Permission Granted
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about this idea of permission. Who gets to give it, who gets to take it, who barrels along without it, who I know who never needed it, who I know who needs a nudge now more than ever to give it to themselves. (Tag yourself, I’m the last one.) I needed to give myself permission to do this newsletter (who could ever want such a thing, when the world is already so full of noise and feelings and people telling you their every thought every time you open your phone? Who do I think I am to impose my thoughts on you?) and then I sat on that hilltop in Northern California and forgot about everyone else for a second and just said, okay, sure, do it. You fail, who cares. Failure is good for you. It adds flavor. (Salt, probably.) It’s like being a bad dancer at a party. You know what’s infinitely worse than a bad dancer at a party? Someone who’s too afraid to dance.
The great secret to life is that most people are really just thinking about themselves all the time. That parade of humiliation and small hauntings that follows you from room to room reminding you of every stupid thing you ever did? You’re the only one who sees it. So if you need a nudge, consider this a (loving) elbow in your ribs, or a friendly pat on the butt. I hope it helps. I’d do it for you if I could, but it turns out that only you can grant yourself the kind of permission you need. It’s usually to do something that scares the hell out of you, which means you particularly need to do it. I’m giving myself permission to break out of a particularly thorny vicious cycle at the moment. (Stay tuned for how that goes.) The way I’m doing it is by reminding myself how charting new terrain leaves room for the other people in your life to surprise you. It gives them a little grace, rather than forcing them down the same routes you always took before. And it also gives you a chance to be surprised. Real surprises! The good kind! That doesn’t happen every day. Let’s take them where we can, no?
Okay. I finally saw Tár last week. I loved it. (Yes, all nearly 3 hours of it.) I admire how it throws you off-kilter from the jump, running the end credits first in their entirety, forcing you, in an inverse of the film’s subject, to fully acknowledge the ensemble. The audience in the theater I saw it in was shifting miserably in their seats, that weird muffled group quiet when everyone’s wondering if everyone else is also wondering if there’s been a mistake. And that just keeps going for what feels like an eternity—and then the movie begins. It’s clever, and it also reminds you how many hands go into making a film, from the grips to the wig assistants, which is something I love about this industry (and never thought about until being plunked into the middle of its big industry town), which is the team sport nature of it. So often we’re asked to focus only on the biggest brightest most bankable star. I want to talk Foley artists, clomping around on boards and jingling keys and filling balloons with whatever it is they use to make the sound of crunching snow! I want to know what a Best Boy actually does! Food stylists, baby wranglers, animal actor handlers! Tell me your secrets!
But anyways, back to Tár. It’s a horror film, really, the ultimate art monster (played by the divine Cate Blanchett, flinty and sleek) slowly besieged by the army of miseries she's created through her own cruelty and cunning and ruthless genius. What happens when a person who has effectively insulated themselves from ever feeling the consequences of their actions invokes a world of hurt? (Hint: it doesn’t go great for her!) There’s also a lot of clever discussion of can you separate the art from the artist, which I always find a fun little cul-de-sac to go down. Really, some people will have you believe you have to be an asshole to be a great artist. There certainly are plenty of examples out there. Personally I think it’s more that great artists often realize what they can get away with. Although certainly a singular vision often means sacrificing the interests of others. (Different kind of genius, but remember Free Solo? I left that excellent documentary full of admiration for this singular person but also full of real pity for anybody who loved him.) Is it worth it? Don’t ask me. By these rules Hugo’s the true artist in this house.
If I’m making Tár sound dreary, by the way, it’s not. It's often very funny, and it’s beautifully shot, expertly building suspense and dread. And my god, I want everything she wears. I basically already own the off-the-rack versions, as I realized when I shuffled out of the theater in my straight leg jeans, button down and sweater and blazer. (It was cold in LA that day, and always is in movie theaters.) Does that mean I, too, have been trying to be Leonard Bernstein this entire time and didn’t know it? Don’t answer that.
A very good and not totally unrelated book I read: Willful Disregard By Lena Andersson Quick, bright, taut, a little scary, like when you talk to someone in the throes of a seriously-bad-idea-romantic-obsession who is also holding a sharp object. (Sometimes that person is you.) Unavoidably Swedish, in ways that are illuminating and excellent. Reading it feels like when you touch something with your bare skin that’s so cold you feel burned: Regretful, but also, nobody told you to touch it, you just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. You spend most of the time reading this and reveling in how someone could be so very smart and totally oblivious at the same time. That may or may not be of interest. It was to me!
Too heavy? Chase with this: Home for Christmas. It’s a few years old, Norweigan, much lighter, on Netflix, gets you in the mood for the holidays, which yes, are suddenly arriving any moment? (Do not watch the English-dubbed version. The dubbed version of anything is always awful. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.)
If you’ve made it this far, allow me to reward you with some deeply satisfying indulgences:
These are the jeans that I get the most compliments on. They feel “fancy” for jeans (the dark rinse, the high waist, the straight leg with piping down the front, the perfect cuff, the gold button) and so you feel absolutely perfect wearing them to a meeting or to dinner. (Especially with velvet slippers and a silk pajama shirt, as I most often do.)
This $5 lip balm smells like a popsicle and gives you that exact perfect tint, too.
These sunglasses have the most fabulous legs I’ve ever seen. I have them in tortoise and they’re the perfect amount of bitchy. Do you know what I mean? It’s a compliment. They’re also sold out. These are also very good, and it’s not a brand you see on everyone else, which is such a relief. I may do a whole one of these about sunglasses, if you’d like that. I have a lot of opinions.
Awan is insanely good (vegan!) ice cream(!) for those around or visiting Los Angeles. It gets the texture exactly right and the flavors are insane (in a good way). They have this citrus caviar swirl one with frozen finger lime in it that is basically the platonic ideal of a creamsicle. But then they also have Mint Oreo…
Here’s a good gift idea for someone who likes to put in minimal effort in the kitchen and still reap huge rewards. That someone can be you, by the way. Big fan of buying oneself exactly what one wants during this or any other season. (Bonus: the packaging is so cute, so it looks great waiting on a counter or in a kitchen cabinet.) We’re in gift guide season, aren’t we? Do you like gift guides? When they’re good, I love them. Maybe I’ll do one.
I remained sober for all of October (love a challenge, love to exceed expectations!) and maintained a rigorous social schedule by drinking a lot of bitters and sodas. One of my actually sober friends told me there are trace levels of alcohol in bitters so, probably not for you if you’re sober sober, but for those just dallying on this side of the fence, it’s a great drink. I really like Hella Bitters. (They also have pre-mixed canned options for the lazy, or low on carbonated water.) I also had a can of De Soi’s canned non-cocktail Golden Hour (spritzy, herbal, buzzy with adaptogens only) at a party last weekend and it was delicious. Will be buying some to keep in the fridge here. Further along on my low-ABV journey, Zuzu just released their newest flavor, Yuzu, which I am thrilled about and excited to try this weekend at some hopefully happy occasion or other. If you haven’t tried Zuzu, they are delicious.
A song to help get you ready for the weekend:
Okay. That’s all for now. I hope you had a wonderful Halloween, and voted early if you were able. If not there’s still plenty of time. As always, if there’s something you want to hear about, or tell me about, I’m all ears. Hearing from you is my favorite part of any of this. So thanks for being here. I love you.