To the handful of people who subscribe and read Curious Jac–hello! I’ve been MIA for quite a while. I guess I think it’s better to be silent when I have nothing to say than to blather on.

I’m typing this up on my iPhone WordPress app, so if you see any issues or more GSP mistakes than usual, please forgive me.

As it’s the beginning of September, I have been engrossed in possibly my No. 1 favorite fall ritual: the reading of the fall fashion issues. Cover-to-cover, I look at each page, each ad. I love the ads. They’re so beautiful, like art. Each amazing outfit it something lovely and outrageous, and I like to see if there are any trends or ideas I might be able to try on my Midwestern-budget. I’m digging the scarf tied kerchief-style around the neck (see below), and I’m happy to see coral lipstick isn’t going anywhere for the fall.

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I read Marie Claire this weekend, am pouring through Vogue, have Elle waiting on the coffee table, and can’t seem to find Harper’s Bazaar.

A quote from French fashion expert and author Caroline de Maigret in the month’s Vogue is what has made me turn to blogging after the hiatus. It’s something that’s on my mind a lot lately:

Looking for perfection, as Americans do, is a lack of self-confidence. I’m always surprised how guilty women feel not to be perfect. It must be hard to live every day.

I am not, nor will I ever be blamed for being, a perfectionist. I mean, I can have an eye for detail–I’m something of an AP style expert and can explain in plain English the reason for, say, most commas–but I don’t get hung up on perfection. I’m very aware that I’m a flawed being, and I’m not just ok with that, but I like it. Perfection is boring and impossible, and I don’t want to identify with either of those traits.

Has this desire for perfection always been a thing? I feel like it’s obvious now because of perfectly lit and styled Instagram photos, perfectly worded Facebook statuses. It’s hard not to compare your greasy burger to your friend’s avocado and egg white sandwich, your lazy Sunday afternoon with your friend’s road trip to someplace beautiful.

I’m curious what you think. How do you keep things in perspective when your feeds are full of only the good things? Do we even want to see the real stuff? The messy homes, the day-old hair, the snotty kid? I wouldn’t mind a dose of reality every now and then. You?

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