July always feels extra nostalgic for me. Memories of the long days of summer from my childhood sometimes seem to be the most vivid. The scent of sunscreen and a slight tint of green in my hair from afternoons submerged in chlorine, the beauty of sun-ripened strawberries and homemade pies, and sprinklers in the yard and the taste of water from the tightly coiled green garden hose. I can play horseback gallops and diving board moments in my head on a loop as though watching family video tapes with an old VCR. Memories that flicker, at times, so clearly that I feel as though I could reach out and touch them.

I love a movie night. A girls night, slumber party, game night… I love any excuse to host, really. But I especially love a cozy movie night-in. They are without a doubt, some of my absolute favorites. The kind of nights that make you think ‘I really needed that!’ Chock-full of moments that feed one's soul and ignite a sense of nourishment that no meal alone could ever supply. Nights such as these are rich and divine simply because they are built upon the foundation of beautiful friendships, a lifetime of memories and movies that tug on your heart strings. Unique and exquisite elements that cannot be easily fabricated or manufactured as they are made up of life’s moments lived. They come from nostalgia and warm fuzzy feelings and a sense of childhood that is only a little forgotten. And they are the type of forever memories that I am forever craving and curating. 

Once upon a time, cheese plates were my hosting bread and butter. These aesthetic little snack spreads were my absolute forte, the only realistic way to host in my 380 square foot studio apartment with a microscopic kitchen and tiny breakfast nook. I would put together the tiniest guest list and dressed as if to go out for the night, we would gather round my café table, nibbling on cheeses and assorted goodies balancing drinks and plates precariously on limited surface space. These mini dinner parties are so deeply embedded in my heart and soul, a hint of curated escape born out of heavy desperation and an undeniable craving for something nice and pretty when it felt as though everything was falling apart around me.

I have forever been in love with the classic romance novels, with their tales of wooing and letter writing, dreamy picnics by the sea and petite bouquets of wildflowers gathered on strolls through the countryside, it is as if my dream life is being lived out by these characters. As I have settled more and more into my unconventional adult life, I see how much these fictional moments inspire me. How they have shaped my creativity and my life and how deeply I crave designing imaginative worlds for myself and my guests. It has all woven itself into a space meant for romanticizing seasons and experiences through nostalgia and tales of bygone eras. With summertime creeping in, the desire to build a feminine picnic with classic french faire and bottles of crisp white wine shifted from a faraway fictional daydream to an absolute compulsion. I needed an afternoon of sundresses under the shade of a lemon tree, Parisian inspired sandwiches, a bit of cheese, stone fruit and a salad that would transport me to the South of France.

The French custom of le Apéro is one to be admired – A little moment meant for living… A potential slice of relaxation and connection and a treat that is easily skipped over here in America. I have long been a fan of the practice but I am ashamed to say that I indulge in the tradition far less than I would like. Ultimately, it is an experience that we allow ourselves the pleasure of while on vacation, we become enamored with the simple charm of it all, yet forget to add into our daily lives when reality sets back in. When the work day is done, it is easy to simply fall into the to-dos of the evening, tidying, dinner, night time routine… The moment for one's self is skipped over. Lost in the tasks and procedures. But what if one or two nights a week, instead of jumping into the mindless formula of our day-to-day, we meet a friend for a sweet vermouth or spritz on the way home? Perhaps we host a mini gathering at home before dinnertime? What if we took the time to breathe and unwind…to simply connect.

It is this time of year again. The time when I start to crave riviera vibes, consciously curating a mental transition to a world of airy sundresses, perfectly worn in leather sandals and golden hour treats. I fell madly in love with summer my first July in Southern France. The Mediterranean  transformed the meaning of the season for me. There, summer feels more magical, full of warm late night strolls and dripping gelato and salty sun kissed skin. It is an intoxicating way of life and one that I am constantly reminding myself to emulate.

Lately I describe my life as being perpetually jet lagged. It has become part of my personality in a way. I never seem to know what day it is or what time zone I am in and most nights I wake up not knowing what bed I am in (and not in the way that you are thinking). I love my job and cherish all of the adventures that I am able to embark upon. I know how truly fortunate I am. On the flip side, however, always being on the go, hopping from one hotel to the next and eating every meal out can take a bit of a toll mentally and physically. When at home, I love my routine. I rely on it. Slow mornings with a cup of tea and curling up with the kitties, podcasts and favorite old films to keep me company and a simple bud vase sporting a couple of blooms next to the sink to make doing the dishes feels a little more cheerful. I love creating a little beautiful bubble for myself in my petite space. And when traveling as much as I do, that sense of personal normalcy and comfort is deeply missed. So I have set out to bring a bit of that Le Supper Club influence to my travels. A way to feel a bit more grounded, bringing a bit of creativity and curation to my life… a bit of home away from home. 

In Los Angeles, the shift in seasons is very subtle. With seemingly forever good weather, I always long for a true spring and autumn, a time when promises and possibilities seem most prevalent. In Los Angeles, our springtime is shown with the notorious moodiness of ‘May gray’ and ‘June gloom’. A time when mornings are overcast due to the change in temperature against the ocean creating a marine layer that makes LA, for a moment, seem as though it could be somewhere else. The few trees that had dropped their leaves a few months prior now bear the classic spring green buds and the unforgettable scent of jasmine dances through the air. I have learned to read the subtleties. The Santa Ana winds, the shift in light, the way the heat builds and lingers, the brief use of my little apartment radiator… But today, as I write this article, it is 97º F, record breaking heat for Los Angeles this time of year, and I am melting in my Silver Lake apartment because I refuse to get my air conditioning units out of storage and set them into the window just quite yet. I am holding on to the idea of spring just a bit longer, telling myself that this is a fluke heat wave and that AC is not necessary until at least the end of June. I may just have to give into the heat of the city earlier this year however.