I like ice cream.
But do I scream for mint-chocolate chip like I do, say, for french fries or Rachel Comey booties? No.
Nevertheless, upon learning a couple of weeks ago that the Museum of Ice Cream was opening in San Francisco — the third stop on a tour that began in New York last summer and moved to Los Angeles in April — I became obsessed with snagging a ticket. After all, this epic wonderland and ode to frosty dairy goodness had been hogging my Instagram feed for months.
One day, about a year ago, a woman dreamed of the perfect wardrobe. It was filled with effortless, flattering and affordable pieces she loved. No matter what she put on, she felt confident and beautiful.