Not kidding.

This and that . . . delicate lace dresses, studded rock & roll shoes, white roses from the downtown flower market, reading in bed, and yummy organic groceries (Trader Joe’s: you are my spirit animal… after Martha Stewart). Since being back in LA, with all its delicious local produce and inventive restaurants (*ahem* trucks), I’ve turned into such a little foodie (a curious development after living in Paris for so long and never really falling too hard for french cuisine). I was even inclined to buy truffle oil, something I don’t typically use, but let’s just say it makes cream sauces, asparagus risotto, and roasted rosemary potatoes more delicious than Ryan Gosling. Gahh, this post was supposed to be about pretty clothes and here I am comparing truffle oil to handsome Canadians. Maybe the next post should be food/recipe related? x’s and o’s.

White and gold-toned inspiration. More on this pinterest board.

Images and scenes filling my inspiration tank recently: buckets of paintbrushes, black tulle, autumn capes, and country breakfasts.

Do you have a special place you go to when you’re not feeling your sparkliest?

Lovebirds at the Sunday bird market in Paris, pink champagne truffles, summer novels, and snapshots of my favorite new magazine, “peut-etre,” filled to the brim with dreams, romance and whimsy. You can read the entire magazine online here. 

One day we ventured by boat from Positano the island of Capri, a truly exquisite place (although we opted to bypass the tourist-infested center swelled with designer shops and their “see and be seen” crowds). Instead, we hiked north though quiet, flowered paths up into the cliffs, stopping more than once at local cafes showered in pink bougainvillea blooms, to cool down with a few lemon granitas and mandarin gelatos. Soon after, we stumbled upon hidden coves that quite literally made my jaw drop . . . 

I’ve always dreamed about visiting the Amalfi Coast, a fantasy resulting at least partially from seeing one too many Sophia Loren films and postcard renditions of lemon tree sprinkled mountains plummeting into a sea so sparkly it looks like blue champagne. We stayed in a town called Conca dei Marini, at this incredible seafront villa tucked into a cove overlooking a turquoise-water shore dotted with candy-colored sailboats and red beach parasols. Perfectly sun-baked mornings devoted to reading, bronzing, and the art of being ridiculously lazy and leisurely, afternoons spent adventuring on coastline drives to explore nearby towns, and finally, evenings back at home to prepare sinfully delicious al fresco dinners made from divine local produce . . . la dolce vita.