Rory Gilmore, that is NOT how we dress in the office. We do NOT show that much sideboob.
“If you want to build a ship, don’t drum up people to collect wood and don’t assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea.”
- Antoine de Saint Exupéry
I know you’re English and everything, which makes you cooler than everybody else or whatever, but your drop-down menu bullshit is getting out of control.
I am just trying to check out, and you are just showing off.
Thanks website. “Sanam Petri, Dowager Countess of” is now ready to receive her electric toothbrush head replacements.
[video]
My mom used to complain a lot about the fact that Iranians don’t have hobbies the way Americans do. “When we’re old,” she’d lament, “all our friends will be golfing and we’ll be bored.”
I’d try to explain that watching old episodes of Murder She Wrote is a perfectly respectable hobby, but instead of listening to me, she moved to China where no one has hobbies, and where hobbies are probably punishable by death.
Knowing my genes, I’ve tried really hard to break the pattern. I’ve crocheted, needleworked, and been on more intramural sports teams than I can count. But nothing ever stuck.
Until I moved here, and I found this new thing I love doing.
It’s a little bit niche I think, as far as hobbies go, as I don’t really know anyone else who does this. I don’t even think it has a name, really. But basically, my hobby is to go to fancy English places and dress like a parody of an English person.
I think the reason I find it so entertaining is because, as I’ve discovered, the more egregious the parody, the better it works.
For example, I have never had more compliments in my life than when I wore this comically small hat to a polo match.
“Oh this old thing?” -me
Examples of places infiltrated last year include Wimbledon, the Royal Automobile Club, and a box at Lord’s, which is so fancy that the waiting list for membership is literally 70 years long. To an American, any American, the elitism is mind-blowing. And also over-the-top entertaining.
Which is why I’m pleased to have scored tickets to one of the fanciest events of them all this year: The Royal Ascot.
I’m excited for this for a few reasons. Namely because it represents an entree into a few strange foreign circles: Horse Racing, the Royal Family, and my favorite, the Mandated Wearing of Hats in Public.
From the website:
This may seem compulsive, but for the area of the Ascot we’re in, this is actually the relaxed dress code. For those in the Royal Enclosure, they recently banned fascinators.
They banned fascinators! I love that. They were just like, “Nope. Just too fucking casual. Get a full hat.”
Personally, as someone who’s always secretly wanted to wear a fascinator, I’m very happy we’ll be in the Grandstand Area. It’s high up enough that we’ll have an actual view of the race, in addition to letting us physically look down on less classy people. As Ben put it, “If they even make eye contact with us we get a full refund.”
Pictures to follow. If anyone has a particular hat request, the lines are now open.
At around 11am this morning, I became an official resident of Angel.
(For those of you who don’t know, this means I am now fancy as shit.)
With this happy news, however, comes the heartbreak of leaving my first apartment here. Spontaneous rioting aside, Bethnal Green, you’ve been a great place to live.
This morning I packed up, discarded, or otherwise erased all trace of myself in the flat, save this little ghost left behind on my bedroom window.
Anyway, there it is. I’ve made my mark, and a new chapter unfolds before me. A chapter that makes me posh as a motherfucker.
If anyone has any salmon-colored clothes they can loan me, get in touch.
Hello friends. I hope you’ve all been well.
I write this post to inform you all that starting tomorrow, and for the next few weeks, your dear author will be on the move.
I share my schedule with you now for two reasons:
1. So that you can contact me if you live in any of the places I am visiting
2. So that if this trip does actually kill me, you can refer back to this post and figure out where my body is.
Here we go.
__________________________
**April 5 - April 9**
Where: Berlin
Why: To attend the opening of my first art show. Yes, this is just as pretentious as it sounds.
Here is an unnecessarily extreme close-up of the thing I’m exhibiting.
What is this thing? Excellent question. Formally, it’s “an exploration of my family’s post-Revolution migration.” Less formally, it’s a lot of old stamps stuck on really expensive paper.
Despite my lack of artistic skill, my friend Onika has let me into her annual exhibition, Art Sho, which is held in a different city every year. Last year’s event in London was pretty awesome, as was the previous year in NYC, so I’m stoked to be involved.
What: Hanging in the city. Attending cocktail parties and dinners. Wearing horn-rimmed glasses, complaining about how broke I am, and pretending I have a cool Japanese girlfriend.
Who I hope to see: I don’t think I know anyone in Berlin. But I’m looking forward to meeting other arty pretentious fucks such as myself.
And from there I fly to…
____________________________
**April 9-April 13**
Where: Los Angeles
Why: Working out of the Beats by Dre offices for the week.
What: Writing scripts. Remembering why I hate LA. Driving very, very slowly in my rental car.
Who I hope to see: Ted! Maybe a little Nate or Drew. I can’t remember who I still know in this town; if you’re around, shout me a holler.
And from there to…
___________________________
**April 13-April 14**
Where: San Francisco
Why: Free food and laundry
What: Hanging with the g-ma and ensuing fam. I’ve been instructed to bring hot water bottles (because, according to my grandma, “they only make them properly in England”) and those plastic bags from Harrods everyone likes.
Who I hope to see: All y’all motherfuckers. It’s been way too long.
Aaaand from there, one last leg to…
_____________________________
**April 14-April 16**
Where: Stockholm
Why: To convince a bunch of students that R/GA is the place to spend their year-long internship. Why me? Because it was almost six years ago that I was hired as an intern in the copy department. Makes me kind of uncomfortable to think I’m training an army of cool, good-looking young Swedes to replace me in my old age.
What: Blathering about advertising and trying not to make IKEA jokes in front of the Swedish people.
Who I hope to see: Bjork?
______________________________
So there you have it, stalkers. Now you know where I’ll be at all times.
If you live in these places, or will be in these places at these designated times, please drop me a line. Otherwise, see you bitches in a few weeks.
…but a show just came on called “the secret life of ice.”
Hello future career as a wizard.
Brilliant.
To: *All London
Subject: The case of the pilfered power supply
Dear Mr Holmes,
I write to you on the most urgent and vexing matter.
It appears that the Phantom Power-supply Pilferer has struck again, disrupting the peace and tranquillity of St Johns Square.
I am certain that upon leaving the premises on the evening of Tuesday 7th March I left the power supply for my Apple MacBook Pro in its customary position - securely attached to the mains power supply immediately adjacent to my desk - so you can only imagine my surprise then when I arrived at my place of work this very morning to find no trace of this most invaluable object.
If previous incidents of the Phantom’s work are to serve as any guide, there is a strong likelihood that the power supply will be returned anonymously via a neutral third party, but I urge you to take this case so that we might put an end to the Phantom’s activities once and for all.
Yours sincerely,
Mr —
I remember telling somebody last year that I went to the Royal Chelsea Flower Show by myself and they were like “Oh man I totally would’ve gone with you had I known. Because flower shows are awesome even if they are expensive and full of old people and I will totally emotionally validate this choice you’re making.”
Was this you? If so, please get in touch. Tickets are on sale now and I already have outfits picked out. (Spoiler alert: matching bonnets!)
Just realized the stars of Britain’s Youngest Grannies are like two years older than me.
But East London is starting to come pretty close.
Here now, for your consideration: a man dressed as a fox, embroidering a picture of flowers while AT a flower market, while wearing brogues.
It’s no literary basketball team, but it’s a big first step.