Want to Get Away?
Two quick escapes & other distractions that have nothing whatsoever to do with turkey
I come to you from a place of pies. I hope that’s where you are too, when you read this, whether it’s before or after the actual big event. (In my world, dessert is always the big event.) A place of joyful indulgence, of seasonally approved gluttony, of gratitude and fullness. A place of elastic waists and cashmere socks and television movies and uninterrupted reading (and napping) time and no real plans until next week. We are only here for a short while, this land of leftover hot turkey sandwiches and televised parades and champagne and canapés before noon and heavingly full plates at midday. This is not where we live, not really. Not for long, anyways. Happy Thanksgiving.
It’s okay if it’s not entirely happy. There comes a time, around this annual binge of beige foods, when cortisol tends to peak. And that’s without the international relations element of it all. There’s a lot of pressure going around: the juggling act of putting out (or taking in) a big holiday meal; the act of catching up in tumultuous times over a marathon of heavy carbohydrates. Often we are guests, or have them staying with us. Often those guests are family, which is, let’s be honest, not really a “guest” at all. (Can your own mother ever really be your guest?) We are so incredibly lucky to have this time together—the holidays are so especially hard for so many, even in the best of times, which these sure aren’t— but sometimes even in the fullness of all that luck, a person needs to take a moment to carve out some space in order to see it, to fully be present. Perhaps that means you are not on your phone at all, and you’re reading this several days from now (good for you!). But perhaps you, like me, find the best and most curative retreat to be a quiet corner for a few minutes where you can tune everything out and picture yourself in the near future, somewhere far away from wherever you currently are, somewhere you’ll be perfectly attired and on a fabulous adventure and there won’t be any canned cranberry sauce, or familial slights to unpack in therapy, and definitely no dishes to do later. Escapism! It’s just the best, isn’t it? It’s like circular breathing for your brain. (I also recommend actual circular breathing.)
In that spirit, and as especially requested by those of you who noted some of my recent travels, here we have a pair of weekend-ready itineraries for you.
GUADALAJARA
I was in Guadalajara two weeks ago en route to the magical wedding of two of our wonderful friends just outside Mérida, and am determined to go back soon to both places for longer. Mérida has been on a lot of people’s lists for a while now, and with good reason (and for what it’s worth I highly recommend the Chablé Yucatan, a 35 minute or so drive from Mérida airport, for a total dream of a splashy romantic escape that enabled me to wear these fabulous party pants and matching swimsuit, both of which I very much recommend for any vacations or pool party endeavors… the other prints/cuts are very cute too). But when it came to Guadalajara, even amongst my more well traveled friends, the read seemed to be only that it’s big and busy and not Mexico City, which seems just overall incurious, if not factually incorrect. I helped creative direct a shoot in Tequila a few years ago and I remember one of the local camera guys telling me that Guadalajara: Barcelona:: Mexico City: Madrid, by which he meant that it’s artsy and fun with lots of students and the food is really good, which was intriguing enough that I quickly filed it away as gospel, as well as one of those things that I have no authority on but feel very comfortable repeating. But anyway, everyone I’ve said it to agrees with me, so I guess he was (/we are) right.
I am happy to report that Guadalajara was vibrant and interesting and, yes, full of insanely good food, which is kind of all I require on a weekend trip. And not for nothing, but exactly one day after we got back T published their guide to the city, so while it’s important you know that I was ahead of the curve, the curve is definitely there. Here’s what we did, and what I recommend:
STAY: Casa Habita; very chic, very design-focused, full of good looking expats lounging around (this matters!), situated in the Lafayette/Americana neighborhood, which is safe and walkable, though the hotel also offers cute vintage bikes. Originally a private house built in the 1940s, Grupo Habita (creator of several excellent stays, like the deeply cool Terrestre, in Puerto Escondido, which I checked out earlier this year) bought it some years back and erected an adjoining glassy contemporary construction: 37 rooms and suites. There’s a stylish lobby, bar, restaurant, and a little pool and terrace and spa. It’s all very glossy and clean-lined and comfortable and most importantly not too big: a really good launch point for venturing around the city.
EAT: At Alcalde, a regular inclusion on the list of the World’s 50 Best Restaurants, for a stunner of a delicious tasting menu from a chef who spent time at El Celler de Can Roca and Noma (and it shows). When I go back I’m dying to try Xokol, which is tiny and beautifully designed and corn-focused and highly recommended.
DO: Walk, sight see (the cathedral! various buildings by Luis Barragan, who was from here!), shop(!). We loved Chamula Hecho a Mano for pottery and crafts by local artisans, and Albergue Transitorio for contemporary clothes, jewelry, and design objects by Mexican designers.
WEAR: An airy open-weave knit dress that you can walk around in in the heat of the day and then wear to dinner and throw in your carry-on the next morning. (This will also work in the Mediterranean next summer over a swimsuit.) Tie on a light sweater or a button-up (that you can also wear with jeans on the plane) for when the sun goes down. Slip on chic sandals you can walk in, and a fun earring that won’t stress you out to travel with, and voilà.
CARMEL-BY-THE-SEA
After Mexico I came back to Los Angeles for like, three blissful days of home and holiday parties and then left again, this time for Carmel-by-the-Sea, to celebrate the launch of Carolina Bucci’s new partnership with Fourtané jewelers. (More on that to come in a later edition.) There’s this idea called astrocartography where your birth chart is applied against the world map, and where certain lines fall dictates where you’ll be especially happy (or, I guess, more celestially supported?) and where others line up delineates places that will be more… challenging. I don’t tend to subscribe to this theory, because I want to go everywhere and don’t like the idea that some places just energetically won’t have me, but I will say that there are certain places you go and you just feel great. Carmel is one of those. It felt like it was designed in a lab to make me—and everyone else I encountered there—feel better. The whole place is like that San Junipero episode of Black Mirror. If you had told me I could move to a house on the beach (preferably that Frank Lloyd Wright one on the beach) and retire there right then I probably would have never come home. (I would have sent for Hugo, don’t worry.)
STAY: Villa Mara. A new(ish) 16 room boutique hotel located in a residential part of Carmel that’s just steps from the silky white sand and surf. The feel is very much like a very generous friend with gorgeous taste lent you their fully staffed house for the weekend. It’s ludicrously charming and beautifully decorated with impeccable service, comfortable beds, great bathrooms, and a cute breakfast/ bar and outdoor situation. The rooms are not huge but they’re well proportioned and many have little balconies or patios, and honestly you want to explore the town or hang out in the common areas anyway. It’s the kind of place you check in and text all your friends to tell them you all need to come back together, and soon. It’s also dog friendly, which is important to me and apparently to the denizens of Carmel, all of whom also seem to have dogs.
EAT: Stationaery for elevated locavore cuisine in a cozy neighborhood setting. Bicyclette for bistro style fare. The fantastic pastries at breakfast at Villa Mara in the morning, which they bring in every day from this insane bakery, Sweet Elena’s, in Sand City.
DO: Run/walk your dog on the (dog friendly!) beach, meet all the other incredibly happy dogs, silently curse all the non-dog friendly beaches you know. Take what is arguably the world’s most famous scenic drive to the Post Ranch Inn for lunch (or stay there for a few nights after Carmel, if you can), play the Big Little Lies theme when you cross that bridge. Find a book at Pilgrim’s Way, start to read it in the wind-chime covered zen garden behind the shop, partially covered by a yurt. Head over to Fourtané, and peruse their impressive vintage watch and estate jewelry collections. Pick up more wallet-friendly souvenirs at the almost too-cute Cottage of Sweets, styled like an English country cottage by way of a Nancy Meyers film, and then make your way over to Jan de Luz for linens, custom embroidered while you wait. (Come to think of it, the whole place is a Nancy Meyers film.)
WEAR: Something that befits an iconic coastal California fantasy: a flattering and timeless tawny knit with a perfect jean and satin slipper, say, or for dinner, a fun silk pant and a chic little babouche. (Same sweater. We carry-on here, babycakes, and don’t you forget it.) I love this easy little bag that looks classic as hell and, blissfully, not already done to death. And then, you know, pop on a little glitz. (Or, you know, a lot. I always like a lot.) ‘Tis the season, or whatever. ‘Tis very nearly the season.
Other things!
I spoke to Sarah Paulson about the Real Housewives of Salt Lake City, and returning to Broadway after a 10 year hiatus for Branden Jacobs-Jenkins’ Appropriate, among other hot topics. (I forced her to listen to my Meredith Marks impression for likely longer than was warranted. I am not proud of this but I also shan’t be apologizing for it!) I loved what she had to say about the way theater requires you to be present: it reminded me of everything I love about going, and miss especially about going in New York. I also went back and re-read a bunch of plays to prepare for this piece (Jacobs-Jenkins’ other works, Sam Shepard, Eugene O’Neill, and then ended up with Annie Baker’s Uncle Vanya, which is really terrific) and was reminded how much I love reading plays, full stop. Underrated activity! Highly recommend. (Read the story in the latest issue of Vogue, currently on newsstands, in which I also learned that Lauren Sanchez and I have the same shearling jacket. Good for us! It’s great! )
I hold a soft spot in my heart for Las Vegas, which I feel I have made clear here quite a few times already, and it was very endearing to see all sorts of my friends from the fashion media worlds navigate that particular fever dream this past week for the F1 brouhaha. The write up from my Vogue colleague Corey Seymour—himself a former colleague of Hunter S. Thompson, and so perhaps uniquely up to the task of capturing this particular city in all of its marvelously insane machinations— was my favorite. I, too, have seen that particular mechanical frog sing. On repeat.
I saw May/December (in theaters now, on Netflix soon) and laughed out loud a couple of times in the theater. In a good way. I think it’s terrific, strange, upsetting, and so smart about actors and predators and performance. Todd Haynes is a genius. Natalie Portman is the best I’ve seen her in a long time. And Julianne Moore is just always great, so no surprise there. See it in a theater if you can; I worry that at home it’ll be too easy to get distracted. Also, fun fact, the excellently dramatic score is apparently taken from the 1971 film adaption of The Go Between, which between this and Saltburn (which seems to owe L.P. Hartley an obvious debt but I haven’t seen it yet) is having quite a year for being referenced!
Gingerly, I recommend this piece, from Tom Scocca’s Substack Indignity, which is upsetting, urgent, important, heartbreaking, probably pointless in this gun-drunk country, all the more utterly wrenching for that fact. It’s worth your time.
I was moved by this essay by Leslie Jamison, whose friend, the novelist Rebecca Godfrey, asked her to help her finish her novel when she died. Jamison writes wonderfully about female friendship and the peculiar experience of preserving and resuscitating a departed friend through their work—a whole other level of intimacy—as well as intriguingly about the novel itself (about Peggy Guggenheim! I’ll be pre-ordering!) for the New Yorker.
I’m really excited to dive into Season 2 of the excellent High on the Hog, newly out on Netflix. The topic it covers—the contributions African Americans have made to this country’s cooking and cuisine—is more vitally important than ever. The show’s host Stephen Satterfield told the NYT something I’m still thinking about: “You don’t belong to just yourself. We’re all ancestors already whether we acknowledge it or embrace it.”
On that topic, if you’re looking for something good and easy and low-stress to watch (with or without the family) right now, I don’t blame you. Have you seen Starstruck (on Max)? Now in its third and final season, it is truly such a delight, and episodes are about 30 minutes apiece. Easily digestible! And speaking of digestion (too soon?) Julia, now in it’s second season (on Max), is the definition of a family-friendly watch for this time of year, just for the leafy brick and amber tones of Cambridge in the autumn and the south of France in the summer in season two alone. Performances are swell (Judith Light! Bebe Neuwirth! Isabella Rossellini! David Hyde Pierce, though no one will ever top Stanley Tucci’s version for me!), the settings are divine, there are little pointed cameos from era-appropriate characters like Betty Friedan and Jean-Paul Sartre. It’s all very gentle, and the lovely Sarah Lancashire has nailed the voice and physicality. And the charm. It’s so charming. Maybe a little less obvious in its charms: The Gilded Age (Max) in its second season continues to be a lovingly (and so expensively) made show in which absolutely nothing of note ever happens, but that can sort of count in its favor here. And Carrie Coon is always a treat. (FWIW, all of the above are perfect for long plane rides, too.)
I wrote a pretty silly but nonetheless clearly pivotally important guide to Holiday Party Etiquette in the city of Los Angeles in 2023 for Violet Grey. I hope you’re taking notes!
That’s all I have for you this week. Let us each prepare to retire to our tryptophan-related hazes, shall we? Before you do, though, be advised: A gift guide is coming! From me, I mean. I know you’re already drowning in them, likely up to the tips of your ears in Black Friday deals and brands caterwauling offers into your inbox and fellow substackers slinging you their shopping tips and tricks and shortlists for the holiday season. But look, not one of them thus far has been from me. So, you know, deal with it. (On that note, let me know if you are shopping for anyone in particular and want particular suggestions or tips!)
Anyway, the biggest gift would be that you are well and safe and happy and able to find a little of the peace that this world of ours is so in want of. If you have it, hold on as tight as you can. If you can share it, even better.
Thank you, as ever, for being here. It’s so nice to spend this sweet couch potato time with you. See you next time. Grateful for you.