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BECAUSE AYL SAID SO, PLS. TO PLAY THIS:

Confession: I wasn’t quite sure which pair of pink shoes I wanted to wear with this little outfit and decided to make a theme of it. Can we discuss how much I love this Theory denim jacket? I got it in pristine secondhand condition years ago. It’s as thin and light as a nice jersey cotton, perfectly fitted and something in between a crop and normal length. I think the wash is just right, too.

And MAC Rougette! I remembered that AYL wanted make-up details, and I’m no make-up artist or over-the-top fancy pants, but it can’t hurt to share my favorites with y’all, can it? Nah. While I’m no MAC whore, I do have a few picks that I like – staples like Russian Red, Viva Glam V for a nude with a kick and I used to swear by Studio Fix. Rougette is a gorgeous raspberry shade from the Limited Edition Mattene line that exists no more, but I’d bet the Cargo Plant Love line of lipsticks has a similar shade that wears just as creamily and prettily, albeit less long-wearing, like Gamba or Majella!

Scent: The origins and history of aoud are fascinating to me. Large evergreens native to southeast Asia contain agar, which is found in the heartwood of the trees. They occasionally become infected with mold and aoud is one of many names for the resin produced in the heartwood, in response to this attack or in order to prevent them. Go read more if you’re bored, it’s quite interesting.

Montale Steam Aoud, upon first impression, smells like something crudely swabbed onto your skin in cold, alarming amounts just before they stick you with a giant needle and draw so much blood out of you that you practically faint on the spot. NOT THAT I KNOW WHAT THAT’S LIKE OR ANYTHING. I’m just saying. Then it settles very, very slowly, becoming less severe and more mired in smoke and rose as big and dark and heavily suggestive as a fistful of damp, dark satin on a dirty stairwell. And arrogance, my god. Not at all suited for day, but pretty damn sensational overall. Notes: roses, oud, amber, agar motta, caraway.

Awhile ago, AYL requested photos of my closet. Spring hadn’t quite sprung yet, and my closet was a disaster. Full of lovely things, yes, but a disaster. I wanted to mine it, sift through it, tear the weeds out of it and let the sartorial soil begin anew.

Alright, alright – let’s just be honest and cut the bullshit. M made me get rid of things, basically. We are moving in June, after all. Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnneeee.

By then it was okay, because Spring HAD sprung and buoyed me along with it, and while they’re still in bags waiting to be sold or donated, I got rid of three very stuffed large paper bags worth of stuff (say that with a maximum amt. of disdain, like Miranda Priestley in The Devil Wears Prada). Which means y’all, at long ever-lovin’ last, get pics of my closet. A moment of silence, please, for what only has a few more months to live:

God bless the walk-in.
God bless the square footage.
God bless the lighting, which was just repaired.

I WILL NOT FIND THIS IN SAN FRANCISCO, KITTENS. No sirree. I really have no bloody fucking idea what I am going to do, because M wants me to also get rid of The Beast (I am still fighting her on that – “We must wait!” I cry, “We must wait until we see where we will be living because what if we need it? What if it serves as a divider betwixt living and dining? Home office and living? Or maybe…in the room, for my shoes. By God, woman, let’s don’t argue – just WAIT!”).

Before I go off to cry broken, heaving sobs of defeat, here’s a little bit more. We like it up close and personal here at FFAF.