OMG, You Haven’t Been to Terrain?
The most important opening … since Anthro
Sometimes, something happens in local retail that is so big, so obvious, so overwhelmingly amazing, that the local retail/style media kinda misses the boat on actually reporting on it. This recently, shamefully, happened with we, Philadelphia magazine, and them, Terrain at Styer’s.
Terrain, Urban Outfitters’ brand-new concept, a garden lifestyle center that should arguably have previewed weeks ago, is now in full operational mode. All 11 acres of it. Gardeners — you know who you are — probably know the location, which, until last year, went by J. Franklin Styer Nurseries, a century-plus old spot that was once housed one of the country’s first mushroom farms.
Anyways. Now, thanks to no small amount of Urban magic — which included a Best in Show award at this year’s flower show — the place is something else, something else indeed. It’s hard to describe, but I think utopia kinda fits the bill. Apparently, the concept is geared toward the post-Anthro (read: 40-plus) set, but I can’t imagine anyone not absolutely falling in love with the barns o’ plants and antique tools and crazy-chic patio furniture and silver plant spritzers, and even elegant rolls of twine, not to mention the botanical skin care and sculptural fountains and full-fledged café (with living wall of thyme varieties and — get this — a toast bar).
I suggest going, just to wander. Maybe taking Mom for a treat this weekend. Or, pitching a tent and moving in.
Photo by Jeff Fusco
The most important opening … since Anthro
Sometimes, something happens in local retail that is so big, so obvious, so overwhelmingly amazing, that the local retail/style media kinda misses the boat on actually reporting on it. This recently, shamefully, happened with we, Philadelphia magazine, and them, Terrain at Styer’s.
Terrain, Urban Outfitters’ brand-new concept, a garden lifestyle center that should arguably have previewed weeks ago, is now in full operational mode. All 11 acres of it. Gardeners — you know who you are — probably know the location, which, until last year, went by J. Franklin Styer Nurseries, a century-plus old spot that was once housed one of the country’s first mushroom farms.
Anyways. Now, thanks to no small amount of Urban magic — which included a Best in Show award at this year’s flower show — the place is something else, something else indeed. It’s hard to describe, but I think utopia kinda fits the bill. Apparently, the concept is geared toward the post-Anthro (read: 40-plus) set, but I can’t imagine anyone not absolutely falling in love with the barns o’ plants and antique tools and crazy-chic patio furniture and silver plant spritzers, and even elegant rolls of twine, not to mention the botanical skin care and sculptural fountains and full-fledged café (with living wall of thyme varieties and — get this — a toast bar).
I suggest going, just to wander. Maybe taking Mom for a treat this weekend. Or, pitching a tent and moving in.
Photo by Jeff Fusco
Jenkintown, the borough (not town) where I grew up is a lot of things. It is small. It is quaint. It is historic, cute and family-friendly. One thing it’s not: Cutting edge. 
The other morning, as I was dumping the contents of my oversize tote onto my bed during my Daily Bag Switch, I noticed several slips of paper fluttering to the floor. A phone number scribbled on the back of a receipt, a doctor’s appointment reminder on an index card, the dimensions of a couch I’m thinking of buying jotted on a Post-It. Basically, when it comes to self-reminders, I’m barely a step above the middle-school method of scrawling notes on the back of one’s hand with a marker.
I don’t just love everything Built by Wendy. I want to be Built by Wendy designer Wendy Mullin. It would be such a fashion riot. I’d reinvigorate the coolest retro styles, blending very right-now materials with a tough-sweet, indie-rock edge, and then I’d wear all my ruffle-sleeved sweaters and zip-up jumpers and awesome ’80s black-satin skirts and stretchy jeans and bright red tunic tops all at the same time, and I’d look so fly.
There is no way — no way — you could get me near a mall this week. Or next week. Or pretty much any week until after Valentine’s Day. (And even then, there would have to be a really good reason.) 
At a photo shoot this week at the MOST UNEXPECTEDLY AMAZING HOUSE EVER (you’ll have to buy a January issue of Philly Mag to believe it), superb cutie-pie stylist Barbara Botting (pictured here) made us the most amazing arrangement of purple lilies, some, er, leaves, and floating seed pod thingies in a flat square glass vase (also pictured here). 
Well, I can now say that I’ve tucked into a U-shaped booth and had a long one-on-one chat with David Yurman. And yes, he was great. Personable, chatty, smart, down-to-earth, funny. Read on to get his take on inspiration, marriage, good citizenship, communication and, of course, mahvelous jewelry, dahling.
The old Bucks County church where I’m getting married next year was perfect: tiny, quaint, simple. The lights, though, left much to be desired: big, garish, brass fixtures that left the place dim and, frankly, a bit scary. This past weekend, however, my hubby-to-be and I walked into the church and saw that (hallelujah!) they had been replaced with gorgeous, baroque-style fixtures that brighten, lighten and make the space look utterly fab (well, okay, as fab as a solemn, holy space can look). 
I admit it: I am one of those people that slow down whenever they see a piece of discarded furniture sitting on the side of the road. Sometimes it’s in vain: I slam on the brakes and crane my neck to see a holey, stained couch with one cushion missing, or a battered bookshelf that leans precariously to one side. But other times I find a treasure, like the white dresser that is now sitting in my garage, waiting for a fresh coat of paint and (I’m so excited about this) some new knobs. Finally, a reason to rummage through the brimming boxes of drawer pulls at Anthropologie.
Despite the fact that I can’t cook, I have this dream that one day I will host a fabulously dainty tea party at which I will offer friends teeny tea sandwiches, petite canapés, other oh-so-ladylike hors d’oeuvres, and perfectly chilled champagne cocktails. Rather than investing in a cookbook (probably the right approach), I have taken to collecting various pieces of vintage china, so that while the food may be less than tasty, the table can at least be stunning, set with my deliciously mismatched finds.