Still, life

On nail art, taking up space, and color as praxis

I got back from the Wine Writers Symposium at Meadowood in St. Helena and Napa last week, and I’m still recovering. From late nights over big, heavy Cabs, from a last-minute could-have-been travel debacle, from diving back into work too soon.

I first attended as a fellow back in 2017, a lifetime ago. It obviously very much centered wine, but that’s all I could remember. It was a good experience, but my career didn’t drastically change. But I was invited back to speak during the virtual conference last year, on a panel about the changing language of wine, and I started to notice a shift in how we were talking about wine. This year, I was invited to be a moderator and panelist on two different topics, how wine can intersect with the day’s discourse (politics, race, gender etc.) and how to reach modern consumers, respectively. It was a full-circle moment (I even stayed in the same room as when I was a fellow), and I learned as much from the fellows as (I hope) they learned from me and the other, more incredible speakers.

One simple thing I took away for myself is the power of a great sweater. As the weather was all over the place, I prioritized packing sweaters. Big, fun, colorful cozy ones: My knit of oranges, a hoodie with a patchwork-ish puffin, my shimmering disco number, my stegosaurus. Big kid couture, as Kelli White, one of the Symposium’s organizers, put it.

SWEATERS!!

I got loads of compliments, but more importantly, the sweaters made people smile. Folks weren’t intimidated to come talk to me; the sweaters were conversation starters. When you’re a fellow at a workshop where you don’t know anyone, starting a conversation can be so daunting. Reflecting on my goofy fashion choices a couple of days out, I wonder if my picks brought someone enough ease to break some the hierarchy that comes with a speaker-attendee paradigm? Maybe. I hope. Am I adopting kooky, colorful sweaters as a new praxis for dismantling social power dynamics? Who knows, stay tuned!

I do know that I’ll continue to wear “big kid clothes for big bois” for the foreseeable future, because they make me laugh at myself, a tiny joy, just for me.

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Read: No Ephemera this week, but I did write about my trip to Howth, just outside of Dublin, for the Chicago Tribune. Would mean a lot if you gave it a read!

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Interlude: I started tagging “lifestyle content” on my social posts years ago as kind of a lark — I found myself going out less and enjoying the comforts of home and my hobbies, over performative consumption. (And no judgement, because even whatever I do now is performative, too. What’s not these days?)

I traded hustling for nesting, or at least redefined productivity and ambition for myself. I gardened, I volunteered, I read and listened to poetry, painted, cooked. It was nice. I became “content” with a new “lifestyle,” and none of it was about monetizing or reaching for the next rung of the made-up ladder in my head.

One thing I’ve wanted to do with this newsletter is explore the idea of tiny joys with friends and folks I admire, informed by my own experience of slowing down. I plan to publish a monthly interview with creative and spirited people about something that is not their job. What makes them tick? How do they find groundedness and delight?

First up is one of my favorite people in the world, Belinda Chang. She’s been my pal in different capacities over the years, as mentor, a confidante, and adventure buddy. She won a James Beard Award, has worked in the country’s top restaurants, and throws the best parties. She intro’d me to the caviar bump in at least 2014, long before the NYT covered it, but has also taught me so much about wine, hospitality, and restaurant life over the years.

But the thing I wanted to talk to her about are… her nails. I’ve condensed and edited the interview, but without further ado:

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JH: I’ve always known you as someone who embraces color, but if we go back a little bit in your timeline, I guess that’s just not 100% true, right? So in your words, when did that change?

BC: Growing up as a kid, a person of color, I just really wanted to blend in like the other kids, you know? Wear what the popular kids wore, that kind of thing. When I started my career in wine and food, it was my job to blend in — the all-black sommelier uniform, sensible suits. If you look at my closet back then, it was a sea of black. As I have built my business in the last few years, I’ve noticed myself changing. I already stand out, I am already different. Blending in is not interesting.

Do you remember how hard it was for me to walk the Beard Awards red carpet? There were a couple of years after I’d won that I would try to walk the red carpet, but someone would always stop me which was such a punch to the ego. It felt so bad. I’m a winner, too, and I’m not allowed to be in this space? I felt somehow I'm not important enough, not interesting enough, not daring enough. I guess maybe since then, I've been looking for ways to stand out and make space for myself. Wearing colors is a relatively new thing for me, and comes from what was a negative feeling but is now so fun, but it starts with my phone case.

JH: Oh yes, your infamous phone case. I’ve seen strangers literally stop you in the street to talk about it.

BC: It’s just this weird, $14 pink phone case that looks like an analog phone, but sillier. And people love it! It’s the kind of thing that has improved my restaurant experience — one time, at a host stand, I was quoted a late table for walk-in. I pulled out my phone to text my dining companion and the staff were like “OMG, we love your phone, how fun, we actually have an earlier seating if you’d like?” Just so wild.

JH: To me, the phone shows you have a sense of humor, but what do you think it signals to strangers?

BC: That I’m fun, a little fearless, that I do things differently? I don’t know, but I think there’s something about it that’s… just for me. It’s singular, it’s authentic of myself. A friend of mine bought one, too, but told me they couldn’t use it, because it didn’t feel right. “It’s just so you,” they said.

I think it’s something I’ve passed down to my protégées over the years, the art of showing out or, maybe the humblebrag. I ran into one person recently at Charleston Food and Wine, who is running one of the city’s best restaurants and wine lists, and she told me she learned so much from me, like creating great systems but also how to show off, respectfully haha. You know in Asian culture there’s a virtue placed on humility, but with the way things work today, being humble doesn’t help you in your career or your life. There’s an art to taking up space and being seen — you need to tell people what you're doing and how you're contributing and how you're great. I'm sure I told that you do that, too.

JH: Oh you definitely have! I deeply value showing up as your full self in whatever you do. And I got that from you, in many ways. Which is a clumsy segway into: Your nails.

BC: Yes, I like to think I’m the world’s first magnetic nail artist. For a couple of years now, in collaboration with the sister-owners behind Chicago’s Tokyo Nails, I’ve developed a technique incorporating magnets and dollhouse miniatures of food and dining items onto my hand. They’re interchangeable, so I can dress according to theme however I want, and I’ve sourced these wonderful art miniatures from all over the world. Croatia, Ukraine, all over — I think I’ve purchased from 40 or so artists and makers now? I have 600 items now!

JH: Oh gosh, I didn’t know it was that much!

BC: I was originally just gluing things to my nails! A teeny knife, a wine glass, even little menus. But it was impractical and kinda problematic. I eventually ended up talking to an old school mate, who happens to specialize in magnets and physics at Fermilab. We eventually landed on the current magnet I use now, neodymium magnets which are really powerful — no more dinner hijinks with items flying off if there’s a shared course! I work with my nail artists about 3 or 4 hours for both touching up the magnets but also matching nail art — the magnets are only on my left hand, but they require a special gluing process we developed together. Now I can shake a cocktail without flipping tiny heads of cabbage or the removable bowl from a mini stand mixer at people!

JH: This is all so camp, I love it. How much do the miniatures cost?

BC: Not that much, maybe $1 to $5? The stand mixer is my latest acquisition, and I’m waiting for a bottle of Chateau Petrus, and even a tiny decanter made of glass. About 95% are food and wine themed items, and I carry some with me in my purse in a metal Container Store spice canister if I want to swap anything out.

JH: What’s been the result now that this is your “thing”?

BC: It’s so much fun, and it doesn’t get old. People will stop me to talk about them, and I’ll end up in these random conversations. It’s the first thing people notice sometimes — I had every photographer on me at the food festival. The wine biz can be uncomfortable for some people, because it’s a different language in many ways, or can be intimidating, but wearing the nails injects a bit of humor, it relaxes people. At the end of the day, wine and food can be just fun, and I think the nails are a visual cue for that. It’s also a creative outlet for me. I see you when you paint or post about your art you’re working on, and this is my version of that, something outside of the work day that I can just sink into because I enjoy it. Spending the hours on self-care, gluing magnets to dollhouse miniatures I just bought, it’s purely for me. And it’s not something I plan on monetizing.

JH: And people are responding to that playfulness.

BC: Yeah, I love sharing that with people. And it’s not without intention, either. It obviously leaves people with a positive impression, and they remember who I am if I’m looking to collaborate on work, so it does have a purpose. But ultimately, it’s a practice I find joy in, and it makes me smile and that’s what matters. There are so many ways to express creativity and find a fearlessness in that. The food and wine world can be so stuffy but I want to make it brighter, lighter. And it may not look like much but I’m wearing tiny pieces of art, and supporting the makers around the world, and there’s certainly an element of that I’m leaning into.

Luxury can be just simply enjoying yourself and embracing creativity wherever you can get it. If I can achieve it with teeny leeks or a caviar tin or a packet of mini ramen on my nails, what’s more luxurious than that?

— Fin —