Jennifer Weiner, 43, has written many a best-selling beach read. She lives in Philadelphia with her two daughters.
Jennifer Weiner at home on July 17 in a Michael Kors dress and Valentino shoes with a J. Crew necklace and Givenchy purse.
Wednesday, July 17
We have a house in Cape Cod and have been spending the summer there. But at night I was off to Avalon, N.J., for a speaking engagement, in a Michael Kors jersey sheath with gold buckles on the shoulder. I like clothes with built-in accessories. It minimizes my chance of losing them. With the dress, gold Valentino wedges. I carried a Givenchy purse that I swear spoke to me from its display case at Boyds. "Take me home," it said, in the manner of a Dickens orphan. An expensive, buttery-soft Dickens orphan.
Thursday, July 18
A JetBlue flight from Philadelphia to Boston, and then a stomach-churning 20 minutes in a CapeAir plane approximately the size of a VW Vanagon. I dressed in an Old Navy gray racerback dress, a ribbed undershirt and cropped black leggings. Home in Truro. I wrote for two hours, pulled on a purple Lands' End tank suit and jumped into the pool. Done swimming, the gray dress became a cover-up. I put on Nike flip-flops and hopped into the minivan to pick up my oldest, Lucy, at sailing camp. Evening finery: wide-legged gray pants from Anthropologie — my "pirate" pants — with a blue T-shirt from Old Navy.
Friday, July 19
Being an avid reader and a less-than-confident follower of fashion can really mess up your relationship with your wardrobe. I'll read Caitlin Flanagan writing archly about suburban matrons lying to each other about how good they look in the Eileen Fisher dressing room. Or Claire Messud's heroine muses about the pathetic lives of women whose days hit their peak when the Garnet Hill catalog arrives. But I like Eileen Fisher and Garnet Hill. So, I wore a gray-blue belted Garnet Hill cotton dress and black Eileen Fisher leggings for writing at the Truro library and a late lunch at Moby Dick's in Wellfleet.
Saturday, July 20
Awakened by my 5-year-old, Phoebe, dragging a basket filled with stuffed animals along the floor. Put on a brown Miraclesuit with gold accents and joined kids in the pool. Out to dinner at Blackfish I wore a sleeveless Lafayette 148 blouse with a kind of peplum thing happening in the back (kids: "You look like you have a tail!"), skinny jeans and the Valentino wedges.
Sunday, July 21
I put on a white tank top and the Old Navy racerback dress. Into Provincetown: window-shopped, people-watched and ate sugar-dusted malasadas from the Portuguese bakery. Shopping, dinner, five loads of laundry, one game of bridge and bed.
Monday, July 22
Red capris and a black Majestic tank top with an asymmetrical neckline. (Pretty sure it's supposed to be that way, although could be a dryer mishap.) Three hours of writing, into P-town for lunch with Lucy, then back home to write some more. Around 3 p.m., fellow novelist Laura Zigman and her 13-year-old son, Ben, arrived. Crammed myself into the Miraclesuit, sat by the pool and dished. In the evening: black jeans, short-sleeved V-neck red sweater and black Nike flip-flops for the Audra McDonald with Seth Rudetsky concert at the Art House.
Tuesday, July 23
Woke up and threw on Marni peep-toe black leather bootees, Helmut Lang leather leggings, a Catherine Malandrino crocheted tank, a vintage Balmain scarf and my Chanel glazed-calfskin bag.
Ha! I actually wore my old faithful Lands' End black one-piece, Eileen Fisher light-blue linen tunic and San Diego Hat Company hat for a walk on the beach, a dip in the bay, a swim in the pool, a trip to the post office, writing and then clamming on the beach: 35 clams!
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