Exhaling Life

I spent yesterday afternoon at the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art. Newly opened last month after years of anticipation, it was a visit I approached with some hesitation. My disappointment with LACMA's David Geffen Galleries earlier this year had yet to settle. I felt as though I had wandered into a fabulous space where art and artifacts had been arranged without much intention, without stories to tell, rather like an art fair with booths. I carried that impression with me as I prepared to visit the Lucas Museum. After the Prom by Norman Rockwell I knew I would be mesmerized by its architecture. What surprised me was the storytelling within. I hadn't expected Norman Rockwell's gallery to captivate me quite as much as it did. There was something profoundly beautiful about the smallness of life he portrayed, the ordinary moments of family, childhood, and everyday rituals elevated into something worthy of our attention. Rockwell's America was often idealized, certainly, bu...

When Coco Chanel introduced her little black dress in 1926, she did more than offer women another wardrobe option. She helped transform a color long associated with mourning and solemnity into a symbol of modern elegance, independence, and sophistication. American Vogue famously compared the deceptively simple design to Ford's Model T, recognizing its potential to become a universal fashion essential. Nearly a century later, the little black dress remains indispensable, although Chanel deserves credit not only for perfecting the little black dress, but for recognizing that its greatest luxury was its simplicity. Women in Tub by Wayne Thiebaud Black's relationship with fashion, however, stretches much further back than Chanel's timeless silhouette. During the Renaissance, achieving a rich, consistent black required expensive dyes and considerable craftsmanship, making the color a conspicuous declaration of wealth and privilege. European monarchs and aristocrats adopted black...

It was more than two decades ago, when Victoria’s Secret was hot. A simpler time, when humanity’s fight for survival against artificial intelligence was a movie plot and not something we debate in real life. Dancer Resting by Edgar Degas at Norton Simon, Pasadena, California I was waiting in line at Victoria’s Secret, minding my own business, when I noticed a group of young girls picking through lacy thongs. Not that I am a prude, but it bothered me. It is difficult for me to imagine lacy thongs being appropriate for young girls. They are performative underwear, designed for sexual allure, or at the very least sexual confidence. No child should need to feel sexually desirable. Where were their parents? How were they paying for them? Who was doing their laundry? They could not have been more than fifteen years old. One of them was pushing a stroller while cooing at a baby. I instinctively thought how adorable. An older sister taking care of her baby sibling. Then I heard something...

One of my recent obsessions has been a pot of perfectly cooked rice, an obsession I had to put on hold once Los Angeles began suffering through extreme heat. While I love my rice cooker, there is something undeniably foodgasmic about rice made in a thick clay or stone pot . Add pork, mushrooms, bean sprouts, mu (Korean radish), shiso, or whatever vegetables you desire, and you have the perfect one-pot meal. Many rice pots welcome gochujang or sesame oil at the table. This one does not need either. Served with ssamjang and lettuce This Shiso Pork Belly Rice is one of my recent favorites. Pork belly does more than give the dish meat. As its fat renders at the bottom of the pot, that richness works its way into the rice above it. Shiso plays a different role here than it would scattered fresh over a finished dish. Cooked with the rice, its assertive herbal character softens and perfumes the grains rather than announcing itself from the first bite. Napa cabbage brings a little sweetness...

My first real memory of fashion begins with boots. I was still in elementary school, before my family immigrated to the United States, when my mom had a winter suit custom-made for me: dark red, two pieces, a blazer paired with a pleated mini skirt. Then came the styling decision that mattered most to me, a pair of red knee-high boots. For a little girl, the look was rather fashion-forward, and I adored it. I wore those boots practically everywhere, long after the suit had ceased to be the point. I have insisted on boots ever since, with a fairly consistent personal rule: the longer, the better. at Donum Estate, Sonoma, California There was, as it turns out, some fashion logic behind my childhood obsession. Boots have always carried more weight than most shoes, literally and symbolically. Born from utility, riding, military dress, and protection, they became increasingly expressive as women’s fashion changed, particularly in the 1960s, when rising hemlines gave tall boots new authority...

It has been difficult to watch as the alleged Cornell University gang rape saga unfolds. I am not minimizing what allegedly happened. As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse and domestic violence as an adult, I do not take what allegedly happened lightly. What happened to Jane Doe, I know she will never be able to escape—physically, mentally, or emotionally. I know her thoughts must take her to the darkest and cruelest moments, moments that at times must feel as though they will never end. I have learned to accept those moments myself, the shame and rage turning so rapidly that eventually they become numbness, until something triggers them again. I have also learned that the numbness is when it becomes dangerous, when the conflict that keeps us “feeling” is subdued and settles into an acceptance: I am damaged. Forever. So I know it is difficult—nearly impossible for some of us, and for legitimate reasons—to leave our emotions out of what allegedly happened beginning on October 19, 202...