Algorithm-proof clothes for Eastern European scammers, as observed from the Planet Fitness treadmill
Journals 2/24/26-3/3/26
Tuesday, 3/3/26
Unexpectedly ran out of contact lenses. This is terrible news for a girl like me who hates the feeling of something on their face for extended periods. So this morning I messaged two different eye doctors at the same practice asking them to sneak me a little updated prescription without the annual eye exam. *winks & slips them a $5 bill*
I was promptly reprimanded by the patient coordinator, request denied. Looks like I’ll be wearing my glasses for a while. If men seriously don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses, I swear to God I’m getting lasik!!!!
Got dressed today in a frumpy outfit for work. Right as I was heading out the door, I swapped my disgusting sweater for a fitted black sweater with a blue striped oxford shirt underneath, and my thick grey stretchy headband for a more structured satin white one. Honestly? I don’t think it made a difference.
Frumpy is a state of mind that can’t always be band-aided with an outfit. You must remedy it with an attitude shift, some cool music, a hard sweat + extra hydration. A swipe of color on the lips. Read something hot and provocative. Stand in direct sunlight. Lately I like old Grimes albums for this—timely, as the good people at Sample Sluts just put together this incredible piece on what “cancelled” celebs would smell like; Grimes was one of them. Justice for Grimes, I say.
Monday, 3/2/26
Sitting on the couch feeling like a magnet for fuckass energy. Feeling disgusted by convenience and my own frictionless impulses after seeing a bunch of people walking home from work with bags of Sweetgreen and Cava, as though picking up takeout signals the collapse of humanity when maybe it’s just… picking up takeout. Wow. Starve your inner cynic.
I think I’m just zapped because I had EVERY SINGLE MEAL WITH PEOPLE WHO ARE NOT MY OWN FAMILY TODAY. Breakfast with a friend, lunch with a friend, dinner with a bunch of colleagues. (How that’s any different from grabbing a harvest bowl after a long day of meetings is beyond me.)
And like, I knowwwwww we used to know our neighbors! And eat communally! And of course I had a lovely time at all three meals, but it would also be kind of sick to go on a silent retreat in Bali like a spirituality influencer circa 2014. Even us social butterflies have our limits.
Now I’m watching the Houston Rockets play the Washington Wizards. I think Tari Eason just got ejected? The game is on mute while I chop it up with Andrew. Told him some hot office goss about someone getting canned for an affair with their direct report. These are the moments you live for in corporate, when you are all speaking the same language of satisfied astonishment. “Our whole floor is BUZZING,” my informant texted, prompting me to spill the beans to my entire work dinner. I rarely have the privilege of being the messenger but when I do, it’s showtime.
I specifically remember being partnered with this man, the Cheater, for some teambuilding exercise a few years ago, and him going on about how he’s “just different” and he’s “never met anyone like himself.” That was the first time I’d ever heard a 60-year-old man pull the “I’m not like most girls” card, and I pray it’ll be the last.
One thing about me is I have an impressive, ever-growing collection of pajamas. Wearing these shorts I found at Target the other day for $15, 100% cotton ftw. I recommend sizing up. :)
Sunday, 3/1/26
Leapt from bed this morning with a Sunday kind of domestic resolve. I thought: Today, I will bake bread. Today, I will make a pot roast.
It’s 3:30 PM now and the bread is baked, pot roast in the oven. I wandered around Sprouts filling my cart with expensive groceries knowing I’d have a hard time explaining to Andrew how chuck roast and carrots cost $175. Classic wife move. Thankfully he supports my happiness, and taking pleasure in food is a spiritual imperative. Raw milk smoked cheddar, $17 adaptogenic hot cocoa mix. Just the essentials, babe!
I think we should all start approaching the first of every month like the first of the year. Get a lil aspirational with it. For me, this starts at the outfit level.
My favorite outfit right now, seasons be damned: baggy white 100% linen pants that I thrifted over a decade ago; thrifted navy and white striped 100% cotton tshirt; thrifted cable knit black zip sweater; and a recent Nordstrom Rack pickup that, for some reason, I absolutely had to have: these brown Dolce Vita sneakers that I’m certain are a dupe of something else? Dries Van Noten? I don’t think $600 sneakers are in God’s plan for me. These were $50 and I’ve been wearing them nonstop.
Now, do I consider this outfit itself aspirational, or even representative of my style? No. I don’t. It’s not even worth snapping a pic to give you a visual. But I love it because it supports movement in a way that makes me feel powerful. Thus, it is a lifeforce. I can wear this outfit to cook my family a hearty meal and to kick back and write for a while and to get outside and maybe I’m revealing the limitations of my dreams but if I told you all of my aspirations/things I’m working on, I would blow my cover!
Just know that I am really, sincerely interested in becoming more domestic. Home was such an intense source of shame for me growing up. That shame lingers and I find myself paralyzed, overthinking basic upkeep into this daunting, inevitable failure. But I am determined to give myself and my family a more comfortable life in a space that feels warm, clean, and safe. I am determined to cure my Lazybitchitis. Plus, as I write this, my husband’s prob like, on his fourth load of laundry, vacuuming with the baby strapped to him. I will not be outperformed!
Sundays don’t hit the same now that A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is over. That was balm for my soul. As if the show wasn’t heartwarming enough, I loved getting online and seeing the joy it brought other people.
Such a rare gift these days to bond over entertainment that isn’t necessarily “wholesome,” but feels pure in its intention and therefore its reception. I felt this way when Addison’s album came out, and watching Alysa Liu win gold. Lightness is the word, and one that keeps coming up for me. Some projects, some people… they possess a lightness that dissolves collective tension. They are High Art for their psychic power alone.
Thinking about bailing on my work dinner tomorrow. Idk. I’m tired.
Saturday, 2/28/26
On the treadmill at Planet Fitness despite the gorgeous weather. After being sick for what felt like a year, I forced myself to go to the gym to get back into routine. Terrible choice! I’m just walking, which I would enjoy much more outside. But I am here and that’s that, catching up on Milan Fashion Week from my phone, wired headphones dangling about. I’m trying to swear off airpods, btw. Satanic little buggers, no?
Let’s discuss Demna’s Gucci runway debut. I had mixed feelings. What’d you guys think?
It was smart, embracing the Eurotrash archetype of Gucci shoppers—very maranza, very Atlantic City boardwalk. The show was hot. I just didn’t find the Tom Ford homage particularly inspired, and the designs bored me. Maybe there’s something to be said for boring-sexy, though. Like, these are algorithm-proof clothes for rich Eastern European scammers who go places—dark places, loud places. Places where sex is lingua franca. You have to appreciate that. This is the only piece you need to read about it, IMO.
Personally, I’m still mourning Alessandro Michele’s Gucci. Michele made Gucci my favorite house for years, which meant a lot as someone completely walled off from the fashion world. The vibe was like Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette meets a special edition of Clue set in 1970s Palm Springs where Colonel Mustard is nonbinary wearing a Kelly green sequined suit. Romantic. Academic. MAXIMAL. Sometimes it was too loud to imagine people actually wearing that shit but it was Gucci. You knew it was Gucci. I would kill to have a vision that singular for anything in my life.
