I shot these photos at least three weeks ago, with every intention of pairing them with some vaguely holiday-ish copy. And then my intentions just sort of…withered. I’ve mentioned this before, and I find it holds truer every year: Christmas is a private affair. Halloween is all effusion all the time, holiday cheer bursting from every cranny. Totus floreo, say those randy Romans. Christmas not so much. Christmas is floating in a dream of brandy while you double-fist cookies by the fire. Christmas is not performative. At least not for me. I had a wonderful holiday with my nearest and dearest, and I was happy to check out of the blogosphere.
Here’s the latest, and perhaps loudest, member of my ’40s rayon family. Olive isn’t usually my color, but those sleeves and that peplum more than won me over. Next time I’ll blog it without the collar and show off the neckline details, because oof. They don’t make ’em like that anymore.
I spent New Year’s with friends down in Boston. City driving notwithstanding, I love traveling on December 31st. I love waking up in a new place on the first day of the year. If I’m superstitious, and I’m decidedly superstitious, then it’s a nice way to start things off. If the rest of the year is a dumpster fire, at least I’ll have the memories.
Dress: ’40s, eBay
Collar & coat: ’50s, The Getup Vintage
Brooch: The Vault Collective
Everything else: thrifted