Augusta, Aiken & Columbia
Mar 15, 2016
Augusta, Aiken & Columbia
march2014
As the woman in charge at PepsiCo, the impressive Indra Nooyi has made headlines for many things. But the one I can’t forget is this: “THE CEO WHO WRITES HER EMPLOYEES’ PARENTS.” Nooyi even phones some moms and dads. The thought that any of my work bosses and my original boss might communicate makes me a little itchy. I can imagine something like this….
Mom: I hope she keeps her office cleaner than she kept her room.
Boss: Not really.
This month, we get to know local wom-en leading businesses large and small, in-cluding Erin Nobles, a pastry chef who opened Silver Spoon Bake Shop because she wanted to be her own boss. She says being in charge comes with its ups and downs. Here’s one more for the ups column: if her parent gets a letter from the boss, at least Erin’s got a shot at controlling the conversation.
Jenny [email protected]
Features
With This Ring
Kim Salyer Grif�n ............................30
Love Is Patient, Love Needs an Ear Scratch
Amy Vansant ......................................48
In Every Issue
Take 6 .................................................32
Just Add… ..........................................35
He’s So Original ...............................37
skirt! Style ........................................38
We Love Love Love .......................45
Menu ...................................................53
Always .................................................54
She’s so skirt! ...................................56
Skirt of the Month ...........................59
Local Loves ........................................60
Hello February ............................... 64
Essentials ............................................67
The Smile List ...................................75
Meet ....................................................76
skirt! is published monthly and distributed free throughout the
greater Charleston area. skirt! reserves the right to refuse
to sell space for any advertisement the staff deems inappropriate for the
publication. All content of this magazine, including without limitation the design,
advertisements, art, photos and editorial content, as well as the selection,
coordination and arrangement thereof, is Copyright © 2014, Morris Publishing
Group, LLC. All Rights Reserved. No portion of this magazine may be copied
or reprinted without the express written permission of the publisher.
SKIRT!® is a registered trademark of Morris Publishing Group, LLC.
We’re on Facebook and Twitter!
Facebook.com/skirtCharleston Twitter.com/skirtCharleston
Regional Vice President Michelle Schneider
FounderNikki Hardin
Creative Director Caitilin McPhillips
Associate PublisherJenny Dennis
Senior Editor Margaret Pilarski
Account ExecutivesNatasha Beard
Justa Debnam [email protected]
Rachael MacQueen [email protected]
Ad DesignCristina Young
Of�ce ManagerJustin Burke
Contributing Writer Katie Toussaint
PhotographyMarni Rothschild Durlach
Alice Keeney
Fashion & Product StylistAlexandra Munzel
AdvertisingSales: 843.958.0028
Fax: 843.958.0029 [email protected]
FROM THE EDITOR
About the Cover Artist Kristen translates small moments and stories into paintings and illustrations with strong, changeable line work. She works with a variety of clients creating paintings for gallery exhibits, spot illustrations for print, and private commissions. kristensolecki.com
ISSUE
I S S U EFounder
Nikki Hardin
Creative Director Caitilin McPhillips
Market ManagerKate Cooper Metts
Contributing Editors Jenny Maxwell
Gracie Shepherd [email protected]
Sales DirectorLisa Dorn
Sales ExecutivesDoressa Hawes
Lisa Taylor [email protected]
Maidi McMurtrie Thompson [email protected]
Mary Porter Vann [email protected]
CirculationJessica Seigler
PhotographySara Caldwell Molly Harrell
AdvertisingSales: 706.823.3702
Fax: 706.823.6061 1.800.622.6358
skirt! is published monthly and distributed free throughout the greater Augusta, Aiken &
Columbia area. skirt! reserves the right to refuse to sell space for any advertisement the staff deems
inappropriate for the publication. All content of this magazine,
including without limitation the design, advertisements, art, photos
and editorial content, as well as the selection, coordination and
arrangement thereof, is Copyright © 2014, Morris Publishing Group, LLC.
All Rights Reserved. No portion of this magazine may be copied
or reprinted without the express written permission of the publisher.
SKIRT!® is a registered trademark of Morris Publishing Group, LLC.
Features
On Being A Badass Ingrid Steffensen ...............................11
Don’t Be Like Me Lorrie Goldin ....................................14
In Every Issue
Letter from the Editor .....................4
He’s So Original ...............................24
Skirt of the Month ...........................29
Product .................................................9
Typewriter .........................................13
Meet ....................................................26
XOXO Nikki ....................................34
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Okay, listen up.
We need to talk about the rules.
Yep.
These are the rules. The ones to live by.
Rules that rule. Who makes the rules? We have no idea.
The unwritten rules? You’ll just have to �gure those out on your own.
Do rules make the world a better place?
Does “No white after Labor Day’’ make the world a better place?
Yes.
Don’t question the rules, please.
These are the only rules you need to live by.
And once you completely embrace the rules it’s best if you break them.
Sorry, them’s the rules.
skirt!
rules! www.skirt.com march 2014 7
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Chocolates La Bonbonnierre113 Laurens Street SWAiken803.624.6093
Colorblock ToteGwen RawlsTrenholm PlazaColumbia803.661.7607
Vintage Stainless Steel Rolex Oyster Perpetual Datejust$4250Moda Operandimodaoperandi.com
splurge!
Sapphire and Diamond Tennis Bracelet Windsor Fine Jewelers2635 Washington RoadAugusta706.738.7777
march2014
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D o n ’ t B e L i k e M e
Don’t be like me,” my mother warns. “Don’t worry, I won’t,” I mutter grimly to
myself, adjusting the waistband of the mater-nity sweats I still wear even though Emma’s been crawling for months. I take another swig of Diet Coke, lukewarm and metallic. Keeping my eye on the snarl of traf�c merg-ing onto the rain-slicked freeway, I rummage
in the trash bin, burying the crumpled Snickers wrapper under old shopping lists and baby-spit tissues. Who the hell is she to judge?
“Remember, the doctor urged me to gain weight when I was pregnant with your brother, and look at me now.”
Pretending to concentrate on the road, I steal a glance at my mother in the front seat. Her drab green coat hangs open despite December’s chill, the but-tons long gone. They’d popped off from stretching over a stomach gone soft after three babies and the relief Hostess cupcakes brought to the black hole of suburban housewifery.
“You look �ne,” I lie, taking another sip of Diet Coke.Emma begins to whimper, her paci�er lost again in the dark recesses of
the Cheerio-and-juice-encrusted car seat. She, too, needs something to stick in her mouth to ward off the tension beginning to fog up Grandma’s annual Christmas visit.
“Damn, this defroster’s worthless,” I sigh. “Let’s pull off at Denny’s so I can nurse Emma. You must be starved after such a long �ight. We can get a bite to eat.”
While I struggle to untangle the now-wailing baby from her car seat, my mother grips the door frame. After a few false starts, she heaves herself out of the car. Her naked white calves glow softly in the �uorescent pools of light as we make our way across the sodden parking lot.
And there I am, ten years old again, trudging behind my mother down the exhaust-blackened snow banks on Boston Common. I’d feign delight at the bejeweled Christmas windows while the wind reached through my wool coat and tore my guts out. How I hated the dry white �akiness and purply goose�esh of those pale naked, calves braving the elements ahead of me. Why couldn’t she wear pantyhose or slacks like a normal mother? She seemed as impervious to my embarrassment as she was to the cold. It took me years to realize that it was just too hard for her to squeeze herself into constricting clothes.
Now with Emma growing frantic, we crowd into the booth, my mother’s hips sweeping the �atware onto the �oor with a clatter. Instinctively reach-ing for it, she freezes mid-swoop, unable to maneuver beyond the table edge pressing into her stomach. “Never mind, the waitress will bring us more,” I snap, lifting up my sweatshirt and planting the now-screaming baby on my breast to shut her up.
My mother is shocked. “Your generation is shameless! Don’t you have a blanket or something? You just let it all hang out?”
“I don’t even care anymore,” I shrug as Emma begins to nurse. The bland comfort of Denny’s plastic foliage and maple veneer gives
way to the house where I grew up. There I am, sprawled on the �oor sort-ing jigsaw puzzle pieces while my mother �lls in the boxes of the Sunday crossword from her sagging corner of the couch. I’d pretend to search for edge pieces among the hundreds left in the box. But all I could see was the white bulb of my mother’s stomach, her shirt riding up as it strained but failed to conceal the pale �esh of her drooping breasts. She seemed almost de�ant in her immodesty. It never dawned on me that my embarrassment couldn’t hold a candle to hers.
Emma, oblivious now in her milk-sated sleep, stirs in my arms. “She’s a beauty, just like you were,” observes my mother. “Just be careful you don’t let yourself go to seed like me.”
We order. The waitress brings huge slabs of chocolate layer cake with vanilla ice cream. I listen to my mother talk about her �ight—the race through rush hour traf�c to the airport, the long delays due to the storm, the lively conversation she’d had with her seatmate.
Just like that I’m back in the kitchen where we spent so many hours of my childhood. My mother taught me bawdy drinking songs and reminisced about growing up during the Depression as she ironed. She’d let me sprinkle the rumpled linens with water from the perforated top of an old soda bottle while we laughed and chatted for hours. Even the mundane was magical un-der the spell of being together.
Now with my own baby nestled in my arms, and lulled once again by a full belly and my mother’s stories, I drift off into oblivion for a moment. Back to a time when love, unsullied by shame, cared nothing for appearances and knew only bliss.
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Lucky us. We Can Be
...a physician, a politician, a saint, an author,
an Olympian, an engineer, an inspiration, a humanitarian,
a revolutionary, a questioner, a designer, a teacher, a motivational speaker,
an artist, a journalist, a photographer, a lover, an actress, a chef, a boss, a leader,
an astronaut, an academic, a graduate, a gardener, a comedian, a feminist,
a scientist, a thinker, a dreamer, a collector, a creator.
WHY CAN’T A FEMALE BE THE PRESIDENT?
gotwork?
“A goal is a dream with a deadline.”
Napoleon Hill AUTOMATE YOURSELF. MAKE YOUR PHONE YOUR MOST-LOVED PROFESSIONAL TOOL.
ASSIGNMENT:
DOWNLOAD THE MOLESKINE APP. REMEMBER, IF YOU DON’T DOCUMENT YOUR IDEAS IMMEDIATELY YOU MAY LOSE THEM FOREVER. DON’T RELY ON YOUR MEMORY.
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38 march/april 2014 skirt!magazine skirt!magazine march/april 2014 23skirt!magazine march/april 2014 23
Katie FoxOperations Director
Harbison Theatre at Midlands
Technical College
“Make a good story. Your errors are your portals of discovery (James Joyce). Almost any meal can be salvaged with cheese. Boom.”
ConnectorTEDx Co-chair�Strategic AdviserArt Lover Enemy of Mediocrity Loud Laugher
5 Favorite Things:
1. Champagne
2. Harry Potter
3. Girls Rock Columbia
4. Red Shoes
5. Wit
Ph
oto
by M
olly H
arrell
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Just Say “No” to the Snooze Button.
Book a date for coffee. Morning meetings and to-do lists set the goals for your day.
Deep breaths and h20 at your desk. Was that 7 glasses or 8?
Work, work, sit up straight, break, work, uncross those legs, smile, work.
How many to-dos did you cross off?
Drop by the gym on the way home. C’mon you can do 30 minutes.
Don’t delay dinner—eat before 8. Whose turn to cook?
Ditch the emails after dark. Think, aspire, re�ect, review, revisit,
contemplate, smile, sleep, dream.
DID I SET THE ALARM?
gotroutine?
“Routine is liberating, it makes you feel in control.”
Carol Shields
MAKE A READING LIST.CHOOSE BOOKS THAT WILL CLARIFY YOUR GOALS AND CHALLENGE YOUR THINKING.
ASSIGNMENT:
READ ONE BUSINESS-RELATED BOOK A MONTH. CAN’T DECIDE? START WITH THIS ONE.
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Illus
tratio
n by
Mon
key
Min
d D
esig
n. monkeym
indesign.etsy.com
WHEREWill Your Skirt
take younext?
fab’rik447 Highland AvenueAugusta 706.250.3630
I dreamed I packed my skirt
(and a danish) and had breakfast
at Tiffany’s.
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"Remember that not
getting what you want
is sometimes a wonderful
stroke of luck."�H. Jackson Brown Jr.
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gottools?
“Time is the ultimate democracy.
Rich and poor, young and old, male and female: all have 24 hours in a day and 7 days in a week.”
Elizabeth Grace Saunders
THINK OF ALL THE OCCASIONS WHERE IT IS RUDE OR JUST IMPOSSIBLE TO LOOK AT YOUR SMARTPHONE TO CHECK THE TIME.
ASSIGNMENT:
BUY YOURSELF A BEAUTIFUL WATCH. ONE THAT SUITS YOUR PERSONALITY, OR EVEN THE ONE YOU WISH TO PROJECT. AND IF YOU ARE STILL IN DOUBT, JUST BUY THIS BEAUTIFUL MICHAEL KORS LEATHER STRAP WATCH.
Power Up Your Productivity.
Plan your day. Put down the Post-it notes and pick up your phone calendar.
Set alerts, set reminders. What needs to be done �rst, second, third? Get it done.
Too many back-and-forth emails? Pick up the phone. Say “hello.” Talk, discuss, make a decision. Cross it off your list.
Set and keep boundaries. Protect your time and energy so you can work on the things that are most important to you.
Once you know your peak times, schedule activities accordingly. Turn your cellphone facedown.
Switch off social media. Turn on your determination.
IS IT 5:00?
nord
stro
m.co
m
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Am I the only kale-hater?
Sinkholes in SC
Is Hillary really ready?
Where does my recycling really go?
Running out of computer memory
The return of leg warmers
Carry-on or bag check?
Valet or parking deck?
Exiting the moving walkway gracefully
Forgetting to meditate—again
March Madness
A new couch
Learning to juggle
Game of Thrones 3
Greek Yogurt Cheesecake via abakinggirl.com
Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey
W h a t ’ s o n m y i Pa d :
W h a t ’ s k e e p i n g m e a w a k e a t n i g h t :L o o k i n g f o r w a r d t o :
I a m j e a l o u s o f :W h a t ’ s o n m y m i n d :
I can’t remember how I found medium.com but now that I have, I check it most every day. Medium is forpeople who love good writing and who are still hungry after reading Twitter tidbits. It’s designed to showcase little stories and manifestos, and it’s also a powerful and easy publishing platform if you want to post your own writing. There are thousands of stories on Medium so you’ll never run out of food for your brain.
N o t e t o s e l f :
“If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine. It is lethal.”
Paulo Coelho
Soon spring's green tonic will arrive to cure any lingering, leftover winter blues. But
I’ll miss snuggling under a comforter on cold early mornings, bold red chili in white
soup bowls, islands of lamplight that ward off the night. I want one last fling with a
down cocoon before careless April throws open the windows, scatters sunlight across the
floor like nature's currency and gives me a wake-up call.
Nikki Hardin is the founder of skirt! Magazine and the co-founder of Project XX (projectxxsc.com). She blogs at fridaville.com.
march2014
nikki
Dream chair from beamandanchor.com
I spend a lot of time feeling guilty for being able to work from home and
for enjoying it so much. I have an inner Puritan Protestant that insists work
has to be hard and difficult to be meaningful, that struggle is necessary, that
pleasure is the precursor to perdition. It’s a voice I internalized growing up in
a hell-fire culture, but a glass of red wine (not the fake one we had at Sunday
church) does wonders to drown it out.
M u s t - h a v e s t h i s m o n t h :
Stars for the porch ceiling
S. by J.J. Abrams
Packable Wellies
THE BEST USE OF
$10.00 Marge Granola for breakfast (margegranola.com)
Annie Lapin's
talent!
“You should sit in meditation
for twenty minutes a day—
unless you are too busy;
then you should sit for an hour.”
Old Zen adage
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