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).