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One year ago right now, I opened this door for the last time, and I wrote this on the wall:

Only 24 hours before, wonderland was empty, and I had taken to the stage for a photo shoot.

My dear friend and photographer Stephen Gilbert had asked many times if he could capture me in my space. I waited, as is my way, until the very final moments. The former factory was empty, but the music was loud, and the lights were bright. We danced the last dance.

I was so pleased when he posted his piece on me a few days later. I loved the imagery, of course, but if possible, I think I loved his words more. I remember reading them and feeling flattered, but I also remember noting that a day would come in the future when I would recall his inspirational telling of my own tale. I knew that I would journey on after our dance but that eventually I would stumble and revive his words as my mantra.

So, here we are, one year later, and I continue to visit his site and his magical version of my moment. And I can’t think of a better way to celebrate the anniversary of the day we scraped our name off the window.

I may have locked up these red doors for the last time, and I may have turned in the keys that opened them so many times. And if I’m being honest, these doors that traveled from New York to Nashville to keep our wonderland safe inside were one of my proudest moments and one of the many that I wish I hadn’t left behind.

But if the mantra bestowed upon me by one Stephen Mitchell Gilbert is correct, then the magic is in the moment. Doors and walls and windows stayed behind, but I packed up the sparkle and the music and the dance. One day, I won’t miss those doors, and my hand won’t ache because it can’t write on that wall. And on that day, we will dance again. For now, I turn to another artist friend, Bob Roman, who tagged my wall with some relevant anniversary inspiration.

For awhile now, I’ve been marking this as my Warhol moment. I can’t place what precisely that means, but something about the pop and the fizzle has drawn in this former classicist. And it seems I’m not alone. Bond No. 9’s Warhol notes provided the color palette and inspiration for my Nashville condo, and now Nars has joined the party.

They’re truly works of art on their own, and I’m starting to think that’s how I’d like to live my life….or perhaps how I always have. Plus, I think Andy would agree that a little mess and a little excess never hurt anyone.

A year ago, dear friends, I was in the throws of converting my poppy excess into a momentary mess. I was stripping down my own little silver factory. I was deconstructing wonderland.

But one of my new Nars eyeshadows reminds me that Andy Warhol printed that art is what you can get away with. So….give me 15 minutes, friends, and let me see what I can do.

When all else fails, I can generally rely on my wrists to tell me where to go. As my last post indicated, on game days they lead me home and straight into the Suns arena. But on non-game days, I require added inspiration. Sometimes they tell me that there’s no sleep til Brooklyn. Sometimes they tell me to join my brother in Collective Los Angeles.

Sometimes I let Marc Jacobs remind me that veritas inlustrat (truth enlightens), or I let Cartel remind me where I can get the best cup of coffee in town.

But my current favorite: the pink Kate Spade bangle from the top left photo. It says “Toutes les filles sont folles.”

Google it.

Live it.

I knew I came home for a reason. The season has officially started. I’ve thrown in some purple & orange hair extensions, and I’m finally in a city where I don’t look like a complete clown on game days. Well…..maybe. But it’s game time, y’all, so I don’t care! Purple & orange for the win! And for many months to come….

Life, it seems, is different on this side. The leaves don’t change. The breeze doesn’t chill. And fall fashion is something of a store-displayed myth. I purchased my obligatory wool items in the hopes that I could recreate a life I once loved, but as the sun continues to shine, perhaps I must accept the truth of my newfound glow. So, the glitter of the Miu Miu sandals sparkles into October. But, as it’s fall, I’ll throw in a twist: I’ll play with pattern.

Temperature demands that the sleeves stay short, but I’ll mix up the plaids and dots and camos and animal prints with reckless abandon. Just because I’ve welcomed a little warmth into my seasonal spell, it’s doesn’t mean I can’t still fall for the magic of this heavier time of year.

And it doesn’t end at pattern-mixing. Everything gets a little messier in the fall, kiddos. The hair gets pulled back, and the flaws become the strengths. I embrace the breakdown within the fall. It becomes…..my thing.

So, despite the brightness of the light, the ambiguity of this transitional time settles in. Patterns get mixed up, persona gets messy, and a dash of glitter gets thrown in. It’s my first sunny fall in 15 years. Forgive me, friends, if it’s a little confusing.