issue 18: on paint

...ing the town red.

First, I want to say how proud I am of how the Substack community is coming together to support the catastrophe in LA—check out

Rachel Davies

’ Where to Donate list,

Cat Chen

’s Neighbors in Need list,

Home Front

has a hit list on IG, and

coolstuff.nyc

with a number of ways to support in their latest letter (which I’ve also included below). My dear friend Camilla Marcus has also compiled this list of resources.

• Airbnb is offering temporary housing to people affected by the fire, in coordination with 211 LA – full info here

• If you’re in LA, Canine Rescue Club is coordinating temporary foster care for displaced pups. Sign up here

• Send a firefighter a meal from Le Great Outdoor

• Donate to Direct Relief

• Support the LAFD

• Support hard-to-reach communities affected by the fires through the Wildfire Recovery Fund

Additionally, if any home brands, architecture firms, or interior designers are beginning to plan for how to help people rebuild—get in touch, I’d love to collaborate on a resource guide where those who have lost their homes. Email me: lily@lily-sullivan.com!

Life along the vermillion border.

How much would it cost?, I said. He looked at me blankly. He didn’t realize I could see the Hotel Tonight app open on his phone, How much would it cost to sleep with me? Caught with his metaphorical pants down, he cleared his throat, Between $183 and $375. I laughed, took another sip of my martini, and grabbed the phone from his hand scrolling through the various hotel options that surrounded the Nashville neighborhood we were in. We then went for three more drinks across the downtown of Nashville before we got hot dogs from a street vendor and went home. Separately.

Me by Daniela Spector. Room painted in Lobby Scene.

I have often shied away from spontaneous rendezvous with members of the opposite sex. I blamed it on self-preservation, safety, and perhaps my own literal conception—which was by all accounts an accident. Maybe this inaction was a means of course correction (we didn’t need history repeating itself), turning down plenty of offers to bed bachelors while awaiting something deeper.

However, I have started to wonder…is there value in surface level connections?

This ideation brought me back to a man that I wasn’t supposed to date in the summer of 2023. He was, as I referred to him to my friends, an experiment. Could I meet a seemingly normal stranger in the wild? Could I see this man once and never again? Could I go against the very fibers of my being and be casual?

I’ve told this story before, but to jog your memory, we met in line for the bathroom at a wine rave. Before I could make it back to my friends we had kissed under the beating Bushwick sun. When I woke up at his place the next morning, his ex’s books were still on his nightstand—I resigned myself to the fact that I might never see this man again. It was mother’s day. Because of course it was.

I’d love to see you again, he said. Moby was playing softly in the background, a part of his starting the day ritual. But, I just got out of a relationship, it will have to be casual. Without even considering the implications, I said, I can be casual.

I’m going to tell you something that may surprise you: he was the first man to ever stay over in my South Brooklyn apartment. I have always found solace in the ability to leave (both the country, and someone else's home) and I love judging men’s spaces even more. 99% of the time, I’d rather borrow a t-shirt and get into an Uber with a judgmental driver than kick someone out of my apartment. However, to me the frequency and consistency of our dinners and visits pushed us from casual into a liminal space neither of us could define. I can be casual, I’d repeat when he’d leave. These were famous last words. By July, it was over. And by fall, he was engaged.

It was an experiment gone too well—I was casual (for maybe two weeks) and then the situationship maintained a sort of lust that felt refreshing. But right when I actually started to really like him, he pulled away. I would, as fates allow, never have the chance to love this man, just scratch the surface of what closeness could feel like.

A few months after our unraveling and time away in California, I returned to New York with fresh energy and painted my apartment—maybe a symbol of a fresh start. You see, anytime I am in a state of change, it is most reflected in my home—art comes off the walls, chairs dance around, sheets are refreshed, and I pull tchotchkes from shelves and group them in new ways.

Really good use of red from a recent trip to Mexico.

I lined up swatch sheets along the wall of my room—a warm rich red, a red with a hint of orange, a color called Self-Portrait (which felt quite apropos). I landed with a deep moody shade of dark, warm purple-red called Lobby Scene. The internet and also common Feng Sui practices tell you that red is sometimes too fiery and stimulating for a bedroom. Never before had I been so brave as to paint my walls anything but white. I imagine the same part of my brain that controlled my disinterest in one night stands also kept me from pursuing bolder, less conventional strokes. I chalk it up to control, lack of risk, fear of regret. But I loved the idea of creating a cave—perfect for slumber, among other things.

The brand’s website describes the color as indulgent. I was guilty as charged. I got a bedcover to match the dark interior color, and chose art that felt equally moody and provocative. If I was going to try to paint the town red, I would start in my very home.

However, by the time the room was finished and documented, it was spring and I had thrust myself into work and writing instead of more raucous endeavors. Those could wait, the red walls (and even the walls that are not yet red) weren’t going anywhere, and I was spending more time outside of New York than in it.

My room shot by Meghan McNeer.

When I returned this fall, I went on a smattering of bad first dates, danced until the wee hours, had too many martinis all while celebrating the seemingly unending relationship advancements of my nearest and dearest. I was exhausted and uninspired. Right as I was about to hang up my hat for the year, I met up with a boy from my hometown. I moved here last week, he said as we sat at my favorite wine bar and swapped names of various people we knew. He had tried to see me the night before but I was busy, his persistence was both flattering and transparent.

He was ex-military, deeply sports-centric, and kept a list of things that made him happy in a note on his phone—it was over 250 entries long. After my fourth glass of champagne, I asked him if redheads were on the list. I could’ve sworn they were on here, he said. They weren’t. I added them in.

At 7AM, he nearly pushed me out the door so he could begin his day—a military man. I mean, I did salute him after all. It's not important exactly when, but surely, to drunk-me, it felt very cool. Maybe I’ll see you in St. Louis, he said (which sounds more like an alternate title for the Judy Garland classic). Doubtful. A few weeks went by with no chatter, when out of the blue he texted asking if I wanted to come over for a “Sunday rendezvous”. My hair was in a bun and I had just ordered Thai food. SNL was playing on my laptop. I told him I wasn’t free but reminded him I’d be in the same Midwestern city as him in less than a week.

A few days into my thanksgiving holiday, he messaged again, so where do you stay when you are in town? It took three days for me to reply, unsure how to tell him that while a hometown tryst would be fun, I had spent the entirety of my first day back home in the ER.

I should explain, I had been bitten in the face hours into my trip by a dog, a slit punctured just under my nose right to the top of my lip. I’m totally fine, I remember confidently saying before looking down at my hands which were covered in blood.

I decided not to look at myself right away, for you know, self-preservation. Instead I took a Xanax to sleep and in the morning my cousin and I got iced coffees and walked three blocks to the ER. I’ve seen a lot worse, the doctor said as he rinsed out the wound, you could’ve been mangled. He had no bedside manner, but did I? I cried for the first time when stitches were done, four small marks that would forever line my face.

Thank god he didn’t cross your Vermillion Border, he said as he was numbing my mouth. My what?, I exclaimed. It sounded vaguely sexual. I would learn that this chic phrase is a real medical term for the line where the space between your nose and mouth meets the pigment of your upper lip. Vermillion border, I repeated aloud, that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. I made my cousin text it to me in case I forgot in all my delirium. Some learning in all the trauma.

A Vermillion Border if I ever did see.

When I told my therapist of the incident, she noted some poetic justice, you go home and it bites you in the face. I wasn’t sure if its meaning was that profound, but it did make me think about how even things that just sat at the surface level could have a lasting impact. I thought about how I’d return to my wine-stain colored bedroom differently. Lesser. Greater? I couldn’t decide. No amount of La Mer could erase what had happened. The stitches would have a permanent place in my life. But would that man? Or the one before? I’ve found the most unexpected or short-lived experiences with people, I still talk about. And in my own space, a little red paint in a room that only fits a bed went a long way. Even if eventually I’ll return to more neutral palettes in the future, it seems there was value in boldness.

home goods.

If you are looking to make it red:

Backdrop’s reds.

You probably know by now that Backdrop is my go-to paint brand. I remember when my friend and the brand’s founder Natalie Ebel launched with a tight palette of thoughtful colors. I asked her answer a few questions on painting with red, here’s what she had to say.

Why should someone use red in their space?

Because why not? Red is one of the greatest, boldest colors ever. It exudes confidence and makes a statement. Using red in a space says, “I know what I’m doing.”

What do you think about a fully red bedroom?

For me, I would go for a moody red like LOBBY SCENE or SELF-PORTRAIT. Lily’s bedroom is one of my favorite use cases of this. And Sean Santiago used Self Portrait in the living room. Honestly, we should all be doing exactly whatever these two do.

Sean Santiago’s dreamy apartment in Self Portrait.

You have six reds that range from orange-hinted to deep purple-toned, how did you develop this spread?

I LOVE REDS. In our original launch palette, I started with four because I wanted to be really considered and have conviction with all of them. My thought process was simple but deliberate: Would I personally paint with this red? If so, where? What room would it best serve, and how would it transform that space?

The original four—SELF-PORTRAIT (a deep, dark red), NEGRONI (a vibrant red with a hint of orange), LIPSTICK ON THE MIRROR (a classic, true red), and LOBBY SCENE (a warm purple-red with depth)—each had their own distinct personality and purpose. They were designed to stand on their own, offering a unique mood or energy depending on the space.

It’s almost the way I think about my wardrobe. “Do I already have something that serves the same purpose, or do I really need two of these?” With reds, I wanted to make sure there was a nuanced spread—so no matter the space someone is trying to create, there’s a red for that moment.

THEN, some vintage red goodies via ilovecraigslist’s

Madison Brill

’s newsletter:

1. Set of 6 Bartoli Mito Red Dining Chairs - $2,100

2. 1970’s Red Italian Cane Dining Chairs - $2,000 (like mine!!)

3. Red Acrylic and Metal Dining Table - $800

4. Vintage Red Ikea Chair - $400

AND LASTLY, my favorite red lipstick shades:

1. Nars’ Red Square, which I bought in 2013 when Solange Knowles wore it. Its a little hard to track down but Kiss Me Deadly also does the job.

2. Chanel’s Rogue Allure 2:00. A sweet party favor from my friend’s wedding is a new go-to.

3. Dries’ Camouflage Red in a refillable canister was one of my favorite gifts from Christmas.

sloppy secondhand: CDMX.

Each issue I’ll pick a favorite vintage spot & a local watering hole—maybe you’ll find a new-to-you sofa or a new-to-you man. All I can promise is perhaps some promiscuity and a little credit card debt.

I’ve been toying around with making travel guides, because I am seemingly always on the road. Here are some highlights from a recent trip to Mexico City.

Maximo Bistrot—by far the best meal I had when I was in town. We went for lunch and it reminded me how much I love having long decadent lunches. Screw dinner, right? Other highlights include: Contramar for the al pastor fish, EM for a decadent meal, Tacos Tony for street tacos, Hugo Wine Bar for casual snacks and good Mexican wine, Campobaja for tostadas, and Handshake for yummy beverages.

La Lagunilla Market—holy shit, I could have spent days here. It’s a massive vintage market that runs for many blocks. I also popped into Chic by Accident and Trouve to see antique treasures.

shop girl.

I shop more than I date, here is everything I bought or saw recently:

1. Dark Linens in bordeaux to make my room extra cozy.

2. A tuxedo shirt dress that is made-to-measure from my new friend Olivia of Chava Studio.

3. A bright planner to keep my brain all in one place.

4. The most perfect mussel clutch by Jonathan Simkhai.

5. Since seeing a show at the Jumex Museum in Mexico City, I’ve gone down an Ana Mendieta rabbit hole. Her body outlines are striking. Some of her work is available on Artsy.

6. Swurl’s new book is a perfect way to enhance your wine vernacular.

7. I saw these vessels at Utilitario Mexicano (some call this the Muji of Mexico). They are chic solo or in a grouping.

8. This Tombolo blazer I wore nearly every day on my vacation.

9. I saw these Leset shoes in an IG story of

   Heather
   ’s and haven’t stopped thinking about them.

10. I learned about Rudi Gernreich recently, inventor of the topless monokini. The whole selection is chic chic chic.