Les Femmes des Fleur | Celebrating 70 Years of Dior

To create and define a vision, carried years beyond, is a testament to the art, and the artist. To call Christian Dior a designer seems unfair, or inept in description. Instead, he is the iChing of definitive womanly elegance. Rejecting the status quo, as most innovators do, he draped layers upon layers of fabric creating beautifully exaggerated hemlines. Opting instead to celebrate a woman’s woman-ness through shape and tailoring, applique and embroidery- thus creating a demure prowess of wearable art. He had a proclivity for taking style beyond a dress, equally celebrating the details; footnoting fashion with accessories and fragrance.

Qui est-elle? The Dior woman is art, in human form. She is emboldened, by the symbiotic relationship between woman and wardrobe. Though her intricately placed appliqué may be delicate, she is not. Instead, Miss Dior is the juxtaposition of confidence and strength, elegance and grace.

It took but a decade to solidify his vision in fashion culture- and from Yves to Chiuri, the bones of the brand remain- lovely. Each piece tells the story of a woman: creating a memory, a moment, or simply celebrating her individual womanhood, in pieces of art that that blare strength and femininity, as defined by its original artist, Mr. Dior.



Stairway to Couture Heaven…

Seeing Red…

When the World is your inspiration…

Femme Noir

Strength is in the details…

I am every one of these women!

I was inspired by the Dior esthetic- length, layers, lamé.
Vintage skirt and blouse.
Shoe: Oscar de la Renta
Caplet- NYC

And so the ending, is a peek into the beginning.

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At-Last-Ka | Celebrating a Series of Firsts

An unexpected work opportunity arose marrying my bucketlist with a realized manifestation of my vision board wishes, welcoming moments of firsts: A first trip to Alaska, a first cruise, and a first time meeting O…yeah.

My first cruise came with an open invitation of camaraderie courtesy of O, The Oprah Magazine. The beauty of paths brought together; sharing soul moments filled with honest conversations of life experiences and learned lessons. People from all over the world, like totem poles, cemented through common ground and common goals, literally stacked, with faith, love, strength and friendship; some new, some renewed. The constant motion of cruising, docking, and setting sail again, and the relationships formed between, resembles a metaphor for life. In constant motion, we move slowly, adjusting, living, exploring, growing, and loving, along the way.

My first trip to Alaska, we set sail towards what would end of being a life affirming experience, nurtured by nature. A region so magnificent, garnering a respect and appreciation for the power of nature, confirmed to most certainly be a woman, and a mother. A pureness of life’s cycle, as the salmon attempts to outleap the bear, as land respects sea.  A literal reminder provided by Mother Earth, of the power of our presence in this world; a figurative nod towards respecting the beings around us, and their purpose and presence.

My first time meeting Ms. Winfrey was a powerful yet fleeting exchange, affirming the ‘how’ need not be questioned, as its answer lies in faith, the size of a mustard seed. If you can believe, I was literally left speechless. During her talk, I was humbled by her presence, as she spoke and I learned to listen to life’s whispers. Wisdom, whispered inward in words of our subconscious voice, guiding as gut instinct with glacial magnitude. Such advice supersized my soul, adding Angela Davis’ plea to ‘Stop cheating on your future, with your past,’ Glennon Doyle’s spirit of joy, the excitement of new friends, and an overall theme to live my best life, I left inspired, honored, full of hope, love, gratitude, and, well, cruise food.



Mother Nature, also known as Glacier Bay.

Catching beauty in Ketchikan, Alaska.

Giddy and grateful.

As delicious as it looks. Holland America Cruise eats…

I called them ‘O Notes’ left on our pillow each night.

Gratefully at the bottom of the totem pole.

This way…

View from the upper room.

A local coffee shop collects pins of people from ALL over the world.


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Sir Madame | Palais Lascaris

Imagine a home with its own song.  Envision a palace, a musical instrument museum with a collection of over 500 instruments.

Enter, into 17th Century grandeur of opulence, where baroque ceilings painted with images of fairies as Gods and Goddesses greet you, their stories brimmed in gold.   Climb the majestic staircase to the chapel filled with music inspiring part prayer, part poetry. Feel the warmth of rose painted halls, separating each room’s exertion of its own personality. Move from room to room of papered walls and 12-foot doors hanging on hinges, floating on the sounds of violin strings or piano keys, as if hoping to never cease dancing- withstanding the wear of time.

Marvel a boudoir, so magnificent one could only refer to it as a boudoir indeed, fit for a king, or queen; perhaps the home of its own passionate music.

A palace simultaneously modest, as it is grand, inspired a dress that could withstand its eloquence. Instrumental for the day’s theme, in vintage by Caprice, I channeled Stevie’s Wonder(ous) Sir Duke in celebration of sound, strings, and the Palace Lascrais.





‘An instrument is the sole and precious witness to music that was performed in the past.’

Perhaps a soiree of friends invited to sit in the salon listening to the melody of a harp.

String me along…


When a dress meets its moment…


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‘You Will’ | Words From Friends

I woke up confused; well maybe not confused, perhaps I should say in search of- something. Everything was perfect, but something felt off. I realized I missed New York a bit this morning. I missed my bathroom, my shower, the eggs I cook for breakfast. I missed my kitchen, my neighbor Sean, I missed familiarity.

I opened the first of a box of cards containing hand-written words of encouragement, from friends back in the States. I chose at random, sliding my hand in, eyes closed, the way a child does when retrieving a prize. Written on the card were two words: ‘You Will.’ The note, written by my friend Sarah, was encouraging, and uplifting. And I thought, ‘I will what??? What will I do?’

I walked downstairs to grab a coffee and write at the café that for some reason NEVER seems to be open, when it hit me. I will…EVERYTHING! I will explore. I will be open. I will… walk to a new café! (And realize on all four corners of my block, not one café was open!) As I walked back to the apartment I am living in, I discovered the one small, green market I have been meaning to pop into for weeks, La Petite Cagette was open! I WILL go in! It was lovely, and charming; and made me want to hop on the next train to Provence!

Instead, remembering a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator, I purchased apple juice, lime, cherries and of course one baguette. (I am in Paris after all.) Once back at the apartment, I made a random cocktail and decided to celebrate everything I will do today, starting by making myself a cocktail, at home.


An suspecting yet charming market.

La Petite Cagette

Beautifully Rustic Produce.

The morning’s bounty.


A moment, at home.


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Ross & Rachel | NYC & Me…

To my bae, New York City,
you were as aggressive now, as our very first meeting.
Even back then at thirteen, I dreamed of a taste,
Knowing I did not wish to stay, you know, forever…
Still, enamored by the haste drawing the dog walkers and day traders;
And so, eleven years ago, we began our dance…

In-between stops at nail salons and coffee shops,
You challenged what I thought I wanted,
Giving what I did not know I needed…
Now, with a woman’s eyes I spy, your androgyny.
A heart, home to a hustler,
Frustrating and indulgent,
We made love, to make up time, from ghosting breaks
Tears between gasps of taking my breath away…

I will cherish those fleeting moments,
As coffee dates evolved into after dinner drinks
From Harlem to Soho to Meatpacking…
And perfect nights ended with  Percy’s $1 slice.
Like a lover that flirts, and follows through…
More is more, if there is more; then leaves in gratitude.
Satisfying the body’s need to repair from the night before,
With an egg and cheese on a roll.

Mr. Big, an uncommitted secret keeper,
Your deceptive exteriors camouflage glamorous interiors.
Relentless, still you leave space for endless opportunities,
But your impatience was beginning to wear on me.
Lessons taught by no other teacher,
Created a woman wrought, by the figurative hands of a city,
Part woman,  part man.

And while your kiss is as passionate as your punch is painful
This is not so much goodbye, rather ‘See you later.’
To be counted as a break, not a break-up,
Like Ross and Rachel.

xo, Facemaid


Thanks to: Percy’s Pizza and Kim Anderson @howtokim

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Madame Sophia | My Italian Beauty Muse

For years, before ever visiting, I imagined Italy and the beauty of its landscape, as Sophia Loren personified. The Sophia of the 1950’s. The Legend of the Lost Sophia- demure and mesmerizing. A perfect dichotomy between coyly aloof, and intensely passionate. Equal parts signora, and sex bomb, simultaneously.

Sophia Loren’s beauty and style is the embodiment of femininity… soft curls, turbans, head wraps, and scarves; chandelier earrings, and jeweled statement necklaces accessorize long, rounded brows, sitting against, sharp, carbon-winged eyes, and soft nude lips.

Chiffon draped shoulders and lace silhouettes, sweetheart necklines tucked into midi-skirts, where sex meets modesty. She oozes every color, and so, I themed shades of red, from the palest pantone pink to the boldest fuchsia. In skirts, scarves, lips, cheeks, nails, and embroidered details, dressed, and undressed, I channeled That Kind of Woman, Sophia.

Ciao, Ciao!


Inspiration from Sophia Loren's 1965 Vogue Cover

Inspiration from Sophia Loren’s 1965 Vogue Cover

Sophia, Sophia!!! Vogue 1965

Sophia, Sophia!!!
Vogue 1965

FACEMAID Four Roma.  My favorite products used to channel my inner Black Orchid. COVERGIRL TruNaked Waterproof Eyeliner Madina True Deep Eyeliner Bite Lipstick in Chai NYX Powder Blush in Pinched Dress: ASOS

FACEMAID Four Roma. My favorite products used to channel my inner Black Orchid.
COVERGIRL TruNaked Waterproof Eyeliner
Madina True Deep Eyeliner
Bite Lipstick in Chai
NYX Powder Blush in Pinched
Dress: ASOS

Color Overload!!! Vintage YSL Skirt Vintage Blouse from a Parisian Vintage Store Shoes: Miu Miu

Color Overload!!!
Vintage YSL Skirt
Vintage Blouse from a Parisian Vintage Store
Shoes: Miu Miu

My favorite nail laquer for travel. No top coat necessary!! COVERGIRL Outlast in Red-dy and Willing

My favorite nail laquer for travel. No top coat necessary!!
COVERGIRL Outlast in Red-dy and Willing







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Fleming{o} Dreams…

On my last morning in Sardinia, my lovely waitress Alicé told me of a Sardinian park, home to thousands of flamingos. Like a poodle, my ears perked up! I taxied to the park’s information center, braving the heat (in sequin pants) and armed with Italian directions, set out to discover the family of some 15,000 flamingos, in all of their black, pink, and white splendor.

I trekked for three and half miles, coming to what was a literal crossroads. The sun was setting, I was sweating and  could barely decipher a word of the directions I was given. Like a scene from a movie, I looked left, then right, standing confused on which way to proceed. My fear of being too lost to find my way back, or worse, stranded without an ability to effectively communicate, I turned, and walked the path I knew. After seven miles of searching, I ended up back at the information center. The attendant, surprised to see me, inquired about my mishap. Standing together, I retraced my steps, using the map on her wall. She gasped, and showed me, had I taken right, (my first instinct) I would have seen the birds, only feet away.

This moment proved to be a metaphor for my life. Although it may seem unimportant, after all, we’re talking about Flamingos; to me it signified a lack of trust I have with myself, and my dreams.

Upon returning to New York, in what I refuse to believe was coincidence I began noticing flamingos everywhere. At lunch days later, a beautiful pregnant woman, sat next to me, in a white dress, covered with pink flamingos. I accepted this, as the Universe’s way of affirming my dreams, and the faith and trust I should have in them. So, onward, Flamingo, or Flemingo, Dreaming.




A Fleming, Flamingo theme day inspired by my travels, and this Flamingo Jumpsuit by Anthropologie.

Flamingo moments from the day.

Flamingo moments from the day.

Blue Flamingo Party

Blue Flamingo Party


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Nonna Roma | Grandma Rome

Rome is a Nonna, (Italian for Grandmother.)  The matriarch of all cities, where the world visits, and people flock to hear her first hand anecdotes of love and war, art and fashion, family and food, and tales of an emperor, or two.  She is stoic, weathered by thousands of years of life, and millions of stories found behind the beauty of piercing eyes.

Her grandeur is awe inducing.  Ivy lies artfully laced over buildings like fabric, with ornate details, as if each Basilica were adorned in her ‘Sunday’s Best.’  Bougainvillea blooms throughout the city, hanging like vintage artwork, accessorizing piazzas. And a family’s tomato sauce is protected by confessional, but tastes like heaven.

In all of her statuesque opulence, lies a rustic-ness wrought by warfare, yet she still bore the most iconic historical fruit, whose cultural impact reverberates centuries later. Where Caesar periled, Michelangelo painted, Valentino’s brilliance was born, da Vinci invented, well, everything; and then, there is you know, the Pope



In Awe.

In Awe.

Streets filled with tourists from all over the world, for Nonna.

Streets filled with tourists from all over the world, for Nonna.

My name is Gladiator.  A peek inside the Colosseum, completed in AD80 and home to contests, animal hunts, and executions alike.

My name is Gladiator. A peek inside the Colosseum, completed in AD80 and home to contests, animal hunts, and executions alike.


Bougainvillea can be found throughout the city sharing its beauty and color.

Sweet eats at Paticceria Boccione in Rome's Jewish Ghetto.

Sweet eats at Paticceria Boccione in Rome’s Jewish Ghetto. Address: Via del Portico D’Ottavia, 1, 00186 Roma, Italy

The ceilings of the Vatican Museum are beyond words,

The ceilings of the Vatican Museum are beyond words,

The beauty of Ivy-laced Hotel Campo di Fiori, and my Roma 'Home Away from Home.'

The beauty of Ivy-laced Hotel Campo de Fiori, and my Roma ‘Home Away from Home.’

A gun invented by the mastermind himself, Leonardo da Vinci.

A gun invented by the mastermind himself, Leonardo da Vinci.

Delicious Simplicity.

Delicious Simplicity.


I Have This Thing with Doors. :)  Dress:  The Jet Set Diaries Scarf:    Zara Earrings: Mercedes Salazar Shoe:     Miu Miu

I Have This Thing with Doors. 🙂
Dress: The Jet Set Diaries
Scarf: Zara
Earrings: Mercedes Salazar
Shoe: Miu Miu


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One, but not done! Happy Birthday Facemaid!!!

Within this space, I have found an outlet to express myself creatively, emotionally, and artistically, while sharing and celebrating the beauty I am blessed to experience in this non-traditional career (I was supposed to go to Law School), in the most dynamic city in the world (mostly New York), with my family, friends, and clients(too many to name!)  I wanted this to be a space of beauty, to share and celebrate the places, people, and product that add a little, or a lot, of pretty in my life.

I have learned so many things since launching this blog:  To author the definition of my name, no matter how unconventional, to use my voice, because I have things to say; and most of all, during the moments my brain has felt empty, to equally celebrate and appreciate the little things, where the most beautiful lessons can be found.

We’re a year old, and this is just the beginning!!!  There are so many adventures to come.:)FullSizeRender-106

THANK YOU, for stopping by, and letting me share with you!!!

exes and oohs,

Jennifer Fleming,





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Thunderbolt | Coup de Tonnerre

A night in the Marais filled with awful instrumentals that somehow still sounded so sexy, and laughter at idiosyncrasies, complimented by a smile as bright as a million moons; with perfect attention paid to every detail. Whispering in French, English, and Frenglish, while trading stories of wander and wonder of who we would be if we weren’t who we are, what ifs, what’s next and what feels right. It was one of those perfect Parisian nights ended by obligation, leaving behind a mental memento of the power of a mind or soul or body’s connection to another; indeed, magic, and the ultimate facemaidcapade.

Ouais, c’est magique…


Le 153 Bar- Paris

Le 153 Bar- Paris





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