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A Letter to My Future Daughter

Hello my sweet baby girl,

You are still several years away from existing, but I am positive will exist someday. Maybe it boils down to my woman’s intuition, or to that psychic I consulted with this morning (for the first and last time, I might add. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I think that if a psychic is charging you eleven bucks a pop, she has an obligation to tell you that week’s lottery tickets numbers.)

Regardless. I may not know you yet, even though you are technically apart of me, hanging out in my uterus waiting for the right dick to come along and shove you out (I fell asleep during that one high school biology class where we talked about reproductive health), but there are a few things I know about you for sure.

First, let me say: sorry for that weird greenish tint your skin has. The doctors warned me that would happen. I didn’t believe them. Guess I owe them a Coke now. My bad!! What can you do?

Second, doubly sorry about the whole “not knowing who your biological father is” thing. One thing I can definitely say about him is his truly was a butt that wouldn’t quit. Your mama knew what she was doing, girlfriend! (Pretend I am holding my hand up for a future high five).

Third, triple super duper sorry about your name, my darling Sailor Moonshine. I lost a bet with your Aunt Caitlin once in college, and mama likes to keep her word.

You might be wondering what the point of this letter is. Listen, I’m not always going to be around. I know, I know, this goes against exactly what I’ve always told you, about having eyes on the back of my head and seeing all and knowing everything and being immortal and how I will never die, ever, even if there’s a fire, so you better clean your room now missy. Mommy was just lying to get you to do what she wanted. That was wrong of her, and she realizes this now. But yes, so, me: not actually immortal, probably going to die in some glorious way (almost definitely involving fire, ironically), and there are some wisdoms I thought I should pass down to you before that happens.

1. There is a secret menu at Chipotle. I am not even kidding you. No, sit down, keep reading—you can go check it out after you finish reading this letter. They have quesadillas. They also have quesaritos, which are burritos with a cheesy quesadilla shell. Use this knowledge well, sweetpea, and always carry antacids with you.

2. Always remember that you will die someday. Sorry, was that too heavy? I thought I’d ease into things with the Chipotle info, but I can see how this is too much too fast. Let’s put that wisdom nugget on hold and keep things light for now.

2 (for real). Flossing is just as important as brushing your teeth, you know. Don’t neglect flossing.

3. Always remember that you will die someday. I tell you this not to scare you, but to set you free. Life happens, and then it is over, and you are done. As the old ancient proverb goes, YOLO. Don’t be dumb about this. Don’t be reckless. Take care of yourself and your body (see: flossing). But more importantly: don’t live in fear. Don’t procrastinate when it comes to having experiences. You never know if you’ll get another opportunity for them. Most of my biggest regrets come from things I haven’t done. Take risks. You might make some mistakes. In fact, you almost definitely will. But that’s the beautiful thing about mortality: in a hundred years you’ll be dead, and those mistakes won’t matter. What is important is how you live, right here, right now.

I’ll end this now. I know you’re busy, sitting in your hoverbed, eating your Soylent Green, watching your holographic screen waiting to hear World President Blue Ivy Carter give her address about the Martian invasion, I want you to remember three things. (And yes, I realize this is my third list of three in this letter. It’s a rhetoric device. You would have learned about these in college if people hadn’t realized it was a giant money grubbing scam around the time you were born). First, remember you are loved, by myself and others. No matter where you are or whatever fights we might have, know that to be true. Secondly, the world sometimes changes faster than we know it. One second Adam Levine is Adam Levine, the next he’s People Magazine’s sexiest man of the year. Just roll with it. Lastly, Martians are allergic to water. I saw this in a movie once. I think it was a documentary. Yeah, it was definitely a documentary. I left a Super Soaker in my safety deposit box. That is my final gift to you.

I love you, chickpea. Good luck and Godspeed.

Love,

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Extra Virgin Olive Oil
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Experimented in College Olive Oil
Comfortable With Her Sexuality Olive Oil
Anything But That Olive Oil
Not Tonight, I Have a Headache Olive Oil
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Excerpts From The September 2014 Vogue, Presented Without Commentary

On Weddings

And since a wedding day is essentially a time when we’re all looking to the future, I have decided to dedicate the rest of my September letter to some of the things I am most looking forward to this fall.

It takes a village to make [a wedding] happen – and if the village’s residents include some of the most talented designers in the world, that’s even better.

Let us first consider the setting. Fabiola wanted the celebrations to be a “memorable, magical sort of vacation” for her intimate posse of beloved friends and family – something “flowery and cultural with both sun and sea.” Fabiola’s native Venezuela was, of course, too politically incendiary to be a possibility.

Fabiola’s initial injunction to Tisci, who created her wedding ensemble, was challenging: she asked for something “beautiful, modest, sober and yet ornate all at the same time.” The resulting dress required, by Fabiola’s account, some nine fittings and 1,600 hours of impeccable workmanship in the Givenchy haute couture ateliers.

Fans fluttered, and in the middle of the service guests instinctively waved away what seemed to be a particularly loud and persistent hornet but turned out to be a fluttering drone.[…] Sometimes, there are no words.

After the dinner, she changed into Gianni Versace’s 1991 pouf minidress in a vibrant stained glass-color print – all the better to dance to Snoop Dogg.

On Cambodian Orphans

She looked like the apsara, celestial nymphs in Buddhist mythology that dance in stone around Cambodia’s ancient temples.

Her face was bland as a Buddha’s.

On Travel

One long day and a couple of flights later, I was breathless in Aspen. It turns out the altitude is harder to deal with than in the Alps!

Once upon a fairy tale, before Vogue was even a mere sapling, America looked to France for instruction in matters of elegance much as a student looks to a teacher with wonderment and awe.

As a child, I was blissfully unaware of this social hierarchy and failed to appreciate the fact that, upon arrival, we were consistently whisked into a corner banquette on the preferred first floor (the second floor, as regulars know, is Siberia – strictly for tourists).

On Living Life To Its Fullest

When a box filled with a bounty of sumptuous silk prints and gleaming metallic arrives at my door in London, my scarf test-drive becomes official. Gulp.

Their next big project: renovating their recently acquired château.

Chances are, you’ve been mixing chia seeds into your yogurt, sprinkling goji berries on your salad, and blending acai into your smoothies.

On Inspirational Women

Although she may be the world’s most famous critic of consumerism, she understands the joy of shopping.

We’ll all come to wonder how we lived in life before boots, much in the same way we think of life before "Homeland" – or Cara Delevingne’s Instagram account.

When I return a couple of hours later, Lily is arranging a huge bunch of blooms in a giant cream-colored earthenware jug. Somehow she also manages to simultaneously pour champagne for her guests, roast two chickens, make delicious fresh salads, and entertain the group with her tales from the road.

My hands, once so perfect that I worked as a hand model after college, no longer elicit a reaction from the manicurist.

On Clothing and Designers

Later that night, the other girls and I were scrubbed up by a makeup team, and every pot of cream and gloss was Chanel. (Does it get any chicer?)

If the silken and embroidered blossoms that drifted across the garden-party dresses from Giambattista Valli’s fall 2014 haute couture collection looked familiar to me, it’s because they were – he had taken them from the impressionistic dabs in the uplifting plein air paintings of Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida, which I had recently seen in Madrid at the delightful house museum dedicated to this great Spanish Belle Époque artist.

When I pair it with ankle-length Miu Miu pants and Aquazzurra flats for sushi with a low-key maestro of the tech world, though, I wonder whether it might be a bit much.

“Nice scarf,” nods the Turner Prize-winner Jeremy Deller, himself no stranger to a rakish kerchief.

The new shape? It’s a mystery. Non-body revealing silhouettes are simply more interesting now, from a boxy tailored camel overcoat to a giant puffball of white fur, both of which sumptuously obscure your hard-earned gym physique.

Anna Fitzpatrick's words have appeared in Worn Fashion Journal, Hazlitt, Rookie Mag, The National Post, and way too many grody bar bathrooms across Toronto. She is definitely not a figment of Haley's imagination.