not cerulean

Overflow of ocean tones if there ever was one. Neither cerulean nor lapis, just some miscellaneous royal shade thrown in there to dispel the obvious Meryl reference. I'll pretend I didn't just say that. I'm still sorting out the kinks in my head caused by a very fast-paced three-day mainstay in New York, but long story short, the city treated me well as it does everyone during a week when apparently even streakers feel unadulterated fashion pride. Thankfully, I was habituating indoors half the time, and Lincoln Center was far from a stone's throw away during that whole charade. Luck strikes. 

(f21 shirt and shorts)

Aside from the fervent need to publicize cotton shorts that could very well moonlight as velveteen legs, I thought that documenting my obvious cling to navy would be a decent way to jumpstart a rehabilitation process. It's about time. Meanwhile, I'll work on stockpiling the left-over photo-proof of my concrete jungle cavortings. I just need to delete the mass number of food shots. This isn't instagram, after all (notice the Sedaris influence).