Wednesday, March 3, 2013: Rachel Zoe and Me.

Dear Babies,

What I’m about to write is going to make me sound like an idiot (You: So don’t do it, Mom, stop! Quit while you’re somewhat ahead!), but since making myself look stupid is my specialty, here it goes: Rachel Zoe and I have so much in common.

I was up late last night watching her show, The Rachel Zoe Project, on Bravo on demand, because I haven’t seen a news show or read a paper or anything remotely intelligent that would loop me in to the happenings of this crazy world, so given the choice of doing that, sleeping, or reading, I chose d.) Let me seek out a show–it’s not even like it was on the television in front of me–about a grown woman who abrevs everything and pontificates on bangs. “I would never let you have weird bangs,” promised her cohort in a dramatic moment. There may be a war going on in the Koreas, but I would never let you have weird bangs? Tear.

Okay so I was half watching, half flipping through catalogs that land in my lap from the mail. The amount of gardening catalogs we receive is starting to become alarming. Like that good-looking, successful guy from your office who’s still single because he hasn’t met the right girl yet my ass, everyone knows he’s gay, my secret must be out: I am a senior citizen. Can I start shoplifting and breaking wind in public yet? This one retailer called Gradinrod sells a mushroom table with two toadstools.  How perfect for the magic garden in the backyard I will one day create for me I mean you. Major, right? Or, because I’m so much like Rachel (first name basis), should I say maje…

Was Rachel dog-earing garden decorations in a direct mailer targeted to seniors on the show? No.

And when it comes to our current styles, boho glam vs. thrown-up-on dishwasher, lightyears apart couldn’t do the distance between us justice.

Yet, in one episode her husband Roger bought her the most beautiful square black and gold clutch while in Paris. I’ve been asking your father to pick me up a square green recycling bin from the Solid Waste Management Authority here on West Shore Road. It’s big and can contain the ten thousand gardening catalogs I have to recycle. It’s gorge.

Her vintage collection is absolutely jaw dropping. If vintage means my socks have holes in them and my underwear is so old it’s small causing me to question on a daily basis is my butt getting big or is my underwear getting small (my underwear is getting small, no brainer), then yes I have a sick vintage collection. And I do mean sick. To die. Die. (You: Mom, please go buy new socks and underwear. Me: When given the choice between using our family money on a buying myself new socks and underwear or a beaded clutch from Anthropologie with parrots on them the beaded parrot clutch will win out very time. See? Me and Rachel, eye to eye….)

What made me really see the connection was this: Throughout the season (the four shows I watched) you see her struggling to balance family and work. She travels a lot and she says she’s sad when she’s not with her husband and her son. Her clothing line is good, but, but, there’s a but. It’s not quite there yet. She has to figure out who she’s dressing. She has to figure out her brand. She has to figure out her next steps…

Rachel Zoe has to a lot to figure out, and on the show, above it all, you see her trying.


With my torn socks and tiny underwear (right?), I hear her.




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