Take the Aperol Spritz

Franny

Mid-day sun pierces Franny's eyes. Blithely, she positions her hand above her head, reminiscent of a Victorian lady prior to a fainting spell. What beckons her glance? A bird? No. A flock of birds? A ship? No. A Dries Van Noten-swathed lady holding two Aperol spritzes approaching Franny. The hour strikes 18 30. Aperitivo seems more than appropriate. Franny coyly takes the Aperol spritz.

Tomorrow she will be adorned in her traditional daytime armor: an ideally balanced homme-femme blouse, bright tailored high-waisted trousers, a gold pseudo-tie necklace lingering sensually at her nape. Franny's red, nearly pursed lips suggest self-imposed alienation, albeit inciting endless invitations. She will accept a few. Politely decline the masses. Friday evening arrives. Franny dons a new-age garden-inspired kimono. She glides from drinks at Rum Club to a show on the West Side as seamlessly as her kimono. White slacks command simplicity and sophistication. Will she accompany the slew of twenty somethings to the next bar du moment for Sazeracs? Franny couldn't be bothered to decide. She ponders a flight to Oslo or Vienna.

Image graciously borrowed from Daria Werbowy's campaign for the Celine collection. 

An Introduction

Josephine

Edith Piaf's "Non, Je ne Regret Rien" billows from a third floor lavender-lined window. Casually traipsed against a Provincial blue door, hair disheveled, hand lax, Ernest Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises" nearly falls to the ground. Slate hued lingerie evokes a bodice in the 1930s. As she grows bored with the day, nighttime tempts.

Surrounded by provincial stones and artifacts, face framed by sleek hair and dark sunglasses, she’s keenly aware of the gaze she summons. Josephine embodies the modern woman, conscious of decades past, yet with a stare sternly fixated on the unknown. She steps in to a 1937 Aston Martin, vanishing with barely an embrace goodbye.

Photo collaged by Arielle Adkin on The False Unicorn.