The 13 Best Gifts I Got After My House Burned Down
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On the morning of January 7, I was finishing up a yoga class on the second-floor studio at the Alo store a mile from my home in the hills of the Pacific Palisades. At 10:31 a.m. — moments after mouthing “namaste” alongside regulars includingPolice Academyactor Steve Guttenberg — I took a photo and texted it to a friend.
In it you can see, just behind my instructor Matthew’s head, a ridge of the Santa Monica mountains, green moments earlier, now ominously slashed with orange flames. What I did next always tumbles out like a confession: I put on my shoes and walked down the stairs and directly to a nearby coffee shop where I ordered a latte. While waiting for my coffee, my friend on the other side of that ridge got back to me.
“Omg,” she wrote. “I can smell it and see it from the house.”
Not good, I told myself while jogging back to the car, trying on different levels of Mom Panic for size. My husband and I have three children — an 8-year-old, a 6-year-old, and a 7-month-old. We also have a funny-looking Frenchie Shar-Pei rescue named Chef. (Chef is a girl.) The night before, I’d had two friends and their kids over for an evening playdate. It was the very last night of a three-week-long winter break from school. While the kids danced in the yard and Chef nipped at their heels, us moms sipped white wine and listened to “Pink Skies,” by Zach Bryan. That particular night, the sunset was made up of more colors than just pink.
The drive home from yoga took roughly five minutes up the hills. By the time I rounded our sleepy corner, dark billowing clouds loomed low over the houses across the street.Okay,real panic now. In the moments after I walked up 14 stone steps, and through the dark purple front door, I moved quickly: I grabbed the baby, put a leash on Chef, told our nanny Lauren to go home, locked the door, and raced back down the winding roads. My husband, who had been at work, grabbed the big kids from school, and we all met at a family member’s home in nearby Venice.
I didn’t take any documents. No valuables. No clothing. No mementos. Not even my wedding band or my engagement ring, because I don’t typically wear jewelry to yoga. All we had were the clothes on our backs, our work bags, my purse, some clothing for the kids, and some diapers for the baby. Days later, when we were able to confirm the total loss of our kids’ school and our home — the mid-century rancher with the wraparound garden and preposterously busy hummingbirds — I was still dressed for yoga.
In the hours and days that followed, people asked the same question: What do you need? And each time, I’d launch into this bit where I’d fumble over the objects in front of me, and say, “This,” while waving a coffee mug or a jar full of ballpoint pens. “What is this? I need athis.” So people just did their best, and the stuff came in overwhelming waves. I got underwear, new yoga pants, a mat, and running shoes from my friends. We got the crib we needed (sans the crib mattress we also definitely needed) from a beloved cousin. We got suitcases and duffels full of clothing. We got toys. It was a lot of stuff.
People always ask another question: Are you going to rebuild? It’s a fine question, but it’s not a future-tense thing for us. Every day, every moment, we are rebuilding. The house part? That’s a story for another day. The school? I pray my son will get to attend his sixth-grade graduation back on campus — class of 2028, baby! Rebuilding is a verb. It means needing a whole lot of very practical stuff and figuring out how to afford it. It also means needing less essential but deeply personal things.
In the past two months — as I’ve slowly sorted through it all, and given away that which we didn’t need — I’ve noticed that the best personal gifts I received felt either like a homecoming or an upgrade from my former life. The best stuff was hyperspecific, nuanced, and a bit indulgent. The best stuff also showed me a path forward. A path that includes sexy candles from Paris, slinky lounge pants, child-size Uggs for adults — and, hopefully, very soon, many more pink skies.
An Identity-Reassuring Status Cap
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Before we moved to L.A. in 2020, we lived in New York for 14 years, the last five in Tribeca. Getting a replacement for my favorite black cap — a subtle flex that screams both “Hey, I’m walkin’ here!” and “Get the tuna burger!” — made me feel seen. (I am also totallyweird about hats.)
Kids’ Slip-On Uggs
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When my older sister sent me two pairs of these in my size — one black, one chestnut — she said her daughter, my 19-year-old niece, insisted. Boy, do I enjoy wearing these with my favoriteLululemon dupes. They are the perfect, hands-free slide, and I swear they look like The Row. Plus, no more awkward crouch for heel untucking required.
Candles That Conjure a Memory
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I first fell in love with the Brown Candle from Paris’s Hotel Costes on a trip to the city as a recently married couple. The scent, which “emits scents of liquor, mild tobacco, and wet stone,”according tothe hotel’s website, but really just smells like smoky sex, always transports me back to that time my husband and I spent a month on their red velvet couches one night. I was touched when my fun friend Cali, who also lost her home in the fires, rush-ordered a couple for me. She knows I like to set a scene.
A Sassy Claw Clip
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My chic friend Natalie, who I met when we were both editors atElle, recently called me a “clip influencer.” So when she sent me a care package that included this rich emerald-green showstopper, I knew she meant it. Plus, this resilient, grippy, glossy clip has already sold itself off my head — twice.
A Beloved Piece of Art
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Back in 2014, I reada story inTheNew Yorkerabout young mutton busters — kids who ride sheep to train up for bulls — and fell in love with the photographs,Jonno Rattman’s first in the print magazine. In the days and weeks after the fires, I ached for my picture of Jadeyn and Shayne dressed in their mutton-busting best. Without a word, a group of friends contacted Jonno and asked him to reissue the print. It is now on the wall in our rental. I love it so much.
The Comfiest Lightweight Sleep Pants
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Negative, a frill-free and totally tagless bra and underwear collection started by two of my friends from college, has always been my absolute favorite. So when a fellow mom of three sent me luxurious lounge pants from its Whipped collection, I was excited. Okay, they may cost $200, but they are thinner than a threadbare vintage T-shirt and really hold up in the wash. Turns out yoga pants aren’t very comfortable for sleeping.
A T-Shirt From a Brand I Had Never Tried
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These vintage-cut, slightly cropped tees from Buck Mason are literally all I wear now. They look great peeking out from under crewneck sweatshirts (see below) or tucked into mycool-girl barrel jeans, which I also now love.
A Used Copy ofA Little Life
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I have always been drawn to dark stories.My workis full of murder and crime and grift and heartbreak. When I first readA Little Lifewhile pregnant with my oldest son, it ruined me — in the best way. Getting a dog-eared copy from a new mom friend was a bright spot during these past few, chaotic months.
Oh-So-Subtle Cat-Eye Sunglasses
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I am rough on my sunglasses. I don’t “use” “cases.” These — a gift from my formerGlamourcolleague Elissa Velluto and the made-in-NYC brand — never break and never look crooked on my face after I sit on them. They are the perfect sunglasses, full stop.
A Sweatshirt for a Beloved, Local Shop
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Nothing brings me more joy than giving back to the stores that made our neighborhood special. The Palisades was home to the best, chillest skate shop — Paliskates — and this limited-edition Paliskates Forever drop is some of its best work yet.
Chef’s Bust 2.0
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When I discovered@imakeyourdoga few years back, I immediately commissioned a ceramic leash holder/statement piece for a beloved family pet. In the intervening years, I have commemorated some of the best canines in the biz with a one-of-a-kind sculpture from this lovely artist. This Chef, though a bit different than the original, is somehow even better than the first.
Perfect Towels
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When my discerning merchant friend Lizzie insisted on sending me these designer towels, I didn’t really know what made them special. I do now. They are super absorbent, never smell weird after a wash, and have a tiny bit of stretch that makes (and holds) perfect post-shower human burritos.
Blockshop Pillows
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It doesn’t hurt that one of my sweetest pals, Hopie, runs a sick textile company with her quirky, chic sisters. When it came to making a fully furnished rental feel like home, nothing did the job quicker or better than a few of these satisfyingly dense, hand-block-printed-in-India-but-sold-in-Atwater charmers.
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