Layover Jeans

Feeling somewhere between here and there.

I’m not really sure where I am right now. I mean, I know where I am (Los Angeles), but the needle on my internal compass – the one that typically points so solidly in a single direction, especially when it comes to style – feels wobbly. Am I happy to be home? I think so. Last night I wore a long, iridescent silk floral skirt (late 90s Dries van Noten) and hand-knit cream sweater (sort of this shape), with classic black espadrilles and my new Loewe bag (did you think I’d leave Madrid without a little Loewe?). It felt so good. But so not me.

I thought when I moved to Spain that my eye would shift, but if anything I dug the heels of my daily uniform in deeper there as a way of anchoring myself to something familiar. For three and a half months I wore the same twenty-ish things day in and day out, adding only colorful accessories and big drawstring pants. It was easy. Reliable. There’s Jane in that patchwork Bode shirt again. In time, the shirt as a look that needed looking at faded and t…