Thursday, May 10, 2012

Because She Rocks

My mom, 1978, embracing a certain White-Out long before I could, hash tag embryo.

‘She’ being your mother. This, being a brief collage of last minute gift ideas should you find yourself without anything to give her come time to say, “thanks for having me” next Sunday. And though I retract my title’s sentiment, not all mothers rock, what Sunday holds is nonetheless important for even the lady without fond memories of the birth canal from which she emerged. Here’s why: it’s a great opportunity to reflect and celebrate independence. If you’re not there yet, you can at the very least toast to your anticipated emancipation. Turn lemons to lemonade, people. If you learn one this reading this, it should be that. Those on team mom, proceed and shift eyesight just below where you will find a small slew of ideas. Those not, do the same. You can give these things to yourself too, you know.

Photos are cute, massages too. But women like things. So from top left: necklace clad in very important seven letters so she can know eternally that you’re gay for her. For the one percent, how about some coasters to outline her extensive travels through the arbitrary Monte Carlo, Capri, Ipanema. Keep Acapulco for yourself and remember spring break ’97. Valentino kitten heels because if these shoes don’t yell mom’s a stud, what the fuck will. Or maybe an Ippolita chain clad in different color stone to either layer with the love or wear alone. Moms love jewelry. And good scent, so: Diptyque? How about a diffuser if it hails from the trenches of Michael Aram’s brain. Some swanky perfume that smells like a garden overlooking the Nile? Here are my last two suggestions: a minaudiere because she is hip as shit or dangling earrings by Dannijo because summer is coming and nothing says suntan like turquoise horns.

Here’s to mom.

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