Three Gold Chains And A Great Big Outfit, Or, Saturday Morning at 7:39am
Sometimes I think I watch overmuch TV. That’s Jennifer Garner, above, in The Last Thing She Told Me. I love Garner as a presence on my screen.
I was enthralled by The Diplomat, with Keri Russell and David Gyasi. Classic, classic binge watch.
And did we know from the git-go what a cultural phenomena Succession would become, and how much of its appeal, like White Lotus, is perhaps pre-conditioned by the brilliant soundtrack and then reinforced by editing? I would think Sarah Snook might find it painful to play Siobhan Roy. But I would most likely be wrong. When I watch these shows with strong women main characters I feel awe. Also, I confess, I want their necklaces. Remember those giant bubbles/beads people wore last decade or two? These are not they. These are chains.
I was inspired to rummage through my jewelry to find old ones I never wear. I say “chains,” plural, because I particularly loved the look of layers. Below, in ascending order, I found a family locket, a “paperclip” chain I bought for myself when I could first claim the moniker “executive,” (evidently it’s “quotation mark day”) and a tiny gold wisp of a thing from Blue Nile that holds an even tinier circle with the teeniest tiniest amethyst chip. That last one I fastened so the extender hung down, mirroring the Victorian locket’s chain. You want the right admixture of things that are the same and things that are different: across length, size of links, and any pendant shapes.
It’s a know it when you see it situation. No quotation marks. Moving on.
Best worn with a collared shirt. So, my oversized Nili Logan.
And having donned all this, experimenting, enthusiastic, I dug up a pair of UNIQLO white wide-legged jeans, and the gold ankle booties with pearl trim about which I pestered you last year.
Then I sat on a chair I bought in the late 1970s, at an unfinished wood furniture store somewhere near Broadway and 1o4th street in upper Manhattan. It came with three fellow seats, and a round table, and I ate breakfast there all alone in my early 20s, sad about the things only 20-year olds know. Which, in 1979, did not as I recall, involve power.
At 66, however, on a random afternoon in the San Francisco suburbs, I was giddy with good cheer and chains. If you don’t have any such locked away somewhere, they aren’t inexpensive these days, but they do exist. So does cheer.
Three necklaces, a big ol’ shirt, giant jeans and pearl-studded booties. It’s fun to be big. Have a wonderful weekend!
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