The Line Style in Context

The Line is a modern and personal approach to retail. We bring together carefully chosen fashion, home, and beauty items and place them in context through inspiring editorial features and intimate offline shopping experiences. The thematic, seasonal, and handpicked assortments we call Selections offer another way to explore our evolving edit of things you’ll wear, use, and treasure for years to come.

x

A Day in the Life:
Astrid’s Journal

Each day consists of precisely 1,440 minutes, but what about the moments? These variously sized packets of time can zoom by or trickle away, be etched into memory or instantly forgotten. Moments may begin and end with grand gestures and long-planned events or with barely perceptible changes: a shift of light, an unexpected encounter, the sight of a favorite object. Tracing the moments from morning to night through a combination of images and journal excerpts offers new insight into how we pace our days—and record our lives.

MORNING 7:32 a.m.

Woke up early. Read in bed ‘til 9: Paris Review story about housesitting—on “precarity and creativity in other people’s homes”—is inspiration to finally hang new prints, the ones J calls “luminous and sensuous” and C compares to ancient Google Maps. Struggle to make second row level with first. Blame the sloping floorboards. Scrambled eggs for breakfast.

MIDDAY 12:16 p.m.

Jeans weather. Long sleeves for the AC. Bike to newsstand, the yogurt place, the good dry cleaner. Try to find appropriate birthday card for J. Unsuccessful. Return to see neighbor has draped his fire escape in Tibetan prayer flags—for the World Cup? Fourth of July? Both?

AFTERNOON 4:25 p.m.

Back from the Met. Spent almost two hours in Garry Winogrand exhibition. Bewitched by his photos of women on the back of a golf cart at the Texas State Fair, couple driving down Park Avenue with a monkey in their convertible (postcard = J’s birthday card), the swooping old Saarinen terminal at JFK. Quote in catalogue: “Photography is the easiest art, which perhaps makes it the hardest.” —Lisette Model

EVENING 6:50 p.m.

Getting ready for dinner with C. Low-key but not really—Blue Hill. Study the menu, download Dan Barber’s new book. Learn enough to safely order and, if necessary, explain “rotation salad.” Nothing to do with plate spinning. Possible conversation topics: cover crops, the word “leguminous” (fun to say), how tomatoes seem like just the pushy type to suck the fertility out of soil. Wearing all black, the special shoes.

NIGHT 10:47 p.m.

Dinner a leguminous success. Ended in strawberries, flourless chocolate cake, and an innocent request for C to come back and help me straighten the prints. Borrowed ladder and level are no match for two bottles of wine. Very good wine. Embracing the imperfection.

BEDTIME 1:23 a.m.

Lights out. Usual review of tomorrow’s mental to-do list pushed aside by pictures, almost dreams but not quite: a monkey taking photographs, a woodcut treasure map made of colored triangles, C running in a field of sustainable wheat, surrounded by fireworks.

A Day in the Life: Astrid's Journal

A Day in the Life:
Astrid’s Journal

Each day consists of precisely 1,440 minutes, but what about the moments? These variously sized packets of time can zoom by or trickle away, be etched into memory or instantly forgotten. Moments may begin and end with grand gestures and long-planned events or with barely perceptible changes: a shift of light, an unexpected encounter, the sight of a favorite object. Tracing the moments from morning to night through a combination of images and journal excerpts offers new insight into how we pace our days—and record our lives.

MORNING 7:32 a.m.

Woke up early. Read in bed ‘til 9: Paris Review story about housesitting—on “precarity and creativity in other people’s homes”—is inspiration to finally hang new prints, the ones J calls “luminous and sensuous” and C compares to ancient Google Maps. Struggle to make second row level with first. Blame the sloping floorboards. Scrambled eggs for breakfast.

MIDDAY 12:16 p.m.

Jeans weather. Long sleeves for the AC. Bike to newsstand, the yogurt place, the good dry cleaner. Try to find appropriate birthday card for J. Unsuccessful. Return to see neighbor has draped his fire escape in Tibetan prayer flags—for the World Cup? Fourth of July? Both?

AFTERNOON 4:25 p.m.

Back from the Met. Spent almost two hours in Garry Winogrand exhibition. Bewitched by his photos of women on the back of a golf cart at the Texas State Fair, couple driving down Park Avenue with a monkey in their convertible (postcard = J’s birthday card), the swooping old Saarinen terminal at JFK. Quote in catalogue: “Photography is the easiest art, which perhaps makes it the hardest.” —Lisette Model

EVENING 6:50 p.m.

Getting ready for dinner with C. Low-key but not really—Blue Hill. Study the menu, download Dan Barber’s new book. Learn enough to safely order and, if necessary, explain “rotation salad.” Nothing to do with plate spinning. Possible conversation topics: cover crops, the word “leguminous” (fun to say), how tomatoes seem like just the pushy type to suck the fertility out of soil. Wearing all black, the special shoes.

NIGHT 10:47 p.m.

Dinner a leguminous success. Ended in strawberries, flourless chocolate cake, and an innocent request for C to come back and help me straighten the prints. Borrowed ladder and level are no match for two bottles of wine. Very good wine. Embracing the imperfection.

BEDTIME 1:23 a.m.

Lights out. Usual review of tomorrow’s mental to-do list pushed aside by pictures, almost dreams but not quite: a monkey taking photographs, a woodcut treasure map made of colored triangles, C running in a field of sustainable wheat, surrounded by fireworks.