Saturday evening was the annual holiday party at the home of my friends Ivy Kirzhner, shoe designer, photographer, and all-around creative soul, and her husband Alex, Grammy-nominated art director and superchef, whose skills as a hosting-with-the-most team I could only aspire to slowly learn. Soon, perhaps, and it'll be cemented on the day I could afford to build a dwelling place as beautiful and as indicative of my personal style as this is of theirs. Walking into their abode, decorated for the festivities in Ivy's splendid maximalism---tapestry, taxidermy, and pelt---was bit-by-bit creatively inspiring.
Their tree was decorated with bird wings,
and little storybook rabbits.
Ivy's Giambattista Valli patent leather slippers
and "Alexey Romanovich, Il Re della Cucina"
welcome you to the holidays at La Maison Kirzhner.
Here's what my eyes and lips feasted on:
a partitioned head, a colorful bird atop an old typewriter, bug specimens
a vintage Polaroid Land Camera
red velvet mini cupcakes
Turkish "cotton candy" and Turkish delight (note to self: layering bought desserts could be more interesting than serving them in sections on a platter)
Ivy's easy holiday cocktails: Prosecco with a splash of St-Germain, and the Orient Express: sweet tea, cranberry juice, and rose water
I wanted to be both dark and festive for the holidays, and perhaps a little bit naughty. I wore:
a Thom Browne for Black Fleece tuxedo jacket, a Uniqlo black oxford button-down, and a Brook & Lyn silk rope and Brazilian agate harness. (photo by Bob Shimosato)
a sparse but storied wrist party on Citizen Couture's Jason Jean: the most charming plastic bracelet inscribed with the words "What This Says Does Not Matter" from a gum ball machine at Art Basel, and a string bracelet he got conned into purchasing from a street-roamer in Milan
the Kirzhner's bundle of joy: a bunny named Bonkers
whose likeness you'll find punched into their party favors
In a city where event invites flood both your e-mail and Facebook inboxes, where time is of the essence, and orchestrating a thirty-minute coffee date feels like pulling teeth---sweet, intimate dinner parties where you can sit and converse and view your friends in sufficient light are such rare, rare gems. Ivy, Alex, and Bonkers, thanks for the wonderful evening, and to you, my dear readers, happy, happy holidaze.