s Flower Pot Bread Making Kit ($38) includes four terracotta baking pots plus the dry ingredients to make the Terrain cafe’s Flower Pot Bread and Lavender Butter (you need to supply plain butter and parchment paper). It’s not such a bad idea to adapt, either, using your own 4½-inch pots and ingredients (the recipe is at farmsteady.com/terrain).
From RH, the former Restoration Hardware, comes the Byron Collection of reeded European white oak. Shown here, the Extended Panel Bed with closed nightstands ($12,795 for queen-size). Designed by Australia’s Harrison and Nicholas Condos, the Byron Collection includes similarly reeded coffee, console, and dining tables, plus sideboards and other pieces, in various finishes and sizes.
By Nancy McKeon
A ROUTER wasn’t always the thing that broadcast your WiFi connection from your bedroom to the kitchen. No, once it was a tool for creating grooves in wood. Still is, actually, the proof being these furniture pieces that have all popped up in recent months. (At least two of the lines of fluted or grooved pieces are being in manufactured in Vietnam, so some craftsmen there are certainly familiar with the tool!)
Fluted, ribbed, grooved, reeded, even slatted! Those characteristics may call to mind Stickley Brothers chairs or Frank Lloyd Wright. But the look here is lightened, as is the mood—no brooding!
When weighing how much to pay for a piece of cabinetry with such flourishes, a crisp, sealed finish is paramount, especially in the kitchen, which is where Crate and Barrel has introduced a line of kitchen islands (and other pieces) with smart lines. Let not crisp and ribbed become gooey and greasy!
If you’re in contemporary quarters, chances are good that your kitchen is already part of your living room. So a nice furniture-finish piece could be a godsend. From Crate and Barrel’s new line of kitchen furnishings comes the almond-finish natural-oak Batten kitchen island, 84 inches long and made up of two three-deep-drawer units with vertical ribbing and a Volakas marble top. Note when planning your space that the drawers open out to the sides. The island is $3,999. The Batten style is also available as single- or double-sink wall-mounted bathroom vanities ($1,899 and $3,699), entryway high-back storage bench ($1,711), and additional 5-foot-tall wall panels to make wall-hung headboards or otherwise trimming out your space ($399 each). The Batten Collection is designed by Bill Eastburn of William Eastburn Design.
Slats this time, from the Container Store. We’re showing two Marie Kondo Shoji Stacking Shoe Shelves, one 18 inches long ($29.99) atop another, 3 feet long ($49.99), available in Kocha Brown (shown) and natural.
From Minneapolis-based Blu Dot comes the Murmur Collection, a series of credenzas, night stands, and dressers with fluted fronts. These Murmur pieces, made of solid wood with white oak or walnut veneers, require some assembly and come with detailed exploded assembly drawings and the tools to put things together. The Murmur Collection ranges in sale price from $956 to $2,956.
A bit more basic in execution but in the same reeded spirit is this Carrara marble-top Elodie cabinet, made of ash and oak, from Tulsi Home. The 52-inch-long sideboard shown is $1,504.50; a taller (36-inch-high) matching 38-inch-long marble-top cabinet is $1,256.50, both at One Kings Lane. Like the Crate and Barrel pieces, these are made in Vietnam.
Slightly different from the others in that the base of this ash-wood dining table is made of resin. And the fluting is more relaxed, more of a flutter. Still the 46-inch-diameter Maja dining table from Anthropologie has the same spirit, tailored for smaller spaces (seats four). It’s $1,198 at Anthropologie.com.
Barbie and Barbie haven’t seen each other in a while. So while Ken and Ken are out of town, they make a plan to meet at the botanical garden . . . or at least under a tree. / Barbies courtesy of Maya, age 7. MyLittleBird photo.
Barbie’s bulldog and Barbie’s Great Dane enjoy hanging out in the paved courtyard by the river. They don’t even mind that a giant bird is watching them with suspicion. / Barbies courtesy of Maya, age 7. MyLittleBird photo.
It’s a nice sunny day, so Barbie and Barbie decide to catch some rays. The wonderful thing about a Great Dane is that he can be a terrific backrest. The smaller dog not so much. / Barbies courtesy of Maya, age 7. MyLittleBird photo.
Enough sitting around! That’s not how Barbies keep their trim figures. So while Barbie starts doing situps, Barbie does pushups. Next on the agenda: They’ve heard there’s an interesting movie out that may reveal some secrets about Barbieland and they’re going to see if they can score a couple of tickets. / Barbies courtesy of Maya, age 7. MyLittleBird photo.
This post first appeared on PrimeWomen.com.
By Nancy McKeon
IN CASE YOU haven’t heard, the Barbie movie is out. Man, is it ever! It’s the candy-colored visual feast we were promised. But no doubt it will mess with your head.
What to think of it? Anything you want. Really!
Barbie-garbed little girls in the theater where I saw the movie seemed delighted to see their plastic playthings brought to life by actor Margot Robbie and cast (many, many Barbies, so many Barbies—“Hi, Barbie!” “Oh, hi, Barbie!”). They oohed, they gasped, they cheered their little plastic friends.
The government of Vietnam is not quite as enamored. It has banned the film’s release because it shows a map that apparently depicts China’s claim to hegemony over the South China Sea. (I say “apparently” because I don’t even remember a map—sorry!) Texas senator Ted Cruz has sided with Vietnam, saying the movie is Chinese propaganda. (The 8-year-old sitting next to me didn’t understand what “propaganda” meant, and she didn’t remember the map either.) *
This is the Barbie map I missed, though I still can’t figure it out. / Photo by Warner Bros. Pictures.
LGBTQ+ audiences are disappointed “Barbie” isn’t “gayer.” After months of trailers that teased winks and nods that apparently energized gay fans and the doll collectors among them, the movie turns out to be, as one says nowadays, heteronormative, in spades. Bummer.
Well, “heteronormativity,” if that’s a word, seems to be in the eye of the beholder. While Christian family movie review site Movieguide hadn’t posted an official review as of Monday, it warned that the new movie “has a clear agenda which shows that studios continue to neglect the safety of young children and disregard the biggest audience in cinema, families.”
It cited the movie’s “clear, gross agenda . . . to push sexuality onto children.” (Um, Barbie’s perky boobs haven’t been doing that since 1959?)
Furthermore, Movieguide continued the movie was “poorly made with multiple premises.” It’s hard to argue with that last point.
Barbie, indeed has many messages. One is Down With the Patriarchy. Men are okay as long as they hover in the background and don’t get too pushy. In a kind of role reversal, it’s actor Ryan Gosling’s Ken who wants love and a live-in relationship with Robbie’s Barbie, and she who can’t be bothered.
Ken stows away on Barbie’s Dream Car. / Photo by Warner Bros. Pictures.
The action kicks off when Margot Robbie Barbie drives her Dream Car out into the real world (in part to find out what has happened to her stiletto-appropriate feet, which have “fallen,” and to discover why she’s suddenly having “irrepressible thoughts of death”—yikes!). While she’s out there in Mattel Land, the Kens of Barbieland take over all the Barbie Dreamhouses, turning them into messy frat houses and converting the Doctor Barbies and Astronaut Barbies and Presidential Candidate Barbies into basic “girlfriend” Barbies cooking and serving drinks.
Chris Suellentrop, the politics opinion editor at the Washington Post, took his 13-year-old daughter and her friends to see the movie on Friday, the day it opened. He was happy to celebrate “Barbenheimer,” the opening weekend for both “Barbie” and “Oppenheimer,” the story of the “Father of the Atomic Bomb.” But he also sees Barbie as something more than a puddle of pink; he sees her and “Oppenheimer” as symbols of Earth in the Anthropocene Era. (It has to do with isotopes, and the plastics Barbie is made of, and the radioactive “plastic rocks” scientists have begun finding in remote places on Earth. Anthropocene means something caused by human activity; some are suggesting a better term for our evolving era is Plasticine.)
See? All sorts of messages in a pastel paradise. And those messages aside, the big one was bucks. Big bucks. As of Sunday, Warner Bros.’s “Barbie” raked in a record $155 million over the weekend, plus $182 million abroad. The serious half of the “Barbenheimer” weekend, Universal’s “Oppenheimer,” made $174 million overseas and domestic together.
Barbie shows the Barbies (it gets confusing) how her feet have suddenly “collapsed.” / Photo by Warner Bros. Pictures.
Photo by Warner Bros. Pictures
It’s fitting to give “Barbie” director Greta Gerwig the final word on what the message of the movie is. She told Deadline, a Hollywood industry site, that there was some pressure to cut one scene from the movie. It takes place when Barbie, in the real world, sees an old woman sitting at a bus shelter. As the camera lingers on the old woman’s wrinkled cheeks and mischievous smile, Barbie seems to witness the beauty of being human, of growing old, of not being trapped in the eternal loop that is Forever Barbie. The doll tells the old woman that she’s beautiful.
“There’s the more outrageous elements in the movie that people say, ‘Oh, my God, I can’t believe Mattel let you do this,’ or ‘I can’t believe Warner Bros. let you do this,’ ” Gerwig told Deadline. “But to me, the part that I can’t believe that is still in the movie is this little cul-de-sac that doesn’t lead anywhere—except for it’s the heart of the movie.” The message: The old woman, veteran costume designer Ann Roth, 91, is beautiful, and by extension, the rest of us are too.
I think that’s a message we can all live with.
* This is not quite as outlandish as it may first appear. Movie studios and tech companies alike have been more than happy to cater to Chinese government sensibilities, given the enormous market the country controls.
Fran Drescher at the 48th Annual AFI Life Achievement Award Honoring Julie Andrews held at the Dolby Theater in Hollywood on June 9, 2022. / Tinseltown/Shutterstock photo.
A version of this post appeared first on PrimeWomen.com.
By Nancy McKeon
TWENTY-THREE years ago, actress/comedian/producer Fran Drescher went up against uterine cancer and won. Last week, as president of the Screen Actors Guild since 2021, she took up arms against an opponent less personal but more broadly powerful. So, the question is: Can the Nanny conquer Mickey Mouse and the MGM lion?
It doesn’t hurt that she and her 160,000 fellow SAG-AFTRA union members went on strike after some 11,000 members of the Writers Guild of America had already walked off, effectively shutting down new projects and scripted shows across TV and the big screen. It’s the first time the two creative guilds have been simultaneously on strike together since 1960… when Ronald Reagan was Screen Actors Guild President. And that job led him to a much bigger leading role!
But it should come as no surprise that the star of the wildly popular 1990s sitcom “The Nanny,” famed for her nasal “Noo Yawk” honk of a voice, is standing up for her fellow union members in their negotiations with the major film and TV studios. Drescher herself may have a net worth that has been estimated at $25 million, but she has long come down on the side of labor. She has explained that the vast majority of the SAG-AFTRA rank-and-file (actors at all levels, singers, show hosts, radio personalities, stunt performers, voiceover artists, and more) depend on negotiated pay rates and healthcare benefits to get them from project to project and achieve a middle-class lifestyle.
In an animated, even fiery, speech kicking off the strike, Drescher proclaimed that “we are labor and we . . . demand to be honored for our contribution.” The studios, the entertainment industry, need us, she said, her brow furrowed with wrinkles that aren’t seen in her red-carpet appearances, where she glows and could pass for half her 65 years. “You cannot exist without us,” she added.
But that’s the problem.
The issue facing the men and women who make our entertainment is not so different from what is facing the world of work everywhere: technology.
Auto factory workers around the world are being replaced by robots, and customer service phone reps are being replaced by computerized voices. And while broadcast and cable TV networks are still popular, big media companies lost billions of dollars starting their own streaming services to try to catch Netflix, which lost millions of dollars and subscribers in the streaming wars. Media moguls say that this huge financial setback is the main reason they can’t pay the writers and actors what they want.
The other big issue is Artificial Intelligence, or AI, which has the potential to replace writers and actors with computer-generated creations. Colleges are already trying to deal with the fact that Chat GPT, an AI writing technology, can write term papers for students, and visual artists are concerned that some of their work as designers, illustrators, and video creators can be done by AI.
In the case of Leo the lion, the icon of MGM since 1924: The last of the eight living-and-breathing big cats is gone, replaced during the pandemic by a computer-generated version . . . who doesn’t have to be tended and fed. Actors and extras are very worried that once they are captured on digital video for a movie or TV show, the producer could generate digital versions of them for the future. The actors would only get paid for their initial work and could lose complete control of their image and voice.
It seems that the only people making more than they did before this technological transition and streaming loss are those in the studio C-suites, half a dozen of whose CEOs each earned in the neighborhood of $500 million over the past five years, per the Wall Street Journal.
Drescher told her union members that the studios “cannot expect the business model to change and not expect the contract to change.” The writers and SAG-AFTRA performers alike are looking for more buffers for what has become gig work, akin to driving for Uber, and protection from being replaced by artificial intelligence and computer-generated words and images.
It’s hard to be a tiny pebble on the beach when a tsunami is headed your way. Or, in the case of poor Leo, is already here. But Drescher likes to see her attitude as “taking negatives and turning them into positives.”
A case in point was her ordeal in 2000, searching for an explanation as to why she was all of a sudden at odds with her own body. After two years, eight doctors, and as many misdiagnoses, she was found to have uterine cancer, for which the doctors in those two years had not even run tests. A complete hysterectomy eventually remedied the immediate condition, but there followed a long period of recovery just to get back to normal.
Her negative-into-positive attitude resulted in her 2002 book, Cancer Schmancer, a dry-chuckle-laced account of her cancer journey. Are we interested in the minutiae of her suspicious cramps and the changes in her stool? Yes, because she’s Fran Drescher, but the book is also a practical guide to recognizing odd symptoms and getting help as early as possible. (Particularly helpful is the computer-and-telephone research she and her boyfriend did that led her not to have follow-up radiation).
Drescher is also a producer, though, and that took her from Why me? to Why any woman? So, half a dozen years later, she “produced” the nonprofit Cancer Schmancer Movement, whose goal is to ensure that women be diagnosed at Stage 1 when cancer is at its most curable.
The Fran Drescher script based on her own life also includes her opening up about being raped at gunpoint at age 28 and later becoming active in LGBT causes after her high school sweetheart and husband of 20 years came out as gay. She has used these and other serious challenges as inspiration to make a difference in the world.
Drescher’s active role in life crosses other boundaries as well. She’s a Democrat who supported Hillary Clinton and then Barack Obama, but she also was tapped by the Bush administration in 2008 as a U.S. diplomat, traveling the world to meet with healthcare groups and women’s organizations.
The presidential term for SAG-AFTRA lasts only two years, and there’s already competition for Drescher’s spot. Her visibility in leading this strike may make her a shoo-in at the September election. Or maybe it will lead to the next chapter in a script still being written.
Left to right, Pierpaolo Piccoli for Valentino, Warby Parker sunglasses, Frances Valentine Portia bag, Gap tassel earrings, and Lululemon Align leggings. Information below.
By Nancy McKeon
YOU CAN’T SAY we (and everyone else in Media Land) didn’t warn you that pink was coming! (Look back at Janet’s August 2022 post to see what we mean.) Yes, of course, pink has been with us forever. But the Millennials made it their own a few years ago, and then the Barbie movie (it opens worldwide on Friday) really pumped up a Fuchsia Frenzy.
Some of the items that Janet wrote about are still available. Rothy’s still offers The Point flatsin Dragon Fruit, which is, believe us, PINK! Nars still features Schiap, a matte vivid pink lipstickno doubt named for Elsa Schiaparelli, who basically “invented” shocking pink. And Pierpaolo Piccioli for Valentino continues to offer just about everything in a rich, seductive pink, including a small Rockstud crossbody bag ($1,500) and recently added the easy-to-wear silk Cady Couture pink tunic top with a V-neck caftan-style top ($2,500). The coordinating Cady Couture trousers, with a comfy drawstring waist, are $2,200.
But now there’s more. My goodness, there’s more . . .
Go for a Barbie-friendly look with Warby Parker’s NST2-002 Pink Nebula sunglasses, $95 for non-prescription, $195 for readers or single vision correction, $395 for progressives. If Pink Nebula is too intense, you could try Shea in Rose Guava ($95 to $295) or Durand in Rose Water ($95 to $295).
Gap has gone Full Barbie with movie-logo merchandise for the younger set (and the pet set!). But there is still plenty of pink for grown-up girls, including this Flutter Sleeve Maxi Dress (above) in Sizzling Fuchsia (on sale for a limited time for $31). It’s made of cotton and rayon with a touch of spandex. And if you want just a touch of the color de la saison, these Babs Topknot tassel earrings (below) may be the answer ($54).
Gap’s Athleta division offers a powdery pink pullover jacket in ripstop poly and spandex for warming up or cooling down. The Boundless Popover in Maritima Pink comes in a full range of sizes (and also in bright white and brown-olive) for $129.
Just in case you’re not in competition for the ugliest, bulkiest shoe of the year (so many contenders!), you might consider the Ainsley Mary Jane with block heel in a delicate pink (also in black, beige and a vivid blue). They’re $150 at Anthropologie.
From Frances Valentine comes the Portia Satchel in Naplak leather (which has a glossy, somewhat crinkly effect). It can hold a laptop as well as everything else you need on a daily basis. It comes in a very sunny yellow, plus grass green and a pale ivory. The pink is on sale for $418 (the other colors are $698).
From Lululemon come two additions to the New Pink Universe. Above, the brand’s Align Ribbed High-Rise Pant comes in Sonic Pink in three lengths, 23, 25, and 28 inches. Designed for yoga, the light colors are lined for coverage. They’re $118.
Below, Lululemon’s Pace Rival Mid-Rise Skirt, $78, comes in Lip Gloss (also black, white, and dark red). Shown is the extra-long version (17 inches); also available in 12- and 15-inch lengths.
If pink will complement your peonies or your pink bikini, the Blushing Palms Inflatable Minni-Cooler from Minnidip may call to you ($28 on the Minnidip site).
And lest we forget: the MyLittleBird, the rosy rosé cocktail, compliments of Bacardi, that launched our site in March 2014:
MyLittleBird often includes links to products we write about. Our editorial choices are made independently; nonetheless, a purchase made through such a link can sometimes result in MyLittleBird receiving a commission on the sale, whether through a retailer, an online store or Amazon.com.
IF YOU’VE BEGUN watching the latest iteration of Sex and the City, meaning the second season of And Just Like That, you have probably noticed that, as Jeremy Allen of the New York Times “Styles” desk said, there seems to be “a glut of muchness”: “The necklaces keep getting chunkier, the prints keep getting printier and the cocktail rings could be used as homing devices for pigeons. . . .” And following the end of Succession‘s stealth wealth dressing, we’re back in Logo Land.
Perhaps it’s just fashion fatigue (AJLT on top of the over-the-top Met Gala on top of the lavish Karl Lagerfeld exhibit at the Costume Institute), but I have come, once again, to appreciate Eileen Fisher. Boxy, yes. Loose, that too. Monochromatic. Most of all, understated.
Feel free to point out that those are the very characteristics I’ve sniped at in the past. But at least Eileen Fisher clothing is a nod to the real world, a world without ruching and guipure lace and trains the length of the barges that travel up and down the East River. And in summer-weight gauzy cotton and linen, no muss, no fuss, no bother at all.
However, it’s not only the season. According to a Wall Street Journal article (sorry: paywall alert) this spring, “Eileen” ‘s stalwart customers are being joined by a younger consumer cohort. Sure, EF is the putative designer for “Vermont potters and Santa Monica midwives,” WSJ posited, but it’s also catnip to the young sustainable-fashion crowd, who are loving the organics, the thoughtful slow-fashion vibe, and the for-real “circular” system. EF’s appearances on TikTok, Insta and Pinterest tell the tale.
EF works with sustainable fibers, manufactures and sells the clothes, then takes them back from customers (in return for a $5 gift card per piece) and sells them used on its own EileenFisherRenew website. Since the start of the Renew project (formerly called Green Eileen), the brand says it has taken back some 2 million garments. Whatever is left over, or cannot be refurbished, can be recycled into new fabric, new clothes, even “art.”
The effort is reflected somewhat in the price tags: EF basics tend to be pricier than similar fare—you know, the ones you bundle up at the end of a season or two and call Vietnam Vets to pick up. LittleBird Kathy Legg has pointed out that she has a 20-year-old pair of black EF pants that is still going strong and in perfect condition, in part because she has treated them with care (dry cleaning instead of Tide). The message seems to be, take care of your Eileen Fisher clothes and they will take care of you long-term. And keep you out of Logo Land. And maybe even give the planet, and the garment industry, a helpful nudge in the right direction.
Classic Collar Button-up Shirt, marked down to $96.60 in this fresh-looking honeydew color at Nordstrom. It’s made of half linen and half organic linen; in size medium it’s 24 inches long.
Bateau-Neck Top, organic linen and cotton, marked down to $103.60 in white at Nordstrom. It has a flat front and shirred-yoke back. In “pacific,” a deep teal, it’s $148.
Go full commando in 90+-degree heat? Maybe not, but this calf-length Organic Cotton Gauze Mandarin-Collar Dress, with its ravel-edge hem and sleeves, makes it tempting. Available in “picante” (shown), plus white, black, and charcoal gray (“nocturne”), it’s $198 at the Eileen Fisher site. Picante is also available in plus sizes at Nordstrom.com.
Eileen Fisher’s Organic Cotton Ripple Ballet Neck Top ($148) with an almost ticking-like black mini-stripe (inspired by seersucker, says EF) mates easily with her Airy Organic Cotton Twill Wide Trouser Pant in denim color ($168), indigo-dyed but lighter in weight than denim. The top is also available in solid sunbeam yellow.
A retreat from the boxy look, this Fine Jersey Jewel Neck Topcan be cinched in front while left hanging loose in back. The fabric is 95% Tencel Lyocell and 5% Elastane. Available in “roseberry” (shown), also black, white and “nocturne.” It’s $128. Bloomingdale’s has it in “nocturne.”
A summer stand-by, the Organic Cotton Gauze Short-Sleeve Shirt($138) has a mandarin collar and floats away from the top of the hip. It comes in white, black, and (online only) “nocturne.” Also available from Bloomingdale’s in white.
Fashion and beauty for women over 40. A Substack from the writers who bring you MyLittleBird.
We’ll still be here at MLB, but do come check us out on Substack. You’ll no doubt find other newsletters, on all topics, as well.
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The Chromeo Chair and Ottoman, designed by Sarah Ellison, call to mind the tubular furniture of the Deco period but more cloud-like. The pair are currently $3,221.50 (down from $3,790) at Design Within Reach. The chair alone is $2,120.75. The pieces are available in a chunky pale Sorrento Corduroy (shown) and dark brown Avalon Velvet. Ellison’s Muse Sofa and Huggy Chair are similarly round and huggable.
By Nancy McKeon
THE SAME CURVES that made the Mazda Miata and Teletubbies so cuddly are attempting to invade our living rooms. Start looking at furniture ads and home-furnishings catalogues (and Succession!) and you’ll see them everywhere, from the stratospheric Roche-Bobois, where Joana Vasconcelos’s Bombom 2½-seater sofa starts at $9,010, to the millennial-friendly West Elm, where the Addie Swivel Chair ranges in price (for a limited time) from $599.20 to $849, depending on fabric.
If you have any doubts about the high-net-worth imprimatur of curvy pieces, consider the Manhattan aerie of “Succession” character Kendall Roy. The in-real-life triplex penthouse, at 180 East 88th Street on the Upper East Side, is currently on the market for $29 million. The furnishings in brother Roman Kendall’s equally airy place are even rounder and more sculptural, not to mention closer to the floor.
And as long as furniture is going round, it may as well go around. There’s a whole new, or at least recent, world of swivel chairs on offer, for indoors and out.
Depending on your current style, it may be a challenge to make a home for one of these bouncy babies, but it may be worth a try. Maybe we go round more than once?
Elements of the Roche-Bobois’s Bombom collection by Joana Vasconcelos. All can be color-customized. The four-seat sofa starts at $11,760 (the 121-inch-long five-seater retails for $17,175). The 2½-seater Bombom sofa, starts at $9,010. And Bombom’s playful appearance was launched as an outdoor collection at the Milan Furniture Fair this spring
The Addie Swivel Chair from West Elm is certainly cuddly-looking and comes in a wide range of fabrics and colors. A limited-time offer prices the chair at $599.20 to $849, depending on details (chenille, basketweave, twill, performance fabric, etc.). Not shown, the Addie Swivel Armchair, which looks like a pouffy barrel chair, is priced from $799 to $949, also in a range of fabrics and colors, including 22 colors of velvet.
The curvy Mason Wicker Cocoon Chair, above, is made from resin wicker for outdoor use. A pair of these is currently on sale from the Grandin Road catalogue for $1,259.30 (down from $1,799 for two). Mason also comes as a Swivel Chair for the same per-pair price. Not shown, a lighter-weight, airier, but just as round all-weather wicker chair is the Costa Cocoon Chair in natural color, $359.99 at World Market.
The Pumpkin Arm Chair was designed in 1971 by Modernist French designer Pierre Paulin, who was a pioneer in “low-level living” (he left it to us to figure out how to get up out of his furniture; the seat height of the Pumpkin chair is 14½ inches, standard seat height being 17 inches). Being re-issued by Ligne Roset, Pumpkin is $3,160; a swivel version is $3,900.
The Heidi Swivel Chairtakes a discreet turn in your living room at 34½ inches wide and 19 inches high. Available in three neutrals (a nubby white, darkest blue, and graphite gray, shown), it’s on sale for $959.20 at Grandin Road.
If your living room needs a real jolt of color, you could always opt for Roche-Bobois’s Pivoting Bubble Chair, now $3,905. The first challenge for Sacha Lakic, the designer of this puffball, was to craft a fabric that could stretch in all directions. Would that pocketbooks could do the same. The Techno 3D fabric comes in topaz green (shown), cobalt blue, orange, ruby red, cedar yellow, fuchsia, deep purple, plus light and dark gray. The Bubble collection includes two sofas, an ottoman, and a snuggly bed. If you want to explore the world of round and puffy, and you can hack the price tags, Roche-Bobois is the motherlode, for real.
Domestic goddess Martha Stewart is one of four Sports Illustrated covers for the annual swimsuit issue.
MARTHA STEWART’S cheesecake. Yum. Martha Stewart AS cheesecake? Um . . .
We’ve now had ample time to digest, as it were, the well-choreographed vision of the 81-year-old Martha Stewart, and her “melons,” on the cover of Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit issue. It’s what we SI staffers used to call the annual “Please cancel my son’s subscription” issue.
This year it’s the “aging gracefully, thank you” crowd (and possibly those sons!) who may want to opt out. And the questions, rather than fading away, keep popping up.
How COULD she? (Would I?) How DID she? (Are there enough vials of Juvederm in the universe to do that for me?)
And finally, with all the cloaking and camouflaging and styling, what’s with the saggy boob cleavage?
Bonus question: As Martha chatted on the Today show about her latest publicity coup, did those filler injections work? Did they leave her looking like Martha Stewart? Or some slightly distorted simulacrum?
“The whole aging thing is so boring,” she told the Today audience. And she managed to say it with a straight, well-plumped, slightly distorted face. She also said she’s hoping that her SI cover will encourage “good living” and inspire women not to be afraid of trying things, of . . . “change.” Except, I guess, of any change that lets your face and body show your age.
But here’s an even better question: Why on Earth would she want to rise to that borderline-tawdry bait? If women
“Shark Tank” star Barbara Corcoran, a mere 74 to Martha Stewart’s 81, posted a response to the Martha Sports Illustrated cover image. “I can’t cook, but I sure can swim,” she wrote on her Instagram page.
looked up to her or envied her, it wasn’t her come-hither glance they wanted to replicate (not sure she even has one). Her strength has been her business savvy and steely resolve, the way she transformed a one-off catering job into a billion-dollar publishing and TV empire.
But nothing has ever been enough for the domestic goddess (witness the penny-ante insider stock trading, and lying about it to the Feds, that sent her billionaire behind to the slammer 19 years ago), so that question practically answers itself.
Of course, we could blame Sport Illustrated. It was looking for a new show pony, a gimmick to sell extra mags. So it found 23 women, some well known, to feature inside, and four women on four different covers, of whom Stewart was the oldest by a factor of, I dunno, 28? The younger beach bods are shown in publicity footage yapping about “empowerment,” but I suspect that’s not what they and their skimpy suits are inspiring among teenage boy readers. (Moms, please note, you can order one for your kid for $15.99, or the whole four-cover set for $54 plus $4 shipping. Or you can . . . not.)
By being “inclusive” (gotta love that word), the mag is saying aging can be great too. Yeah, as long as you live the regimen of a diva who’s always camera-ready. As Jane Fonda, now 85, once said about why she looks so good, it takes “good genes and a lot of money.”
Stewart clearly has the money for all the beautification efforts she has acknowledged: frequent facials, filler injections, Pilates, even a recent full-body spray tan and waxing. In the gene category, she has that luminescent Polish complexion, plus just enough extra body fat. Yes, Stewart carries a little extra around the middle. But here’s the deal: Fat in the face keeps wrinkles somewhat at bay. And what finds a happy home in fat cells? Estrogen, the only real youth serum.
Some women have applauded Stewart’s rising to the “challenge”; some have lambasted it. One has posted a challenge of her own: A mere stripling of 74, real estate entrepreneur and Shark Tank star Barbara Corcoranresponded with an Instagram riposte. “You’ve seen Martha Stewart . . . But have you seen me?” accompanied by her own version of the white bathing suit, billowing cape, and pose of extreme foreshortening (and much more inspiring boobage).
Okay, where does aging gracefully enter the picture? If such a thing exists, surely it’s Helen Mirren, 77, baring all of her crow’s feet and smile lines, and looking supremely confident while doing so. Meryl Streep can act anything, so no wonder at 73 she acts her age (and oh, that glowing complexion). Gloria Steinem, at 89, still looks like Gloria Steinem. And as noted earlier, Jane Fonda looks spectacular, though “aging” has long been her sworn enemy.
Does aging gracefully mean we’re not supposed to do anything, just droop on into mortality? Or maybe it means not fighting it every step of the way but each of us drawing the line in a different place: Stop at peels? Inject a little here and there? Go for the full lift?
There does come a time when you look in the mirror and you’re not sure you recognize the person reflected there. Perhaps you see your mother (Is that so awful?), perhaps a disconcerted stranger (When did this happen?).
What you won’t have to deal with, though, is the look of confusion on the face of a person who has seen Martha Stewart’s swimsuit cover—and then meets her in person.
MyLittleBird often includes links to products we write about. Our editorial choices are made independently; nonetheless, a purchase made through such a link can sometimes result in MyLittleBird receiving a commission on the sale. We are also an Amazon Associate.
THE NEW exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute celebrates the 65-year career of the late designer Karl Lagerfeld, who distinguished himself by creating not for one fashion house but for four. And that output—for Chanel, Fendi, Chloé, and his own Karl Lagerfeld line—wasn’t sequential but overlapping.
The most elaborate Costume Institute exhibit to date, according to Andrew Bolton, the curator in charge of the Institute, the show features 180 garments and accessories. Lush? Lavish? Yes, both. Also at times austere and tailored. In their totality: breathtaking.
It was always fun to watch as Lagerfeld danced within the boundaries of Coco Chanel’s demure open-front jacket, adding bounce and sex and youth to what had become, over the years, a rather dowdy “lady look.” The longtime fashion editor of the Washington Post, the late Nina Hyde, once instructed me not to pay attention to the skirts, cut scandalously short in one 1980s foray, but to look closely at the jackets. That, she said, was where the action was. Back in those days, a Chanel ready-to-wear jacket could cost maybe $1,600, a day suit $4,000. Now: At Saks Fifth Avenue, I just found that one cotton-tweed jacket from the Spring-Summer 2023 ready-to-wear collection is $7,300, its matching skirt $15,200. A black-and-white cotton T-shirt from the same collection is $2,000.
No wonder then that the relatively unadorned ready-to-wear fashion most of us “know” from newspaper and magazine fashion coverage is rarely encountered in the wild. Much, much less the truly elaborate confections Lagerfeld created for Chanel’s haute couture collections. The notes on those dresses and suits catalogue materials such as leather, sheets of gold metal, embroidery, sequins, bugle beads, tulle, cotton-and-synthetic tweed, silk jersey—sometimes on the same outfit. Also noted, the hundreds of hours by artisans to do all that embroidering, beading, tucking, welting, and, yes, sewing, by hand.
The genius of Kaiser Karl becomes apparent as you wander through the exhibit and see all his many manifestations. Yes, the Institute has divided the looks into the straight line and the serpentine, but the lines are crossed in inventive ways, with a different personality emerging depending on which house Lagerfeld was addressing, Fendi seemingly getting more geometrics, Chloé more patterns.
One charming aspect of the retrospective is a pair of videos, interviews with the premières d’atelier in the Chanel and Fendi workrooms, the head seamstresses whose talent was to take the sketches given to them by Lagerfeld and translate them from two dimensions into three. They speak with a certain amount of reverence for the designer but also with what seems to be a genuine affection.
And if you absolutely cannot get yourself to New York for the show, you can get a very hearty glimpse of the treasures through this walk-through with Institute curator Bolton:
Karl Lagerfeld: A Line of Beauty runs through July 16, 2023. Costume Institute, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1000 Fifth Avenue (81st Street), New York, NY 10028; phone 212-535-7710; met museum.org.
A COUPLE OF days ago MyLittleBird posted my Mother’s Day essay on not having children. I talked about how I had given up being “honest” about not being a mother when someone wished me a Happy Mother’s Day, how I was just going with the flow from now on. It was only my perspective and I wondered what some other women, mothers and not, might say. I got some responses.
M in Manhattan has no children and agreed about the awkwardness to being wished a Happy Mother’s Day:
I just don’t know how to respond. By saying “thanks” I feel like I’m “pretending” that I’m a mom; but in the other hand, if I say I’m not a mom, I worry about embarrassing or offending the person who just wished me a Happy Mother’s Day.
Is it like “Happy St. Patrick’s Day”? I’m not Irish. Never felt the need to tell anyone that!
Guess it’s time to embrace it and follow your lead!
Jane in Maryland has a grown son and said:
Possibly I live around unkind people, or maybe I’m unkind and do not attract sweet wishes, but if anyone has ever wished me a Happy Mother’s Day, I can’t recall it. If they were to do so it would bring to mind that during the first decade of married life I was sure I did not want children. Had a change of heart and was pregnant before I came to my senses. Never regretted the decision, though . . . well, except during the teenage eon.
LittleBird Mary Carpenter, who has two sons, pointed out:
My concern with all holiday greetings is for individual circumstances. . . . Knowing women who have lost children in tragic ways makes me hesitant to say Happy Mother’s Day unless I know the person pretty well. . . . On the other hand, the greeting can just mean Have a great day!
◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊
AT ONE POINT I confessed privately to some friends that I had harbored my own prejudice regarding parenthood: When I would meet married couples who said they had decided not to have kids, I would wonder (rather unkindly), Do they think they’re enough for each other? Don’t marriages need children?
LittleBird Kathy reacted to my embarrassing prejudice:
I don’t know that people who choose to be childless do so because they believe they’re “enough.” Perhaps some do. But I think there’s a whole host of reasons. Primarily they just aren’t interested in procreating. I’m of the opinion opting out of reproducing is actually selfless rather than selfish.
This really has nothing to do with anything, but I remember watching an episode of The Alfred Hitchcock Hour, when it first aired in the 60s when I was at a very impressionable age. I probably didn’t even know yet the details of conception and/or birth. It centered on a character called Mother Orchis, who was one of several women confined in some weird otherworldly realm that vaguely resembled a setting where a Roman orgy might take place. All wispy togas covering opulent women reclining on fancy couches. Mother Orchis wanted out. It seems that all these women were used for was having babies. I sympathized with Orchis. I wouldn’t have wanted any part in it either. Clearly it made an impression. Thank you, Alfred Hitchcock.
PM from Washington DC, who has one grown child, said:
Many of my friends have chosen not to have children, and that strikes me as a reasonable choice. Raising children is expensive, it tends to dominate your life while it’s happening, and you never know if the kids you raise are going to end up loving you the way you hope they will or appreciating what you’ve done. When it’s going well, parenthood can feel life-changing in a good way—especially if you have the temperament for it. But in my experience it’s always competing for time and attention with other interests that are less demanding or are demanding at the same time, so you are often having to make a choice that will disappoint someone.
PM added:
The process of trying to get pregnant is exhausting, especially if it’s taking its damned time to happen. And women trying to have children who have repeated miscarriages, especially if they lose a child well into the pregnancy, go through hell. You [Nancy] were lucky: You didn’t have to go through that! And you can direct your parent-like instincts toward [your sister’s] children.
Carol wrote:
Happy Mother’s Day to ALL! We know numerous couples who are childless. I find myself wondering if this was their choice or it just didn’t happen for them. Nonetheless, these couples seem fine and satisfied with their childlessness. I don’t judge: All women were not cut out to be moms (I know a few moms who weren’t cut out for the role). But after three kids and four grandsons, I am happy it was my choice.
◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊
A COUPLE OF women without kids spoke sweetly and directly to that point.
F of Manhattan was one of them. She wrote:
Having grown up as an “only,” I was lucky enough to have a bunch of cousins who did, and do, fill that gap of siblings. Their children became my extended offspring. I am Auntie.
But I must admit I do regret not having any of my own. So instead I talk to every dog and child on the street, visit my friends’ grandchildren and do my best on trying to understand them all.
So I think it is okay to say Happy Mother’s Day to all of us who don’t have our own offspring. I take it as saying you are a caring woman, just like my Mom.
◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊
IN MY PIECE, I also wrote that I often reacted resentfully when journalists would (to my petty mind) “flaunt” their parental status in first-person articles.
LittleBird Stephanie Cavanaugh, MLB’s Green Acre columnist, responded in her usual tongue-in-cheek way:
One day when MY DAUGHTER AND I (see how cleverly I worked that in?) were off to the store for something—I suppose she was about 10—the cashier looked from her to me and said: YOU have children?
Maybe it was my “wife-beater” T-shirt and combat boots . . . ?
I do have a child—the one in the first paragraph—who has managed to be brilliant, kind, and beautiful without much input from me. If anyone were to be wished a Happy Mother’s Day around here, it would be my husband, who did all the school volunteering and schlepping to this and that practice. All I did was read to her.
But even he, on the occasion of my first Mother’s Day, which took place less than a month after the babe was born, didn’t say a happy word acknowledging my labors until . . . he suddenly remembered what the day was and said: I have to call my mother and sister!
◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ THE ESSAY triggered some other great recollections as well.
Grace Cooper wrote:
So much to unpack here. Thank you for a thought-provoking piece.
I love my children, but I must admit to being relieved when they launched and left the nest. Shortly afterward, I left their father. Admitting to others that both these events were positive forces towards rebuilding a better life for myself going forward, have been heavily judged by others in our ridiculously intrusive and judgmental world as selfish and odd.
It’s nature’s way to have an unconscious instinct to reproduce. It’s also natural for offspring to leave home once the parents teach them to survive on their own. Only in some human societies has motherhood been elevated almost to sainthood, while simultaneously leaving many women diminished economically, physically, and emotionally. It’s also becoming increasingly obvious that the natural world and global economy is becoming inhospitable to all living creatures in many other respects. Why indeed do we continue to breed and populate our planet under these conditions?
So why do I feel judged for admitting to decades of my own ambivalence towards motherhood and marriage? I suppose it’s because I realize finally that my real discomfort—and the reason for ruminating about why I made questionable life choices for myself—stemmed mostly from worrying about how others perceive me. Rather, I should accept that as a human being I can think and reason and project outcomes for myself, rising above instinctual impulses.
In other words, congratulations are in order. As Descartes declared perhaps you chose not to decide to have children, and in doing so still made a choice. Yet you indeed made life choices many of us were too young and inexperienced and influenced by societal pressures to defy during our reproductive years. I respect your intellect . . . and your choices. Brava.
Years ago my sister, seven years my junior, was summoned by my husband to come take care of my two toddlers when I had emergency surgery and a two-week hospital convalescence. Mind you, she’s was a busy scientist, but it never occurred to my husband to stay home with his two offspring. She left her lab for those two weeks and drove three hours to come to my aid.
Admittedly, her attempt to engage toddlers in rolling sushi or making scratch Chinese dumplings one night was predictably disastrous, but she tried her best and I love her for that unconditional love and generosity.
When I finally returned home she told me that she and her husband, now deceased, had been on the fence about having children. After caring for my two, she’d decided that their lives—rich with work and international travel—were too precious to sacrifice for children. I heard her clearly and supported her decision wholeheartedly.
I love my two children, but they move on with their own lives . . . as it should be. And my sister, now widowed, has sometimes questioned her decision. That’s when I assure her that her role as the favorite auntie is less fraught with angst and the old parental grudges against me that my kids will presumably take to their graves! As for me, I’m happy to be available to my children on an as-needed basis but finally delighting in my favorite role as the “fun grannie” with what my daughter ruefully calls “CeCe’s own set of rules” for her offspring.
Here’s to women having choices! And here’s to women supporting women in whatever choices they make.
I think it’s a good topic and high time to revisit what years ago we labeled “the mommy wars.” I believe that each one of us has to find our own solid truth within, then perhaps we won’t be so apt to project our internal fears and biases onto others. I vote “go for it!”
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A COUPLE OF readers appended their remarks to the Comments box on the page of the original essay. To wit . . .
From Jennifer Reed:
And a Happy Mother’s Day to you. We don’t need children to nurture and support those around us. We’re all mothers. In my mind, having children is what is selfish. The drive to spread one’s DNA into the future seems bizarre to me when it’s clear the planet doesn’t need more human beings and there are plenty of children already here who need help. Who’s so special that we need more of them? It’s the ultimate act of narcissism. And yet, people are emotionally and biologically tied to the act and do it every day. But live and let live, I say. So again, Happy Mother’s Day!
To which Valerie Monroe, the How Not to F*ck Up Your Face columnist, replied:
The ultimate act of narcissism? Oh, well, I’ve been accused of worse!
Happy Mother’s Day to you, too, dear Nancy. May 14 is also National Buttermilk Biscuit Day, International Dylan Thomas Day and (best of all) National Chicken Dance Day. So Happy All Of Them to you, as well!
I USED TO correct people when they wished me a Happy Mother’s Day. Explaining that I didn’t have children felt like the “honest” thing to do.
Then I realized I was unnecessarily embarrassing strangers—doormen, store clerks, garage attendants—who were just trying to be thoughtful and polite: See a woman in her 50s or 60s or, heaven knows, older, and it’s not abnormal—even in career-driven Washington DC and New York City—to assume that she once gave birth to a child.
So now I simply say “thank you” and move on. No dishonesty intended.
Some of these stranger relationships do take a turn for the more personal—to wit, with the doormen in my Manhattan apartment building, who seem to know everything about everybody, including my-sister-in-New-Jersey’s name, where exactly uptown my nephew and his wife live, and when was the last time I hosted Thanksgiving. When we reach that level, I share more. To their credit, these not-so-strangers have yet to quiz me on whether I’m divorced, widowed or just stubborn. (Take a guess.) So far they seem to like me, so I just leave it at that.
I’ve also realized (and this is probably only natural) that many of my friends—in book club, in investment club, in my building, in the newsroom where I worked for 30 years—have no children either. And that circumstance doesn’t even come up in our conversations! No moaning, no woulda-coulda-shoulda, just . . . conversation—politics, books, restaurants, whatever. Of course, some women friends do have kids, but in many cases our groups coalesced after the children had gone off to live lives of their own.
To say I never think about children would be . . . just about correct. About 25 years ago, though, I was worried that I was living a selfish life and had the thought one Saturday afternoon that maybe I should adopt a child. On the phone, my sister promptly offered me one of hers (then a rule-defying teen, now a clinical social worker and mom), and my accountant told me I couldn’t afford one. Case closed—although I will admit that I began to be annoyed by every female essayist who managed to work “my daughter,” or “as I was telling my son,” into columns about the budget deficit. (Exaggerating, but not by all that much.)
We often read that we will model the behavior we saw growing up, but that can’t always be true. I grew up in a family with a mild-mannered (okay, slightly distant) college professor father, a dedicated homemaker mother, and two siblings—and we sat down to dinner together every night, chatting about school and our lives. We liked one another. Such a mostly pleasant setup should have put all of us on the path toward family creation, right? Instead, only my sister went off in that direction.
Does my sister, with her two kids and three grandkids, have a richer life than I do? The easy answer is yes. The big old Victorian pile where she and my brother-in-law raised their children is the center of family events, their kitchen the place where my brother and his wife and I feel comfortable dropping in for a sandwich (yes, we call first). When it comes to family, we seem to have let her do all the heavy lifting.
A woman I used to know, in her bleaker moments, saw herself as an old crone sitting at the edge of her sister’s family’s hearth, contenting herself with a little reflected warmth from the fire. Grim, I know, but we were in group therapy, where such inner demons are allowed to come out to play.
That harsh image came to my mind after I read that Etsy, Door Dash, and Levi’s had put a kind of warning label on their Mother’s Day marketing hoo-ha, explaining they understood that motherhood could be a sensitive issue and inviting delicate consumers to opt out of such emails. Yikes!
I’m made of sterner stuff than that. Nonetheless, I am aware of paying my dues to be an integral part of what I sometimes think of as my sister’s family, the family she created with that generous husband and two head-screwed-on-straight kids who have gone on to create the next generation. I’m not good at remembering birthdays (selfish!), and really dislike buying more crap for little kids who already have too much crap (8-year-olds now need honey face masks?). But I’m good for estate-planning and the occasional college-fund contribution; in one grand gesture a decade ago, I bought a condo where the nephew and his wife could live for half a dozen years, paying the monthlies, until they could afford to buy it.
So, is mine a selfish life? Quite possibly. When I read the age-old plaint that women take care of everyone else in their sphere first, leaving little time for themselves, I certainly don’t recognize myself.
To be honest, especially with myself, not having children never really felt like a choice. It was just a fact. But in recent years I’ve found myself being, if not a mother, at least trying to be “mothering,” engaging with young women with children, establishing what relationships I can with the little ones (who one day will no doubt ask, Mom, who was that lady with the dog who always talked to us in the park?).
I even offer to take care of the kids in a pinch. Now, a woman who would leave her infant in my hands is clearly not a good mother! But as my niece Carolyn assured me about her 6- and 8-year-olds, Don’t worry, they’ll tell you what to do. Much better.
And the last thing I’ve done as I’ve journeyed across this mine-strewn motherhood thing: I’ve begun to wish just about every woman I encounter a Happy Mother’s Day. It just seems like the right thing to do.
Book jacket for “The Billionaire’s Vinegar” and poster for the documentary “Sour Grapes.” / Image on the front from iStock.
By Nancy Pollard
After owning one of the best cooking stores in the US for 47 years—La Cuisine in Alexandria, Virginia—Nancy Pollard writes Kitchen Detail, a blog about food in all its aspects—recipes, film, books, travel, superior sources, and food-related issues.
The Affordable Disappears
A meal made perfect by a lovely bottle of wine in Heathrow Airport. / Photo by Nancy Pollard.
WHEN I WAS a child, my father had a few wood crates of French wine under his amateur carpenter’s workbench in our garage. He was very knowledgeable about wine and always let me have a taste at the dinner table. He knew how to pick a good affordable wine from France and later from Portugal, Chile, and California. He had been forced to attend Lycée Henri IV in Paris as an adolescent, and suffered enormous bullying by French students as the “American.” But out of this experience he became fluent in French, held an amazing proficiency in French history, developed a love of mountain hiking, and fell in love with French Burgundy. The last part he bequeathed to my husband.
If you were interested in wine and did not have a lot to spend, in the 1960s and 1970s you could, for not too much money, discover the almost mystical world of French Burgundy, the greatest of which have been described as “an iron fist in a velvet glove.” Perhaps the most famous examples are the wines from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, lovingly referred to by their fans as DRCs. And even DRCs were in an earthly price range. Unfortunately they became unaffordable. Even Bordeaux, which are now VSOQ (Very Special Occasion Quaffs), were within reach. An off-year Château Yquem, you might get a sniff at some pricey wine tasting. There were many, many other once-accessible estates that are now simply collected by über-wealthy people who most likely won’t even drink them. When dining out, my father counseled my husband to first look for a reasonably priced Burgundy. Next, look for a Château-Neuf-du- Pape, and, failing that, to see if there were a bottle of Moulin-à-Vent on the list.
In Vino Veritas
An image of Hardy Rodenstock from thedrinksbusiness.com.
And this is where a book and a documentary film come into play. The Billionaire’sVinegar, written by Benjamin Wallace in 2008, is still supposed to be made into a film with Matthew McConaughy. Regardless of its adaptation to the big screen, you will love this story of detection, in which crime seems to have paid the criminal very well. Wallace artfully takes you along the path of the 1787 bottle of Château Lafite Bordeaux (with the cryptic Th.J. inscribed on the bottle) that went for $150,000 at a Christie’s auction in 1985. There follows the engaging story of wine writers who were paid to pen knowledgeable wine reviews, collectors with more money than taste or sense, all following a Pied Piper of Wine, Hardy Rodenstock. On my part, there was a bit of Schadenfreude, when Bill Koch (yes, that Koch family) hires an investigator who uncovers an astonishing network of wine frauds. So much so, that this particular Koch (because he has the money to waste) builds a wing in his wine cellar/museum dedicated to all the fraudulent bottles he has purchased. Later, Bill Koch actually recovered several million dollars in damages. But Hardy Rodenstock melted away to the slopes of Kitzbuhël, Austria, and the beaches of Marbella, Spain, before passing away in June 2018. If you are interested in wine, Wallace’s portraits of such wine luminaries as Robert Parker, Michael Broadbent, and Jancis Robinson will make you much more secure in your own taste the next time you sample a vintage.
Ah, California
Rudy Kurniawan, the subject of “Sour Grapes.”
Rodenstock’s skulduggery was overshadowed by that of an under-30-year-old Indonesian, Rudy Kurniawan, the subject of the 2016 documentary film Sour Grapes. Kurniawan had an affinity for Burgundy, which he crafted into a mind-boggling get-rich scheme. This documentary has some eyebrow-raising comic moments, with wealthy self-professed wine connoisseurs in California discoursing pompously on the merits of the fraudulent wines they have purchased. And like Hardy Rodenstock, Kurniawan concocted wines and stories of their provenance that were accepted at face value by their ignorant purchasers. It was only when a winemaker in France decided to become a detective to restore honor to his house that the scheme gradually collapsed. Laurent Ponsot persevered and convinced the FBI to step in, and a landmark case in wine fraud was successfully prosecuted. Unlike Hardy Rodenstock tanning in Marbella, Rudy Kurniawan is serving hard time in New York.
Both The Billionaire’s Vinegar and Sour Grapes can be enjoyed with some of the modestly priced wines that are available to all of us from Italy, Spain, France, and several countries in North and South America. And whatever you pick, trust your own judgment. As a footnote to this post, if you have not readJudgment of Paris, pick up a copy and enjoy it along with the other two.
From Zursun Beans, left, heirloom Calypso beans (also called Yin/Yang beans) have a distinct potato flavor. Right, Anasazi beans, which can be used to substitute for pinto beans.
By Nancy Pollard
After owning one of the best cooking stores in the US for 47 years—La Cuisine in Alexandria, Virginia—Nancy Pollard writes Kitchen Detail, a blog about food in all its aspects—recipes, film, books, travel, superior sources, and food-related issues.
BACK WHEN I ran my La Cuisine cookware shop, we Cuisinettes had the brainstorm that we would become a hotbed of beans, both in the shop and online. But not just any old bags o’ beans drying out on grocery shelves. Nope. We had in mind the gorgeous morsels grown by small independent farmers under the aegis of Zursun—Zursun beans. I discovered Lola Weyman, who founded the company in 1985, when a chef at Jean-Louis Palladin’s restaurant in DC told me they bought most of their beans from her. A tip like that is a culinary gold nugget.
Lola’s company was the first to offer authentic US-grown heirloom beans, all nurtured on small family farms in locales including the Snake River Canyon region, known as the Magic Valley Growing Area. This spot’s arid climate; rich, well-drained, loamy soil; moderate temperatures; and stable moisture level have made it internationally recognized as environmentally ideal for bean-growing. We converted many a bean-tolerater into a bean-lover, as many of our customers will attest, because Zursun beans are heaps better than what you can purchase at most grocery stores.
A Little Helping of Zursun Beans History
A Zursun bean field with owner Jim Soran.
In Idaho, home to verdant fields of lentils known as the Palouse (from the French word pelouse, meaning “green lawn”), Zursun founder Lola Weyman found several farmers growing unknown lentil varieties. During the late 1980s, Lola began distributing American-grown lentils, to US, Canadian, and European customers. Lola also helped develop new lentil varieties, like Montana’s Black Beluga, named for its resemblance to caviar; Petite Crimson, smaller and quicker-cooking than the standard Red Chief; and an American version of Lentilles du Puy.
Jim Soran, with 60 years of family roots in the Idaho bean industry, acquired Zursun in 2004. Under his guidance, and with the skills of 300 independent farmers who grow beans for him, Zursun heirloom beans are continually inspected during the growing season for plant health, pure strains, and consistent appearance. Jim’s passionate focus on producing the best-quality beans ensures Zursun Idaho Heirloom Beans are fresh and beautifully cleaned and milled. When the harvest is sold out, as La Cuisine customers found out, you wait until the next one. There was never an unending supply, as there is from other purveyors.
Little Known Facts About Zursun Beans
One of the most interesting facts I learned from Jim was that beans and other similar legumes do not have to be bought from organic sources, (and they do grow some certified organic bean crops) as the “seed” matures inside the pods of the plants and not in the actual soil. The pod provides protection that flowering seed plants like tomatoes and squashes don’t enjoy. Generally, crop rotation rather than pesticides is used on these farms, because there is a low level of insects in this area of Western Idaho. An even greater plus is that Roundup weed killer is not used; soybeans are the main recipient of Roundup—and no soybeans are grown under Zursun.
Since we have closed the shop, Karla Hartzell at Zursun has developed an online platform for purchasing their beans. My preference is to order them in boxes of six bags (they can be mixed), as that is how they were packed for the shop. When you get your box, each bean type has a tasty and well-tested recipe on the back of the bag. The Cuisinettes know how good those recipes are, because we’ve made most of them ourselves. Drive yourself crazy choosing which gorgeous beans to have packed in those cartons of six bags. The site also offers you a listing of local vendors that carry their beans.
The giant Kwanzan cherry chez Cavanaugh. / Photo by Stephanie Cavanaugh.
By Stephanie Cavanaugh
Don’t be afraid to experiment and see what works, says Stephen Ryan, an Australian gardening expert. The worst that can happen is that a plant dies, which will create something that’s very precious in a garden—an empty space.
YES! I SAID to myself. Every gardening disaster is an opportunity. This is not exactly what he said, but I expect that’s what he meant. Or part of what he meant.
Ryan was speaking to Alexandra of the always-intriguing British gardening site, The Middlesized Garden. I stopped at the quote, blossoming with happiness.
What a way to put a positive spin on dumb mistakes and fine words to kick off the gardening season. I just hope whichever of my experiments goes belly-up this year has the decency to do it before the garden centers are depleted of whatever I might wish to try next.
I realize I almost want things to fail so I can move on to the next. There’s only so much I can cram into my tiny back yard.
Also, I kind of like things that break. My butter dish, for example, is depressing. After shattering so many made of glass and pottery we bought a stainless-steel number that’s kind of industrial chic, like a racy 1920s coupe, with a sleek domed lid. This will not break, I announced, standing in a kitchen-supply shop in Philadelphia after we’d hit the flower show or a funeral, the two reasons we have for visiting the city. And it has not broken. There’s not even a dent. There is no excuse to replace it. I will die with this butter dish. Now that’s depressing.
In more inspiring news . . .
I told you this was going to be a stupendous spring. Yesterday, on the six-block walk between my house and Trader Joe’s, where I’d gone for camembert and bananas, I noticed a rose.
Oh, wow, a rose, I said to myself.
Years ago, our elderly neighbor Bob, a plasterer who worked on various repairs to the Capitol and our bedroom ceiling, said that roses always begin to bloom on Mother’s Day. And year after year they did.
This year, Mother’s Day is May 14th, and the roses are already blooming.
Not only did I see roses, but iris, phlox and cherries, dogwood, redbud, and lilacs. Mmm, lilacs!
It got so I needed to scribble a list of what I was seeing on the back of the Trader Joe’s receipt, adding camelias, tulips, hyacinth, and azaleas. Also: candytuft, honeysuckle, blue bells, tulip magnolias, periwinkle, pansies, and a spectacular Carolina Jasmine climbing a rail. Plus, the dandelions, which many consider weeds. Their fluffy yellow heads make me smile. It was sensory overload, the flower bonanza (I) promised several weeks ago.
Oh, I am so full of myself this morning.
Enjoy it now, right now, this instant. Get thee to the streets. The heat is on so this can’t last. But right now, this instant, spring blooms, early and late, have emerged in a riot of scent and color. Take a good whiff. The mix of scents is exquisite. It’s all blossoming at once. This happens maybe once a decade. A flower show on the street.
I did call it, several weeks ago, and the weather cooperated. Early extended warmth turned to mild chill, snapping the flowering trees and flower beds into stasis, later bloomers joining the earlies and all hanging in. What a delight.
But today the temperature will be prematurely summerish, well into the 80s, and the warmth will continue, they say, and so farewell to the tulips, suddenly gasping, and the cherries that have lingered past their sell-by.
While the last frost date for Washington DC is around about April 21, I’m going to risk moving my tender housebound plants out into the fresh air. The various plants, plucked from the garden, roots intact, that I’ve preserved in vases through the winter are screaming to get started in the garden. I suspect they’ll be fine. I’m on a roll.
Meanwhile, since last week, the Kwanzan cherry in my backyard is now in full bloom. Between it and the never-blooming wisteria (once again living up to its nickname) that lines the garage roof, the houses behind us are nearly completely hidden.
The New York Times recently posted this illustrated story (“The Last Strand: Let’s Talk About Hair Loss,” March 31, 2023) by reporters Julia Rothman (who also illustrated the piece) and Shaina Feinberg about hair loss and what women (mostly) are doing about it. To read their story, click on the link in the copy at right.
LITTLEBIRDS Janet, Nancy, and Mary were sitting around talking (okay, emailing) about our hair problems when LittleBird Janet spotted this horrifying piece in the New York Times. These folks are injecting their own blood into their scalp and other extreme—and, not to put too fine a point on it, expensive—measures. Our back-and-forth, on the other hand, starts with a whine and ends with a whimper—but no blood loss.
Nancy: I remember exactly how I realized I had a hair-loss problem: Looking in the bathroom mirror one evening, I noticed something sorta pink caught in my hair; when I went to pluck it out, I realized it was my scalp—I’d never seen it before! Now I’m more or less patchy bald on top, and my formerly frizzy “bangs,” straightened with keratin, start at the crown of my head and fall forward. I feel like every sad guy with a comb-over, afraid to be unmasked by a gust of wind.
What really horrifies me is that I always had terrible, unruly hair, curly and unmanageable. But there was so much of it! And now . . .
Janet: I’ve noticed at least one bald spot on the back of my head—a cowlick I’m told. Still, I have been adding marine collagen to my coffee to see if that does anything at all. So far, very little. Windy days aggravate the situation.
Mary: Wind is the tricky problem. I only noticed my spot in a hotel bathroom with many mirrors and bright lights. I have been wearing ponytails to try to prevent more sightings by me—and especially other people!!!
LittleBird Nancy McKeon: left, a 2×3-foot giant Polaroid taken at age 35; right, an iPhone selfie at age 75.
Nancy: I tried Rogaine (minoxidil) for women, wound up (very quickly) with weird spiky black hairs sticking up out of my eyebrows (or what’s left of them). When that happens, they tell you to stop using the product immediately. I also tried Viviscal tablets. Took them for months. Nothing. Biotin. Nothing.
Janet: I’ve heard the problem with Rogaine products is that you have to keep using them, plus they’re expensive. The woman who cuts my mane, who has thinning hair, likes Vegamour and Routine, which both sell shampoo, as well as conditioner and hair-growth serum.
Nancy: The shampoo is probably effective at improving your hair—if you have hair.
Mary: Hair loss seems to have soared during the pandemic. I’m specifically looking into “traction alopecia,” which I seem to
LittleBird Janet Kelly bares her bare spot.
have, due to easily tangling fine hair, which then needs to be untangled with difficulty, and has caused hair loss in that one spot on the back of my head.
Nancy: At a certain (severe) point, which is where I am, I think the follicles just close up. You know how bald men can have shiny heads? The strip of skin at the front of my hairline is all smooth and shiny. I think it’s where my hairline used to be. The skin there is smoother than my adjacent forehead, kinda weird.
Janet: If these crazy people don’t stop passing anti-abortion measures and talking about “woke,” we’re all going to lose our minds, let alone our hair.
Nancy: Just by chance I recently got this PR email about wigs. But do NOT be influenced by the one that woman in the red dress wears in the picture. She looks like she’s trying out for Elsa in Frozen! Or maybe Rapunzel.
A page from the Peggy Knight Wigs website, peggyknight.com.
Here’s the one I would consider (but obviously not blond). And did you see the price? Though it’s cheap by contrast with the numbers cited in the NYT piece.
Janet: That wig looks great.
Mary: Wigs definitely look appealing at this point!! (I did see that price.) My first step, though, is a multivitamin and untangling methods and products: Have you heard of the “pre-poo”—terrible name for what you do before shampooing . . . ?
Janet: Never heard of pre-poo. (Right, bad name, kinda like that bathroom stuff, is it poo-pourri? Something like that.)
Nancy: Someone the other day mentioned that something is known for causing hair loss—thyroid meds, was it?
Janet: I’ve read those meds make you lose hair.
Nancy: And I’ve been taking them for decades. Sigh. I basically have no eyebrows left either. So I had a microblading consultation last week. The technician, also a makeup artist, penciled in brows, a little too skimpy (kinda ’40s, I thought), but okay.
The problem is that the ink is very dense; the final color will be only 20% of what’s applied. But meanwhile you walk around looking like a circus freak.
I wouldn’t mind people knowing, but I can’t stand the idea of explaining it to doormen and curious store clerks every day for a month. I guess I’d have to explain only once to each but . . . I’m outside all the time with the dog, running into strangers and half-strangers (other dog owners). I’d get tired pretty quickly of their curious looks and my incessant babbling.
Don’t think I’ll do it until/unless I can find some wide-frame glasses that will cover the brows.
Janet: I haven’t asked, but I’m pretty sure someone I know has had her brows microbladed—they look terrific, btw.
Nancy: Back to my head! One thing I use, when I remember, is XFusion, little particles of keratin protein (it says), that you shake onto your bald spots so your pale scalp doesn’t blind people when the wind does its thing. I use a color a little lighter than my own so it doesn’t show up as dark splotches.
Janet: I just looked up XFusion, which sounds like a brilliant fix.
Mary: OMG, great!! Will order immediately.
Nancy: My hairdresser isn’t a huge fan because she says it drips when you sweat. When’s the last time I sweated? I’m safe.
Mary: Ewww, good warning. I sweat too much at the least provocation.
Nancy: Yeah, but you’re talking about the back of your head, not your front hairline, where it might be noticed. At worst it would be absorbed by the surrounding hair. It’s pretty dusty, so I wouldn’t apply it while wearing the white silk gown you’re about to wear to the gala!
Janet: It is a wild world out there—just now reading about Olaplex, touted by celebs, now women suing with charges of hair loss, etc. Also about “unwanted hair growth”—hypertrichosis—on arms, etc., with minoxidil.
Mary: I’m going to start with a bath now, and lots of conditioner—have just ordered some products, including a comb, which I do not own.
For your gaping or amusement, here are the products I’ve ordered so far. And I plan to wear a permanent ponytail, the best way to cover the problem, so just ordered scrunchies.
Hair loss is a bummer. If you’ve had any luck reversing or slowing it down or learning how to live with it, we’d love to hear from you. Write down your comments in that box below and send them on!
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IT HAS BEEN damn cold this past week, and that’s a fine thing.
Not so cold as to nip buds on the hydrangeas or, God forbid, the Yoshino cherries around the Tidal Basin. But cold enough to put the boiling pot of chicken soup* on the porch overnight to chill so as not to spoil the milk in the fridge. Fridge-cold is what it was. Like a florist’s cooler, keeping blossoms fresh for your bouquet.
Look at the daffodils! Still as fresh as daisies, weeks after they began to bloom.
So, the unseemly advance of spring has been forestalled, which promises a flower fest in the weeks to come. An everything-everywhere-all-at-once Oscar winner of a spring.
Huzzah!
While they do stay green all year, which is certainly a positive, I do not much care for camellias (this is not a change of subject, just hold on). Washington DC’s climate is not the best for the bushes, with their dense rosettes in shades of pink and red and white and orange. While they’re full-out at this time of year, their flowering is usually a bit of a disaster.
The flowers open and look spectacular for maybe 48 hours, and then they turn brown and fall off, squishing unpleasantly underfoot like slippery, overripe fruit. While they resemble roses, their flowering (and dropping) is far more prolific, creating a disgusting mess. About now, they should be on the skids.
Not this year! Flowers on plants around the neighborhood—some of them six feet tall and nearly as wide—began opening about 10 days ago, smothering stems with masses of blossoms, and they’re hanging in. This chilly weather arrived at the perfect moment, and perfect temperature, to preserve them, not freeze them. It’s a spectacular show, reminding me of why I wanted one in the first place.
Not that I particularly love the one I have. It’s not the most attractive specimen. I don’t recall what it is or why I bought it; probably it was cheap and I figured, as I do, it will probably be pretty or at least prettyish.
It’s kind of meh, when I study it, an unfortunate shade of red, a faded shade like rusted rhubarb. However, it does give a cheer to the front doorway, as long as you don’t look closely. In a few days it will be full-out and the flowers will last as long as there’s a nip in the air. Then, as the heat rises, it will do the brown-and-squish number, leaving piles of mush beside the door.
But by then the rest of the garden will have caught up. The tulips and cherry trees will be out, alongside the magnolias, forsythia, pansies, and apple trees. Roses will start to bloom, wisteria too. It will be magical, a flower-show symphony that’s like a fairy tale.
Again, huzzah!
*Timely note for Passover: When chicken soup cools, fat rises to the surface. Don’t toss it out. The Yiddish for this rendered fat is schmaltz.
Time was, I had a poultry guy, Mel, who would save lumps of fat for me to render and use in matzoh balls and chopped liver. Sadly, Mel sold out and the new guy looks at me blankly. Rare is the whole chicken that arrives with enough fat worth saving. That risen soup fat comes to the rescue. Strain it off the top and melt it down. Even if you use a matzoh ball mix (the one from Streit’s is a little bland, but very good), the fat, now infused with chicken and vegetable flavors, will give the balls so much more flavor than vegetable oil will.
And this is where a book and a documentary film come into play. 
