I posted the first picture on facebook Sunday afternoon. On Monday one of my oldest and best friends, Tiffany, called me.
“That picture doesn’t really look like you.”
“Nope.”
“I mean, it’s not your best picture.”
“Nope.”
“Is that the only picture you have of the book signing?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, so am I to assume the rest aren’t that much better?”
“Yup.”
The pictures aren’t great. They aren’t bad, either, thanks to Tristan’s editing skills. I wish my arm didn’t look like a ham hock in that last picture, but oh well. The good news is that the quality of the pictures are inversely related to the fun had by all. I had a wonderful time and I’m glad I went. I would do it again in a heart beat with a different outfit and a portable swamp cooler.
Between the earthquake and the hurricane, I should have expected a weather calamity. I didn’t. Instead, I drove into LA under the blast of our Subaru’s air conditioning, smug with my good hair. I maneuvered my way into a tricky parking garage, found the perfect spot within minutes, and reapplied my lip gloss while a favorite song played.
Then I got out of the car and began the slow and steady process of death by dehydration. I refer to Friday’s weather as Canc�n in August. Or, for those unfamiliar with Central America, Swamp Before Hurricane.
The humidity. My God, the humidity.
I dashed from the 3rd floor of the garage to the front doors of Anthropologie, my feet keeping time with crazed internal chanting. My makeup is melting! My makeup is melting! My makeup is melting! I was like Paul Revere, but with first world problems. And, because bladders are squirrely devils, it wasn’t until I crossed the threshold that my pelvic floor rang the alarm. The nearest bathroom was on the 3rd floor of the Barnes and Noble a few stores across the way. Naturally.
So I ran across, then up, and then back down and across again. Once inside Anthropologie, I scanned the store and saw no one I knew, giving me time to buy my copy of Decorate while I waited. Except, something physiological happened. I don’t know if it was the running in high heels, the humidity, or the hassle of finding a book without a wrinkled or torn dust jacket (seriously, do publishers ship by burro these days?), but three steps into my walk towards the register my pores opened up like the Gates of Mordor and released a torrent of sweat so powerful I am surprised display tables didn’t float away in a sea of anxiety.
I sloshed my way to the front and stood behind two slender, petite women. For once, thanks to my heels, I was tall(er).
But the sweat kept coming. It trickled down my scalp, past my shoulders, and down to the waistband of jeans 3000� thanks to a hefty stretch-cotton ratio. I fanned myself and asked the slender woman ahead of me if I was in the right line.
Of course, it was Alex. Alex, looking at me in gentle, doe-eyed wonder while I fanned myself like my grandmother after a walk to the butcher. And her friend, Lindsay, who interns at Rue. Naturally.
When we went to grab seats, I was sweating. When Tristan showed up, I was sweating. When the presentation started, and then ended, I was sweating. I was sweating while I waited for Holly to sign my book. Waiting for my friends, more sweating. Going to sit outside on the only benches available, sweating!
I wasn’t surprised when Tiffany called to tell me I looked a little off in the pictures. I felt as lovely as a dead body left to float in a river, and the pictures are black and white for a reason. Tristan said it was the only way she could “mask the myriad of horrors.”
They are bad, and you’ll never see them. Naturally.
But! The presentation was inspiring. Leslie Shewring from A Creative Mint and Betsy Burnham of Burnham Design were the special guests. Holly was warm, open, and took time to speak to everyone in line. Rather than a quick signature, everyone received a personalized note. Afterwards, Holly, Leslie, and Leslie’s friend, Kara, joined us for dinner at a French outdoor cafe. (Holly is sitting to my right in the group shot.)
The picture of the gentleman reading the book is a funny story. They were tourists from London enjoying the mild weather (sarcasm!). Since we were at an outdoor cafe, our tables were no more than 6 inches apart. He asked me if we were all friends celebrating a birthday, and I told him we were celebrating, but not our age. I shared with him my copy of Holly’s book and he got a kick out of meeting a best selling author.
I did, too. Naturally.
iI would have never known that you were a sweaty mess from the pictures. Glad that you had a good time. I hope that Holly will come to a city near me in Germany and that it will be a crisp fall day.
She said at dinner that she would. You have to go!
I second Monica’s statement. I thought the pictures looked great and then I read the post…it never donned on me that you were anything less than well put together! Looks a fun event nonetheless :)
Well now I feel bad. I didn’t mean to imply that you don’t look good. You do. I just know that you are even more beautiful than those pictures. And yes, I used the word beautiful..Ha! Oh, and ask Tristan if she’ll trade me arms. Teeny-tiny!
Stop! You’re slaying in me entwine!
Is it bad that the only thing I got out of this post is being SO thankful I wasn’t there?! Because in that much humidity, I’d be the only one in the photos with a ‘fro … and not even black & white could cover that. It makes me sweat just thinking about it!
If that is what a sweaty mess looks like I think I might not want to like you! ha You look beautiful. I am thinking I need to sweat more! xo
Every word you wrote I could envision perfectly, mostly because you’re a fantastic writer, but also because… I live in Florida. And getting ready for a fun evening out or even your standard day of work is practically pointless. Every step I take outdoors results in frizzy hair, runny makeup, and sweat that literally drips down my back. Lovely.
Sometimes I wonder: Would the Hepburns have been nearly as graceful and beautiful if they’d had to face Florida humidity? I think not. As far as I’m concerned, we’re saints for putting up with the thick, soggy air. A Photoshopped photo to help a girl out? It’s well-earned.
Tristan edited out dark circles and bags, my huge arms, sticky, sweaty hair, and gave me a breast lift and reduction.
okay I mean this in the nicest way, but you girls are neurotic! These pictures are fantastic! Now hush up. So glad I went and thank you for saving me from you know what.
You look great but always remember when taking group shots to lean toward the camera slightly. Only lean back and away if you wan to add twenty pounds:)
Great tip! I’m leaning back in the first pic, clearly. I don’t think the second pic of me is bad. I don’t think the first one is bad, either, but I know what Tiffany is saying when she says it doesn’t look like me. (She wasn’t being mean, she just knows me.) For example, that’s not my natural smile in the first picture. It’s fake, and you can tell I’m feeling shy.
Also, it’s hard to take a good picture sitting down if you are chubby. Andrea teases that I am neurotic, and she’s right! I’m very self conscious about my weight. Always have been, even when I was thin, but I am getting better about it. Trust me–three years ago I wouldn’t have gone because I wouldn’t want to be the heaviest girl there (and I was). You get to an age, though, where you realize you’re missing out on too much living for your ego’s benefit.
Rolling back your shoulders is also a quick slimming effect. For some reason,I skipped that and the option of leaning forward to simply slouch. And not really smile. I was happy, really I was. I blame the monsoon-like weather.
I’m too large chested to roll back my shoulders without causing bodily harm to those within a 4 foot radius.
well I never would have guessed all of the above. I would want to keep Tristan online at all times for all my photo-shopping requirements;) but, this is about you and not the touch ups…how do you look as though you’re only 23? because you do. In all the photos. Your mom and dad gave you some good youthful genes.
You are the prettiest girl I know, your skin is flawless, eyes bright, eyebrows to kill for, teeth as white as virgin snow. The second photograph I look like Mr. Ed, my goodness, what was I thinking giving you that photograph. I must need stronger corrective lenses. Gasp!
Nonsense! You look GORGEOUS!!! And as always, Girl!! You can write!
So, I’m slouchy and not really smiling, but I don’t really care. Because it was a fantastic night and I look forward to doing it again once the earth begins to cool. Also, you both need to give me hair tips.
Wow, when I saw the picture the first thought in my head was that you are extremely stunning. Then I read the copy. Tsk, tsk.
ahhh hello! You are so beautiful and i love you in the pics…the first one is amazing…xo
Ok Jules, no need to say anything the others haven’t already. You look fab, Tristan looks fab, you had dinner at a French outdoor cafe with Holly Becker and while she might be touring Germany, do you think she’ll come to Australia? If if she does come to Australia, do you think she’ll come to DARWIN?
We don’t have French anything except a load of backpackers, and humidity so bad that people literally go insane during The Build Up. So I challenge you – if Holly makes it here I will post a sweatier, drippier, frizzer photo than you can imagine.
PS: Do you assign your favorite bloggers ‘voices’? Both you and Tristan have a voice that I can hear when reading your blogs (and not out loud). Is that creepy?
The French backpackers comment? Hilarious!
Is my voice deep, like a trombone in your head? I think it is in real life. I hate the sound of my voice!