issue 17: on doors
Am I unhinged?
making an entrance.
Recently, I rewatched the 1998 film Sliding Doors. I needed a bit of inspiration, so I procrastinated my way into research. The movie stars a pre-Goop era Gwenyth Paltrow who plays a late 20s publicist. We follow her life through two possible plot lines—separated only by her missing or making a London metro train. Her life then plays out in vastly different ways— each with a different romantic figure (and hairstyle).
This made me think about choices and timing and how ultimately our lives are one big Goosebumps: Create Your Own Adventure book without all the gore. I was sitting with a friend at an East Village wine bar a month or so ago. She was talking about how she had broken it off with one man to more seriously date another. Sometimes, I wonder how my life would be different, she said.
In the fall of 2019, I got a job offer in Milan to lead editorial content and events at a small lifestyle brand. It had been two years since my mother had died and I was ready to flip a table. I’d be taking a pay cut but traveling up and down Tuscany. I could learn Italian. I could fall in love. I could replace my overwhelming grief with adventure. It was almost a dream job.
For various reasons, I declined the offer. Then three months later, Milan became one of the first cities hit hardest by Covid. I would’ve been forced to leave quickly or worse, trapped in a city that I would’ve only just begun to know.
This was a door I didn’t regret passing up. But there were some inflection points, especially in my years of dating, where I wondered if the choices I had made were ultimately the correct ones. Like, what if I hadn’t dated my college boyfriend a third time my senior year, would I have met someone else? If Covid never happened, would I still be with a long distance boyfriend back home in St. Louis? And if I hadn’t left town when I did last summer, would the man I was casually dating still get married months later? Yes, no, probably not, try again later. I was shaking my past like a broken magic eight ball.
What is meant for you will not pass you by, my best friend often says. She adopted this mantra after a man sent her 100 roses with that inscribed on the card. Despite the poetic irony at this man’s attempt to woo her (seemingly attempting to force fate), I have long appreciated the sentiment he left us with. The doors you close or never open shouldn’t be looked at with a sense of regret or question. You’ll go through the doors you are meant to—sometimes with great steadiness and agency and other times without a real choice of your own. When it comes to love though, there are doors I’ve slammed shut and bolted, ones that I’ve left ajar, and ones seemingly too tough to ever try to open.
Like in my mid 20s, I had this big wild crush that I couldn’t get over. Let’s call it temporary insanity. Instead of confessing my feelings, I uncharacteristically sat on my hands. I had been burned too many times by breaking doors down and convincing men to date me. Take my last relationship, which started when I asked my best guy friend of a decade to make a choice. We needed to stop talking about something happening and either do it or put it to bed—exiting the revolving door we were trapped in.
Guess what? It was a mess. I don’t really believe in regret—it feels antithetical to the whole when one door closes manner in which I’ve chosen to date. However, I could’ve done without some of the heartbreak.
I’ve been reflecting on this idea of how paths that end lead to others and found myself looking back at this time last year, when I spent nearly a month in Japan. It was nothing short of the trip of a lifetime. But how the hell had I gotten there—a series of unfortunate events (dead mom and the like) and then a series of fortunate ones.
I flew there on my ex-boyfriend’s 30th birthday, this detail I only remember because the clock struck his birthday on the flight and I got sent a calendar notification. I wasn’t so bothered by his unanswered text. And, I can tell you with 100% certainty that I would not have been on this flight if we had stayed together. But again, this didn’t matter so much, I was half-way across the world in a place where most of the doors open for you automatically.
We spent the first week in Tokyo, beginning every day with a large traditional breakfast and a startling awareness of scale. We travelled south to Nara and then further to Setoda—a town on an island known for its citrus and octopus. I took the best bath of my life (in a large wooden tub) and marveled at how the doors on tracks so carefully slid in and out of their slots. Encumbered by nothing, no push sign in sight.
We then went to Kyoto. It somehow felt like Brooklyn, there was an Ace Hotel and a big park and a vintage district. It was approachable, unlike the vast and overwhelming capital. One of the most meaningful days of the trip (in which I sobbed in a centuries old cemetery), we were in the north of the city following a pilgrimage route from the mountains through the city's center. We started at a temple run by a sculptor turned monk—classically trained and forced to give up his artistic practice when his brother, the temple’s monk, died—a family lineage passed along. Talk about a door opening and literally being pushed through it.
I spent the rest of the trip eating everything in sight, seeing more art than my brain could hold, and filling a whole suitcase with objects from stops throughout the country. I returned to New York optimistic and inspired, and unable to walk on the correct side of the street. Other than living abroad in college, I had never spent so much time away from my reality. And this trip, unlike any other, gave me permission to escape and drive to come back.
I was at a vintage warehouse a couple weeks back—there was a big stack of doors on the floor waiting for new portals to fill. Some knobless, some with sharp nails still punctured through the hinge as if it had been ripped from its frame. In my life not on the road, chivalry was still dead, and I was tired of kicking doors down in service of pursuing men. I started to wonder if automatic doors were the key to happiness, or was it naive to hope that a door would open on its own?
PS. for Japan guides—I solely used my friend ’s Kyoto & Tokyo guides from her Substack .
home goods.
If you are looking to make an entrance:
Accordions: It is not every day that you are looking to buy a door. Maybe a knob, maybe trim. But a few months ago, I saw this image of a door frame in Sandy Sanchez’ house (
) with an amazing accordion door. I’m thinking of replacing my two closet doors with these.
Knobs: I continue to marvel at Monica’s collection on Petra Hardware—like this spherical handle? Not cheap, but VERY cool. Also, Superfront is a classic for handles of all sorts.
Metal curtains: I was at New York’s hottest club, Jacqueline Sullivan’s gallery, last month and saw this metal tapestry which inspired a deep dive into heavy duty metal curtains. You could buy a $3,500 Paco Rabanne one on 1st Dibs or spend a lot of time investigating chain mail beaded door frame covers on weird websites like I have.
sloppy secondhand.
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.
Mitsuru—Talk about stunning interiors, restaurateur Grant Reynolds never fails to impress me with his ventures—down to the vintage furniture and lighting and velvets. His new Japanese spot called Mitsuru is one of my new favorite spots in town, complete with a sushi bar and killer wine list, plus, a conversation pit and clean-lined midcentury pieces galore.
Bushwick Vintage—It has been a longtime since I lived in a building marked Dr. Sex at the corner of Bushwick Ave and Flushing. In that time, I’d traipse around to various vintage stores throughout the neighborhood. I just explored a new crop of spots—Rabbit Hole Vintage (a midcentury warehouse) on my hunt for a dresser and Vandermost Modern. Add both to your Brooklyn vintage hit lists.
PS. Mitsuru’s Wash Hands sign is in pearl…
shop girl: an ode to animal print (and other gifts).
I shop more than I date, here is everything I bought or saw recently:
I have been dreaming about animal print non-stop, it started with this rug from Jessie Andrews’ Nordic Knots collection. Swoon.
My friend Conway runs Hudson Wilder—an American homeware line with global roots. His new line of glassware is super inspiring to me. Imagine a ‘tini in this!
A few years ago, I was given a Sophie Billie Brahe velvet jewelry box for Christmas, it was a slam dunk. Her new showroom is complete with a set of Zebra-upholstered furniture that wowed me.
- wore Cheetah tights for halloween and I keep thinking about how chic that felt. Then, wrote a whole section of a recent issue called Animal House full of vintage animal print coats.
I saw Oh, Mary!, you should see Oh, Mary!. If you see me wandering around the city, I’ll probably be wearing this hat.
I am upgrading my flatware this year to a tortoise Sabre set—timeless yet interesting.
The chokehold this Dedar fabric has on me. I saw it first at Tigre, the Manhattan cocktail bar from the team at Maison Premiere, now I feel like its everywhere. You can buy it on a pouf (among other things) from the team at Forysth.
I tried on this 90s Vivienne Tam dress at Vintage Grace a few weeks ago and wow what a stunner. Here is it on eBay if you have $ to burn.
My new daily staple are these Jenny Bird earrings. If they are good enough for
they are good enough for me.For modern Joan Didion in Celine look, I’ve been wearing these Cubitts sunnies.
Another print issue is in the works, I only have a few copies of the first issue left.. get one before they are gone!
Aww love this! The accordion door would look so good as a closet door. 🤎
https://open.spotify.com/track/5gzll1xCCUjm7midvwqTEb?si=gOGrnRJBRvO6211juO1DwA&context=spotify%3Asearch%3Athe%2Bdoor