poetry's last frontier

Pretty much everyone knows my love of an Anthropologie catalogue. I'd like to live in one. Or maybe just be the in-house writer for it. And while it's exciting (detrimental to my grad-school budget) that Anthropologie is moving into Edinburgh,  it appears that there is actually a bit of a British equivalent. (Not surprisingly, I have Sophie to thank for the tip.)


Lovely States readers, do you know of Toast? Like Anthro, it's pricey and makes you want to bite your knuckles, but buy it anyhow. Personally, I feel like I  might not survive winter without with is mustard colored sweater:

I  guess I haven't gotten that mustard sweater obsession out of my system, despite already owning two. This one just looks so especially cozy. As I flipped through the catalogue while at Bamff earlier this week, so many things in it did seem so Sophie. This dress, we thought, was the intersection between Sophie-style and Ryann-style.

One of the things Sophie loves about Toast (and that I love about the Anthro catalogue in particular-- because seriously, I think I like the catalogue better than the actual clothes) is the, like, poetry in it. Is this the last frontier for the poetic? Selling cozy clothes? 


I suppose if the massive machine of the fashion industry wants the ambience and has the dough, I say mazel tov to any writer pulling  a paycheck. It's all up my alley. Toast Travels is sort of like their answer to The Anthropologist. But I dig the photo blog. And the cool features. Like this literary essay about Stories in Song by Rob Young. 


Cozy up this lazy Sunday with Toast. I'm heading back to my short story, "Stitches." If you've ever seen my jacked up ring finger that I still can't lay flat on a table, that's what the story is about. On deck for this week: Dunvegan, finally going to talk about Redford, I'll have an update from our NYC concert, and more.