Reflection & Refraction

New year, new post, same bean. I welcome you, readers, to 2017! 

This new year has already brought some of the most rejuvenating and joyful days I've had in a while - guess spending family time out on Miami's beautiful beaches will do that for ya. And with this fresh perspective and reignited love of life, I've had time to ~reflect~ on last year and jot down some attainable resolutions for this coming year. Without getting too personal or sappy, let's just say there's a lot I have to be thankful for, a lot I have to re-evaluate, and a lot I have to look forward to. So, without further ado, I present to you a seemingly unrelated post highlighting the Julio Le Parc Exhibit at the Perez Art Museum. But here's the twist: the exhibit focuses on kinetic sculptures, spectatorial participation, and the refraction of light. So why not take Le Parc refraction as reflection of good things from the last 365 days to the next?

The Perez Art Museum, or PAMM, has become one of the spots I feel the most at home, while I'm at home. Built right off and on Biscayne Bay, it maintains an architectural confluence of outdoors and indoors that is both refreshing and familiar. The structure itself almost rivals the art within, and the swinging chairs overlooking the skyline provide the perfect spot for catching up with friends and putting topics learned in Art History classes to good use.

In the past couple weeks I've been in Miami, I've been to PAMM three times. Not only is that a testament, I think, to the magnetic pull of this place, but also a nod to how much their current exhibition enchants visitors. 

I present to you the magic of Julio Le Parc. In his first full exhibition in the states, this Argentinian born artist walks visitors through his mind: giving us glimpses into his exploration of color theory and how that ultimately manifests in large scale color plays and rooms filled with rainbows. 

After color, Le Parc tackles the capturing of movement. From his kinetic sculptures that respond to the volume of visitors in the room, to his rooms filled with distorting devices, Le Parc's exhibition title is apropos as he truly puts "Form into Action." 

With all of his plays on material, distortion, and refraction, I couldn't help but enjoy and question my own reflection in his pieces. I saw myself in silhouettes, I saw myself in funhouse-esque mirrors. I even signed a waiver to push an orange bouncy ball at my friend while navigating an uneven floor under a strobe light. And if that run on sentence wasn't enough, Le Parc had visitors exercise their mastery of opticality by donning glasses that obstruct your view - and look quite comical at the same time 

So, with a triple visit to PAMM (accompanied by Alexa, Cat, and Alana in that order), and Julio Le Parc's exhibit in particular, I hope to inspire you all to visit (if you just so happen to be in Miami) and even try to project yourself in these photos to feel the exhibit as I did.

And here are other shots from other artists, including some "light reeding" if you will. 

Happy New Year and thank you for continuing with me on my adventures this year!

Xx, Maia 

Sayonara to Snow

As I pack up and prepare for "Winter" break (term used loosely as Miami is just slightly less scorching in December), I whisper goodbye to the bone chilling cold for a while. Though, luckily, not all of these past few days have been as frigid as that seven-degree killer, I must say it'll be refreshing to exchange a campus blanketed in powder white for the crisp whites of the Miami skyline. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those tropical born, warm-blooded bodies that "can't hack the cold" - on the contrary, my friends are often telling me to put more layers on before taking on the day (I guess linen clothing in December isn't a thing outside the 305...). Regardless of my inability to fully transition my wardrobe to winter, I really do love a good snowy day; aka, being able to cuddle in a coffee shop and nurse a latte for far too long in order to claim stake in the corner table at an overpriced establishment.

But am I excited to trade in my tall boots for tall glasses of piña coladas by the pool? Layers of sweaters for layers of tiramisu? Cups of Snowy Day (shoutout to David's Tea for last night's cup on the house as I geared up for another night in Lamont) for cups of cafecito? Yes, yes, and oh yes! 

And, not only is this warm weathered bean headed back to her motherland, but she is also going to THE motherland. Yes, folks, you read it here: I'm venturing off to Israel for Birthright in January!  

So even though my posts won't be weather appropriate to my northeast readers, stay tuned for ~summery~ shenanigans in Miami, tales of my travels to Tel Aviv, and new collaborations to come! (Tired of my puns and alliteration yet?) 

Xx, Maia 

A Weekend at Art Basel

It seems unimaginable that just this morning I woke up in Miami - and now it's snowing outside my window, finals are upon us, and I'm swimming in 600+ photos that prove I did, in fact, play hooky from school to attend Art Basel this year. 

Though I used to go to the exhibits when I was still in high school back in Florida, my developing experiences in the art history world have made this year's trip all the more memorable. While I don't plan on providing you with a formal analysis of the pieces as proxies for whatever they mean, I do wish to share my adventure at Art Basel, and sprinkle some of the highlight photos along the way. 

So brace yourselves for a visual overload, a sensory extravaganza - save the 11,000 steps it took to see it all in person. 

One thing to note from the get go: I don't claim to take better photos of these pieces than you can probably find on Google or a collector's site; rather, I simply want to share with you the way I saw them. Meaning, there are more than just a few slanted shots, probably testaments to the shuffle between booths and the cursory glances of some of the works. Oh! And the fact that after dodging spectator after spectator, sometimes I gave up and made the human obstructions a part of the shot:

After all, upon discovering both instagram accounts @girlsinmuseums and @dressedtomatch (thanks to my Partner in Basel, Alana) the obstruction can even be part of the art. 

And for all the art you weren't really supposed to be a part of, there was a whole corner dedicated to playing with pasta. I kid you not - you could sit down at the greasy table and were, for once in your life, encouraged to play with your food:

Aside from the magnetism of the carbs, I found myself drifting towards all the neon light fixtures - an homage to my childhood fascinations with bright lights and vibrant colors. 

Wording wasn't the only thing brightly displayed at Art Basel: there were plenty of optical installations, namely those of Julio Le Parc (prominently featured currently at PAMM, and part of the content of the next post!). 

And though the galleries obviously boast the main attractions, I couldn't help but notice that the gallerists' workspaces weren't always your standard, foldable chairs. 

At one point, I decided to trail my dad - a man with a history of creativity not often understood by me or the rest of my nuclear family. For context, he would always pick the most bizarre, un-appealing ice cream flavor combinations, and somehow they would taste incredible! So, I figured, if I applied ice cream logic here, what he was drawn to could be those hidden gems. Turns out he fancied corners of benches and hanging who-knows-what - per usual:

But, hey, who am I to knock other people's photos of choice? I mean, my friends and I more than made fools of ourselves at any possible photo op. 

And, before I bombard you with the rest of my visual adventure, I'll sign off - and by sign off I mean resume my reading week responsibilities. Until next year!

Xx, Maia

The Game: Harvard-Yale 2k16

Happy Mod Monday! Today I’m here to reminisce about the “most wonderful time of the year.” No, I’m not prematurely looking to the holiday season just yet; let’s at least get through Thanksgiving first. Rather, I’m talking about The Game. The game destined to be a 10-peat, but, as with the rest of 2016, a loss prevailed instead; this time, against Yale.

Deemed one of the two Harvard holidays (the other being Housing Day, so stay tuned until March), the Harvard-Yale football game brings flocks of students decked out in gear repping both sides. Amidst the playful slurs of “Yuck Fale” and “Huck Farvard” (I’ll let you decide which one actually makes sense ;) ), Saturday was the day most students could proudly say they attend “Harvard State.” With the tailgate attracting everyone from the class of 2020 to alums from further back than they’d like to admit, it’s well worth the time to recount this annual tradition.

For a second, once Crimson lost to Navy (only in score, never in beauty of color, of course), I thought all of our gloaty, impending social media captions had to be scrapped. But, I remembered something a professor uttered to a friend, “from tragedy comes great art”, so our captions followed suit.

“Now that Hell has frozen over, I guess I’ll ski there too.” – Zabie

"Reunions for the win (never mind the score)." - Cat

"Yale won the game but we won the popular vote." – Annie

"Even though we lost, we'll keep our spirits HY." – Leila

"The Camelbaks were the real MVP #stayHYdrated." - Alana

"We speculated that Yale may have paid the refs, but then we realized they wouldn't have the funds because we're more..." – Me

"Accurate representation of our Harvard-Yale, being elbowed in the face by these results..." – Me, again

For me, the tailgate is all about dancing (elevated surfaces or not) and not losing too many of my friends to the spotty cell service. But some go far harder than others.

From Macklemore level game day attire or re-defining ripped jeans, to some tragic ca(shoe)alties along the way, Harvard’s streak wasn’t the only thing that was lost on Saturday:

I’m thinking about my good friend, Will's, chipped tooth. Always one to be in HY spirits, even after the following ensued:

After having put Will on blast in a groupchat and doing damage control when concerned parties reached out, I sought his permission to post the trauma on an even grander scale. A trooper the day of and on iMessage as I pleaded my case, Will recounted the incident and ensured me that a dentist appointment was already booked for tomorrow. Apparently the following transpired in a conference call between him, his mother, and his dentist:

I literally called him in a panic and was like “My face has to be symmetrical, you DON’T UNDERSTAND! My face is all I have going for me I NEED you to fix this!” and my mom immediately cut in and was like, “NO, you have a great personality and you’re so smart!!” and I was like, “SHUT UP MOM, this is NOT the time!” – Will

I guess teenage angst doesn’t really quit in your twenties.

Other favorite Game Day memories from friends were a little tamer. Shub, fond proponent of dabbing and once toter of a sign that read, “Yale kids wear Crocs.” said his favorite memory “was definitely waking up early for the ESPN college Game Day taping my freshman year!”

Allie and Emmie, prominently featured in photos from the festivities, agreed that “the best memories were storming the field freshmen year and this year's pre-game sunbathing on the turf field.”

But The Game isn’t just for chipped teeth and fostering friendship, it can also be a lucrative business venture according to resident finance mogul, Leila, who shockingly is not concentrating in Economics:

“My favorite memory HAS to be finding an extra ticket on the floor and then selling both my ticket and that one to some guy for $20 once I had already used them to get into The Game. Oh! And promptly using that money for a free meal at Bartley’s post loss.”  - Leila

And for all we cherish to remember, there are some things we’d rather forget. Perhaps full views of the “Saybrook Strip” would be one of them, or the brief moment of weakness I had when I questioned transferring to Yale for the sole reason that their band was playing Danza Kuduro… Yeah, let’s agree to forget those ever happened.

All in all, Harvard-Yale is a great time for school spirit, ascorbic wit, beating classic songs to death, and putting the LIT in “elite” (I swear, I was NOT the one to come up with that nor use it in any other context but sarcastically). So keep chanting…

“'Yuck Fale’ – Gandhi.”

“Yale cites Wikipedia.”

“In my country no one’s ever heard of Yale.”

...belting along to annual themes like...

2016:

Closer, The Chainsmokers (the song of the summer that just won’t die)

Mr. Brightside, The Killers (had to throw this in as an homage to the dutiful hosts of last year’s AEPI tailgate)

2015:

Hotline Bling, Drake (or as Yale seems to sing, “1-800-Harvard-Sucks”)

2014:

Caribou Lou, Tech N9ne (I have actually never heard of this song @ Allie, Emmie, & Wes…)

Habits, Tove Lo

2013:

Unwritten, Natasha Bedingfield

Dancing with Myself, Billy Idol

(Though these two have not been cross-referenced by another source. Given that you apparently can’t trust someone to think back too far into their past game days @Fri.)

…and start the countdown to redemption.

Xx, Maia

A Beacon Hill Halloween

With the scariest (midterm) season now behind us, it seems only fitting to commemorate the official scariest night of the year: Halloween - though I make it a point to avoid gore and ghouls at all costs. 

I'm sure you're now very familiar with the Beacon Hill area as it has been beautifully documented in almost all seasons on the blog; there's just nothing more Bostonian than this neighborhood - especially when it's covered in cobwebs and riddled with tiny superheroes, Addams Family members, and the occasional walking Christmas tree. Yep, I am here to tell you that I went Trick-or-Treating as a sophomore in college tonight and tried to pass as a high school senior at best. 

I must admit it was a Halloween for the books. And by books, I mean the ones I will actually read, and not the ones conveniently tucked under my bed, still in their crisp cellophane wrap from the day I bought them at the campus store... Anyway, it was a pretty liberating experience to leave the library and the computer screen to relive childhood shenanigans. With each "trick-or-treat!" and "Happy Halloween!", all six of us giggled and eagerly unwrapped our candy, feeling instantly transported back to our hometown neighborhoods - well, minus the chilled fingers and chattering teeth for me.

Though few parents believed our age twisting, they were kind enough to plop treats in our canvas totes and smile. I think one couple even asked if we were grad students, while most of the others just laughed at our makeshift costumes and told us we were definitely too old to be doing this. I can't blame 'em, I did show up with two cereal boxes taped to my shirt and blurted, "I'm a cereal killer!" when I received confused looks. Contrary to popular belief, I was not, in fact, Captain Crunch. 

Beacon Hill, you've done it again with the top notch decor and warm ambiance despite the creeping cold of winter. 

And while Halloween has come and gone (for the third time this week - peep the Saturday ensemble below), I felt warmed by the familial memories conjured and created this evening, not just from the chili mocha latte I broke down and bought on our way back home. 

Yes, the pun is always intended, especially when I can dress up as a "work of art in the fog(g)."

Xx, Maia 

Apple Picking: An Autumnal Rite of Passage

Growing tired of studying for midterms and counting the days till family reunions at Thanksgiving, the turn of leaf and weather suddenly has us craving all things fall: cozy sweaters, colorful punnikans (translation: pumpkins), hot cider, fuzzy socks, crunchy leaves, pumpkin spiced lattes, the list goes on.

Autumn brings with it an indefinable longing for years past. It’s a season of nostalgia. Simply, "autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go." With the brisk fall wind and the vibrant changing leaves, we’re suddenly caught daydreaming of our younger years, picking out pumpkins and gourds for the front stoop, deciding what we were going to be for Halloween, going apple picking with the family. — Err, we guess now is as good a time as ever to bare a short confessional:

I, Katherine — self proclaimed lover of all things fall — and I, Maia — Miami girl through and through, who’s mastered the look of overalls during "winter" for strawberry picking — have never been apple picking.

(This is made especially preposterous considering I, Katherine, live right beside an apple orchard in Michigan). Going to school in New England, the Mecca of all apple orchards, thus made apple picking a mandatory college bucket list item. Plus, what better way to escape midterm examinations and its fond companion stress? 

This Saturday, thanks to a handy Zip Car membership, we, with a few friends, set off for Honey Pot Hill Orchards, located some 30 miles beyond the Cambridge bubble. Honey Pot Hill is a Massachusetts institution, a full-scale apple-and-all-things-fall operation, perfect for fulfilling a few of our autumnal goals: 1. To finally go apple picking 2. To go on a hay ride, and 3. To eat our weight in cider donuts. We happily type this post having fulfilled all three. 

All and all, our sojourn made for a wonderful reprieve from the hustle and bustle of on-campus life. We drove down leaf-laden roads, dappled in the rich warm glow of an autumn day - miraculously avoiding the rainy slump that has characterized these past few weekends. We jammed to some tunes — from indie to Marvin Gaye to Biggie. We ~sort of~ picked apples (it seems that Honeycrisp season has passed us, and our desire for Red Delicious was minimal), and some of us, who will remain un-named (*cough* Maia), finally realized why Apple calls them "Macs".

We did in fact eat an admirable amount of cinnamon-sugar-coated-warm-gooey donut goodness (this is also coming from Katherine, self-professed non-fan of donuts, and received a stamp of approval from Maia who has stuffed herself with almost every donut Boston has to offer). And, despite having to dodge a slightly aggressive barrage of branches, our hayride ended up quite, well, let’s say bumpy. We even found time to wander around some of New England’s quintessential backroads, happening upon a beautiful mill in the process.

While fall weather seems to have briefly left us (as we sit outside on a picnic blanket writing this, the forecast now projecting into the 80s for the next few days), we don’t believe there was any better way to ring in the new season. We hope you enjoy the following snaps from out little trip and feel inspired to venture out of doors on your own autumnal jaunt.

Xx, Katherine & Maia

Ode to the Comgard

Fully prepared to start off this post begging Boston for some sunshine, it seems like my unspoken wishes have come true in that it finally stopped raining today! A Sunshine State girl at heart, I love a good warm day - a day you can spend outside, preferably consumed by a garden or the like. Today, as a respite from all the rainy days, I'm thinking about all those sun-filled (honestly rather scorching) days spent outside. More specifically, though, this a post dedicated to the Comgard - a place I wasn't quite the local or frequenter of, but an appreciator nonetheless. 

The Comgard affectionately stands for Community Garden, and was coined by people who are probably the human embodiments of sunshine. In order to give this post the veritable backbone it needed, I pulled up a picnic chair and talked to these gals about the Comgard, which apparently is a "lifestyle choice." 

Coiner of the term (is that even a phrase)? Probably Cat, fellow Miamian and my pseudo-sister here on campus. Given that Cat, along with Maeve and Laura (two other gems), was living on campus this summer, she and friends passed by the Lowell Community Garden to and from work. Over the summer, the garden bustled with creatures ranging from typical fauna to groups of college students gathering over Otto's pizza and lounging - as college students often do. 

The term apparently stemmed from (hehe, plant pun) calling the Cambridge Commons "Cam Com" and the desire to add casual lingo to any and all meeting spaces. The Comgard became home to BYOL's (bring your own lunches) and general conversation. Conveniently located right where giant (and I mean GIANT) tourist busses drop off/pick up, the Comgard is a great place for people watching and "chirping the tourists." Apparently, it's also a great on-the-go snack spot for some students, as one student who will remain un-named, rip up some radishes for a quick nom on the way home from class. 

The openness of the Comgard adds to its welcoming vibe - inviting any and all passerby's that are recognized by Comgard locals or are just in the mood for a sit 'n snack. Over the summer, a school teacher from a nearby conference even lounged with Cat and Maeve because they "just looked so peaceful." If we're talking quotes, the best one I gathered from my convos with the core trio had to be from Maeve:

"Summer was so scattered and you could just plant yourself [in the Comgard] and see people walk through. There was a constant rotation - you could meet new friends or even nab people from late night Insomnia runs." 

But Maeve didn't stop the plant puns there. When I talked to Laura about her favorite aspect of the Comgard, she said it was a place where, "friendships flourished" - to which Maeve interjected, "friendships BLOSSOMED! C'mon Laura." 

While the Lowell Comgard may have been the birthplace of the term, it definitely isn't the sole member of the movement. Curiously, on a summer adventure to Blackbird donuts, Cat and I stumbled upon an incredible Comgard. It spanned for what seemed like forever, and was speckled with individual gardens on either side of the main artery. We spotted flowers of every variety, little tomatoes, and seized the opportunity for some quick pics as we waited for the bus to continue that day's adventure. 

Even though I'm sad to say I missed lounging in the Harvard Comgard on the daily when I had the chance (the onset of this cold and gloomy weather makes it seem like Comgard days are coming to a close), I can't help but think of all the times community gardens and just open, public spaces have been a part of my life. Growing up in Miami, I'd say the city was just one big garden. But if that wasn't enough, there was always a nearby park or even Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden to satiate my need for fresh flowers and the buzzing of the insects that inevitably tag along. I even remember the importance of community gardening in elementary school as a component of my Montessori education - tending to a garden helped us connect with our surroundings and learn responsibility for our community. And I'm happy to report that the local Boston flora is proving to be just as satisfactory!

So if the vibrant colors of the flowers, the tempting aroma of the home-grown treats, or simply the community of the Comgard movement doesn't pull you in, I'd strongly consider re-reading this post or meeting Cat, Maeve, and Laura. They'll sell you on the Comgard so quickly, you won't even be able to say BYOL. 

Xx, Maia 

Home Sweet Dorm

There's something to be said for the itinerant living that characterizes these ever fleeting college years - packing up and relocating each year, if not each semester (waving goodbye to that coveted single bedroom). Managing to squeeze any and all belongings accrued over our 18, 19, 20, 21 years of life into quarters hardly larger than a comfortable walk-in closet poses a constant challenge, all of this in addition to having to share said space with another human being. Granted, being in our second year, we're fortunate enough to have escaped the arbitrary hand of housing assignments and instead, have opted to live with people who feel more like family than mere bodies occupying space - perks, right? While, contrary to popular belief, we, Katherine & Maia, don't live in a room together (just a wall away, though!), we share a mutual love for colorful decor, excessive throw pillows, and warm, "welcome back home after a long day of classes and running around campus" vibes - oh, and decked out window seats to boot (perks of fourth floor living)!

Freshman year, I had the luck of snagging a single - a bedroom all to myself, heavily decorated with all of Miami's finest colors, and affectionately dubbed "The Palace." When I had to switch to a double in the spring semester, I built a little fort in my common room and called it "The Alcove." So, in theme, this year my abode has become "The Loft" - for the sole reason that one must jump in order to sit on my bed (climbing up here in skinny jeans? Impossible). 

The Loft boasts much of my familiar decor: hand-painted canvases from my mother that capture my favorite quotes (from Jason Mraz to Cleo Wade), favorite colors, and love of doodling and flowers and my extensive collection of polaroid photos that commemorate everything from friends and familia to some all-time-greatest-hits. And by hits I mean snacks.

The sea of decorative pillows remains...

...and my collection of succulents is stronger than ever.

Somehow I've managed to build up quite the personal library...

...and while I've maxed out storage space in every crevice, I still find space for my little knick-knacks. 

Say hello to "Winnie" my sole vestige of house spirit (for those of you who think I named my lion after a certain Pooh, I will clarify that Winnie is my diminutive version of my home of Winthrop).

Britto says it best, I'm always truly "happy" to come home to this pod on campus. If not for the bursts of color during otherwise winter whites, then definitely for my hysterical roommate who has yet to ask for a housing re-assignment given how often I videotape her shenanigans for my snapchat story. 

So this is it, folks - those are our homes away from home. Our happy places and our napping places. 

Xx, Katherine & Maia 

NYFW: The Beans

Though we've known one another since January (and now live right next door...convenience optimized), this little escape to NYFW was our first chance to truly travel and adventure together! As was to be expected, we discovered even more similarities between us, including but not limited to: our fondness of a piping hot bowl of pasta after a long day, our love for funky book shops (shoutout to BookMarc in the West Village), and our respective obsessions for sweet treats (Kat drowning in ice cream and Maia bathing in banana pudding), among many other qualities. 

We imagine it's best to start off with the snapchats we accumulated during our delayed train ride into the city:

When we finally arrived in New York, you could surely find us noodling around the streets, attempting to stop traffic to cheese for the camera:

We also soaked in all of the authentic, NYC sights, including my, Kat's, stopping to commemorate this splayed rat on the sidewalk: 

(Would this be the right time to make a Kat and mouse joke? We'll let you think of the best one).

We frolicked museums in our spare time. Pictured below are snippets from our jaunt through the Whitney:

Some outrageous purchases were made, including me, Maia, succumbing to the $20 sticker price for this bag of chai tea powder: 

Really, any time food was involved, we pretty much freaked out:

(Below, we see Katherine near tears upon sampling the bounty of flavors from Ample Hills.)

Not sure whether having a spirit-wall is a thing, but this one is definitely mine:

And let us not forget the great shoe change of NYFW 2017 (photo recycled from street style post because it's honestly too good):

Outside some of our shows we were snapped and papped:

We even did some paparazzi of our own as we attempted to immortalize the cute, foreign model that may or may not have chatted us up outside the venue:

Sometimes it was hard to snag that nonchalant street style pic, dodging looks from strangers wondering why we were photographing them. To compensate -- well, actually just because it's fun -- we took pictures of actual street style as well. Street. Style. Get it? Here are some of the buildings that stunned us, clad in rugged red brick or a coat of crisp white paint. 

Oh! And not to mention the adorable, Mod & Bean team pictures we snagged while at the modeling agency of my, Katherine's, cousin:

So, while we may have come off, dare we say, glamorous and chic during our time at NYFW, those were the rarer moments. Cheers to galavanting around NYC and to our future team trips to come!

Xx, Katherine & Maia 

NYFW: The Street Style

So far, you've gotten an inside glimpse at the runway looks and our favorite city eats. Now we're here to share yet another quintessential aspect of fashion week: the killer street style. If you follow fashion week, you know it's as much about what's worn off the runways as what's worn on. For every slideshow of fresh-off-the-catwalk looks, there's a corresponding one for what people wore to the show itself. The fashion week runways practically spill onto the streets themselves, after all, street style is serious business, with the most dedicated of attendees changing outfits three, four, even five times a day. While the Mod & Bean team had neither the space in our carry-ons nor the money to commit to a week of quick-changing, we made our own fair attempt to join the ranks of the street style stars (with a helping hand from Zara, of course). 

Fashion week brings its own special air to the city: transforming bustling streets and empty event spaces into unofficial red carpets for the who's who of fashion: bloggers, A-listers, designers, and lucky beans like ourselves. While our ensembles may have paled in comparison to the couture clad, Birkin-toting fashion insiders, we managed to fool a fair share of street style photographers into thinking we were of moderate importance. Below we've shared our daily looks in addition to some sneaky street style snaps! (Important to note that we highly resisted the temptation to insert some quote about making the world your runway etc).

Day 1

Day one, I, Maia opted for this easy Zara jumpsuit. All the elegance, none of the fuss. (Perfect for noodling around the city and impromptu dance parties in side streets).

You'll also begin to realize that I took the whole "New York Noir" thing quite seriously - ditching my Miami brights and patterns for the slick, all-black ensembles. Motivation? Probably remaining stain free (or the illusion of it), as I did indeed spill coffee on the one white blouse I wore this trip (not pictured because simply tragic). I also found that black is much more forgiving of the sweat that clung to me as we shuffled through Subways and navigated too many flights of stairs with a heavy carry-on in tow. 

For our first day in the city, black was the name of the game. I, Katherine, feel overcome by this sentiment whenever I find myself in the Manhattan bubble. One moment I'm craving summer bohemian or fun feminine style -- draping myself in flowing folds of blush and jewel tones -- and the next thing I know, I'm in New York City, and my wardrobe has unwittingly assimilated, one with that of the effortlessly cool city girl -- monochrome, neutrals, and adidas reign supreme.

Can we also just take a moment to admire this mid-morning light? Having been an on-again, off-again, photographer for going on six years, I, Katherine, am almost always chasing light, whether it's that morning glow or that final, bursting golden hour. Sometimes, there are just those perfectly opportune moments like these ones below. The best things (read: good lighting) come when you least expect it, right?

And then, there's the subway. With it's mushroom-yellow glow and the added benefit of years of built up grime, such photographic conditions prove to be a challenge. Alas, we prevailed over the New York City metro system and caught these shots.

Back up from the underground for some outfit shots in the West Village, where both my, Katherine's, below and my, Maia's, above photos were captured. Tree lined streets, dappled brunch-time light. All black. 

The infamous outfit change! After a day of prancing around the city in my, Katherine's, characteristically black ensemble, I opted for this deep green evening jumper from, you guessed it, Zara. I also found myself the interviewee of a Chinese news station. It's funny to think that there may be a little sound byte of me floating about some thousands and thousands of miles away in China...

Day 2

The day started early with Misha Collection at Skylight on Clarkson Square (a beautiful west river event space). After the show, we snagged some fun candids and style shots in the industrial, ship-yard streets. I, Maia, opted for the cool statement jacket trend, assisted by none other than (do I even say it?) Zara. I, Katherine, attempted the impossible task of dressing for two seasons, opting for this light, summer white top (white after labor day is so a thing) over this cool layered black tweed skirt. I also feel it important to make note that directly after these pictures were taken I kicked off the heels and pranced around (feet beyond thankful) in adidas for the remainder of the day. Happy feet, happy bean.

Below we've included proof of my, Katherine's, shameless switch. Take special note of the effortless flare with which I seek comfort. Don't let it fool you. I was being swallowed by the heat and nearly fell over five times.

Day 3

For our final day in the city some errand running (read: purchasing banana pudding) and a brief stop at the studio of my, Katherine's, cousin was in store. The dress code? Pants and sneaks for optimal mobility (and wiggle room for our engorged cookie/ice cream/banana pudding tummies). 

While outfit posts aren't normally our things, we couldn't help but take advantage of NYFW and see what all of the fashion fun was about. And considering we were literally mobbed with photographers following shows, the Mod & Bean team was determined to look sharp ... and hand out as many business cards as possible (haha). If the fact that we're dividing NYFW into four entirely separate posts isn't evidence enough, we're quite thrilled about our whole experience. Stay tuned for our last installment: the Beans. What to expect? Lots of awkward noodling around the city. Get excited.

Xx, Katherine & Maia

A Hop Skip to Cincinnati

There are few things for which I'm willing to wake up early enough to catch a morning flight to a different city and be back just after dinner time (aka when all the food spots are closed), but family is definitely one of them. This past week, after I shuffled all of my belongings from Somerville to Cambridge (quite the trek, huh?) and tried to snuggle back into dorm life amidst a non-stop welcoming week for the freshman, I snuck away for a quick day trip to Over The Rhine, Cincinnati, OH to spend my mom's beautiful day of birth with her and my nuclear family. While you might be thinking, "Oh, she's from Miami, Ohio?" I remind you that I'm still flowing with Floridian blood, and the reason the plane flew me to OH instead of MIA is simply that my sister just recently made the move from NYC down to OTR for a year. 

So, for a grand total of about 7 hours, I explored this new city and enjoyed the time with my family all together - as it hadn't happened since my sister's Master's graduation back in May, and won't happen again until Thanksgiving. 

Fresh off the plane, my sister and I drove through the city and paused at Findlay Market to pick up my mom's cake.

As standard little sister protocol, I was left in the car as my sister pulled off to the side to run quickly into the bake shop. This gave me ample time to enjoy the air conditioning before the scorching strolls through OTR, as well as begin to admire the architectural styles that didn't quite resemble anything with which I was familiar. Already armed with my "looking up" perspective and primed with my dad eagerly sending me photos of building corners and doors (probably as frantic proof that he does, indeed read my blog), I set out on the streets of OTR, looking up in awe. Suffice it to say, I enjoyed the colors, textures, and designs that bathed this little neck of the urban woods. 

And what's a trip to a trendy city without tasting their donuts? Holtman's is conveniently near to my sister's apartment, and fusion-y enough to combat the likes of Miami's The Salty Donut and Boston's Union Square and Blackbird Donuts. Fruity pebbles and fluff? Yes, please! 

Even with my limited time in OTR, I managed to squeeze in a quick hug and catch-up with Sara after a long (two week) stretch apart from being roommates! 

As my 8pm takeoff time crept closer, we hurried to celebrate my mom's birthday with a decadent cake that was surprisingly gluten free and dairy free! (Note: Given that I LOVE dairy, and I am reluctant to trust many things sans gluten, I did not expect this rendition of a "German Chocolate Cake" to taste just as heavenly as it actually did. So props to my sister, the healthy daughter, for winning this round). 

Honoring each year of my incredible mom's life with just one candle was definitely not enough for me, but it was more than enough for the fire alarm - hence the frantic fanning of the Airbnb post song and wish. 

While I could've spent a whole week in this city that is reminiscent of a Wynwood (given its varied cultural history coupled with an unfortunate economic decline, and recent rise in youth and popularity) meets Brooklyn style of spot, I had to fly back to Boston to resume my welcoming week duties. Until next time, or the Kentucky Derby, OTR! 

Xx, Maia

A Celebration of Summer

It's move in day! Well, sort of. Today I, Maia, move back on campus, and just a week after that I, Katherine, will be back as well. We write in anxious anticipation of this next school year and all it will bring: our long-awaited Mod & Bean reunion as well as the official declaration of our "concentrations", Harvard jargon for the more common term, "majors".

As we type this post thousands of miles apart, we exchange ideas and smiles over text, gearing up for all of the real life coffee shop talks to come — especially considering two new cafes are set to open in the square come fall: Tatte and Flour. To say we're excited is an understatement!

Considering both our camera rolls are bursting at the seams with unshared photos, we've created a little capsule post bidding farewell to our summers — tossing in some of these unseen pictures for good measure. (I know — for all of the photos we manage to cram into our blog posts, we still have so many that don't make the cut).

Cue some summer outtakes:

(Note our shared gangly human bean-ness). 

Here are two of my, Maia's, favorite outtakes. The first being sheer joy radiating from me as I am face to glass with my favorite animal since childhood. Here's to everyone who said my favorite animal being a capybara was weird!! And second, Cat making me sit next to two, terrifyingly large and hideous groupers at the aquarium (upon our discovery that large, aquatic critters make my skin crawl and cause me to feel an irrational sense of fear.)

Below are a few of my, Katherine's, favorite outtakes. Not particularly remarkable or funny in their own rights, these photos, instead, serve to highlight what really goes on behind the scenes for all of those poised and polished selfies gracing my blog posts. With every instagram worthy outfit or scenery shot, there are about 200 of these awkward stair-downs and interactions with strangers (either that, or me dancing terribly). First set of photos: woman incredibly confused by my standing in the middle of farmer's market. Second: man yelling at me, possibly confused by my holding two entirely separate gelatos. My facial expression in all of them: no shame.

Though packing up apartments/purchasing new dorm decorations seems to occupy all of our time and headspace of late, we found it quite valuable to take a moment and muse over our incredible summers. 

(Some of our travels' finest flora & fauna).

Maybe it's some form of confirmation bias, but we swear every time we chat, we uncover more uncanny similarities between us. It's becoming all the more plausible that we are twins separated at birth — especially given my, Maia's, height is not at all genetically correlated to that of my parents. A talk with them might have to be had. In all seriousness though, in a joking Instagram I, Maia, wrote that I'm the tallest beanstalk in my family. To which I received an ecstatic text from Kat saying her mother affectionately refers to her as her little beanpole. Beanstalk. Beanpole. Beans. Beans! (Read in the voice of Jim mocking Dwight and concluding that, "Fact: Bears eat beets. Bears. Beats. Battle Star Gallactica.") So, turns out there's a fourth layer to our already multi-faceted blog name rationale. Bean for Boston, Bean for Coffee, Bean for Humans, and now Bean for quirky descriptions of our gawky long limbs.

(Some sweet moments with our parents whom we'll miss dearly during the school year.)

Here's to boundless happiness, laughter, and fun blog ideas to come. Here's to a hapless curation of summer candids. Here's to sophomore year being "sophar so good" (I, Maia, will admit to already coming up for the name of my 2016-2017 FB album...) and here's to finally living one door over from each other. 

(Some of our drool-worthy summer noms).

So, as we settle back into the swing of things, excuse any quietness on the blog. Just know that we'll be writing/photographing/brainstorming furiously and whole-heartedly behind the scenes, working to bring fresh and exciting content to our little corner of the web. 

Life is so incredibly exciting right now, what with the end of summer, the beginning of an entirely new school year, and the prospects of living right next door to one another. So if you need us, we'll be off unpacking our college boxes and setting up our new dorm rooms, happily wiping sweat off our brows in the process. 

Xx, Beanpole & Beanstalk 

Looking Up

I used to have an exclusive aesthetic for skewed photos. I remember being the self proclaimed event photographer for my ninth grade trip to NYC with a friend and her mom. Given that I proudly strapped on my offensively pink Nikon J1, my companions trusted me with all visual documentation. Upon excited reveal of my imagery, faux praise couldn’t mask their dismay as every shot was crooked: from the beautiful lines of the empire state building to the perfect set up at Tiffany’s, each 90 degree angle was somehow butchered into what I can only approximate to be a 42.179 degree angle (I once had someone tell me every arbitrary number I selected when exaggerating a claim started with a 4, I have since realized I exaggerate quantities so often that my thumbs are accustomed to the keystroke pattern of reaching for wherever the 4 lies and then furiously tapping other numbers behind it). Well, while my photography skills have not been trained nor honed by any formal education, I’d like to think I’ve moved past from the days in which I thought I was revolutionizing an image by taking it completely lopsided.

On the contrary. Now I find myself fascinated with taking photos of buildings from angles which we don’t normally look at them. Think of your favorite building – that may be a tall order (pun intended), so just think of a building. You’re seeing it head on, are you not? You are facing the door as if it is placed perfectly perpendicular to you, the frame stretching skyward as it should – as it would look if you were gazing upon a scale model of the edifice. But that’s not at all how these buildings look to us when we actually see them (unless you are a giant - for at a lanky 5’11” and some, I’d love to meet others who uncontrollably tower over some of their friends too). We see buildings from the ground up – again, a literal comparison. We, almost always, are on the ground. So we see the bottom of the building, and can crane our neck if we want to gaze and give it that b*tchy head to toe body scan in order to evaluate its style and worth.

So why not photograph buildings in this way? Peering through the lens by bending our necks to peek at the corner of the roof. I think we prefer not to do this because it reminds us of our youth, in the one bad way, where we were stuck seeing the world from underneath counters and only caught it’s full scope on top of people’s shoulders or hoisted in their arms. I, for one, am coming around on this whole perspective. I find it youthfully refreshing to be limited in sight – to be only able of viewing a structure like I am its doll instead of it being my palace. I feel the power shifts in this dynamic, and most adults might not willingly relinquish even this smidgeon of control. But, as I embark on carving out the course of my future come school in a week-ish, I’ll relinquish any piece of power that I can – to feel a bit closer to being a care-free child again.

I am looking up at these buildings as I look forward to these next few years, to these upcoming journeys, to my ultimate future. I look up at buildings all the time now. I admire their face-to-face façade just as much as I longingly appreciate the intricacies in the nooks and crannies that are far from my reach. I mean look at these buildings. Really look at them. Did you ever see that or this or those buildings from this angle?

I can’t take all the credit for this point of view, no, not even the slightest bit. I happily admit I was influenced by instagram accounts like the geometry club, which solely post photos of buildings from the apex of their corner – a perfect triangle if you will. I also think back on a particular photo I studied in my History of Photography class during my freshman fall semester. It depicted a portion of machinery in an industrial factory. The way it was taken made you see the machinery in a way that would be so apparent if we actually captured it the way we see it. I’m wracking my brain for the name of this photo, to give this explanation some merit, and also wishing I didn’t pack away my class notebook in the storage boxes that await me this fall…

The first time I took a photo a la geometry club-esque was of Widener Library. I probably walked past that building 4842920 times my freshman year, as it lined the narrow corridor that fed me right to my dorm door. I walked past the building like I had countless times before, but, for some reason, that day I looked up. Maybe I had a thought, or one of those blank stares, or even a gaze into the distance like That’s So Raven, but instead of staring straight ahead and locking eyes with an unsuspecting passerby, I looked up. I looked up at Widener. I saw Widener like this. I was pretty proud of this photo, especially given that it predated my Nikon D5300 and somehow my trusty iPhone 6 pulled through.

So what did I do with a decent shot? I instagrammed it of course. And, surprisingly, people thought it was pretty cool. No longer was I being scolded for taking my photos unorganically, unorthodoxically, or borderline unethically. For once, my off-kilter shot accrued praise in lieu of poison. And, as any user of social media will admit, the near instant gratification and positive reinforcement whetted my appetite for more. And, from then on, I looked up. I looked up at buildings, I honed in on their corners, their juts, their most over-looked angles. And this is how I began to see buildings and see the world.

(Looking up at trees is also pretty cool, and don't even get me started on the fresh flower boxes dotting quaint neighborhoods in the 617)

This perspective has turned into a five month photo project, as the Widener shot was taken sometime in mid March and we’re now trudging our way through August. Though 339 photos qualified for this extended metaphor, I achingly selected the best 55 to include in this post – but I will admit keeping the others hidden feels like abandoning some of my children…

And with the copious amounts of photos (from my summer travels in NYC, Miami, and Boston) taken when looking up, I sign off happily as I look forward to the journeys and new perspectives that await me. 

Xx, Maia

A Colorful Comeback

Thinking back on my younger days, some of my fondest memories are of doodling and drawing designs and creatures on anything from a restaurant’s beverage napkin to yards of construction paper. With every scribble and color splashed onto a page, I was proud of my creation – and I presented them to my parents and friends with such gusto you would have thought I believed I was the next Picasso. Those freeform drawings later evolved into more outlined drawings, as I learned how to “color inside the lines.” When given an image to simply color in, the stress of ingenuity was lifted, and I could then focus on the imperative matching of harmonious colors and texture techniques. Mind you, I make it sound like I could/can draw – when I tell you my illustrations are tortured, please believe me.

Though I still catch myself doodling from time to time, whether it is in an effort to keep myself awake – I mean focused – during a lengthy class or just to spruce up a little note for a friend, I haven’t actually sat down to draw or color something since those “youthful” days.

That all changed when the coloring book craze populated my birthday presents and began filling my desk. I acquired books like the mindfulness-coloring book and the Parisian fashion one, but the most revered of all - the Vogue coloring book of course! This gem of a book landed in my lap after a brief dry bar blowout and cocktail encounter with Dani, one of my sister’s college friends, in New York. Dani works for Knopf, the publishing house of the Vogue coloring book, and she graciously sent me a early-released copy after a conversation about my blog and general catching up when I saw her at my sister’s golden birthday party (25 on March 25th!).

A few days after that, the book arrived in my college mail center, and instantly became the highlight of my day. In my hands I held the brand new Vogue coloring book! Filled to the brim with opulent designs and nods to previous magazine covers. Oh how excited I was to actually color it! Flashbacks of my childhood doodle days came flooding back as I purchased pocket-sized coloring pencils from a local tchotchke shop (I figured teeny tiny pencils would supplement this whimsical activity).

Once I was set with my pencils in tow and my book carefully packed in my backpack, I was ready to finally enter the craze of adult coloring. What I didn’t anticipate, however, was getting so wrapped up in finals period and spending more time in the dark hallows of Lamont library than sitting on the Widener steps and coloring Vogue designs like I had dreamed.

In hindsight, I probably should've taken advantage of the coloring book’s soothing effects during finals. Instead, I was slumped in the library nursing the small iced coffee I accidentally purchased instead of a large, trying to make it last long enough so I didn't have to *shudder* go downstairs to get another.

After surviving finals, what ended up happening with the dreamy coloring books? I ended up using them in social zones as a fun activity to gossip with friends while keeping occupied. I guess trying to catch up on each other’s lives was more taxing than expected – everyone's brutally specific relationship details or college-centric extracurricular stories caused uncontrollable fidgetiness among an audience of friends. Apparently coloring is a more palatable antidote than simultaneously scrolling through Instagram and nodding, "Yep, I'm listening. Continue." So I busted out my three coloring books with friends and instantly added color and whimsy to these hour-long talks.

This sharing motif actually ended up spreading from small social circles to as far as a whole coloring book event at a bookstore in Newbury St. last night! I rallied Sara, my go-to-adventure buddy and soon-will-be-missed roommate, and with childhood dreams in tow we checked it out. The event couldn’t have captured this coloring book craze any better – this shift of culture back to the youthful activities we all once relished. Black and white pages were sprawled across dining tables as "grown-ups" colored their way back to their childhood.  

However, due to entirely underestimating the volume of millennials with the same Thursday evening activity in mind, Sara and I were sadly turned away from this coloring (and cider!!) event, and had to shuffle our ticket-less selves through this if-a-bookstore-was-a-candy-store type haven and onto the streets (of Newbury). So we snagged some smoothies and had our own coloring event - my Raven Symoné like instincts had nudged me to grab my coloring books and some Crayola from my apartment just in case. 

Turns out my graphic designer and all around "arteeest" of a friend truly colored the Vogue book like it deserved to be colored - with draping, shading, layering, the works! The amount of detail she spent in achieving lifelike shadowing on this red dress justifies the amount of photos I took of her working on this particular design. Plus, the Vogue coloring book itself is already a masterpiece, and being able to color in such iconic imagery imparts an air of importance onto the craft - as if the act of coloring has an official, grown up, mod stamp of approval. 

Checkout the carousel of photos below for some inside peaks at the glamorous eras that populate the inspiring Vogue Coloring Book!

Regardless of the setting, be it an official community coloring event or a casual gathering with friends, there's something quite whimsical and rather soothing about grasping the rainbow and channeling it into designs that are a bit more sophisticated than outlines of kiddie characters. So, what's my take on coloring past your youthful prime? I'm all for it. There are countless songs, and poems, and elders woefully pondering, "why is youth wasted on the young?" It's not wasted my friends - it's gifted onto the young. For the young bumble through their days with all of this imagination and excitement, and wielding a sharpened Crayola becomes the vessel between their ideas and their tangible representation. Maybe that's a broad claim on my part. And maybe coloring books aren't the end all and be all determination of a creative and happy society. But, for a brief moment, they can be. And regardless if they are or if they are not, I encourage you all to pick up a coloring book and scribble all over it. You can even add another (rather educational) layer to your "childish" endeavor by rekindling your fondness of the alphabet from Vogue’s Automobile to Zebra!

Xx, Maia

Sunday Quips & Anecdotes

“So it’s the people of privilege who get work experience or have the luxury of thinking about what they want to do as a career in that field. We should be concerned about coming up with ways to make sure that everyone has an equal opportunity to start something.” – Alexa Chung

On the days I find myself stuck in thoughts, lacking the proper wording to transport my feelings from my heart and my mind to the world, I find refuge in the phrasing of others. Whether it be in the wit and charm of the authors of my summer reads (note a side smile at Alexa Chung and Glenn O’Brien), or even quotes found hidden in social media captions, I find that sometimes other’s can convey what I cannot. And not only does this alleviate some of the frustration of not being able to express certain feelings, it also makes me feel like I must not be the only one who feels these unnamed moments, for if someone else can pen them, they must certainly feel them too.

"There are some feelings you will never find words for, you will learn to name them after the ones who gave them to you." - Maza Dohta

Today, on a particularly lazy Sunday, I am here to patch together some of the sayings I've encountered this summer, along with the snacks that accompanied the thoughts. 

Here, hidden in a newspaper from a hotel, a book from a model turned entrepreneur, any text for that matter, are the phrases I found most resonating. So, take them for yourself as you will – find in them what you need to find. We don’t have to see them or read them in the same way. They don’t all have to serve you the way they served me or the way they were written to be served. Read them as you need them. There are quotes for the ideas and inspirations budding inside of you; there are sayings for the more solemn and quiet of times whispering in your heart, and there are words that genuinely make you laugh out loud and tease a smile onto your face. Again, you’ll read it the way it is most useful to you. I’m just here to curate words in ways that inspired me in hopes that they will, in turn, inspire you.

Alexa Chung, IT

"It's a juxtaposition I strongly endorse. If left to their own devices, children dress very similarly to elderly crazy cat women – and I love it. Our affinity for fashion often starts at a young age. Most of the things I wear today are a throwback to the items I owned as a child. Minus the multi-colored harem trousers. You know what you like, so follow your gut.” - Alexa Chung

“The nicest thing I heard during the worst time in my life was this: ‘you have to suffer heartbreak so you know what to tell your daughter when she has her heart broken.” - Alexa Chung*

*I’d also like to interject the caveat that I’m fortunate to not have had my heart broken in my nineteen years. But I know I can’t escape the unfortunate and inevitable, and I can only imagine that one day I will find Chung-level comfort in a phrase like this one. 

Set aside Moments for Your Own Wisdom

At some point during my first year of college, I acquired the knack for recording things in a hortizontally bound sketchbook – a blank page-filled, starchy brown bound book, the one with the wooden art figurine outlined on the front, ample page space for ideas, ramblings, unforgiving sketches (I recall having written in response to a college supplement question that my drawing ability was tortured to say the least, and all my depictions of cats ended up looking like four-legged pumpkins), and the like.

I managed to fill my first notebook in the fall with post-it’s of to do lists, ideas that populated my mind, mid lecture, or woke me up during day dreams (again, mid lecture), and the occasional symmetrical scribble.

The spring brought more of the same, yet the summer, oh the summer, has been so radically inspiring. I have all this time, well aside from work, in which I am free to let my mind traverse new paths.

Sometimes I catch myself admiring the brilliantly colored flowers that are so different from everything I've been accustomed to back home. Other times, I read one scrap of writing that intrigues me enough to fall down the rabbit hole of jumping from one lead to the next – and then I’m furiously jotting down the most unforgettable quotes I stumble on upon the way. In fairness to you, readers, I want to give you a glimpse at this chaos I struggle to put into words (notice a theme here?), yet in fairness to my thoughts, I should probably keep them somewhat to myself – at least in their nascent state. So let’s compromise. You can look but you can’t read - for the most part. And because my handwriting is a sore in it of itself (that’s what I get for writing exclusively in cursive during elementary, and then trying to copy the curvature of my sister’s y’s and q’s while also trying to have my own flair). 

Given that two of the books that I have read this summer (which I found the most whimsically interesting) are both texturedly bound in canvas or whatever material that is, I find myself thinking on what my book would look like if I ever wrote one – forget what in the world it would be about, I want it to look like it matters. Like someone would be proud to own it, for both its content and, yes, for its cover. But, regardless of what my book looks like, or reads like, this post will surely, inevitably, wrap itself into a chapter.

Orienting Information

I’m an optimistic believer in things happening for a reason, that everything happens for the highest good for you in that moment (I hear the echo of my mother's voice as I write this). Following this mantra, I’m spending this summer being quite open to random occurrences, like finding a pretty looking book in my apartment that has now sparked a love for a new author, or striking up a conversation with a woman at the Public Garden because she was seeking to officiate a wedding in the spot where I was picnicking with a friend.

I also feel like the mantra I mentioned leads me into this next quote:

“Sometimes I smell my parents on my words. And I weep.” – Nayyirah Waheed

See, I'm being entirely serious! Ask my friend Jordan if you still don't believe this happened. 

Goodness Gracious, Glenn O'Brien

I am thankful for a slow-paced day a couple of weekends ago that left me sitting on the couch and able to catch a glimpse of a mint colored book tucked away under what I think might be a Phantom of the Opera mask in my apartment (mind you, since I'm just subletting, my apartment came fully and quirkily furnished - and I love it). This book turned out to be the wonder that is, How to Be a Man by Glenn O'Brien. Though I did not seek this book out as a trusty tell-all manual for how to live my life as a more powerful gentleman, I turned to it as satire and eagerly flipped through the pages as I chuckled to myself. 

Here are some of the funniest, if not most notable passages I found. Though, unfortunately I must admit I am not too far along in this book since the uncomfortable glares and glances I received when I brought this on the bus with me to work prompted me to tuck it away in my backpack and hurriedly order another, more unsuspecting O'Brien title. 

“Today chivalry is taken to mean opening the car door for a woman or giving her your arm when she’s picking her way over cobblestones in Manolo Blahnik spikes. In short, chivalry is now about making a woman feel like a lady.” - Glenn O'Brien

“But we’ll fight like gentlemen of a new age. Our weapons will not be broadsword, mace, and cudgel; they will be wit, satire, mockery, and chiding. Not the longbow but the bon mot.” - Glenn O'Brien

“We are made to walk. If we do not, we will lose the ability. If you can walk there, do it, not only for the exercise but because that’s how a man [ahem, and a woman… this is one rare instance in which a rule for “How to Be a Man” can be aptly applied to females as well] gets ideas. The rhythm of walking, combined with the concept of moving from point to point, is the perfect context for ideation. I’ve gotten many of my best ideas on sidewalks and fairways. Musicians and songwriters have often told me that walking is a good mode for picking tunes up out of the firmament.” - Glenn O'Brien

Soap Box, not Box Soap

As I googled and googled for another O'Brien book, I found, what I thought was titled "Box Soap" and purchased it with one click (thank you Amazon Prime!). I have now realized it's called Soap Box, and now it makes much more sense. In this conglomeration of writing, O'Brien simply sheds light on topics he finds worth his time - my idol. Every moment I have had since this book plopped into my mailbox on Friday has been spent actually laughing while reading, and here's what I've enjoyed so far:

“I also thought it was very important to be funny, because how else can you be taken seriously?” - Glenn O'Brien

“Hip is mysterious. Sometimes it doesn’t appear until adulthood, sometimes it disappears altogether soon after its appearance – making the formerly hip person seem in retrospect to have been the victim of himself. The mechanism of hip is like the mechanism of possession, because you can’t own it, you can’t hang on to it, you can only tune it in and stay tuned.” - Glenn O'Brien

“When you’re hip you’re Intense but Chill. When you’re hip you’re Bad. As in Good Bad But Not Evil. When you’re hip you’re always wearing shades to protect others from your own brilliance.” - Glenn O'Brien

“As Leonard Cohen says, there’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in. Hey, don’t throw that out. Just because it’s a little damaged. It has the mystique of an antique already. Give me a crack at that. I’ll take the broken one every time – at least you can see what is wrong.” - Glenn O'Brien

“Like yoghurt in the fridge, they’re keeping our culture on ice.” - Glenn O'Brien

Bright & Early

Sometimes I enjoy the gusto of planning a morning adventure that seizes the day before it should even be considered a reasonable waking hour on a Sunday. Today's 6:30am alarm was brought by the craving for a T-Rex bagel and the wherewithal to anticipate the line out the door (you would've thought the bagel was going extinct!) before Bagelsaurus even opened at 8am. Since no one was really awake at that hour to accompany me via voice on my journey, I turned to the words of Glenn O'Brien for chuckles in between the updates to my Snapchat Story chronicle. Well, folks, I did it! I woke up, got me a bagel, and promptly returned home for a nap. I'd say it was a successful Sunday all before 9am. 

If you're looking for a palate whetting description of this bagel, peep my previous post on Touristing in Boston! But, as always, here are some delectable shots. Also, please take note at how much mess ensues from this meal, and imagine me corralling all of this paper and almond butter on a cramped flight to New York - yup, that happened. 

Even though it's been quite the productive and simultaneously lazy Sunday, groceries will unfortunately not purchase themselves so I'm off. But, I'll leave you with these two sayings that are similar in sentiment: 

"Edit your life frequently and ruthlessly. It’s your masterpiece after all."  – Nathan W. Morris

"You are allowed to be both a masterpiece and a work in progress, simultaneously." – Sophia Bush

Xx, Maia

Clash of the Art Scenes

So far, you readers have gotten a feel for Miami as a hometown and as a buffet of sorts. Now, in my final post about this beloved, sunny city, I want to ponder the dichotomy that exists in some pockets of Miami's art scene. I'm talking about the modern pop-ups and the more historical treasures that populate the city and contribute to it's overall "fusion" vibe. 

Miami itself is quite a nascent city - fairly young and skipper as opposed to other cities I have come to think of like home (*cough* Boston, I'm looking at you). This means our history is not as deep rooted, giving us room to blossom with diverse amalgamation. Since this topic is quite broad, if not borderline existential, let me narrow the scope. If we were to think of Miami as this new city, perhaps in its 20's as compared to its wiser and weathered city-peers, it would make sense that Miami is in the phase of reinventing herself. (Yes, Miami is a gal - think bronzed skin, beachy hair, and legs for days). She is trying on all of these different hats and vibes, seeing who she'll become as a result of the lives that dwell within her. Granted this metaphor materializes in highways built, the growth of the tourist economy, and other factors that clearly don't apply to your standard 20 year old. But indulge me.  

Before she became the hip, food-truck laden, Art Basel boasting city she is now - she found comfort in the tried and true styles that came before her. Let's use the Viscaya Mansion as an example for this classic period in her life. 

The Viscaya Mansion, formerly Villa Viscaya, used to be home to tycoon James Deering, one of three Deering brothers who also planted their mansion seeds along the drive from Viscaya to my old high school. James Deering, a conservationist, built his home with the intention of preserving local mangroves all along his property. In a present day visit to his estate, you can see the flourishing mangroves all along your walk. Upon Deerings death in 1925, his estate was handed to his nieces who couldn't keep up the cost of maintenance, especially with constant hurricanes rattling the property. Eventually, the city of Miami-Dade acquired the property and restored it to the interactive art museum it is today. 

In a recent trip my friend Sofia and I made to Viscaya, we were impressed with the lushness of the property, it's beauty, and it's expanse - I'm even remembering a particular tower of flights in the mansion and wondering how fit Deering and his visitors must have been to reach all the floors and corners of his estate. 

The mansion itself is roped off in parts like any other living museum. So your dream of seeing if you fit on one of those tiny beds (seriously, was everyone much smaller back in the day?) might not come true on this trip. But you know what dream will come true? You becoming a part of the artwork. Sofi and I could definitely not resist acting out our most statuesque poses in order to "blend" in with Deering's impressive collection. 

Sorry, back on topic. Viscaya is actually a very apt vehicle for this overarching metaphor - the one of Miami being a fusion of old and new. The mansion itself was designed with a European theme, borrowing architectural styles from Italy and France, yet constructed using Cuban materials with Floridian coral trimmings and native vegetation - a ~fusion~ in it of itself, right? 

As expected, the mansion decor is just as opulent as the nature bathing the property. Though there were plenty of signs saying no photos, I took that to mean no flash... so here all of the out of focus vertical shots are the ones I snagged with my slick iPhone skills. 

Overall, my trip to Viscaya helped me transport back to Miami as it was before - as she was before she figured she had to "keep up with the Joneses." (Who is this Jones family and why are they always setting the trends?!)

Anyway, just a few more exits up the highway takes you to the Wynwood Art District, which, as noted in my prior post, is home of Zak the Baker, The Salty Donut, and the seemingly last remainder of a good 'ol Jugofresh now that Whole Foods has swallowed them all up. But, aside from the decadent food coating the area, Wynwood is certainly known for it's eclectic art scene. 

For a little background, Wynwood sprouted as an art inspired/tech focused/certifiable melting pot in the mid 2000's. It is recognized mostly by its ever-changing graffiti - think paintings and pieces covering buildings and facilities, "commissioned chaos" one might say. Wynwood is also a bit of an extension of the fashion/design district of Miami, so you'll definitely see people dressed-to-impress in order to satisfy photos in front of the Wynwood Walls (if not because the people who frolic Wynwood are genuinely cooler than the people who visit Viscaya - sorry to all the girls doing their Quinceñera photoshoots the day I visited Viscaya...).

Though countless tourists may now take for granted what negotiations went behind cleaning up this neighborhood and transforming it into a pedestrian gallery, we have Tony Goldman to thank for it all. Goldman, who passed away in 2012, was a property developer who had visions for the potential of areas like this one, and opened up restaurants to encourage traction. He bought up all the properties, comprised mostly of warehouses, since Wynwood used to be a garment district, and figured he could make one of the largest, walking, outdoor galleries if he teamed up with local artists. And that, my friends, is exactly what he did. He had the foresight to turn windowless buildings into actual blank canvases and fostered relationships with the local artists to build respect for these platforms and circumvent vandalism. Given that story, what Wynwood has become today is all the more impressive. 

From the Wynwood to the Walls (thank you Lil John and The Eastside Boyz for setting up my pun), this sector of Miami definitely embodies the modern phase of Miami - the phase she, as a city, is definitely vibing since it brings visitors from all over the world to her concrete yard. 

So, while Miami from a Birdseye view might seem like a battle between modernity and antiquity, I'd have to disagree. I'd say this artistic conflict is only another materialization of the dichotomies that make Miami the unique city that she is. From the food, to the people, to the culture, to the art, Miami fuses it all and that is yet another reason that I am incredibly proud to call it my home. 

Xx, Maia

The Madness that is Manus x Machina

Approximately 3,394 miles separate the two of us this summer, as Katherine gallivants around Spain for her study abroad program and Maia frolics through the Boston suburbs for her internship. Though distance and a hefty time difference keep us apart, we sought a way to stay connected that was more powerful than sporadic texts and sweet comments on each other’s Instagram photos: We went to Manus x Machina at the MET. Not together, unfortunately. Rather, weeks apart. But knowing we both traversed those hallowed halls and ogled at the same garments made us feel back as a team, with one view, one take away. Almost as if we were at one of our classic Crema Cafe meetings, sipping on hot chocolates, snacking on pastries, and laughing about how we always think of the same things.

The improbable task of writing this joint post over Google Drive and Whatsapp has made us realize we are more alike than we previously imagined. We both walked away from this exhibit, curated by Andrew Bolton, with oddly similar thoughts, vibes, and commentary. Without further ado, this is what we saw and what we have to say about it ― a cross-ocean commune of thoughts and sentiments:

Upon entering, we weren't exactly sure what we expected, and the exhibit offered far more than we anticipated — by sheer volume, size, categorization, and grandiosity.

The exhibit begins with the famous wedding ensemble by Karl Lagerfeld for the House of Chanel. Worn as a finale piece by none other than Cara Delevingne and made of a scuba material, baring a train whose pixelated print was extended some twenty feet for the exhibition, the dress provides the ideal platform for which to showcase the dichotomy of the exhibit, that is, between man and machine. While the gown constituted the signature piece for an equally signature Chanel collection, it was not necessarily couture in the traditional sense (note the plaque’s quote from Lagerfeld describing the dress as, “haute couture without the couture”), in that it did not require the hours of intensive hand labor characteristic of couture fashion. In fact, the dress was nearly entirely of machine creation, the crux lying in the fact that it was birthed, ultimately, of the human mind.

Though the wedding dress occupied its own spacious, dome-shaped room, the remainder of the pieces seemed rather cramped in the narrow and dimly lit concentric hallways (and this is why we ask you to excuse the blurriness of some of our photos ― the low lighting and fighting of elbow jabs didn’t make for prime photographic conditions). Other than this human to human physicality, the main backdrop of the exhibit is a choral ensemble of sorts ― an oddly pious and holy sounding "ohm" that seems more in place at a church as opposed to an exhibit on fashion. The cathedral music paired with the sheer beauty of the pieces lent to an overwhelmingly spiritual experience for the both of us. Then again, that may have been the exhibit's intention — to stretch beyond the physical platform of fashion and couture and to define the intersect between man and machine, technology and antiquity, in a worldly sense. Regardless, the music built perhaps the greatest contrast in its being the soundtrack to the chaos that surrounded and filled the exhibition: the crowds, the narrow corridors, the somewhat burdensome demanding of one's attention. If fashion is for the consumer, it seems that the consumer was now the consumed — we were entrenched both in art and in obligation.  

For us, this feeling of obligation had a profound effect on the overall flow of the exhibit. We felt ourselves caught in an ambivalent state between viewing and photographing. Both desiring to take the exhibit in and to still document it, we ended up viewing much of it through our lenses ― just as the myriad people around us were: locked behind phone screens and camera viewfinders. Such an unfortunate realization captured the very essence of the exhibit. Man and machine, the intersection, the consumption. In this case, machine consumed man. No longer were we free to peruse at our own ease and pleasure, rather, we were caught behind our iPhones and in between the shoulders of countless strangers.

(Side note from Maia: when I left the MET, I was walking behind two schoolgirls, around age 10 at max, in matching uniforms, skipping and singing the most ominous song: “I’m being swallowed by a boa constrictor and I don’t like it very much.” The song, while terrifying had this occurred at night or in a horror movie, seemed to aptly echo my sentiments about tourist centric claustrophobia that I of course added to nonetheless.)

However, we did not allow the cramped quarters and 'rat race' quality of the exhibition to entirely jade our viewing of its constituent pieces, as it ultimately was an incredible experience. (We couldn't help but imagine how beautiful it might be to see a runway showing featuring an amalgam of all of the garments). We loved the organization of the exhibit; the rooms and pieces were divided thematically ― pleats, prints, dyes, so on ― so as to highlight the process, specifically the genesis (or lack there of) it has undergone with the advent of mechanization, behind each's construction. We were surprised, namely, by the florals. Florals for Manus x Machina? Groundbreaking. If you, our readers, recall our Met Gala review post, we found ourselves slightly confused at the inclusion of floral ensembles amidst the Gala's more futuristic garbs. However, upon viewing the floral pieces in their intended exhibit, thus witnessing their place on the spectrum of man and machine, we finally understand that the florals fit the theme quite well, quite seamlessly if you will. The flowers adorning most of these pieces were sculpted using gelatin in order to increase malleability and stability. They were crafted using multi step processes like metal presses and cold water baths. In the end, most were hand sewn on to their base in order to both anchor the flowers to one another and secure them to the final piece. Through the exhibition, we came to see the flowers in a different light ― one that underscored the delicate balance between man and machine. Manus x Machina was not an exhibit on futuristic fashion, a tribute to automaton-like pieces, it was a tribute to the method and technique that goes behind modern couture, a tribute to the malleability not only of flowers adorning gowns but of ideas, notions, and concepts ― how the very meaning of couture changes as technology improves, as the overlap between man and machine becomes even more ambiguous.  

Overall, pushing aside the cramped quality of the space itself, we left with a truer understanding of the exhibit’s intended dichotomy. As the introduction states:

“Instead of presenting the handmade and the machine-made as oppositional, this exhibition suggests a spectrum or continuum of practice, whereby the hand and the machine are equal and mutual protagonists in solving problems, enhancing design practices, and advancing the future of fashion.” - MET plaque

We initially expected the exhibit to be a showcase of dresses indicative of mechanization and the future (think Jordan Dunn’s metallic gown and other robotic homages). But really, the exhibit was meant to showcase the process as much as, if not more than, the product. While the flow of the exhibit felt rushed at times (in the sense that we could only dedicate some five seconds looking at a piece before being shuffled on to the next) we felt ecstatic to have gone and seen it ― especially considering it gave us the overarching feeling of being together, even when many, many miles apart.

Xx, Katherine & Maia

Growing Up Where Most Vacation

A little slice of paradise during my staycation.

Today, I write with just five short days left in Miami. I've spent four warm weeks in my summer haven, soaking up all of the sun, salt, and sand before I head back up to Boston for a 9-week internship (cue becoming an adult!). In these four weeks that I've been home, I've been more like a tourist than usual; constantly clutching my camera like a newborn and toting it around town in order to document all of my adventures. As I procrastinate packing my bags, I am reflecting on all the classic Miami activities I've loaded into my time here and smiling as I realize how fortunate I am to have grown up in this eclectic city. And here's why:

I present to you, readers and lovers of summer, my favorite things about the 305, my home, my paradise - save a few more in depth adventure stories coming later (think: Wynwood, Viscaya Museum & Gardens, and all the good eats Miami has to offer). 

The first thing many people ask when they hear I'm from Miami is if I live on the beach. For the sake of saving face with my actual beach-based friends, my answer is no, I do not live on the beach. In fact, I laugh as I recall the many years I despised the beach: the feeling of gritty sand in all the places it shouldn't be, the dry sensation of salt ingrained in my skin, and the painful knots in my hair after a dip in the ocean. You can even ask my dad about this. He'll chuckle upon remembering having to carry a stubborn toddler from the shore to the car in an effort to avoid getting even a grain of sand on her precious feet. 

But, at a ripe nineteen years of age, I can say that I've actually now grown fond of the beach - probably because I've been deprived of it all year. There's something that rings true to the saying, "you don't know what you've got till it's gone." Yes, the beach can be scorching and sticky under all those coats of sunscreen (fact: I burn, not tan, and yes, I am a disgrace to my Miamian blood as I don a ghostly glow instead of a tropical tan all summer), however, being able to swim in clear, warm waters whenever the fancy strikes me, I admit, is a treat I've taken for granted. 

My beautiful friend Maria who lives more at the beach than at her house. 

I now realize that what I'll probably miss most when I leave Miami is the ease and ability to take a spur of the moment trip for a good swim anywhere along the coast, from SoBe to the Keys - I am a pisces after all. 

If I am to be completely honest though, what really makes these aquatic adventures even better are the snacks! I'm not talking about the meals at Zak the Baker or Threefold Cafe (but stay tuned for those mouthwatering food pics in upcoming posts), rather, gourmet goodies we bring with us from Publix, a true hometown treasure. 

If you've ever met a Floridian, you know they possess an intense pride for Publix - a local grocery chain that is much more than what it sounds like. To follow this train of thought: trips to Publix, "where shopping is a pleasure," are in fact one of the favored activities of any true Floridian. To give you background: everyone has a neighborhood Publix and none of them are the same. Try finding the pasta aisle in your friend's Publix - hah, it's nearly impossible. Is it inefficient to have radically different Publix layouts for each store, you ask? Nope, not at all. I'd argue that it is part of the ~charm~.

Alexa and I demonstrating how Publix brings out our inner child. 

What is comforting is that your Publix is yours and yours alone (plus everyone else that lives in the nearby radius), a truly unique childhood spot and unlike any other location. It's somehow comforting to have been shopping at the same grocery store since you could walk, be able to go back to it after months away, and still manage to travel the route to the cheese section by memory, or not even having to look up when grabbing that can of soup because it's been in the same spot since your Publix opened it's doors. Whereas going to your friend's neighborhood Publix, though not as seamless of a trip as usual, is like learning a whole new language. It doesn't replace your mother tongue, but it's enjoyable to expand your repertoire. 

A photo capturing my love for cheese and Publix. 

If it's not readily apparent to you, I love Publix. I love running into old friends and their parents, hearing the latest gossip while waiting in the notoriously slow deli section line - extra time for chismes? I'll take it! Aside from the famed Publix subs (confession: I've never had one...), what I love most about Publix is that everyone knows you and has seen you grow up. It's like family, but with SO much food (the best combo - in my opinion). Oh! And one more thing: there is a supposed Publix phenomenon regarding attractive bag boys. Every homegrown Floridian girl has had a crush on a Publix bag boy at one point or another - I can guarantee it. Not only have I heard stories from Floridian friends over the years, but even last week some of my friends mentioned they had their eye on a good looking fellow who graciously helped carry their groceries to their car. Publix, where shopping is truly a pleasure. 

Peep the catchphrase! 

Anyway, aside from beaches and Publix (two of the most Miami-centric topics aside from Calle Ocho), I must mention a brief appreciation for our local flora and fauna. If I had to pick the most lush spot in the city, aside from the gorgeous Fairchild Botanical Garden, it would have to be a particular stretch of Old Cutler Road right before it hits the Cocoplum Circle. This part of the street is warmly enveloped by tons of trees, forming a natural tunnel that is so comforting it's like driving through a hug. While I tried my very best to photograph this metaphor, I'm not quite sure if the photos I took, while dangling out the passenger side window, really do it justice:

Other than all the palm trees, orchids, and other vegetation, another notable part of Miami nature is the abundance of tropical critters. I have never seen more peacocks in my life than on my front lawn, or more iguanas roaming free than at a little beach in Key Largo. The peacocks are fairly harmless - mostly just napping on the rooftop of my old Volkswagen Bug. The iguanas, on the other hand, are more menacing than one would think. 

Just another cute lil Floridian birdie.

In an effort to squeeze in one last staycation before I left Miami, my family, friends, and I took a weekend trip down to the Keys. This included stopping at the Southernmost point of Florida - an emotional moment for my mom as this is the closest tip of the United States to Cuba (her motherland) - as well as sweating through some family beach volleyball.

But, none of that good 'ol family camaraderie will imprint as vivid of a memory as what happened to my friend Val as we ate a beachside lunch on Sunday. All of us were lounging under a beach tiki and nomming on burgers, fish tacos, and fries when we heard Valerie shriek. Our heads whipped to her direction only to spot an iguana pounce on her lap in an effort to steal her buns (the burger kind). Val threw her burger in the air and then fell off her chair as the iguana crawled up her body. Surviving with just a scratch on her knee from falling on the nearby cement steps, Val was traumatized - and we were all cackling, once we ensured she was okay of course. Our waitress witnessed the whole incident, and brought Val a fresh burger on the house. Though there were no pictures of the actual attack, the only proof I can provide you is this shot of Val's burger splayed all over her bag and this picture of the receipt warranting her free meal:

I guess not all iguanas were as friendly and photogenic as this one I found. 

Other than the iguana incident, my time in Miami has been smooth sailing. Being able to catch up with hometown friends, eat home-cooked meals or classic restaurant favorites, and soak up days of Vitamin D has been truly nutritious and refreshing. And now I think I'm ready to say goodbye to my childhood paradise and embark on my next adventures in Boston as a working girl. 

Keep up with Mod & Bean as I post more in depth reviews of my time in Wynwood, Viscaya, etc. as well as the countless adulting stories I'm sure I'll accumulate in the weeks to come! 

Xx, Maia

Summer Shenanigans - join us!

Just last August, we embarked on our first year here at Harvard. Today, on a beautiful, sunny, 70 degree day (reading period weather finally gone!), we are saying goodbye to schoolwork and hello to summer! It seems like just yesterday we were sitting in Crema on February 13th whipping up the idea for this blog, and here we are, still at Crema and still avoiding schoolwork (shoutout to our 2pm finals). We write not to say goodbye but to share what to look forward to from the Mod & Bean team come these summer days.

In three months, we'll span the globe, do some research, and maintain a healthy appetite that does not include Berg (sorry, HUDS, we love you but yeah...). We're so excited to grow the blog through our coming adventures, and give you all a sneak peek into our separate lives before we join back together this fall. Seeking more deets? Here you go --

Katherine: At the beginning of the summer, I'm heading to Michigan (the first time I'll be 'home' since moving away from ATL last May!) and lounging about until my birthday (June 5th). Expect lots of recipe posts made with fresh farmers markets finds! Also, prepare yourself to be jealous of the ridiculous amount of fresh Michigan-grown berries I'll be consuming. Come June, I'm staying in my favorite city, New York, for a few days, reuniting with my roommate and blockmate, Veronica. From NYC, I'm flying into London for a week, then to Madrid, then to the Mediterranean, and I'll finally be settling into Spain for 4 weeks of language instruction at the University of Leon and 3 weeks of an internship in Madrid. Afterwards, I'll finish up my summer traveling throughout Europe: think France, Amsterdam, Italy, etc. All of this is to say, expect way too many food and travel posts from me!

Maia: Next week I'll be heading to New York to celebrate my sister's graduation from her Master's program as well as her recent engagement (congrats again!!). This will be a great excuse for more banana pudding from Magnolia Bakery and tons of museum excursions. Then I'll be headed home to the tropical 305 for a healthy overdose of Vitamin D and a thorough stuffing of all my favorite Miami eats. Think botanical gardens, beach, and much needed lounging. Trust me, after 4 weeks you'll know Miami like it's your home too. After playtime comes work, and I'll be back in Beantown to do Montessori research with a team at the MIT Media Lab. Cue living on my own (in non campus housing) and learning how to be a real human bean. Basically, you'll get to know my two hometowns very, very, well. 

Stay Tuned and don't forget to follow us along on Instagram (@modandbean & @katherineharrison & @maialeandra) to satisfy your hankering for live updates. 

Xx, Kat & Maia 

Manus x Machina: a Met Gala Review

The MFA's Techstyle exhibit lingering fresh in our minds, the celebrity studded Manus x Machina -themed Met Gala further ignited our love for this recurring fashion-is-the-future theme. Clicking through Elle magazine's endless carousel of the night's looks as we battle Finals Season colds and attempt to stay dry during the monotonous rain of this week, we cherry picked some of our favorite looks and figured, in the spirit of doing anything but schoolwork, we'd toss them into a blog post. 

Cue the stunning shot above: Jourdan Dunn immediately captured our attention in her metallic Balmain gown. Dunn was a refreshing canvas for Balmain's lead designer, Olivier Rousteing  (while the Balmain-Kardashian relationship has produced some stunning looks, it's become a bit commonplace seeing the klan in Rousteing's corset ensembles event after event). Dunn's tailored Balmain piece managed to stand out in an ocean of disco balls and scaly fish filets — and truly embodied the dichotomy of (wo)man and machine. 

Other gowns, like those donned by Naomi Watts and Nicole Kidman, reminded us of Hunger Games-esque fashions — you know, like those dashing socialites who live in the Capitol. As we moved from picture to picture, designer to designer, we blurted the first adjectives that came to our minds: "Lobster" and "column" for the more disappointing pieces, "Queen of the Galaxy" tumbling off our tongues for Watts and Kidman. 

Men's red carpet wear didn't seem to provide the most compelling canvas for the Manus x Machina theme, but we loved the metal arms on Zayn Malik's classic black tie look. His date, Gigi Hadid, stood out with brushed metal rings and chrome nails featuring over $2000 in crystals.

Photo Credit: Billboard

Photo Credit: US Magazine

One of the nights most captivating ensembles came in the pairing of Claire Danes with designer Zac Posen for the incredible LED-laden gown shown below. When the lights went down, the organza 'Cinderella-esque at first sight' gown reveals the intricate fiber optics beneath.

While we soon found ourselves bored by the sheer volume of attendees donning metallic frocks and ensembles, we did like Kristen Stewart's striking silver eye makeup.

Photo Credit: Popsugar

We also couldn't help but think of how perfect Valentino's recent galaxy collection would have been for the night (this might just be our love of Valentino gowns talking though).

The night featured tons of incredible on-theme looks — from Lupita's sky high hair and emerald green dress to Selena Gomez's steampunk Louis Vuitton piece — but a fair share of guests went a more traditional route, donning dresses, beautiful in their own rights, yet more akin to what one might expect on a typical red carpet. Below we've gathered some of our favorite looks that, while not embodying the Manus x Machine theme per say, were tasteful choices nonetheless.

Photo Credit: People Style Watch

Zoe Saldana

Photo Credit: Popsugar

Looking through red carpet looks following star-studded events like the Met Gala has long been a joy for the both of us, this year being no exception. Neither of us can contain our excitement over getting to see the Manus x Machina curated by Andrew Bolton when we visit the city this summer!

Xx Katherine & Maia