Living in New York, for me, means trading out a lot of things. Big, open skies for bustling streets. Comfortable proximity to nature for uncomfortable closeness to unnatural things (my downstairs neighbor.) Hiking through a lush, temperate forest for carefully avoiding that pile of puke in Times Square (or Flatiron, or the Meatpacking District, or the LES, or Herald Square.)
I love New York--there is so much to love. But lately I've come to miss some of the things I traded to live here, and top of the list is, though a simple idea, one I hadn't stopped to think of for quite a while: beauty.
Of course, beauty can be found in everything, including this city. Coming up the NJ Turnpike, in that little incline before you descend into the Holland Tunnel, the skyline is a magnificent sight. The Statue of Liberty as seen from the F train on a clear day. Even, sometimes, just happening upon a quiet street in the Village and trying on a pair of red satin slingbacks that remind you of the ones you used to play dress-up in as a child.
But for the everyday kind of life--passing the grizzly old dudes hacking up a lung at the OTB on the corner, the seemingly-normal woman slip out her false teeth on the subway and take a mouth-open nap, watching a bum relieve himself in the corner--all of these things make Martha Stewart necessary. I just quietly open up my copy of Living and turn to the arrangements of creamy roses in vintage vases on a rustic farmhouse table dressed in crisp white linen with scalloped edges. Ah.
87 Stars. Say what you will about Ice-Queen Martha, she is good at what she does. I have attempted to make tons of the things in her magazine with varying degrees of failure, but you know what? I never stop trying.
Also, one day compare your regular run-of-the-mill wedding magazine with Martha Stewart Weddings and you tell me if you see any midriff-exposing, torso cut-out's, rhinestone bridal gowns.