against nuuly
a diary entry from november
It’s overcast today, the first day in a while, and something about the dim grey morning light moved me to pause for an extra moment in my closet and try on the pink silk dress in the back.
Recently Kelsey told me she’s been loving Nuuly, the clothing rental service. It’s probably the smarter thing to do, but wouldn’t it also deprive me of moments like this, twirling a little in the mirror, recalling the last time I wore this dress?
Which was a long-ago day in Los Angeles. In the morning we’d gone to the ocean—me, Patrick, Rob. I think Patrick and Rob surfed while I waded into the water and attempted to swim in my black bikini. I grew dazed and sluggish from the sun and cold and exertion, and we took too long getting ready for afternoon tea—hurriedly rubbing on my new taupe eyeshadow, wondering how far I should smear it above my eyelid, dropping my necklace into my cardigan pocket because I ran out of time to put it on, stumbling over my white sandals into the car.
At the tea parlor we posed for pictures. It was still the era where I thought lipstick deformed my lips and mascara weighed down my eyelashes. If you look closer, my necklace is not on my neck either. By the time I realize it’s missing, it’s been over an hour and I’m panicked—it’s a gold chain from my mom, the same one I’m still wearing right now as I write this.
Patrick is calm. He finds it on the street, miraculously, nestled in the dust and debris under the curb—it must’ve fallen off my lap as I got out of the car. My savior, I say.
My ears in the photo are also unadorned. I didn’t get them pierced til we moved to New York, because I was scared of needles and kept putting it off. When I turned 27, I realized I only had three years left to be ~in my twenties, all dressed up~ and finally made the appointment.
The first night it hurt to sleep on my newly pierced ears, and Patrick lent me his arm to use as a pillow. That was in the summer. When the weather turned cold we picked out my first pair of proper earrings, the same ones I’m wearing right now, and I couldn’t figure out how to take them off so I wore them continuously for weeks and probably damaged the pearls a little bit in the shower.
Then I started posting on TikTok and comparing my face to others. I wondered what I’d look like if I found the right lip liner, tried the influencer-recommended Korean mascara, volumized my hair with a perm. Turns out they all suited me pretty well.
That pink silk dress, I bought in Los Angeles because I liked the pattern with the doves and oranges—but I don’t keep it on today; today I’ve learned to be self-conscious about the color making my veins look weirdly green, and the fit making my boobs look weirdly-placed. Back in those LA days I thought Patrick would always be by my side, finding my little lost possessions; now I know breakups of long relationships are the most quotidian of tragedies, almost as inevitable a life event as losing a pet or a parent; one simply continues living.
I suppose this all sounds very wistful and nostalgic. The thing is, though, I’m no less happy now than I was then. Perhaps happier even—though these things are hard to compare, because time does funny things to memory. The only thing I can do is to be grateful for these little souvenirs.
P.S. If you liked this post, you might also like:
Back in those LA days I thought Patrick would always be by my side, finding my little lost possessions; now I know breakups of long relationships are the most quotidian of tragedies, almost as inevitable a life event as losing a pet or a parent; one simply continues living. 😭
😭😭😭