I’m writing this episode on the train from DC to NYC. Man, I love train rides. They’re so romantic, dramatic even. Gazing out the window and watching the world pass by while some dipshit screams her flowchart explanation.
SCENT MEMORY
After a bad day I went to look at a bag I could have bought, but maybe couldn’t have afforded. I stared at myself in the mirror and could only see the bad. The cheapness of my sweater, the size of my belly, my tired Joan Didion tote. I kindly let the sales clerk know I wasn’t interested. He was so gentle with me from the start, like he could tell I wasn’t comfortable. On the way out he asked me if I had ever smelled their fragrances, to which I replied I hadn’t.
When I smelled the third scent he showed me, a series of rapid-fire events took place. First, a door my mind had sealed shut a long time ago shook open. Then my nervous system spiked, and my internal security alarm wailed. Finally, my eyes started to flood. I was stunned, and ran from the store in an emotional hurricane. Gasping for a deep whiff of this perfume, every inhale would summon a faint memory. I was crying on a park bench when my heart finally let my mind in on what was in the vault.
This scent smells like a single mom- like my single mom. I once read that in our brains, memory and smell share a wall. And this smell was a wrecking ball. I have no clue what the notes are, but I can tell you exactly what it smells like.
When I was a kid, things were dark and intense. Emotionally stormy; within a short period of time there was a divorce, a fire, and a man who broke into our apartment (he was still there when we got home). I was very anxious, and this caused me severe separation anxiety without my mom. When she would go out for the night, I would panic. I would be fine for an hour or so, and then as night fell I would sob until my body gave out and I fell asleep. I would take the afghan on the top of our couch and gently lay it across me the exact way she folded it. I would then obsessively count the stairs on our steps, on repeat until I tricked myself into a trance that would let me sleep. I would only sleep on the couch so I could stare at the door, so I would know the minute she got home. These are my first memories of going to bed broken-hearted, finding a survival tactic.
I would beg her to stay home. She wouldn't. She needed to find us a man to save us from her loneliness. This was before the gay stuff and the drug stuff. Before we were both broken adults. When she was cracking and I was still made of glue. Before I really knew what it was like to need a man to make you feel enough. The best sound was when I would hear her keys. She loved keychains, tokens from other people from all the places she had never been.
She would come over and kneel on the floor with her jacket still on and wrap her arms around me. She always gave me the grace of not acknowledging my dried tears, by saying “I missed you so much.” It was always that perfect kind of hug that is a minute too long. Her long, beautiful hair would fall over my face and I would breathe in the scent soundtrack of her night. As she curled up beside me on the couch, she would tell me how the night had unfolded until I fell asleep.
My mom’s hair in 1993 is exactly what Celine’s Nightclubbing perfume smells like: cigarette smoke. A leather jacket. Whiskey and ginger ale. Cheap gardenia perfume and a touch of hairspray… definitely some pot. A metallic note hums the bass line. This note is the electric force field of love my mom used to protect me.
I bought this fragrance in Paris with my partner Mikey. We split it because we both loved it so much. It’s really expensive, I think it's the most expensive perfume I own. Honestly, it doesn't last very long and barely has a scent trail. Even when I picked up a sweater I doused it in, just a hint of it was left; just like a memory, I guess. When I look back at the years to follow with my mom, that was the height of our intimacy.
NAILS
Tropic Low By Essie. Described as a swampy grass green.
READING
They Both Die at the End. So far so good, I'm just a few pages in. It’s an odd concept about a corporation that tells you when you are going to die. It's a YA story of two little gaybies who spend their last day together.
WATCHING
The Whale, Knock at the Cabin, Women Talking
I loved Knock at the Cabin. Its so fun to watch gays be tortured like a normal family in a horror movie, not just socially! Also, the gays aren’t very like able which made it more interesting.
The Whale: this movie was fucking hard to watch and super intense, but worth it. Just like everything else Daren Aronofsky does (Requiem for a Dream, Pi, The Wrestler), you can definitely tell it was a play and I love that! If you like movies that were a play, check out Dogville with the actress from the AMC Theater commercials.
I also watched Women Talking. This was based on a novel, but focused on one conversation with a group of sexually assaulted Mennonite women. Very slow burn, but amazing acting and dialogue. I didn't know this while watching, but it's based on a true story.
“Sometimes I think people laugh as hard as they want to cry.”- Women Talking
DRINKING
Takamine Japanese Whiskey: She’s pricey, but she is perfect. Shout out to my mother in law for buying me the most beautiful whiskey glass I’ve ever seen.
FEELING
I saw a Tiktok of my goddess Chloe Sevigny this week, where she was asked what the worst advice she was ever given and her reply was: “Not to kiss every Tom, Dick and Harry.” That's the energy, sis.
DOING
The last few days for Hopper at the Whitney. I was the Lakeview High School Art President for two years running. My art teacher was one of my favorite people in the world. He was this eccentric man with the ONLY temper, but he found me amusing and knew I needed a place to hide from the assholes in my school. He loved art history, and would go on these tangents about artists. All the other kids would tune him out, but I was so into it. I will always remember his Hopper tangent. Long story short: Hopper allegedly beat his wife, but his wife beat him back. Then he would just walk around NYC and be a creeper and draw what he saw in people's windows and paint it later. It sounded so dramatic at 14, I was FUCKING SOLD.
I like this painting of this lady’s ass. I feel like she is going on a date because she needs a man to scratch her itch!
EATING
Casino NYC. We went to Casino to celebrate my best friend's birthday! So fucking stylish. It was like we stepped into a disco mafia portal to Times Square circa The Deuce in 1972. Obviously there were a lot of Dimes Square dipshits, BUT the service was everything. Our waiter was so fucking weird and funny. You will most likely be greeted by the host with most, a chinatown legend, Quentin Belt. (*Trigger warning: he is so hot and charming. He looks like he walked out of the CK One ads of the 90’s.) If Quentin and the whole space look familiar, it's because they both used to be part of Mission Chinese. The food was so good! Clams Casino, clam pasta, and their version of monkey bread. Also, there is a secret bar in the basement they let the cool kids rage in. This place gets a full on ten, hunny.
DREAMING OF
Harris Reed for Nina Ricci.
Still, Pedro Pascal's actual asshole.
THANKFUL
I'm so thankful Pamela Anderson is getting her flowers! I love her Arcady newsletter. She has a beautiful way of telling a story.
I had dinner with a very dear old friend. A woman my mom’s age, who I have always had a cosmic connection to. Towards the end of the meal we talked about parent/ child dynamics as she updated me where she is with her child. I did something I'm not known for, and asked her for some advice. I asked her what to do if I find myself resenting and judging the choices my parents are making. She told me very clearly: to love them, but put space between you and that decision you are judging. She said “you are going to want to fill that space with resentment, but fill it with gratitude and love. They are probably doing what they think is best for their survival. Parents are just trying to do their best to survive.” This made me think of my favorite QUEEN, JOAN DIDION: “We tell ourselves stories to survive… We look for the sermon in the suicide, for the social or moral lesson in the murder of five. We interpret what we see, select the most workable of the multiple choices.”
HEARING
I can NOT stop playing the two new Everything But the Girl singles. I’ve loved them for as long as I can remember. When I was in 5th grade I played Missing everyday for a year. If you aren’t familiar start here
Shout out to the beautiful Erin Chaney for the amazing edit.
xxxox,
SHAIN
Electric, dramatic, and heartfelt… basically perfect.
Keep sharing! I loved the raw and authentic energy. Xoxo