Song of the Day

My ever-lovin' dad is leaving today after his five-day Spoil-a-thon. His "you see it, you want it, you get it" approach to grand-parenting has got my daughter's head a little turned around. So, I'm dedicating this Sesame Street PSA to her before I begin the process of systematically (re-)depriving her diet of all things resembling dessert.

Fashion Flashback — Mon Petit Oiseau

I have loved shopping ever since I was in grade school. [This is not necessarily a result of some innate sense of style, or anything as posh-sounding as all that. Every weekend, my mom dragged me on a new shopping odyssey — to department store dinosaurs such as Hecht's and Woodward & Lothrop in Downtown D.C., to the chain stores of Rockville Pike, all the way out to the outlet mall behemoth, Potomac Mills. I had to learn to love it, or lump it; it made the most sense to opt for the former.]

What follows is the first in a series of rapturous odes to some of the fashion brands that have, over the years, helped me cultivate "my look" (for better, or worse).

Mon Petit Ouiseau: The O.G.'s of "putting a bird on it"

When I first had the idea to write about this line, I didn't even realize that they'd been putting out apparel as recently as 2008 and that the woman behind it, Tracy Wilkinson has also dabbled in kids' clothing, interior design and pottery. For the purposes of this post, though, I'm taking it back to 1999.

I used to pop into dearly departed South Austin boutique, Therapy, and fork over money I did not have in exchange for the privilege of walking around with embroidered birds on my butt.

I actually had a pair with a way bigger butt bird than this!

What was the look?

Tons of tabs, piping, over-sized buttons and rounded collars. Looking back on it now, it very closely resembles the "Intermediate" sewing projects I see on the course descriptions for all those L.A. hipster sewing studio classes I keep meaning to sign up for.

Top it all off with my hair in two buns and there you have my go-to look back then. Sexy, never. Spunky forever!

What did I think Mon Petit Oiseau said about me?: 

"Yes, I've recently graduated from college, but that doesn't mean I'm not still young and free-spirited. Plus, it proves I'm financially capable of spending boutique prices on scaled-up children's clothes!"

The twee line communicated to the world that I collected very sweet, sincere indie pop on vinyl (like this, or this), drank lattés with flavored Monin shots in large mugs and engaged in one or more crafts with regularity. 

 

What was the look's shelf-life?
I rocked Mon Petit Oiseau 'round about until 2001, when I moved to New York City. That'd be when the money dried up and all that dewy, doe-eyed nonsense got knocked clean out of me!

Black History Month, M.I.A.

Um. Who jacked Black History Month? Seriously, where did it go?

Last week my daughter's second grade teacher asked me to compile a list of kid-friendly hip-hop tracks to be played during class time. It was part of a month-long lesson in what he was calling "Music of the African Diaspora." (I won't even comment on how I felt when he approached me with the request. I mean, I'm the only black parent in the classroom, so who else but me could possibly know anything about hip-hop, right?)

So, basically, listening to Fela and Jimmy Cliff in the background while they did their regular coursework...that would be the extent of the class' Black History Month education this year. No school-wide assemblies, no book reports, no class presentations on "Famous Black [fill-in-the-blank]."

I guess, in post-racial 2013, folks are just over it?

Wantables — Dizzying Patterns (and prices)

A week's worth of sunny, warm days has me ready to shake off the gray/black/charcoal doldrums that have had me in their thrall all "winter" long. [I am aware that some may not think L.A. gets cold. To them I say, "Go kick rocks. I can see my breath while sitting in my house and am, therefore, well within my rights to have on multiple pairs of socks.]

As the spring catalogs start rolling in, I've been getting an eyeful of crazy prints and patterns that are filling me with longing, as well as, low-grade vertigo.

Blouson One-Piece by Maaji for Garnet Hill, $74.

These are for kids. I'm not suggesting that I, or anyone else on the planet spend $74 on a bathing suit for kids. All the same, I find them aesthetically pleasing and am glad they exist.

Art I Heart — Edwin Ushiro

"The Lifting and the Releasing." You have to see this one up close!

I just got home from taking myself out on a daytime date. I impressed myself with my schnazzy outfit and my rapier wit, fed myself some chicken cornbread pie from The Pie Hole and introduced myself to a new favorite artist.

Edwin Ushiro has several pieces up in the Japanese American National Museum's new "Supernatural" exhibit. The other two featured artists were a blur because I was sucked in by the Hawaiian-born artist. His work — mixed media on lucite, mostly, as well as, some unidentified canvas that resembled fruit leather — was so lush and haunting. Each piece had a real cinematic quality and I was floored by how he plays with light on his moody, dark backgrounds. Even the inky black & white sketches in his personal journals that were on display made me 'tsk' myself for not taking my own doodling more seriously.

"Foundation of Pre-empted Lingering"

I was glad I was the only person in the gallery, so I could stare, squint, scribble notes and sigh without feeling self-conscious about it (my date totally didn't mind).

The exhibit's only open through March 17. Admissions free every Thursday from 5-8p and every third Thursday of the month (that's Feb. 21, folks).

Song of the Day

I caught Emily King live in Hollywood last week and have been humming this sublime little song ever since.

She popped onto my radar thanks to her collaborations with José James — she wrote "Come to My Door" (listen to this lovely acoustic duet) and "Heaven on the Ground," both from James' latest album, No Beginning No End.

The show was part of her own solo tour and the place was packed with a lot of fashion blog enthusiasts/natural hairstyle models who seemed to know every single lyric, much to King's apparent shock.

While I'm not the hugest fan of love songs (King's forté), I found myself feeling what she was feeling onstage. She just has that way — undeniable charm, stage presence and a lot of heart. Oh, and she was rocking an outfit that I would've gladly stolen off her back (even though she admitted with embarrassment that she'd worn it a few nights before when she opened for Emeli Sandé).

Concert-goers caveat: If you have plans to see someone at Hotel Cafe (I won't reward them with a link), make sure the juice is worth the squeeze. It's actually a cozy little spot once you finally make it in. But parking is atrocious, the denizens of Hollywood even more so and you have to literally step over trash to get to the venue's alleyway entrance. It honestly felt like I was going to The Bronze. I give that club one big side-eye and several nostril flares.