Inspirational Icon Monday: Ingrid Bergman

Not only was Igrid Bergman a Hitchcock heroine, but she also was one of many women to fall victim to breast cancer. Her roles in some of Halloween's thrillers as well as her real life role as an important reminder that we still need a cure for breast cancer, Bergman makes the perfect icon.

Winner of three Academy Awards, Bergman starred in such classics as Casablanca (I actually bought a plane ticket to Casablanca while in Paris because I loved this movie so much...I don't recommend going as a single woman alone), For Whom the Bells Toll, Murder on the Orient Express, and Hitchcock's Spellbound, Notorious and Under Capricorn. Her soft beauty, intelligence (besides English she spoke Swedish, German, Italian and French), and captivating vulnerability radiated on screen. Although she struggled in love with three failed marriages, she was a devoted mother and known for being a kind soul on set.

Director of Murder on the Orient Express, Sidney Lumet, said of Bergman, "She was sweetly stubborn." This stubborness must have helped her continue acting while dying from breast cancer. She continued to live and do what she loved and although the cancer spread rapidly, she was said to have rarely complained.

Bergman died from this all too common of a disease at age 67, but women of all ages and family history can be prone to its destruction. I should know. I was diagnosed with breast cancer at age 26. I've had three surgeries, two years of chemotherapy, radiation and Herceptin treatments, and five years of Tomaxifen pills. No one in my family has ever had breast cancer. If it could happen to the beautiful starlet Ingrid Bergman and it could happen to a young woman like myself, then it could happen to anyone. This disease took the life of Bergman, but fairly early detection saved my life. To all you lovely ladies out there: while you're watching your Hitchcock/ Bergman marathon, make sure you give yourself a self examination to celebrate Breast Cancer Awareness Month!

My version of Ingrid Bergman's look above--sweet and lady like. Velvet black top; H&M plaid circle skirt; black and gold vintage belt; black and gold vintage box purse.

My Bar Conversation

After a roller coaster week, I went out for a much needed drink on Friday night with my friend Sarah. Living in Hollywood I am lucky that I can just walk to a nearby bar when my car is in the shop for a costly mission of getting all new brakes. The Velvet Margarita hosted our desire to celebrate Sarah's new job and my thankfulness that I have a job. After a tasty dinner of salmon quesadillas topped off with strawberry margaritas and whatever beer Sarah was drinking, we continued to talk about all that was going on in our lives. Normal conversation to me, but not to the guy eavesdropping. "That's the deepest conversation I've ever heard in Hollywood," this man who claimed to be a doctor told us. I wasn't really sure how to respond, so I just politely smiled and listened to his long spiel about how our conversation and my amazing hat persuaded him to strut over and attempt to ask me out.

I didn't and don't have any intention of embarking on a date with him, but his astonishment with my conversation did cause me to contemplate the lack of connection found by many in Los Angeles. Everyone always blames cars--the need to have one and the always being in one. I think it might be more though. To have a connection with someone, both people must be truly present. In a city that is predominately focused on the entertainment industry (an industry I see as overly anxiety filled), complete presence is a challenge. Physical presence is rampid--celebrities, industry professionals, and wannabe stars are all out and about looking their best in hopes of being seen and grabbing any chance they have to network. Personal connections with people that will have your back, listen to the trials going on in your life and celebrate your accomplishments without feeling secretly envious is not as common.

The L.A. mind so often seems to be sporadic in its focus. When will I make it? Will I work again? How am I going to become successful or work my way up to success? Is there anyone to hit on or that will hit on me to make me feel better about this stage in my life? Looking around the bar, I saw all these thoughts constantly flickering through the various bar patrons minds. Eyes darting with fear and then maybe a quick smile to cover up their burden of fear.

Observing those around me have never been my strong suit. When I go out with a friend, I tend to really want to hang out with just them and I end up forming this little bubble blocking out all that is happening outside of it. I'm not out looking for a man to date for a few weeks or for temporary attention. After this doctor left the bar along with his observation of me to ponder, I took a quick look around at all the ulterior motives for being out at a bar that had nothing to do with a friendship connection. People were out with other people, but no one was really looking at each other. They were concerned with everything but that person they were with. My scan of the bar had me knowing that I liked my bubble, and love that after ten years of living off and on in L.A., I have friends that are willing to join me inside.

Famous Latinos. So hilarious.

Sarah and I

1970's Saks Fifth Avenue vintage hat; gray 100% silk long-sleeved Yellow Is Gold blouse from Urban Outfitters; vintage rust colored crushed velvet clutch; J Brand skinny jeans; brown heels with gold embellishment.

This beautiful brown felt hat with a dark peach ribbon and rhinestone brooch was bought from Saks Fifth Avenue in the 1970's and generously given to me a few weeks ago. I'm pretty much in-love with it...and the compliments are constant.

The gorgeous and oh so elegant vintage rust colored crushed velvet purse I purchased at the flea market a couple of weeks ago. It goes perfectly with my hat!

A Fahrenheit 451 Conviction

Reading and getting lost in the storylines of fictional characters has always been a favorite past time of mine. I was young when I learned to read and once it clicked I never stopped. Dick and Jane books (I still have 2 that I never returned to my Kindergarden library) came and went along with the Little House on the Prairie series, The Boxcar Children and the Nancy Drew mysteries. In 9th grade, books began changing my perspective as opposed to merely entertaining my psyche. The first of these was J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye. I deeply related to Holden Caulfield's isolation. His overwhelming struggle with the "phonies" and their pretentions made me strive for consistent sincerity in my own life. Similar to how I once connected and was challenged by Salinger, I recently found myself relating and being convicted by Ray Bradbury's socially aware 1953 novel Fahrenheit 451.

Guy Montag, Bradbury's protagonist, is a firefighter in the future--a very different job than the heroes of now a days who risk their lives to put out all of our unwanted flames. In this book, Bradbury's firefighters have one task and that is to burn the homes of anyone who dares to read a book. Reading is outlawed. It has been several generations since reading was deemed acceptable, and when it was it only seemed to bring discontentment. Everyone was unhappy with at least one book out there, and this problem was solved by taking away books and the individual thought that ascends from reading. The chief fireman, an older member of society, recalls:

"A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. Burn it. Take the shot from the weapon. Breach man's mind. who knows who might be the target of the well-read man? Me? I won't stomach them for a minute...You must understand that our civilization is so vast that we can't have our minorities upset and stirred. Ask yourself, what do we want in this country, above all? People want to be happy, isn't that right? Haven't you heard it all your life? I want to be happy, people say. Well, aren't they? Don't we keep them moving, don't we give them fun? That's all we live for, isn't it? For pleasure, for titillation? And you must admit our culture provides plenty of these. Colored people don't like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don't feel good about Uncle Tom's Cabin. Burn it. Someone's written a book on tobacco and cancer in the lungs? The cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book. Serenity, Montag. Peace, Montag. Burn all, burn everything. Fire is bright and fire is clean (18)."

This explanation of how the shallow world that Montag lives in--a world where television is only to entertain and lacks any depth, literature is rejected, and conversations are kept to the surface because contemplation and intellectuality is both discouraged and punishable--caused me to ponder over our own society and how it has shamefully influenced my own mind. Is our current society all that different from this future society that Montag inhabits? The majority of present TV is "reality" based where brawls, gossip, and backstabbing are flung into our faces with one press of the remote control. Rarely is anyone chatting about last night's National Geographic special at the water cooler or a biography that they caught about Robert Kennedy. Conversations are instead geared toward discussing last night's episode of The Real Housewives, Jersey Shore, or The Bachelor. The consistently shocking lives of reality stars have not only diminished our desire to view programs that are educational or at least not damaging to the subconscious, but they also have cancelled out our energy and time for literature. The only books in recent years that the general teen population have even been inclined to read are the Twilight series and those are written by a woman who constantly misuses vocabulary. Canonized literature by wonderfully insightful authors who have profound ways of seeing the world and hold an ability to change or at the very least challenge perspectives are being tossed by the wayside. When I'm out and men come up to me in hopes of a date, I often ask them if they read. The most common response? "Does Maxim count?"

Perhaps my thoughts sound like the rantings of an English major, but Ray Bradbury's prophetic novel has genuinely convicted the laziness I have fallen into since graduating a year and a half ago. It has become all too easy to come home from work and flip on the TV to whatever reality show is on and believe that it isn't affecting my mind. I've realized that not only has it numbed and jaded my heart to the crassness and selfishness it promotes, but it has also robbed my evenings of possible intellectual highs or laughter that is not directed toward another's tragic drama. I'm not becoming a more compassionate person. discovering something about myself, or gaining wisdom by watching contrived reality shows. My time and life need not be wasted any longer. Instead, I've made a conscious choice (I have to daily remind myself) to fill my time with intellectual progress. Evenings of understanding foreign subjects, opposing perspectives, and differing values will make me an interesting woman who will only discover clarity in my own voice.

Bradbury argues that by rejecting the writings of any author leads to the rejection of literature in itself and the loss of individuality. As a people, we were meant to be in community, share our thoughts, the wisdom we've gathered, and the complexities of our hearts. Montag is finally able to do this when he is welcomed by a group of train hopping ex-professors as long as he can share a memorized book with the group. A book that spoke to him. One that he thinks has the ability to enlighten. One that he doesn't even realize is memorized but that is lodged deep within. He brings the Book of Ecclesiastes from The Bible. I don't plan on memorizing any novels in their entirety, but I do plan on reading more now that I have been shamed and convicted by Mr.Bradbury. I want to expose myself to as many books as I possibly can so that I will continue to have something to add to a conversation. After all, I'm a vintage girl that has no desire to be in a future world devoid of one of mine and the world's oldest forms of entertainment and leisure.

Vintage Tip Tuesday XII

My favorite holiday has always been Halloween. During elementary school, I would race home on October 1st to begin decorating the one-bedroom apartment my Mom and I shared. It was a harder challenge to transform our apartment into the spooky living quarters this holiday called for than it was the mid-1800's house with the peeling paint and crooked porch we had lived in prior. I did my best though, and my Mom was knocked over with orange, green and black when she returned home after a long day at her secretarial job. Every door would get a hand drawn picture of a jack-o-lantern or cat, ghosts made out of muslin would hang from the tree out front, and bats made out of construction paper would dangle from the diningroom chandelier. The one rule my Mom had was that there couldn't be any pictures or crafts of witches because they actually existed unlike the other fictional characters presented during Halloween. She wanted Halloween in our place to be a celebration of the harvest and not of darkness.

Celebrating the harvest is always better with friends and/or family. My tip is to send out invitations NOW for a get together at your home. It could be a party with hot apple cider, bobbing for apples, pumpkin carving, costume contests, and lots and lots of candy...or it could be as simple as a night of Hitchcock films and pumpkin pie. Regardless of the scale, a homemade invitation makes for an old fashioned touch. You can do your own search for vintage Halloween images or you can use some of the 1940's Halloween glamor girls I have posted below, and print as many copies as people you're inviting. Cut the image out, glue it to card stock that can easily be found at Michael's Craft Store, write out the party info and send it off. The time you put into making invitations will most seemingly show off the thought you will be putting into your party, and the result will be more guests and more merry!

Inspirational Icon Monday: Mia Farrow

With October here, I will be highlighting those fashionable scream queens of the past. Starting off the month is the lovely Mia Farrow who made pregnancy with Satan's spawn in Rosemary's Baby look oh so stylish. She was married to the dashing and charming Frank Sinatra for less than two years and romantically partnered with the socially awkward Woody Allen for 12 years. I always found it unfair that she went from a ladies man like Sinatra to a nervous wreck like Allen and was ultimately betrayed by the man she thought would offer her loyalty. Woody Allen left her for Farrow's daughter Soon-Yi which he married in '97. She could have fallen apart after her lover and daughter's union, but instead she chose to spend her life advocating for the causes of children in Africa. Her name as an actress and even her title as UNICEF goodwill ambassador does not compete with her devotion to the role of motherhood (she has had 14 children in all--4 biological and 10 adopted.) Fans of Mia Farrow also love her in the mother role--the mother of a demonic baby.

As Rosemary in Roman Polanski's 1968 horror flick Rosemary's Baby Farrow was not only showcasing a series of sweet girlish tent dresses, but she also set off a flurry of women that had to have the pixie haircut Farrow had done during the movie. This cut is still considered one of the most sought after of all time. Although I love her hair and the fashion in this film, I will only watch it up to a point--right before she looks into the cradle to discover her baby is the spawn of Satan. All things satanic make me absolutely uncomfortable and squeemish, so the chanel must be changed if I'm watching it on TV during a Halloween weekend marathon. For some reason I'm always hoping that Rosemary gets the sweet baby she deserves, but as the film inches closer and closer to the conclusion that I'm hoping against, off it goes. I can't sleep when demonic faces are plaguing my dreams. I would much rather dream of the Rosemaryesque maternity wear that I will someday sport when I'm having a baby that better look nothing like Rosemary's and act nothing like Soon-Yi.

I've called this gray and white striped tent dress my Rosemary's Baby dress since I bought it 5+ years ago at a thrift store. I plan on dressing just like Rosemary when I get pregnant someday...hopefully sans Satan's baby because I want a cute and sweet one.