As my coworkers can (and will) attest, my ankles—especially the back side of them along my Achilles tendon—take on an orange hue around this time each year. And, last year, our managing editor even stopped me in the hallway to alert me that “a seam” had appeared down the back of my calf. These things happen because I’m obsessed with self-tanning, but I’m not very patient. (Or so I thought.) So, last week, before I left for a bathing suit-filled weekend, I decided to leave the pigment enhancing to the pros.
I got on the books at Bella Sante’s Newbury Street locale for their signature Body Bronzing Treatment, which I’ve heard sun-kissed looking spa goers rave about since I moved to Boston. The base service goes for $90, but a $55 follow-up is recommended within three days. Totally worth it for Gisele-toned skin, right? (more…)
Until last week, we hadn’t set foot in Victoria’s Secret for quite some time. The whole “lack-of-restraint” concept embarrasses us (or, rather, makes us embarrassed for the brand’s creative people). Why do they persist in believing that females want to buy underwear in a pink boudoir-inspired store? Why do they think that females want to wear sweatpants that scream “PINK” across the rear? And why do they assume that females want to announce their slightly trashy purchases to the world at large via those pink-striped bags?
So, truth be told, we weren’t expecting much from the store’s makeup line. But we were intrigued when we found out that VS’ lead makeup artist, Linda Hay, was also Heidi Klum’s personal makeup artist. And then, when we met her, Linda blew us away: So smart! So down-to-earth! Such great jewelry! (and Ray Ban aviators!) Someone with flawless accessory taste, we reasoned, couldn’t possibly promote cheesy products.
Now that it’s spring, Bostonians with chutzpah are remembering the bikes they’d left rotting in garages and basements. That coupled with the imminent environmental crisis makes this a perfect time to share a few riding pointers to ensure that you have a safe and pleasant trip. Here are my quals: I’ve been bicycle commuting for about 15 years in Boston and in Philly, daily distances ranging from 5 miles to 22 miles roundtrip, from 22 degrees to 102 degrees.
Never one to turn down a fashion show, Bostonista took a quick jaunt down the Mass. Pike last week for a Stil charity luncheon, emceed by our own Alyssa Giacobbe at the ever-glamorous Natick Collection. After parking our wheels in the massive “Diamond” garage — and immediately forgetting which P-level we were on (give us a break, we’re city girls!) — we ventured inside to find a mass of impeccably dressed guests packed into Stil’s cozy suburban digs. Eager to eat Finale cake and see the latest Ports 1961 collection (among others), we left the store and took our seats in a sunny area just a few steps away.
From neon-bright frocks to ruffled bathing suits to hippie-chic maxi-dresses, the runway show was an impressive display. But perhaps the biggest surprise of the afternoon came after the cake and the show, when Bostonista took a trip to Stil’s stylish and positively palatial neighbor: the Natick Collection first floor ladies’ room. (more…)
After sartorially struggling with a month of ambiguous weather, we’re relieved to finally ditch our (questionable) in-between-season ensembles.
However, the arrival of legitimately sunny 60+ degree days presents new challenges. As we were only recently convinced that spring might actually show up, we’ve completely failed to switch out our closet. Now, each morning requires 10 minutes of sifting through merino turtlenecks in the hopes of finding something brightly colored and cotton.
Similar problem with purses: In our attempts to swap the brown leather for something more fun, we repeatedly forget rather crucial items (our favorite lip balm! hair ties! and, uh, our wallet).
Tomorrow morning I will jump on a plane and head to Palm Springs, where I’ll meet Fashion Week Mom (FWM), my little sister, and four of my closest friends for a weekend of sunning, snacking, socializing, and shimmying at Coachella, which, in my humble opinion is the best outdoor music festival ever.
Yes, I will sip Diet Coke by the pool in the mornings before heading to the blue- skied grounds. Yes, I will rock out to Prince on Saturday. Yes, he will electrify against a backdrop of beautiful palm trees and wondrous hipsters. Yes, I’m excited to the point of bragging. But I’m also a little nervous. (more…)
Our unrelentingquestforselfimprovement took a hair raising turn this week when, after two years of trusty service, our ionic Vidal Sassoon short circuited mid-dry Monday morning. A mangled updo ensued, followed by many “late night?” comments at the office. Bostonista is all for tresses au naturale, but this half-winter, half-spring weather is playing havoc on our half-curly, half-straight hair. A quick lunchtime trip to Sephora was in order.
Turns out, the mega beauty emporium only stocks a couple of blowdryers, none for under $130. (Our aforementioned tool cost a mere $15.99.) As frequent beauty masochists, we’d read all about the pros of owning a “salon quality” dryer— faster job, fewer split ends, sleeker finish—though a poll oflocalpros revealed it’s all marketing hype. Nevertheless, after a lengthy consultation with a black-clad, well-coiffed Sephorite, we found ourselves handing over the Amex for a $200 T3 Bespoke Featherweight.
The trend in extravagant, truly silly purchases—coupled with our already established pet obsession—continues this week, as I make myself at home in my new apartment. My first big buy—not a flat screen TV, or a Wii, or even a pimped out coffeemaker—was a super deluxe, $200 self-cleaning litter box system, which I brought home from PetSmart before the first box was even unpacked.
This is not the first time I’ve fallen for a stupid pet accessory. Some work (Joanie really does hydrate more out of the bubbling fountain); others don’t (Panic Mouse). And while I don’t necessarily mind litter box maintenance —actually seeing the fruits of the cat’s gastrointestinal labor satisfies something very Italian in me—I reasoned that since my bathroom got an upgrade, Joanie’s should, too. (more…)
It’s been a rough week, but now that our taxes are finally filed, it’s time to spend that refund on a little relaxing, renewing, and rejuvenating! Take advantage of Spa Week from now until Sunday. For only $50, beauties on a budget can experience one of many ultra-luxurious treatments that normally cost more than a Ben Franklin.
Participating spas in town include Bella Sante, Daryl Christopher, Emerge, G Spa, G2O, MELT, Spa Bella, Spa Newbury, and many more. Even suburban spots get in on the deal, including 1 on 1 Self Indulgence in Concord, Ardan MedSpa + Salon in Wellesley, Pamper Me Skin Care in Wakefield, and others. Check out the full list here.
While most places are offering massages, facials, and body polishes, there are also some more unique treatments available. (more…)
Until Tuesday, I was fairly ignorant of the particular hazards of dry cleaning. Until Tuesday, I vaguely understood that the chemicals used in the process were not awesome, so I would be sure to tear off the plastic bag right away and let my clothes air out after picking them up. (I would also sort of try to hold my breath every time I stopped by the cleaners.)
But then Tuesday came. And what began as an extremely simple work-related query to the people in charge of a local dry-cleaning chain exploded into a hostage situation in which I was stuck on the phone for roughly 17.5 hours. But! I did come away with some (kind of) interesting information regarding dry cleaning solvents and practices.
Here, the very abridged version of What I Semi-Consensually Learned About Perchloroethylene. (more…)
As my coworkers can (and will) attest, my ankles—especially the back side of them along my Achilles tendon—take on an orange hue around this time each year. And, last year, our managing editor even stopped me in the hallway to alert me that “a seam” had appeared down the back of my calf. These things happen because I’m obsessed with self-tanning, but I’m not very patient. (Or so I thought.) So, last week, before I left for a bathing suit-filled weekend, I decided to leave the pigment enhancing to the pros.
Until last week, we hadn’t set foot in Victoria’s Secret for quite some time. The whole “lack-of-restraint” concept embarrasses us (or, rather, makes us embarrassed for the brand’s creative people). Why do they persist in believing that females want to buy underwear in a pink boudoir-inspired store? Why do they think that females want to wear sweatpants that scream “PINK” across the rear? And why do they assume that females want to announce their slightly trashy purchases to the world at large via those pink-striped bags?
Now that it’s spring, Bostonians with chutzpah are remembering the bikes they’d left rotting in garages and basements. That coupled with the imminent environmental crisis makes this a perfect time to share a few riding pointers to ensure that you have a safe and pleasant trip. Here are my quals: I’ve been bicycle commuting for about 15 years in Boston and in Philly, daily distances ranging from 5 miles to 22 miles roundtrip, from 22 degrees to 102 degrees.
Never one to turn down a fashion show, Bostonista took a quick jaunt down the Mass. Pike last week for a Stil charity luncheon, emceed by our own Alyssa Giacobbe at the ever-glamorous Natick Collection. After parking our wheels in the massive “Diamond” garage — and immediately forgetting which P-level we were on (give us a break, we’re city girls!) — we ventured inside to find a mass of impeccably dressed guests packed into Stil’s cozy suburban digs. Eager to eat Finale cake and see the latest Ports 1961 collection (among others), we left the store and took our seats in a sunny area just a few steps away.
After sartorially struggling with a month of ambiguous weather, we’re relieved to finally ditch our (questionable) in-between-season ensembles.
Tomorrow morning I will jump on a plane and head to Palm Springs, where I’ll meet 
Our 
The trend in extravagant, 
It’s been a rough week, but now that our taxes are finally filed, it’s time to spend that refund on a little relaxing, renewing, and rejuvenating! Take advantage of 
Until Tuesday, I was fairly ignorant of the particular hazards of dry cleaning. Until Tuesday, I vaguely understood that the chemicals used in the process were not awesome, so I would be sure to tear off the plastic bag right away and let my clothes air out after picking them up. (I would also sort of try to hold my breath every time I stopped by the cleaners.)