At this time of year I miss drinking the most. The holiday season doesn’t feel quite like itself, quite sparkly enough or special enough, and I am reaching for some artificial way to to crank up the whole music box carousel of December in New York. This is the season of artifice, and that’s the magic of it. There’s nothing natural on offer; the light makes the PC-computer shut-down noise at 4pm and falls out of the sky, and the cold strips color and ease from the outdoors. So we make our own light, and color, and miracles. It is a season of desperate artifice, of invention, a season for try-hards, for asks, for risking it all. We buy trees that someone else cut down somewhere far away; we string up inconvenient, childlike lights in our homes; we drag pine-smelling shedding greenery up our staircases and into our living rooms. We crowd into bars and parties and restaurants and smile too much and laugh too loudly. We light up the darkness, warm over-stuffed windows making constellations in the cold.
Perfume Diary: Holiday Party Mystery Punch (HF)
Perfume Diary: Holiday Party Mystery Punch…
Perfume Diary: Holiday Party Mystery Punch (HF)
At this time of year I miss drinking the most. The holiday season doesn’t feel quite like itself, quite sparkly enough or special enough, and I am reaching for some artificial way to to crank up the whole music box carousel of December in New York. This is the season of artifice, and that’s the magic of it. There’s nothing natural on offer; the light makes the PC-computer shut-down noise at 4pm and falls out of the sky, and the cold strips color and ease from the outdoors. So we make our own light, and color, and miracles. It is a season of desperate artifice, of invention, a season for try-hards, for asks, for risking it all. We buy trees that someone else cut down somewhere far away; we string up inconvenient, childlike lights in our homes; we drag pine-smelling shedding greenery up our staircases and into our living rooms. We crowd into bars and parties and restaurants and smile too much and laugh too loudly. We light up the darkness, warm over-stuffed windows making constellations in the cold.