ONE YEAR OF CHILI PADI 🌶️
Big Birthday Feelings 🎂
Today Chili Padi turns one (and I turn…a little older). I love a birthday because I love any excuse to party. My parents always threw a ripper technically in my honor (wholesome daytime fun) that inevitably turned into an evening affair for their friends (kids relegated to my room upstairs after packing up pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey). I think that’s fair - while I can’t speak from experience, parenting is hard! They deserved a chance to let loose, to celebrate keeping me alive one more year.
Birthdays. Everyone’s got one but you get to feel special on yours. For me, that means being disgustingly self-indulgent in introspection. I’m at an age where each year feels that much more substantial. Birthdays bring up feelings that are both joyful (another year in this able body) and fear-based (another step closer to the grave). I feel a little embarrassed by the latter, especially when for the most part, I like who I see in the mirror. I finally feel like I’m in bloom.
Every year, I try to think of a new tradition to set - I understand that changing this nullifies its definition, but a new year feels like the perfect time to try something and see if it will stick. I read somewhere that it’s good practice to write yourself a letter each year, both to commemorate your solar return and also as a yardstick to see how you’ve evolved. I suppose I’ve been doing that here. Writing was always something I took for granted because, for the most part, it came easily to me. I aced English papers with little effort - all it took was a 16 oz. Monster and I’d crack my knuckles and go into a dissociative state, filling my lined notebook. Somehow, these half-baked ideas were cohesive enough to warrant A’s and academic pats on the back.
But being told you’re a good writer and actually being one are two very different things. I compartmentalized writing as something I would eventually do, focusing my creative energies elsewhere (some successful, others less so). I imagined it’d be like riding a bike (something else I put off; it took a global pandemic but I finally learned five years ago). I don’t bike regularly, but you know the saying - I hoped when I eventually began writing again, I wouldn’t have forgotten how.
My dad has a very specific signature (a signature signature!) To call it precise would be a gross understatement; you could lay 20 versions on top of each other and they’d be exactly the same. The first time I noticed it, he was signing the bill for dinner. I watched him fluidly moving his pen, forming an exact series of curves. It was quite beautiful. I might’ve said as such, but he seemed rather blasé about it - he’d done it so much, it was rote. I made him do it a few times and he produced a series of perfect copies. I thought about his signature when I recently re-watched Homecoming, the Beyonce documentary that follows her as she preps to headline Coachella in 2018. The film itself is extraordinary but it’s her process that really imprints on you. Much has been made of her perfectionism, her exacting Virgo tendencies and you see it in the choreography. It’s timed down to the millisecond, so you don’t register they’re cutting between footage of her weekend 1 and 2 performances - until you realize her outfits switching from pink to yellow.
DIligent, consistent practice has always been tough for me - I’m too excitable, too easily distracted, too eager to try a little bit of everything. To be clear, I’m not comparing myself to Beyonce; I’m a mere mortal who can only aspire to her levels of superhuman output. But in writing Chili Padi, I’ve found a way to show up repeatedly, to hold myself accountable. Over the last year, I’ve looked forward to sitting and crafting my thoughts into something that feels decent enough to share with you. I’ve learned that writing isn’t always fun, that there are hours that pass with nothing to show for, that entire paragraphs that feel revolutionary at first later get erased in one quick click. But I’ve come to peace with the fact that it’s all part of the process. And it’s been a lot of fun.
2024 was the year I found my voice and I hope 2025 is the year it grows. To everyone who’s come on this journey with me, who’s told me something I’ve written resonated with you (I’m not above validation), thank you for reading Chili Padi and letting me spice up your life.
PS: For those wondering what Chili Padi means, it’s Malay for bird’s eye pepper, those tiny, intensely piquante chillies that pack a punch. It’s also slang to describe a petite women with a fiery attitude, a nickname given to me at an early age :)
OJAI RECAP
I’ve always been bullish on Ojai, a dreamy slice of slow-living 90 minutes from LA. When the opportunity to visit friends who’d relocated coincided with my friend Jessie’s visit from New York, I didn’t hesitate. With my car in the shop (remember, I am a Penelope Pitstop-like driver), Jessie and I hopped into my rental (champagne Malibu Chevy) and zipped on up there.
Some hits:
Rory’s Place - great vibes, excellent merch and a delightful pink peppercorn G&T. Don’t sleep on the hearth bread + whipped feta combo.
Stopping into the charming Bart’s Books to start our three person book club (they serendipitously had three copies of All Fours; yes I know we’re late to the party).
Falling madly in love with this pink villa next door.
The Kuyam at the Ojai Valley Inn - We were miraculously able to snag a res at the always-booked kuyam (thank you spa gods). Kuyam is Chumash for “a place to rest together,” a hammam-like experience that's part mud bath, part meditation and part sweat lodge. Allie, Jessie and I were guided by the lovely Joanne as we rubbed clay all over ourselves in an exquisite Moroccan tiled room, before going nonverbal for an hour, sweating out all the natty wine we’d drunk the evening prior. Afterward, we lounged in robes on a balcony with tea and snacks, feeling like kids after bathtime.
Everything at Pinyon - you’d have to actively try to have a bad meal in Ojai but our final dinner at Pinyon was particularly sensational. Their pizzas are the star of the show but I’m still thinking about the shredded broccolini tossed with dates and lemon.
Loved strolling the shops along Ojai Ave - Jessie picked up a Pisces-core print of two sardines drinking martinis in their can (very us) and I scored these chili hair clips.
The congee (with spicy fried chicken) at The Dutchess was the perfect comfort meal to close out our trip, as we watched the rain clouds roll in.
All in all a cozy, lovely weekend. Biggest thanks to Allie and Hud for hosting us (and to their cat Thunder for the morning cuddles).
THE CIRCLE OF LIFE: BIRTH OF A FASHION SUPERSTAR….
I’m living for every look Doechii has been turning out at PFW. The black slinky catsuit at Tom Ford with her bangs + cig combo is going down as one of my all-time favs.
This is how you show up after winning a Grammy.
…AND THE DEATH OF AN ICON
A moment of silence for Gene Hackman who played one of my favorite ornery onscreen dads, as well as tobacco tycoon (and Sigourney Weaver’s mark) Willem B Tensy in Heartbreakers (a full circle Chili Padi moment).
BOP ALERT 🚨
Bollywood movies shaped me and while Yaadon Ki Baraat came out long before my time, its hit song, the dreamy Chura Liya, has remained canon in many Indian households. It made a star out of Zeenat Aman, who went on to be one of the biggest sex symbols of her time. Now in her seventies, she’s back in the zeitgeist thanks to her utterly charming and candid social media presence (she’s one of my favorite follows). Looking at her, I think getting older, maybe it’s not so bad.
Onwards to year 2 we go! Time to party! xx
cheers to you and 2024, the year you found your voice! <3
Happy Birthday beta! ❤️
Look forward to more of Chili Padi.