For about 58 pages or so into T Magazine’s (a NYT publication) Holiday 2015 issue, the reader flips through well-known worlds of conspicuous consumption ruled over by all the familiar party hosts. Ralph Lauren, Louis Vuitton, Prada, Cartier, Coach, Estee Lauder, Bloomie’s, Bergdorf Goodman, Tiffany (Since 1837!), and many more.

Maybe the magazine is not the best distraction for the start of what might be a lonely and/or disappointing New Year’s Eve.

But then the magazine presents a little letter from the editor declaring that the overall mood of the magazine will be set by an essay a few pages beyond (past Gucci and HUBLOT) making the case for the idea that “…when we try to create the perfect anything, we often end up stripping away the shaggier bits that may contain the spontaneous, the real, the personal and the one-of-a-kind—and thus, the truly beautiful.”

So then comes the essay, The Good Enough Holiday, about “gladsomeness” and the joys of family traditions and how the gift of a shiny penny used to make a starry-eyed child feel as though they’d become a millionaire.

And then, after the essay, there are more and more and more seductive sexy alluring oh my gosh yes that and that and oh how thin and famous and RICH everyone is and look at those beards trimmed as perfect as the hedge around Versailles with revelers wearing diamonds on the soles of their shoes all aglitter like a Hall of Mirrors reflecting upon the sparkling and soothing salt waters of private lagoons and pre-fab fantasy forests! 

I can’t tell if I am supposed to take T Magazine completely seriously. It’s so absurd. It’s also funny, corny, interesting, and sumptuous. I think, based on the magazine’s website, that it strives to be influential, sophisticated, cultural, extraordinarily luxurious, stylish, and right on target with the “influences and ideas shaping this moment.”

The magazine came to my house a while ago tucked into a liberal newspaper—the New York Times—a prestigious newspaper that has done a great job reporting on wealth inequality in America which is an idea shaping the moment, but not an idea shaping T Magazine.

The magazine makes me wish I had a million available-to-spend-right-now dollars—a reflection of wealthy lifestyle influences bombarding Americans all the time.

The magazine feels, to me, like the energy at a gala charity event—money, money everywhere, a few good conversations, a few feel-good moments, and then that excessive “morning after” emptiness that can be so depressing when conspicuous consumption gets into bed with conspicuous contributing.

The magazine is like New Year’s Eve in America—it’s an enigmatic something marked by great expectations and foolish fantasies. It strokes the wondrous pleasures of indulging in ideas for fresh and trendy new beginnings. It sends exciting ideas tumbling into arenas of dream possibilities where attitude adjustments, fashion-upgrades, fine art acquisitions, exotic travel, and professional and personal lifestyle changes are casually woven into everyone’s everyday gig. Over a lot of drinks. And too much food. And loud laughter.

Though the magazine claims an affinity for the “shaggier bits” of spontaneity, and the real, and the personal, and the one-of-a-kind, I didn’t find any such “truly beautiful” examples of these treasures on the glossy pages. There were, most definitely, many beautiful things to look at and fascinating things to read about.

But to find truly beautiful, the magazine would have had to send their writers into the homes of the rest of us. For that is where the private galleries of the truly beautiful, one-of-a-kind treasures of the world are kept carefully displayed or robustly ready for joyful excursions into playtimes and gladsomeness.

I was charmed to notice, as I gazed at page after page of suggested purchases, that many of the beautiful items featured were similar to things I already have, and although the magazine’s chosen works of art were lovely, my works of art, in my humble opinion, are more truly beautiful.

What follows is my own version of a New Year’s Eve party game. Some of these things are not like the others. But they’re close.

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From T Magazine’s feature: Tangible Beauty. Exquisite, rare objects that honor the gift of giving. Photos by Anthony Cotsifas. Styled by Haidee Findlay-Levin.

Polygonal bronze bookends as artful as they are useful, left untreated to attain a natural patina over time.  $1,250.00 each.

My Version of polygonal art: Ancient stone from the top of a random mountain (not a national park!) in Maine. An all-natural brain teaser made of sturdy materials bonded together by Earth’s own timeless forces. Found while hiking alone with my husband after locking our kids in the family camper at the trailhead because they were driving us crazy. Not as easy as it looks. (To be a parent, or to figure out this ancient puzzle.) Free.

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From Tangible Beauty. Wild mussels and periwinkles covering vintage objects, like a box. Wild, untamed sentimental keepsakes. About $300.00

My version of sentimental shells and boxes: Wild clamshells claimed in the romantic Atlantic surf by my daughter. Sentimental glee painted by her own heart and hand inside. This shell is part of a series of shell paintings she called The Garden. Free.

 

And, our version of a special box for treasures. An old chocolate box, repurposed as a box of curiosities found one day on a beach on an island in Maine. All shells might, or might not be, ancient. There is sea glass mixed in. You can rearrange the treasures however you like, in two tiers of compartments and closely examine them with the magnifying glass. Shells, free. Box of chocolates, can’t remember what they cost. Magnifying glass was a promo gift from an insurance company.

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From Tangible Beauty. Refined and rustic terra-cotta platters influenced by folk architecture and agrarian tools and primitive symbols. The forms are affixed with leather handles which I like very much. $225.00

My version of a folk art platter with primitive symbols: a slab of pottery produced by my daughter. Not free—the materials and studio at her school cost something.

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From Tangible Beauty. Sophisticated charm from the innocence of naive art. Whimsical creatures with free-spirits using a rare technique of maiolica dating back to the Renaissance. Baby rabbits, about $46.00 each. I love bunnies!

My version of precious, naive art bunnies. Sculpted clay creatures paired on a plate by my daughter—something my husband would joke about making a meal out of. But I have never disturbed the offering and after many years, there are lots of “shaggy bits” of dust on the bunnies. An all-natural effect of furriness! The white bunny has a pink tail on the back. Nice detail. Free.

And another naive bunny I treasure, sculpted from baking clay, a gift from my niece when all of us had bunnies for pets.

And one more naive creature. From my son. The gift of a clay porcupine using innocent toothpicks.

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From Tangible Beauty. A swing. Hand carved with luxe leather loops. Functional and sculptural for swinging inside a grand loft space or for gliding in the great outdoors from a real tree. $2,500.00

I don’t have a picture of my version of this. It was a disk cut from a hunk of oak that my husband drilled a hole into the middle of and secured on a single strand of rope with a heavy-duty, hand-tied knot. The rope was flung over a branch in the old elm tree in our backyard. The single-rope design meant you’d go flying in all directions and you had to hug the rope to save your life. A lot of spinning. Only one mishap—when a neighborhood daredevil jumped off and the swing swayed back into his forehead and left a delicate gash that needed a few stitches.

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On New Year’s Eve, I hope we all spend some quiet time feeling starry eyed about the truly beautiful lives we already have and going for a stroll through our own galleries of priceless treasures.

And may 2016 bring more true, genuine beauty your way!

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P.S. According to T Magazine:

My take on this: The ski sweater, just like the ski mountain, just like the ski mountain bar, just like the ski mountain lodge, just like the ski mountain snowflake, just like the ski mountain french fries, just like the ski mountain home-packed lunch, has always been cool.

Think snow!

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