love

The Waves and Days that Take Us Places

Most people see the world only in the physical, but it requires supernatural faith and real presence for wonderful experiences to happen.
The days that make us aware are like waves or roller coasters. Like fireworks or kisses. We are the lucky ones to feel the joy Someone must have had while creating the beauty our eyes can’t get enough of now. Wow.

Every day is the day.

Aldous Huxley’s The Island happens to be in my hands at the time of this mental note being taken. Whereas the book is about this ideal, secret place on earth called Pala, it could also be about the place each of us has on earth and the life each of us creates in it.

Or about the head each of us has on our shoulders.

Just as ideal. This does not mean perfect. It means the best we can do in everything. It means our better versions of ourselves. You might want to roll your eyes, but your eyes don’t want to. Because they know. They can see the beauty of it all and they don’t want you to just think there could be it, they want you to live it. It only depends on you for you to see things as they are. Beautiful.

To continuously take pictures with your eyes. They furthermore take you to memories, laughter, heart.

When I was a child and went on summer holidays with my family, my dad, brother and I would go straight into the big, splashing waves. My mom would stay on the beach and watch us before coming in herself. The laughter we used to have in the foamy waters was so genuine that I can still hear it in my mind. Aloud. Cheerful. Loving. Fun. I was the little one, so obviously the one thrown straight into the waves. I would come back and hold on tight to them on and on again. Just like a monkey would. And then they would jump with me attached to them over the waves or underneath them. Sometimes when I fell off, I could barely touch the sand, but it felt so safe.

Maybe that’s why my today’s love for waves. Days.

Surfboard.

And fun.

Love.

At other times they would be talking and I would watch, listen and hold their hands and they would lift me up onto the wave, talking forwards. I would still have so much fun on my own or with the waves and them just being there with me.

As we grow up, we start to live on our own as grown-ups (or something) and transform the life of today in memories. Today’s waves. Our lives and the people around us. Today is a memory already. The second that passed is one already. Today could be a mental note we could remember of many years from now one late summer. You could be a beautiful part of someone’s note. Story. Life.

We live our lives as it’s forever sometimes.

Other times, we look back and, without even realising, smile when remembering. Being constantly aware of everything is not always the way though. Just on the contrary. Occasionally, loosing it for a bit makes us live more than when thinking about it. We loose it and then it hits us. An idea, a moment in time, love. Naturally. Just feeling and not at all thinking.

But then you think at night, with your eyes closed, your head on the pillow.

And you smile.

We live most of our lives inside of our heads so let’s make sure it’s a nice place to be.

So I was reading, laying and all on the beach – absorbing – when an elderly gentleman just walked by. He seemed to be rushing and just for a fraction of a second I thought someone rushing like that on a – it seems like stranded in the whole universe – beach? 

Back into the book.

A couple of seconds later, though, somewhere not so far away, the gentleman rushed into the waves. Naked. I couldn’t help but smile and enjoy his joy from a distance. It was just him, the sea, the waves, the sky.

The little things…

A few minutes later, the gentleman walked back. Rushing again. Smiling. Happy.

We have been given the stars, the sun, the moon and the fun all at once, man.

Fridaze From The Heart #4

Today I’m saying let’s not wait for the evening to come to feel it’s Friday. It’s Friyaaaay (!!) and no matter what we do in day to day life or what our job is or how much we enjoy the rest of the week’s days, Friday is a day we all share joy at the same time. Even if not always jumping and dancing all day long or making aerial tricks at home, but always having at least the teeny tinniest party somewhere in our souls.

Come on!

This is how synergy is created on Fridays and synergy is the best! Synergy is the creation of a whole that is greater than the simple sum of its parts. The term “synergy” comes from the Attic Greek word “synergia” from “synergos”, meaning “working together”.

Synergy would happen if we would all watch at the same time the videos from the latest “The tonight show with Jimmy Fallon” with Michelle Obama as Jimmy’s guest.

I bet we all now smile at the sight of these two people who – yes! – know television, but soul, humour, candour, honesty are things that get through screens or pictures.

We smile when we see souls. Or a smile. A heartfelt laugh. Heart! Sneezing is contagious but we all know how a smile is. A genuine one. It connects hearts.

This is what the First Lady has been doing. Spreading smiles all over the world, making the world fall in love with her. Just as Obama did. How not to?

And her being in love with him. Ooh-la-la!

A high position, maybe the highest in the world, does not only mean power the way we’re most used to. It, moreover, means the power of example. Which we all know, we just choose not to grant too much importance to, for one reason or another. It might be the lack of trust. In oneself, in the first place. The most important of the trusts, in fact.

Once we fill our hearts with the good – we wish for us and our closest ones and then, little by little, the whole world – it is very possible that the world becomes eventually a better place. A world of seven billion hearts. Imagine the synergy!

Let’s, therefore, look at first into our own souls and be grateful.

Do everything we have to do as best as we can and never forget to have fun.

Because it’s Friday and because we only have one life!

My suggestion for you on this day (and weekend)? As much Jimmy as possible!

Fall Fling

I am doing this one more time, mom!

Dressing up like “This is it!“, this is the last chance to wear summer in autumn and, then, I am switching to fall, sticking to it even. Only summer is so hard to let go. No? The thing is you never know when is the last sunny day when you can actually (more…)

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This

Because I’m on vacation. And because love. Everyday. If only vacation would be everyday and making out in cars would be like cheek (not chick) kissing.

ozinparis-kissincars

How beautiful are these two? Very. It’s all in the fire. To be read “smiles“. To be read “love“. And when it’s love one doesn’t need any trick to look somewhat. Or let’s say that that somewhat looks a trillion (gillion, catrillion) times better and a pop up comes out and spells “awesome“.

And we want awesome!

Rule: a simple, flowery, strappy summer dress, happy hair don’t care, a pair of boots (perfect outfit for late summer days, btw, ok add a loose fit jeans jacket), a hand in his hair and you’re done. No, not done.

Kiss. Now you’re done and ready to rrrrrumble. Through the day.

PS: he is not bad either. He’s in fashion! It’s the love. And the t-shirt. And the hands. Or the smiles?

ozinparis-smile

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Powerful

Writing, deleting, writing again, deleting again and this is what actually stays. This, this. You go forward a step, then you go backwards one. Not you. Myself. Maybe yourself, too. You like it, then you don’t, then you like it again. Back and forth is only good in one use. (more…)

In case you are a sucker for love. Say you’re not and you’re a liar.

Tom Ford and Richard Buckley Forever

By out.com editors

tomford richard buckley love oz

Tom Ford was a shy 25-year-old when he met magazine editor Richard Buckley. It took him the length of an elevator ride to decide he wanted to marry him.

This story was originally published in the Feb. 2011 LOVE ISSUE of Out

Tom Ford, Designer:
You can look at someone and feel like you’ve known him forever. The first night I ever had drinks with Richard I felt I knew everything about him. He has the wildest eyes — like an Alaskan husky. They’re not blue, they’re not gray, they’re a color you’ve never seen before — they approach silver. They give away absolutely nothing, yet they are completely mesmerizing. We first encountered each other at a fashion show in New York in 1986. He was 38 at the time and the fashion editor of Women’s Wear Daily. He was confident and handsome in a way that made him almost unapproachable. His stare was so intense that it completely unnerved me, and when the show was over I literally bolted out the door and down the street to avoid him. Ten days later, my employer, Cathy Hardwick, sent me to the office of Women’s Wear Daily to retrieve some clothes. I was directed to the roof where they were being photographed, and as the elevator opened, there was the man with the eyes the color of water. He rushed over and introduced himself as Richard Buckley and told me that the clothes were actually downstairs and offered to take me down to what was then called ‘the fashion closet.’ He was adorable, and he was a complete fool. He was sort of dancing around, flashing his eyes at me, and trying so hard to be charming. I decided in that elevator ride that I was going to marry him. I’m very pragmatic, and I was, like, OK, there’s some kind of connection here. He ticked every box, and — boom — by the time we got to the floor, I was like, OK, sold. He seemed so together. He was so handsome, he was so connected, he was so grown-up, so he was very intimidating. And he really chased me — not that he had to chase that hard. It excited me but it also scared me, because I knew he was different and that whatever it was I felt with him was very different from what I’d felt before.

We did our Christmas shopping together one Saturday, and we spent almost every night together after our first few dates. It was probably a few days before we were saying things like, ‘I think I’m in love with you.’ Now, we say it to each other every night before we go to sleep, and we say it at the end of every telephone conversation, and we write it at the end of every e-mail. Every time you think, I love you, I really believe you have to say it. If you think about holding their hand or kissing them, you do it. I do it all the time.

We both went home for Christmas, and when we came back, he gave me the key to his apartment and asked if I’d move in, and I did. We’d known each other barely a month. He’d lived with someone for three or four years, but it wasn’t really a serious relationship, and he was very consciously looking for that. He had come to that stage of his life at age 38, and I was at that stage at age 25, but we were both ready to settle down and fall in love and have a life with someone. I had slept with a lot of people and done my fair share of drinking and dancing and drugs. I’d had sex for the first time when I was 14. I had a girlfriend in high school who was pregnant twice while we were together. In those days, in the ’70s, abortion was considered a form of birth control, and I think in most high schools at the time, it was quite casual. I certainly wouldn’t do that if I were with someone today, even as a teenager, so I think it was a part of that era, and the casualness with which sex was treated on television. When you watch an old ’70s television show, everyone is just hopping into bed with everyone in a completely casual way. I think AIDS definitely changed it.

One of the very first people to be diagnosed with what was then called gay cancer, in 1981, was a friend of mine. It completely flipped me out, and from then on, I was extremely safe. It probably saved my life, but it damaged the way I think about sex forever. You just associated sex with death’or at least I did. Richard and I had three dates before we had sex, because my best friend was in the hospital, dying from AIDS, and Richard’s best friend was in the hospital, dying of AIDS. So we would have a date, and then he would go to the hospital, and I would go to the hospital; consequently, that was very much on our minds. There was still enormous fear, and that affected our early sexual relationship tremendously, as well as just watching very close friends die at the same time we were falling in love. If we made a list, I would say that half of our friends from the early ’80s are no longer with us. It continued into the early ’90s — it just didn’t stop.

Three years after we started living together, Richard was diagnosed with cancer and at the time was told that it was most likely going to be fatal. We’ve had a fair amount of personal family tragedy, and things happen that do, ultimately, bring you closer, because they’re things you go through together and they make your history richer.

Getting older together has been interesting because we’ve both changed. I was very quiet at the beginning of our relationship — I’m actually a very, extremely, almost pathologically shy person, which no one believes today, because I have also mastered a work/public facade that takes an enormous amount of energy to project. And Richard, when we first got together, was very, very social and very talkative. Richard is an extrovert, and I’m an introvert, but meeting us today you would think the opposite. Richard, now, often, can be quite quiet, especially if he knows you well. But if you get Richard at a party, he’s extremely animated. I actually hate parties, and I try not to go. I prefer dinner one-on-one or with four or six people.

One of the things that always amuses me — amuses isn’t even the right word, because it doesn’t amuse me — but often, I’m at dinner parties with very close friends, straight, and they realize that Richard and I have been together 24 years, and the response is often, ‘Wow, you guys have been together 24 years! That’s so amazing. I don’t think of gay men being together that long.’ And I’m, like, ‘Why? What are you talking about?’ Some of the longest relationships I know of are same-sex couples. A lot of my straight friends have married and divorced and married and divorced in the time Richard and I have been together. I think that preconception, from even very educated liberal friends, that being gay is possibly more sex-based than emotionally based, is surprising and shocking in today’s world. I’m someone who likes being part of a couple and always wanted that and always sought that, and it would probably be true for me whether I was gay or straight. Richard and I are bound together, and I think that’s what that recognition is when you look someone in the eyes and you feel like you’ve known them forever. It is a kind of coming home.

Richard Buckley, Writer:
After three and a half years in Paris, I moved back to New York to be the editor of a new Fairchild magazine called Scene. On my fourth day back in town, I attended the show of a young designer called David Cameron. As I was waiting for the show to begin (it was held in a loft), I noticed a guy standing in the crowd off to the side and thought, Cute. Definitely cute. When the show was over, I sat in my seat, fiddling with my pens and my notebook, until I saw his camel coat out of the corner of my eye. I hopped up and started to walk out with him. Like I said, we were in a loft, and the quickest way out was by the stairs. As we walked, I would look over at him from time to time and smile. He’d give me a weak smile back. This went on until we hit the street, when I swear he sprinted away from me.

Fast-forward 10 days, and I am up on the roof of the Fairchild building on 12th Street doing a hideous shoot for WWD when Owen, the art director, asked if I had a boyfriend.

‘No.’

‘Are you seeing anyone?’

‘No. I haven’t even been out since I’ve been back.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I’ve been away for three and a half years, I have two jobs, and I’ve got to get back into the work rhythm of New York. I don’t want any distractions.’

‘Hasn’t there been someone you’ve thought of asking out?’

At that point, I told him about this guy I’d seen at David Cameron’s fashion show and how he’d disappeared. Literally two minutes later, Harry, from the photo lab, came up on the roof and said, ‘There’s some guy here from Cathy Hardwick to pick up clothes.’ It was then that the guy from the fashion show stepped onto the roof.

I turned to Owen and said, ‘That’s him.’

‘Who?’

‘That’s him.’

‘Him who?’

Him!

‘You mean — ‘

‘Yes.’

I went over and told the young man I could give him all the clothes except for the dress we were going to photograph, most likely, for a cover. I took him down in the elevator to the WWD floor. The whole time down in the elevator I was babbling on like a schoolgirl. It is at this point, when telling this story, that I like to put my hands up to my head and wiggle my fingers like eyelashes. I was shamelessly flirting with this boy. He, meanwhile, said nothing, and the quieter he was, the sillier I became. As I was bagging the clothes up in the fashion closet, I told him, ‘Tomorrow night, Cathy is giving me a ‘welcome back to New York’ dinner at her apartment.’ I was hoping he’d mention it to her, and Cathy, who is no dummy in the gay department, would invite him to the dinner.

The next night, the dinner was wonderful, but the young man wasn’t there. After dinner I took Cathy aside and asked, ‘Who is your assistant?’

‘Tova.’

‘No, not Tova, a really cute guy.’

‘Tender.’

‘Tender?’

‘His real name is Tom, but I call him Tender.’ At the time, Cathy was married to a man called Tom Snowden. She said she had to distinguish between her two Tom turkeys, so one was Tough (her husband) and the other (Ford) was Tender.

Like I said, there was never any moss growing on Cathy, and she immediately said, ‘He’s perfect for you. Come for lunch on Monday. I’ll arrange the whole thing.’
Apparently, when she came in the next morning, Cathy yelled, ‘Tender, get in here!’ She told him, ‘Richard Buckley, the fashion editor of Women’s Wear Daily and editor of Scene, wants to go out with you. He’s very important. We need him. You take my credit card and go anywhere he wants to go.’

On Monday, it was pouring rain, and I arrived at the Cathy Hardwick offices thinking we would be going out to a restaurant. No. We had tomato soup and bologna sandwiches in her office. Halfway through lunch, Tom got up and said he needed to get back to work. At this point I’m thinking, I’m 38 and he’s 25. He’s not into geezers. Three strikes, you’re out.

I had been back in my office about 10 minutes when the phone rang.

‘Hello.’

‘This is Tom Ford from Cathy Hardwick. I was calling to see if I could ask you out for a drink or dinner some evening.’

I was totally thrown off guard, because I was starting to think he was a stuck-up little prick, so I said, ‘Well, tonight and tomorrow night I have business dinners. Wednesday evening I leave for the country and Thanksgiving weekend. What about a week from Wednesday?’ He said that was fine. Then we stayed on the phone for a few minutes and he actually started talking to me, and I thought, He’s not stuck-up at all. Finally I said, ‘Look, the dinner tomorrow night is tentative. If it is canceled, can I call you at the last minute?’ He said, ‘Sure.’

Well, that was an adrenaline-charged 24 hours for me, because I had no business dinners, no Thanksgiving in the country. Nothing. Nada. At 4:23 Tuesday afternoon I called him, said dinner had fallen through, and asked if he was still free.

For our first date, we went to this really sleazy cheapo restaurant on the Upper East Side called Albuquerque Eats — I don’t think it exists anymore. Tom sat there chit-chatting: ‘And in 10 years I’m going to be showing my own collection in Paris, and I’m going to be a millionaire, and I’m going to do this, and I’m going to do that.’ And I kept thinking, This guy is really na’ve. But as we talked about other things, it was almost like seeing down a rabbit hole. I felt like I was looking at his eyes, and it was just spinning around and taking me down inside him. I could see he was a good man with a big heart. It wasn’t a physical thing as much as it was a psychic wave.

I’d been through a lot of relationships and was very suspicious of a lot of things, but with Tom I was careful not to repeat the mistakes I’d made with other guys. I’d been burned many times and had learned to keep people at arms’ length. And on New Year’s Eve 1986, we didn’t go out. We stayed at my little apartment on Saint Mark’s Place. I gave him a little Tiffany box, and inside was a key to my apartment. He moved in the next day.

Tom’s the perfect modern gentleman. We’re both old-fashioned that way. We both stand for ladies at the table and open doors for people. If you have good manners, people notice. And they appreciate it. You’re showing respect for them. When I got throat cancer in ’89, there were people who Tom cut out of our lives because of the way they responded. My best friend and one of my mentors had died — one in ’87 or ’88 and one later that year — both from AIDS, and there were a lot of people who just assumed that I had AIDS, and there were some people who wouldn’t come visit me because they were sure they would catch it. And Tom just cut them out — wouldn’t even speak to them if he ran into them on the street.

I couldn’t imagine being without Tom now. I couldn’t imagine what I’d be like if something happened to him. There’s only one Tom for me. He is still that man who I met 24 years ago, who has a good heart.

http://www.out.com/fashion/2011/01/09/tom-ford-and-richard-buckley-forever