The List: 36 Things I Find Impossibly Chic
The List: 36 Things I Find Impossibly Chic
Frivolous, substantive, useful or not... all of it, beautiful.
Today’s send is in partnership with Vestiaire Collective, one of my long-held secrets for sourcing great vintage and secondhand online. They employ over 60 experts to agonize over stitches and serial codes, so you can rest assured what you’re buying is authentic.
You can find some incredible deals—it’s like an online truffle hunt. And you can haggle if you want a lower price! If you choose to sell instead, there are no seller’s fees, meaning you pocket 100% of your listing price (minus a 3% processing fee), which you get to set at your rate, not one pre-determined by the platform.
A tip: first, I search for what I’m looking for, then I scroll down and tick the “United States” box under “Shipped From” to avoid VAT and overseas shipping.
And yes, of course, we have a code for you. JESSXVC will get you 20% off your order, up to $75 through September 30.
Brat summer is over; we’re already tired of “mindful” and “demure.” But occasionally, a TikTok trend isn’t annoying, sarcastic, or negative. How refreshing! Enter: “Things I find impossibly chic,” a canon of overwhelmingly positive lists of endorsements from women worldwide. Excuse me while I throw my hat in with the youths.
Old Céline. With the accent. In the heyday of Phoebe Philo’s best work. Yes, still. Forever and always. I’m one of those people.
Guilty pleasure TV. I’m talking about Emily in Paris (season 4, with wardrobe sourced via Vestiaire Collective, natch), Love Island (USA, season 6), and Real Housewives (SLC, ATL). Indulgent!
Neighborhood restaurants. I'm not fond of trendy restaurant culture. The reservation Olympics in New York are nuts, ruined by Resy bots and TikTok flocks. Intimate spaces with great food, reliable service, and a staff that greets me as a regular win my dollar every time.
Matchbook collections. Too obvious? Mine’s been going for 15 years. I’ll never stop!! On that note…
Homes with tiny glints of niche culture. Yes, your enormous Barbara Kruger is very impressive. But I’m even more impressed when I clock stacks of old Paris Reviews, wonky inherited vinyl, ashtrays swiped from European hotels, French market baskets, Fitzcarraldo Editions, a grandparent’s copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, a dogeared art history textbook on the Dutch Masters, or decades of auction catalogs.
Diet Coke. Unabashedly enjoyed. In a glass, extra-cold over pellet ice, with a lime wedge. Crispy. I’ll even take it in a gimmicky cocktail.
Pictured: my vintage Franck Muller. Saying “No” and Doing Less. Doing the most is exhausting — both for you and the people around you, who are surely tired of your Instagram Stories. Say “yes” to only the things that give you a full-body thrill. Leave them wanting more! Don’t be the person who will show up to the opening of an envelope. Buck your fear of FOMO!
Having a small circle. Social climbing is a bummer practice — where are you even going, anyway? Where does the climb end? If it even exists, the top will be lonely. Energy is finite; we only have so much time for friendships. The chicest people I know don’t spend their days building a Rolodex; they keep a tight circle of trusted friends.
Tote signaling. You can’t buy her farmer’s market tote because she got it eight years ago as a freebie from a pop-up in Sag Harbor.
Growing things. Veggies, a little garden, even some herbs on your back porch. I love people who see the beauty in nurturing something small.
A bracingly cold gin martini. Shaken, very dry, with a twist. Bonus points for a sidecar.
Vintage watches. Cartier tanks with teeny tiny faces and delicate straps. Weirdo numbers from the likes of Franck Muller. Old ADP. That silly YSL heart watch. Even better when stacked with a bracelet or two.
A delightfully cluttered vanity. This is probably the influence of my Gra’ma Freda, whose pink bedroom had a marble-topped dresser. It was piled with jewelry boxes stuffed with gold, twenty bottles of perfume, a giant ornate mirror, and loads of silver trays—a decadent pleasure to take in.
Fine jewelry. Not the trendy costume stuff I see all over Instagram. I’m talking about the heirloom-quality stuff! Hefty gold, glinty diamonds, little red boxes, Mikimoto! I love a woman wearing years’ worth of collecting. To me, it’s one of the chicest privileges of age.
Loosies. One bad-girl cig, very late at night, once in a blue moon. Maybe with a Ginori or Murano glass ashtray.
The absolute knockout that was Bally’s F/W ‘24 presentation in Milan. Dog people. There is nothing like the love of my two dogs: one we sought out and planned and one who was a total happenstance rescue. They make me laugh daily, their affection is bar none, and the levity they bring to our house makes it a joy to be home. If you have a dog, you know. Fun fact: it’s one of the few ways to get a Parisian to smile at you. Bonus: their little bellies are perfect.
Talking about what you’ve done. Me? Filler, Botox, Ozempic, every laser under the sun. Probably a facelift down the road. It isn’t gauche to be a girl’s girl. You don’t have to post about it on Instagram but don’t lie to your friends. We all know it isn’t olive oil, J.Lo. And if you’re worried someone will judge you, then they’re the one who needs the work — on the inside.
The holy trinity. Khaite/Toteme/The Row. Still.
Simplicity and brevity. What’s your point? Now, use fewer words to get there. Doing more with less is difficult. Restraint is the most impossibly chic.
Sobriety. The ultimate exercise in restraint. While I am not sober, I think people who display this level of discipline can only be described as chic.
Playlists as time capsules. Music to mark a memory, moment, party, or person is second only to smell for snapping you back in time.
A handwritten note. On beautiful stationery. With a killer pen. Bonus points for a monogram.
Looking to exciting new runways for cool, older cues. Hello, vintage Bally.
De-centering men. Love is wonderful! But be capable and learn how to support yourself. Nobody is coming to save you. Statistically, if you are with the same man forever, you are an anomaly, not the rule. Don’t panic if partnership shows up for you later in life. Poking a hole in the condom is not an acceptable life plan. When you choose yourself, love comes to sit comfortably beside you. Hell is a place called Ballerina Farm.
Collected sterling silver flatware. Mismatched antiques, picked from piles at markets and thrift shops. On pressed linen napkins.
The Row? Oh, no — Hermes! Fall 1998, the Martin Margiela era. Margiela-era Hermes. If you have ever wondered where The Row gets their ideas, begin with the immediate simplicity of Hermes’ pulled-back run with Martin Margiela. The Belgian designer steered the French house from 1997 until 2003. Archival pieces are coveted among fashion hounds. The handbags are so special, if you can find them. But I’m partial to the outerwear.
Barenaked nails. I can’t sit still for that long, twice a month, to get my nails shellacked. Well-cared-for, beautiful natural nails, maybe with a clear coat swipe, are chic.
A huge white couch. Deep, plush, yummy, imperfect, begging to be sunk into. I have had one in every home since I was 25, at the center of every living room.
Farmer’s markets. The visceral pleasure of a farmer’s market is not to be understated. The smells, the colors, the bustle, the style! Connecting with the people who grow your food is powerful stuff.
Analog newspapers. I have the New York Times delivered every Sunday; the only other person in my building who does that is my 92-year-old landlord, Stanley.
Entertaining as a practice. The more you do it, the better you are at it. Opening your home to others strips you of your preciousness, humbles you to the pleasure of serving others, and deepens your relationships with the people you care for.
Japanese office supplies. The French Pharmacy of pencils and paper is combing the internet for beautifully minimal Japanese fine-tip pens and gridded notepads. Or you can go to Muji.
I managed to unearth this 90’s Alaïa gem on Vestiaire. A recklessly abundant display of seafood. A three-tiered oyster tray filled with ice and several dozen raw on the half-shell is just rich, baby.
Vintage exotic skins. Sorry, PETA. That ostrich Hermes is just too good. The fact that Nancy Gonzalez is in jail? It's the ultimate, very, very bad girl bag.
Institutional New York/Palm Beach Drugstores and Grocers. Zitomer, C.O. Bigelow, Zabar’s, Green’s, Balducci’s, Fedco, Butterfield Market, even the Publix with the valet… please never change.
90s Alaïa. In the 1990s, Azzedine Alaïa partially retired from the fashion industry after his sister's death. He continued to work with a small private clientele and on his acclaimed and highly collectible ready-to-wear lines. He presented his collections intimately back then, in his space in Paris' Marais neighborhood, combining his creative workshop, boutique, and showroom. He’s like a totally. important. designer.
Just in case anyone is under the wrong impression, my newsletter is not a Democracy. It is my universe, which I founded, where I am God. And I will smite your comment if you annoy me.
This list brought me so much joy.