I remember thinking I failed because I left New York for Los Angeles

What I'm wearing in New York, an ode to Joe Brainard, and a Baltimore lament.

Jul 08, 2024

Hello to almost 600 of you. It’s wonderful that you’re here.

My sweet friend Tessa made the new Jelly Sandwich logo and it’s perfect. We sat at Cassetta in May and played around with oil pastels. It looks exactly how I feel when I write this letter for you.

I’m sitting by a window in Clinton Hill watching a thunderstorm outside, eating pistachio ice cream out of the carton, and trying to book last minute tickets to ABT’s Swan Lake for closing weekend, but to no avail. Thankfully Alisha who runs The Weird Real has an extra ticket to their Romeo and Juliet next Friday. We made a reservation at Cafe Luxembourg beforehand.

I wore Chanel on my first full day in the city with a big white tee shirt and Prada kitten heels from the very best Chickee’s Vintage. I love wearing this skirt with a ratty tee shirt. I’m trying, but not too hard.

The next day I went into the city and felt truly awful. Walking around I questioned what I think I’m doing here, as if I need to be justified in visiting a place I once lived. It was totally absurd. I told Carter I was homesick. I found myself feeling old walking around downtown, self conscious with every step, worried I’d run into someone from a past life. What if I ran into someone I knew and what would they think about me now, years later? I wore what I believe is a 1/1 Sc103 top that I bought at their last popup in May (I wrote about it here) and some Pleats Please pants with Relaxe slippers from Carmen Amsterdam (where I’ll be later this month!) I’ve been wearing these flip flops non-stop; they’re so flattering and make me less conscious about how large my feet are (I’m a size 10.5).

That night I watched Postcards from the Edge starring Meryl Streep and Shirley MacLaine. An LA movie in New York— perfect for homesickness.

On Wednesday I felt less dreadful because I wore Prada, so I watched a New York movie that night: Frankie and Johnny.

Not pictured: Tabi ballerinas. Miles walked: 6.

I don’t want to bore you with the in-betweens: Union Square Green Market on Wednesday, Eel Bar that night, strawberry rhubarb pie, my annual hot dog on the fourth of July, scones at Prima, Abraço, Time Again (everyone is hanging out here), more blisters from flip flops.

On the Friday following the 4th, I walked around downtown with ease because I knew most people I’d be afraid to run into were out of town. I wondered what about this trip made me more anxious than others. I knew that my feelings of insecurity stemmed from myself, no one had made me feel anything. My shrink always tells me that no one can make me feel anything. At this point, my shin splits from walking around in flip flops and jelly sandals all week forced me into Asics. I love this tee shirt by Payton Barronian with Tekla boxers peeping out from underneath my Issey Miyake Pleats Please cardigan that I tied around my waist.

Only 2.7 miles walked in sensible footwear.

I loved the bathroom at Outline in Brooklyn, this blueberry toast from IXV on Pacific, Lauren Manoogian at La Garçonne, and a Nantucket lightship basket on display at Jacqueline Sullivan Gallery in Tribeca.

I can’t lie- I’ve felt a lot of pressure writing this letter; the last dispatch from New York has the most reads out of all my letters. It was a guide of sorts, chronicling what I did for my short week in the city. I don’t want to give that to you again. I can tell you where I’ve been, it’s not that groundbreaking or even interesting. I’m more interested in telling you how I feel.

I feel guilty for leaving New York during Covid. My departure was abrupt, but I don’t think I could have done it another way. Even though I’ve fully left New York, some people assume I still live here, which I am more than fine with. I’m one of a few million people that consider New York home. I moved here when I was 18 from Baltimore, where I spent the first 18 years of my life.

I always wanted to be cool as a kid. Though through my many attempts, it’s not something I ever achieved in Baltimore. I was born into Lacrosse Country, immediately set up for failure. In 7th grade I burned my forehead with my flat iron on purpose (Prozac clearly had stopped working), I was without many friends and wanted to feel something besides isolation from my classmates. All I wanted to do was be an actor.

I don’t go back home to Baltimore, my parents moved to the south shore of Boston while I was in college. I didn’t grow up there, it’s just a place I go to see my family for holidays. It’s not my home. I spent none of my formative years there. I haven’t gone back to Baltimore since they left in 2016, and I think of it often. I don’t keep in touch with many people from there, though as I was writing this letter I ran into a girl in Brooklyn that I went to elementary school with. I hadn’t seen her in over 20 years, yet we still recognized each other. I had run into someone from home, from a completely separate life, in a place I had made my own.

I remember never being able to tell a good lie. I remember laughing telling the truth, which makes it seem to whoever is questioning me, that I am lying. I remember being afraid. I remember being angry for the first time. I remember the way it felt to do something terrible. I remember that sometimes it felt like I could live a different life than my own, and that I wanted to. I remember starving myself. I remember feeling loved for the first time in my life. I remember not being a writer. I remember being too honest and getting me into trouble. I remember being a writer. I remember hating Los Angeles. I remember swearing I’d never live there. I remember moving to Los Angeles. I remember when I first drove on Highland Avenue. I remember regretting moving to Los Angeles because my boyfriend was in New York. I remember feeling like I was missing out. I remember wanting to be cool. I remember thinking I was cool. I remember buying clothes that I thought were cool. I remember being cool. I remember thinking I was in love with him, but really I was in love with being cool.

I remember thinking I failed because I left New York for Los Angeles.

More next week from Nantucket. Until then! xo