2/3/16

February 03, 2016 by Daniela Medina in Fashion, Style

I don't iron jack shit.

There are certain tasks whose fulfillment you recognize will only help you in the long run—tasks that, perhaps, take no longer than five minutes to accomplish, and whose payoffs exceed the invested effort. And yet, to have someone ask you to complete them is on par with it being requested that you launch yourself to the moon using the sole propulsion of your farts: it's just not going to happen. Unless you're a super genius who works for NASA and has invented a technology being kept from the rest of the world, in which case, shame on you.

Ironing is such a tedious chore for me. But really, how long does it take to de-wrinkle a garment? Not that long. And how much more professional and with it do you look as a result of doing so? Like, a whole lot more. Nevertheless, my reaction to being asked to iron something is the same as a puppy rebelling against a leash while thinking, "Fuck this right now," and then laying down to take a nap on the sidewalk. Ask me to iron something, and I will lay down on the floor to nap instead. Like that little girl on the beach, because she gets it.

Inhabit slip dress

Zara long poplin shirt and necklace

Alberta Ferretti kitten heels

1/28/16

January 28, 2016 by Daniela Medina in Fashion, Style

Morocco.

When I was twenty I studied abroad in Madrid for six months. Obviously the natural thing to do in my stay was visit Morocco, only a couple of hours away by plane. Morocco is a magical place with the friendliest people. Between the colors and the spices, the terrain and the poetry of Arabic floating in and out of the medinas, it's no wonder the country has captivated the fascination of so many. I left it feeling inspired and moved. For me there was a calm mysticism that pervaded every place and situation, and indeed there are some days now—when the sky is at its most piercing blue—that I look up at the sun and remember Morocco immediately, feeling peace resonate through the golden shimmer of clouds.

Gap bralette

Betsey Johnson denim vest

Zara pants

Banana Republic necklace

Loeffler Randall mules

1/27/16

January 27, 2016 by Daniela Medina

Think spring.

Jonas had a torrid affair with the Northeast, and now he's left us pregnant with snow. One thing I've learned from living in New York is that city snow is very much not at all like country snow. Whereas country snow leaves you in awe of the mesmerizing beauty that nature is capable of, city snow is quaint for maybe half an hour, and then it becomes bitter and resentful like the rest of us.

Winter just sucks. Personally. For me. I'm one of those SAD people who has a hard time getting out of bed during the months of January, February, and March—maybe even April—so to help myself stay out of funks I rely on grasping at the idea that spring will come one day; all things spring, all the time, all in an attempt to distract myself from the reality that is a loss of facial sensation whenever I go outside. "What about a sun lamp," you ask? No! That's logical and practical, and not the way I do things. Also there's no room in my apartment.

Zara blazer and jeans

Inhabit cardigan

Banana Republic belt

Forever 21 platforms

Tucum earrings

1/22/16

January 22, 2016 by Daniela Medina

Puppet Master.

It is easy to feel tethered, the tug of strings pulling in a direction you sense you have but no choice to go. Living can feel like a calculated strategy, played out monotonously and out of your control: Rise, Relive, Rest, Repeat.

But what if one day you choose not to repeat: the first stumble of a domino pushing into motion an unexpected series of events that, in turn, change the course of everything? What action determines what? I often wonder about the minute I left too early, the words trapped in my head, the sight that had been to my left and not my right. In this universe and others they cannot mean much on their own. But what is the difference of their sum? What other life existed in the collection of moments where I had resisted the marionette? I wonder, constantly.

Inhabit sweater

H&M pants and belt

Prabal Gurung for Target flats

J. Crew necklace

Zara cap

1/21/16

January 21, 2016 by Daniela Medina

Liquid Dreams.

Do you remember O-Town? You can stop lying right now, because I know you do. Do you remember that angel Ashley? Do you remember the Hawaiian dude who cried a lot? Do you remember the curly-headed one who was kind of a punk, but really he was probably just upset that JT had stolen his look? Do you remember there were probably other band members? Do you remember hearing Liquid Dreams at an age when you were late to understand absolutely everything, so the lyrics confused you? Do you remember recalling it again when you were twenty-nine—when you were a little more caught up—and being like, “Ah”?

Me either.

Anyway, this skirt was flowy and shimmery, and made me think of liquid. AND SEX. Just kidding, not that.

J. Crew cardigan

Zara boots and shoes

Earrings from Brazil

1/20/16

January 20, 2016 by Daniela Medina

**Wes Anderson Wednesday presents, The Cabal of Mid-Week Dissidents.**

There are few things that delight me more than a Wes Anderson film, no matter how quirky, or precious, or nonsensical it may be. My favorite movie of his is also the first I ever saw: The Life Aquatic, a film that through conversation I have deduced seems to be one of people's least appreciated. "It's slow, it drags, it's random to the point of absurdity. It doesn't really have a point." Maybe. Maybe. It could be that I watched it during one of my zeniths of emotional convolution, at which time the formula of being slow, and dragging, and random was so flawless it left an indelible mark on my psyche. What I remember is the light stream of air beginning to flow through my nose at the top of a sharp inhale—betraying a shallow hiss the way a valve might when pressure is being released—and feeling the tightness in my chest give way to a long exhale as the Jaguar Shark appeared from the murky depths of the screen. The move is two hours long and every time I watch it, it is specifically for that.

"Why don't you just skip ahead or YouTube that shit?" Because it won't be the same. And I don't know why, it just won't. I know. I have tried. Not all things make sense, or have reason. Without a doubt, there is an individual out there in the world who will argue against that with all the certainty his being can muster, but that has not been my experience. Some things, for me, just are. Just as, perhaps, some things just are for Wes Anderson: so resolute in their quirkiness, their preciousness, their nonsensicality, that really, what else could they be?

Zara coat, pants, and boots

Urban Outfitters sweater

J. Crew belt and necklace

Goody headband

1/15/16

January 15, 2016 by Daniela Medina

Friyay.

When I was growing up in Houston, my family lived in a tiny house. It had two bedrooms, one small bathroom, a kitchen that would make you appreciate the one in a New York apartment, a dining room that tripled as a library and office, and a living room/the entrance of the house. Close quarters meant you could hear everything, which was problematic for me when I was trying to do something sneaky like eat candy in the pantry.

On Fridays my mom would come home from work, and we'd wait for my dad to get there as well so we could order pizza from our all-time favorite, Star Pizza. We'd eat camp style (not at the table) and wind down from the week. Since there was no television to watch, my brother and I had to entertain ourselves by either playing, doing arts and crafts, or reading. But my mom and dad, they had their own fun. They'd crank Celia Cruz, Gloria Estefan, The Gypsy Kings, Tito Puente, and dance it on out in the living room. And man, those smiles and that energy. There was nowhere in the house to hide from the music, but we never wanted to.

My parents have a much, much bigger house now. There are four bedrooms. Three bathrooms. Two floors. A kitchen that is big enough to have a breakfast table in it. A dining room that is just a dining room. A library and a study, and a living room. With a television. That they use to stream Celia Cruz, Gloria Estefan, The Gypsy Kings, and Tito Puente from the Internet.

Zara top and sandals

Club Monaco velvet pants

J. Crew headband

Childhood belt

1/14/16

January 14, 2016 by Daniela Medina

Just call me Flan.

Honestly, I’ve never watched an episode of Empire—because I can’t figure out how to make my television work and I don’t feel like paying for Hulu—but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate Cookie IRL, because lady is a sassy minx!

I love sassy people. And I love people who have food names. So mix the two and you’re probably going to create my all-time favorite character in the world, even if I don’t know what the hell she’s about, or what she does, or really anything about her. Except that she’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened.

I have a compulsive need for sassy people to like me, because I feel they have the most discerning tastes when it comes to whom they hold in their favor. This stems partly, I believe, from a grade school teacher I had who was so unforgiving and with it, that you’d actually WANT her to pick on you. You’d sit in class and plead in your head, “OH PLEASE! Please tell me how you appreciate the fine art of singing out loud to yourself, but that the Spice Girls are not looking to replace Posh on their reunion tour, and I’d be better off figuring out that the sum of 2 + 2 is not, in fact, 22.” And then you'd laugh to yourself and exclaim, "How right! I should probably learn how to add."

I think her name was Mrs. Apple Pie, or something.

American Apparel tee

Vintage leather skirt that my friend sent to me because she thought I'd like it (!)

Jeffrey Campbell bird shoes

H&M faux fur jacket

Nasty Gal necklace

1/13/16

January 13, 2016 by Daniela Medina

Let's get it skunky in here.

Have you ever been in a subway car? Have you ever been in a crowded subway car? Have you ever been in a subway car that is so crowded, you're corralled into the aisle and have to lean over someone to grab the railing above? Have you ever been in a subway car that is so crowded, you're corralled into the aisle and have to lean over someone to grab the railing above, and as you do you notice that someone forgot to put on deodorant that morning? Have you ever been in a subway car that is so crowded, you're corralled into the aisle and have to lean over someone to grab the railing above, and as you do you notice that someone forgot to put on deodorant that morning, and finally four stops in you solve the mystery that that someone is you? Have you ever done this while wearing a down coat? Have you ever done this while wearing a down coat so thick it doubles your body size? Have you ever done this while wearing a down coat so thick it doubles your body size and also serves as a sauna, making you sweat so much you can feel your body heat steam floating up your neck, as you're stuck in a crowded subway car wearing no deodorant and praying the passenger onto whom you are steam showering forgives your transgressions?

Have you done this and it's only Wednesday?

J. Crew turtleneck

H&M faux fur jacket

Etsy leather skirt

Tucum necklace

1/8/16

January 08, 2016 by Daniela Medina

The face of eternal skepticism.

I'm one of the most skeptical people in the world; the kind of person who always thinks something is too good to be true, and then it is, AND THEN I'M RIGHT. Which is why as much as I wanted to enjoy the freakishly warm weather we had earlier this year (I did actually enjoy it, don't be confused; I enjoyed it immensely), it was hard to live in that glory and experience it to it's ultimate capacity, because obviously when it's sixty degrees during the month of December in New York, that's a pretty clear indication earth is dying. Not to mention how it was followed up with extreme cold out of nowhere. So taking this very serious concern and manipulating it into something frivolous that would be suitable for this blog, I captured what dressing for the weather has now become—a hodgepodge of fuckery and shit-show-ness: A three-quarter sleeve sweater to keep the torso warm (but not too warm), flowy culottes to keep things breezy, and hiking boots because who the hell knows that you're going to be walking through.

J. Crew sweater.

Rugby Ralph Lauren belt.

Zara culottes.

Cole Haan boots.

Kate Spade earrings.

1/7/16

January 07, 2016 by Daniela Medina

Monkeyshines.

When my brother was in grade school, he came home one day and shared a story one of his friends had presented to the class, in which she explained that her intense love for bananas had, in fact, turned her into a banana. And then back into a girl again, I guess.

Speaking of bananas and love, I love monkeys; absolutely love them. How cute are they? Even the funky looking buddies are cute, and all I want to do is squeeze one (google this, it's called cute aggression and it's the reason why you bite the inside of your cheeks when you see a puppy, and it is a very real thing). Sometimes—and by this I mean always—I wish a monkey would be my friend so we could hang out. To clarify, this doesn't mean I would want him or her as a pet, because I think that's cruel: I'd simply want him or her to sit with me on the couch and join in my Netflix viewing. Or we could eat bananas. Or shout at things. Maybe not fling poo, though, because I'm not so into that.

I love monkeys so much I would probably turn into one if I could, thus completing the ongoing devolution I suspect I've been going through.

J. Crew linen tee.

Zara blazer and boots.

H&M disco pants.

Recycled glass necklace.

1/6/2016

January 06, 2016 by Daniela Medina

Mean Girls.

What is it like to have full-on mean girl aspirations? Does one wake up in the morning with an estimated goal of how many people to make cry? How many stank faces to pull? How much shade to throw? Does it take a lot of energy? Does one come home in the evening fatigued and in need of a smoothie packed with bitch-rich supplements? What would those even be?

And what if you’re naturally skilled in that arena? Are you doomed to a life of following in Regina George’s footsteps? Because I’m one of those people who can’t control her face, so Resting Bitch Face quite often becomes Active Bitch Face very unintentionally.

Mostly what I’m concerned about is the whole, “pink on Wednesdays” thing, because that is not a flattering color on me.

Zara blazer, boots, and shorts.

J. Crew sweater.

Noir necklace.

12/25/15

December 25, 2015 by Daniela Medina

Rockin' around the Christmas tree.

Feliz Navidad, y'all.

Narcisco Rodriguez dress.

Uniqlo socks.

Zara heels.

12/24/15

December 24, 2015 by Daniela Medina

Lara Croft 2.0.

Could you imagine if this were your living room? What a shit show that would be. I mean, what would getting out of bed in the morning even be like? I consider it a fairly great achievement if I can get from my bedroom to the shower by having tripped only over two things. If this mess were in the way, I wouldn't be able to trip over ANYTHING. Not to mention, I wouldn't even be able to leave my things on the floor for me to trip on in the first place, because they would get smoldering ash and molten lava all over them, and that is inconvenient. A fucking racket; I'm so glad I don't live in a volcanic pit.

Zara top, pants, and shoes.

H&M jacket.

Bracelet from the Republic of Banana. Ha!

12/23/15

December 23, 2015 by Daniela Medina

Happy Michael Jordan Day.

I've decided, quite conveniently, that today will be that day.

Do you remember Space Jam? Do you remember underwear? Do you remember basketball?

No? Well what a shame that is, because Space Jam was a cinematic feat of brilliant proportions, underwear makes the world go round, and basketball is a sport where the average player's height is roughly 6'7" and yet I still tried to make it happen standing at 5'3".

What do these three things have in common? Michael Jordan. One of our all-time greatest athletes with a Nike line so popular it became its own sub-brand. And then he became the face of underwear. And then he had to save the world from aliens by playing basketball, because he was that good at it. Can you imagine being that good at anything? I can. In fact, I've already taken the liberty of designing a line of sofas with built-in WiFi, monitors, headphones, blankets, a mini fridge, a microwave, a small pantry, a wine rack, a hot plate, and an automatic messaging system that answers all calls, texts, and emails with the response that you've become the first person to successfully launch a one-way solo mission to Mars and will get back in touch never.

I call it The Daniela.

J. Crew sweater.

Gap trench dress.

H&M jeans.

Zara shoes.

Nepalese bracelet. From Nepal.

Hanes underwear. You could get the cooler Calvin Klein version,
but those are like $20 a pair and I'm not about that life.

12/18/15

December 18, 2015 by Daniela Medina

Scrooged.

The holidays can be difficult. There's no sun, it's cold outside (except maybe not this year), you have to run around and not only buy presents for people, but figure out what the hell they want, and it's easy to get into moods where you're like, "Damn I feel you, Scrooge McDuck. I wish I had a vault with rolling money hills that I could go swimming in instead of dealing with all this mess." I actually wish that all year round, but come November and December I wish it especially hard. But even Scrooge McDuck had a Christmas special where he was visited by ghost ducks, and they showed him how great and revitalizing the holidays are. Furthermore, they taught him how it's kinda fucked up to be a curmudgeon, and he was like, "Ok, ghost ducks. Ok. You're right. Here's a goose. I hope that doesn't qualify as cannibalism." Or, A Christmas Carol as told by me and ghost ducks. My point is, I went on a walk yesterday and in my neighborhood there were three ducks sleeping in someone's ditch (Texas), and I was like, "Ok, ghost ducks: you're not actually ghostly, but you're sleeping which is close enough, so you win: I won't be a curmudgeon."

So Happy Holidays, y'all.

J. Crew flower sweater and taffeta skirt.

Zara flats.

Noir earrings.

12/17/15

December 17, 2015 by Daniela Medina

One flew over the Daniela's nest.

I'm probably one of the spaciest people I've ever met. This often manifests itself physically, and the result is a sometimes beautiful but mostly WTF catastrophe. Like how I forget to brush my hair so that it inevitably resembles a bird's nest, and not in the cool way like they do in high-gloss magazines where the model's are like, "Sorry I forgot that brushes are a thing," and you're like, "That's okay, model." Or like how I think sweatpants, classy tops, and sherpa varsity jackets are items you can wear together, because I forget that other people exist, and they have eyes, and they can see me. I'm just cuckoo for kookiness, all the time, one hundred percent.

You see? I don't even pay attention to the shit I say.

BDG varsity jacket.

Primark necklace.

Mango crop top

Zara sweats.

Nike sneakers.

My hair. With birds put on it.

12/16/15

December 16, 2015 by Daniela Medina

The Great Daniela.

The holidays are here, or as I like to call it, biopic and war movie season. What is it about cold weather and the early twentieth century that makes them such an ideal pair? It appears to me that no other partner will do. I mean, Baz Luhrmann dropped Leo DiCaprio into the middle of summer with an epic based on the premier novel of the 1920s , and the most people seemed to care about were the GIF opportunities the film presented to them. Which are superb, don't misunderstand me.

But there was so much of the movie to appreciate. Was it blown out of proportion and maybe didn't exactly do literary justice to F. Scott Fitzgerald? Sure, but forget him: the costumes were INCREDIBLE. So much beading, so many sequins and feathers! Fringe! How could one not leave the theater in ecstasy of such beautiful decadence?

Anyway, my point is that a few winters ago I watched something sepia toned and then proceeded to buy a sparkly feather hair clip reminiscent of something out of The Great Gatsby, and I'm still trying to figure out how to wear it without someone asking why I'm trying to balance a sequined plate on my head.

Hand-me-down jacket.

Zara jeans that I rolled up approximately five times because I prefer to not hem anything properly.

BCBG heels.

Anthropologie hair clip. Of course it is.

12/14/15

December 14, 2015 by Daniela Medina

Just hanging out with my BFF, Big Bird.

To some, a testament of celebrity is being invited to host SNL, or being asked on The Tonight Show, or gracing the covers of Time or Vanity Fair. To me, the highest indication that you've "made it," is being asked to make a cameo appearance on Sesame Street. They don't ask just anybody to be on there. Consider it: Imagine a parent who has spent the past few months watching episode after episode after episode with his or her child, having repeated the first five letters of the alphabet so many times they've entered that weird space of existential thought in the brain where form and meaning start to disintegrate, and now these letters are beginning to invade the dreams of said parent as big, brightly colored foam with googly eyes, circling round and round while chanting, "This is the letter A! This is the letter B! This is the letter C! This is the letter D! This is the letter E! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" singing louder and louder until the desperate individual wakes up in a cold sweat. It's in a producer's best interests to mix it up so no one loses their shit. Which means only the most interesting, talented, and relevant people get asked to participate.

That being said, if you catch me on the subway platform looking like a muppet and tap dancing in these Jeffrey Campbells, I'm practicing my craft. Because, goals.

Just kidding, I'll probably be standing there concentrating on not falling over into the tracks.

Zara coat and jumpsuit.

Inhabit cashmere sweater.

Anthropologie belt.

Jeffrey Campbell platforms aka how I'm going to die.