Oh, and...

This is my friend Caitlin. She is a rock star in all ways.

Also...

check out our play!

Kids These Days

A lot of my job involves research. Often, it can be cut-and-dry technical and historical research. But then there's the messy social history part, about customs, culture, socioeconomic status, and all the parts that shape a person's world view and thusly their style. It's easy to be weirded out by the fads of the past, thinking that we're all so beyond crushing bugs to make cosmetics or processing hair with lye. But then. But then. The word vajazzle shows up in Savage Love and you Google it. And what you find is just as weird as whitening your face with lead paint.

Well, now, this is just embarrassing...

...it's been over a month since I last posted. I've been out of town twice, in tech once, my social life is all topsy-turvy, and my apartment is a total wreck. But I'm not complaining, just making lame excuses. I'm a working artist, not a starving one. Even if working is bordering on ninety hours a week. I've finally come to appreciate something my father told me years ago; if I worked this hard in any other industry I'd be making either headlines or millions, or both. As much as I love my job, it's starting to look attractive. Then again, it's the end of the season and everyone's swearing to themselves that they'll turn down more jobs and figure out how to make more money and get a better filing system. But we're all going to work ourselves to pieces again anyway. And nobody really knows why.

I do get to see a lot of pretty naked people, however, and last week's wardrobe gig was particularly entertaining.

Flying Car Fashion.

I'm relieved and disappointed at the same time.

Press here.

When I was in school, I'd visit the town I grew up in and have to play the part of small town girl makin' it big in the city. Sure, I'm doing pretty well in my (then) new urban climate, but sometimes the encouragement went too far, "we're going to see you on the red carpet someday!" Well, thanks, but not really. I mean, you just watched the Oscars, right? Did you see the costume designers anywhere? And who won? Right, there you have it. I'm not really in this for the fame and fortune, which is good, because even the most famous and fortunate of us are making acceptance speeches while the world goes to the kitchen for another beer.

I'm behind the scenes for a reason, I'm uncomfortable getting my picture taken and feel awkward at parties. But I am a theatre person, which means I secretly love the attention even if it makes me blush. And, in shameless self-promotion, it's pretty sweet when reviewers give me a shout-out.

The Less Glamorous Side

Yes, yes, the opening night parties and the photo shoots and the fancy clothes, but also:

1) I have gone to Target everyday for the last ten days straight.
2) My credit card has been flagged and frozen because of huge purchases in strange places twelve times in the last month.
3) I spent the better part of my Thursday night laying on the floor of Chicago Dramatists looking at an actor's crotch, then having an in-depth conversation about the needs of his crotch.
4) I fried my Blackberry and experienced such debilitating anxiety that any one of my stage managers might need me in the twelve hours between the fateful spill and the fix.
5) I had to clear space on the kitchen table to eat lunch. It required moving a sewing machine and a pile of other people's pants.

And my stage manager just texted me... I have to go now.

Social Observation from a Costumer

The three muses of Costume Design (according to me) are Observation, Research, and Bullshit. Observation and Research require more insight than a lot of people realize, a lot of creating a character is also looking into social behavior and history. It is in this context that I have pondered pantyhose deeper than I'd ever thought possible.

The Old Settler up at Writer's Theatre is set in 1940s Harlem. Stockings in the 1940s came in colors like "nude" but of course, it's my nude color, not the nude color of the ladies living in Harlem. So women with any skin color that didn't match Barbie walked around with funny-looking nylons. Nan Cibula-Jenkins, the costume designer, made the choice to have the girls' pantyhose match their skin tones to appeal to a modern eye. I supported the decision and went off in search of pantyhose with back seams in a variety of "nudes". No such luck. After hours on websites, in stores, on the phone, discontinued products and backordered colors, the best resolution was to buy back seam pantyhose in Barbie doll nude and dye them. I guess we haven't come so far after all.

Sad News for the Fashion World.

Alexander McQueen was so freakin' talented.

Tech Moksha.

Not only am I in tech, I am in two techs at the same time. Yes, it's crazy and I haven't been sleeping much or responsibly investigating the strange smell in the fridge. In fact, a friend's recent email captures my current state perfectly; "...dirty, delirious and living in your car, yelling things out in your sleep, "Lace!", "Size 11!", "Corset!" as you nervously tic like a heroin-addled combat vet. Awesome."

However, I've reached a level beyond exhaustion and stress because this week has proved how much I love my job. Despite all the insanity, there's nothing else I'd rather be doing and things are working out great. For every time I show up at a vintage store after closing, gods open a parking space. It's karma, damn it, and it's treating me nice.

Notes From Up North

I'm currently assisting on a production of The Old Settler at Writer's Theatre in Glencoe. Tonight was a designer run, and the lighting designer commented that you always know when a show's good from the minute you see it in the rehearsal room. And this one, friends, is good.

Baby, It's Cold Outside!

It's true what they say about Chicago winter, it's bone-chilling cold. But it's also a big city, and this city girl has places to be and people to impress. I've finally found the secret. I got myself a pair of Timberland boots, ultra-cute black suede ones with a rugged sole that are waterproof and super toasty. I've been grabbing all kinds of big men's wool sweaters at thrift stores (I just found a fantastic Brooks Brothers argyle cashmere for $3) and wearing them over skinny jeans. Big wool sweaters. It's like being wrapped in a blanket all day. Warning: accessorize well so it doesn't look like you're wearing your boyfriend's clothes. Otherwise, cute boys will refrain from hitting on you and everyone else will roll their eyes with that "so that's where you were last night" look. Unless, of course, that is where you were last night.

A Vision in Plaid

I'm currently doing two projects in the 1940s, and it's such a beautiful period. This is just a bit of research to share. Enjoy.

Fab-o Chapeau

Have you ever seen such a sassy hat? I found this 40s hat at Shangri-La on Roscoe. And I'm in love.

Where the Magic Happens

Okay, first of all, I'd like to make clear that I love my job(s). But, like any love, it drives me crazy. The worst is that few people get it, thinking that freelancing and working from home means I can goof off in my pajamas all day. And while I may be in my pajamas, I still have work to do, and living and working in the same space can prove difficult. Above is the picture of my "studio" which is actually the corner of my bedroom. This is why I'm the only person over the age of twelve who has a twin bed by choice. And while things are a bit cluttered, the commute is easy and I'm already home for lunch. The pajamas help too.

Because It's Pretty

One of my dear friends is living with me for awhile, and the day she moved in, I gave her a tour de kitchen cabinets. Then she asked about the dish rag/towel system. This, I realized, rivals Soviet bureaucracy in the levels and sub-levels and exceptions (i.e. this towel is for spills, but not greasy ones, and not on the floor, this towel can be used for grease, but not meat grease, etc.). Most importantly, my vintage tea towel collection. Occasionally used to cover rising bread or soaking beans, these beauties are otherwise there just to be pretty. In my constant struggles with privilege guilt, consumerist guilt and an ever-changing comfort zone with material things, I'm coming to peace with my collections of stuff. It's there because it's pretty, and it makes me happy. I acknowledge the need for the utilitarian, but I celebrate the need for the beautiful. Drawers and drawers full of the beautiful.

Sugar n' Spice

It takes a certain brand of crazy to make a life in theatre, along with a certain set of skills and, of course, talent (we hope). But it's true that in addition to all of these things, it's a who-you-know industry. More importantly, who-you-know-and-how-much-they-like-you. I'm a pretty good person, but not the most charming or funny or interesting on the planet. Enter baked goods.

Baking is another skill in my repertoire of traditional feminine talents (that I have embraced and empowered like a good third-waver). Baked goods make people happy, happy people hire the people who baked for them. The secret to my success, friends, is good cinnamon and a lot of butter.

Strong Women, In Any Culture.

I'm doing another play set in the Middle East, always a difficult and wonderful research process. In a place where women's clothing is so often symbolic of their religion, status, and (what we Westerners consider) their oppression, I keep finding these images of incredibly strong and beautiful women.

The image is scanned from the Chicago Public Library image files, I do not have its original credit.

Love from 1967.

Ignore the haircut, love the dress.

An open letter to the hat-wearing folks of NYC:

I spent the traditional New Year's weekend with friends in New York, and it was lovely. And I love New York, especially because it has some of the best people watching ever. I applaud the bold style choices of the New Yorker, and find it refreshing that so many hats are sported for style as well as function. To the man with the olive fedora on the uptown 4 this morning, bravo! You clearly care for your beautifully made hat, and know just the right curve for the brim. To the blonde hipster chick at St. Ann's Warehouse at yesterday's matinee, you know how to perfectly perch a porkpie. However, I'd like to lobby against the masses of Urban Outfitters, etc. -style fascinator headbands. Sorry, ladies, they look a bit cheap. For a few bucks more, you can get yourself a beautiful handmade number that no one else has. Hats are the best place to go vintage or handmade, because it really shows. And everyone remembers the girl in the hat. For real.