Page 1


Greenville, SC






sunny Saturdays to sit on the porch, the last

warm days to throw open the windows, the

last long rays of light. Soon our lives will

move indoors to nest in flannel sheets, to

listen to the wind scour the eaves, to watch

movies in bed. Soup will simmer on the

stove, lamps will be lit earlier and red wine

will breathe quietly on the kitchen counter.

Umbrellas and Boots will be fruitful and multiply by the front

door. Rugs will come out of storage to

pamper summer’s bare feet. We’ll dream

of a fireplace in the bedroom but settle

for candles that smell like evergreens and

moss. Sunday mornings will stretch into the

afternoon with coffee and newspapers on

the couch and blend seamlessly into dinner in pajamas.W e

lcome home. Cover copy by Nikki Hardin, Art by Aimee Sicuro

“A house is a home when it shelters the body and comforts the soul.” Phillip Moffitt




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Nikki Hardin National Art Director

Caitilin McPhillips National Editor

Margaret Pilarski Greenville Editor

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skirt! is all about women... their work, play, families, creativity, style, health and wealth, bodies and souls. skirt! is an attitude...spirited, independent, outspoken, serious, playful and irreverent, sometimes controversial, always passionate. Calendar Submissions Send information or mail to, or mail to skirt! Greenville, 1708-C Augusta St. #335 Greenville, SC 29605.

Letters to the Editor


Onward, Upward, Back Over

Katie Toussaint............................................................................... 10 Beloved White Elephant

All letters must include the writer’s name and city/state.

Suzanne Fretwell......................................................................... 13

Writers & Artists

Profile: Sandy Glenn

Our guidelines are available online at Submit artwork or essays via e-mail to

Just Add Water............................................................................. 16

skirt! is published monthly and distributed free throughout the greater Greenville area. skirt! reserves the right to refuse to sell space for any advertisement the staff deems inappropriate for the publication. Unsolicited manuscripts must be accompanied by a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Letters to the editor are welcome, but may be edited due to space limitations. Press releases must be received by the 1st of the month for the following month’s issue. All content of this magazine, including without limitation the design, advertisements, art, photos and editorial content, as well as the selection, coordination and arrangement thereof, is Copyright © 2011, Morris Publishing Group, LLC. All Rights Reserved. No portion of this magazine may be copied or reprinted without the express written permission of the publisher. SKIRT!® is a registered trademark of Morris Publishing Group, LLC.

Profile: Women Build

Home Made................................................................................... 18 Women make more than 85% of all purchasing decisions.

Profile: Toni Clark and Melanony Parker

Playing Defense............................................................................ 20 No Room for Doubt

Stacy Appel..................................................................................... 25 Women spend almost 2 of every 3 healthcare dollars.

Women control 2/3 of the nation’s disposable income.

Dorm Domicile

Stephanie Hunt .......................................................................... 28 Features

skirt! Finder..................................................................................... 2 From the Publisher and Editor............................................... 6 Calendar.............................................................................................. 7 Skirt of the Month........................................................................ 8

Women influence 80% of all car sales.

Don’t Miss.......................................................................................... 9 skirt! loves..................................................................................... 14 He’s So Original with March of Dimes Signature Chefs ..............................................................22

October Survival Guide......................................................... 24 Words to Live By........................................................................ 26 Skirting Around Town............................................................... 27 F-Word.............................................................................................. 30 Set the Table................................................................................... 31 Meet... Adriel McIntyre............................................................. 32 Browse............................................................................................... 33 Planet Nikki..................................................................................... 34 skirt! Saw You.............................................................................. 35 4 


October 2011

The Open House Issue

Home contains

a world, a universe, a heaven—your personal—space-time within four earth-bound walls.


a world, a universe, a heaven— your personal spacetime within four earth-bound walls.



The United Skirts of America

The United Skirts of America was founded on the blood, sweat and estrogen of our foremothers, who won us the freedom to break

Cover Artist Aimee Sicuro Aimee Sicuro received a BFA from Columbus College of Art and Design. After experience working as a line designer for American Greetings and a Flash animator for a once budding dot-com in San Francisco, she packed her portfolio and headed to New York. Inspired by circumstance and in search of a new perspective, she took a job as a project manager and illustrator at a design firm in Soho. At Slover and Company she spent three years learning the business of art and the art of business. Currently, Aimee lives and works as a freelance illustrator in California where she rediscovers life every day on the vibrant streets of San Francisco. Whether she is running in Golden Gate Park or sketching at her favorite corner café, she never fails to return home with oodles of good material for her art, and a renewed determination to live a creative life.

the Open House issue When I was growing up, I never really had a home to call my very own.

The Rules, to wear

The series of shabby rentals I lived in with my parents and brothers were

combat boots or high

without running water and real comfort, but replete with the misery of an

heels, to run for office

unhappy marriage. To escape, I spent overnights and vacations with my

or run a marathon, to form our own

aunt and uncle and their daughter who was my best friend growing up. They lived on the top floor of their general store, and it was outfitted with a schoolroom with real desks and a whole store below to pretend was

rock groups instead

ours. But I lived for my weekends at my grandparents’ house, which was

of being groupies, to

filled with antiques, sliding pocket doors and smooth china doorknobs,

shatter Glass Ceilings

books and stories and fireplaces that turned the rooms into cozy caves.

and Glass Slippers, to shoot hoops instead

Although I had these refuges, stability and safety seemed always out of reach because sooner or later, I had to return to my “real” home. Even when I grew up, I never outgrew my search for home. Having a place

of settling for hoop

in the world to call mine, that couldn’t be taken away, was a constant

skirts. The ones who

nagging obsession. Being able to buy a house in my 50s made me believe

came before us made

in real-estate happy endings, and I hugged my snug cottage around me

it possible for our daughters to dream

like a security blanket. Now I’m starting to realize it can also feel like a straitjacket when it keeps me too safe, when it becomes a hiding place instead of a haven, when it becomes an excuse not to wander. As much

bigger, to have the

as I love my physical house, I’m trying to learn that I’m my own home

chance to grow up to

wherever in the wide world I go and wherever I return.

be President and turn


the Oval Office into

the United Skirts of

From the Editor

America, every day is

At my house, the icemaker has been broken for a couple of years and my master bath shower recently went on strike, spitting out cold water only.This doesn’t faze me, though, because every night when I lay my head on my pillow, I thank the Lord that I have a house—and the loved ones who make it a home. Not too long ago, I interviewed a family and asked them when their lovely home was



built. It was the wise matriarch who reminded me that you build houses, not homes, because “it takes a whole lot of loving to make a house a home.” In this issue, we discovered quite a few homegirls


who’ve taken it to task to make houses loving homes in a variety of ways. We also caught up with some of the best—and best humored—chefs in Greenville and, um, encouraged them into skirts to Not a doormat

show their support for the upcoming March of Dimes Signature Chefs Auction. And, just for fun, we met up with a professional organizer who loves to remake unruly houses into orderly homes. Be it ever so humble...



the Ovary Office. In

Independence Day!


From the Publisher




Discover a world of tempting tastes, sights and sounds! St. Francis Fall for Greenville offers something for everyone.


For a safe, non-scary trick-or-treat event for kids 12 and under, don’t miss Boo in the Zoo at the Greenville Zoo. Adults can come in costume too!


It’s a party you don’t want to miss! The YWCA Greenville’s Masquerade Ball features a live band, a silent auction, and hors d’oeuvres.

Woof Out 1. Paws For a Cause is a great dog walk designed to raise funds for the American Cancer Society and awareness of cancer in pets!

Storytime 15. The Tenth Annual Hagood Mill Storytelling Festival features tall tales, yarns and whoppers by some of the region’s best tellers. 864.898.2936

DANCE! 1. Vote for your favorite local celebrities at the 2nd annual Dancing with the Carolina Stars! Proceeds benefit programs and services at Senior Action. dancingwiththe

Ghost Story 21-30. Join Ichabod Crane and all of the well-known characters in a musical adaptation of Washington Irving’s classic, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

Laugh 5-10. Agile Acrobats! Motorcycle Madness! Elephant Extravaganza! Comedic Circus Clowns! Join the fun and excitement at CIRCUS FUSION!

Memory Walk 22. Join the Alzheimer’s Association Walk to End Alzheimer’s and unite in a movement to reclaim the future for millions.

Denim Rules 6. Put on your favorite pair of jeans for an evening under the stars alongside the Reedy River at the 7th Annual Blue Jean Ball to benefit YMCA Camp Greenville.

Close Shave 13-11/5. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street tells the infamous tale of the unjustly exiled barber who returns to 19th century London seeking revenge.

Can You Dance? Breathtaking! 22. Crush the Stage is a local dance competition and TV reality show open to four categories of dance styles: pop, hip hop, country and Latin.

24. The Dallas Children’s Theatre Production brings the splendor of Zimbabwe and energy of the African land onto stage with Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters: An African Tale.

Tender Tale 13-29. The Elephant Man tells the true story of John Merrick, an extremely deformed and abused freak-show attraction, as he reclaims his humanity. warehousetheatre. com

During October Don’t miss Cyndi Lauper & Dr. John,Tony Bennett, Mary Chapin Carpenter and more at the Peace Center.

National Cookbook Month • Country Music Month • Gourmet Adventures Month • National Dessert Month • National Popcorn Poppin’ Month

National Sarcastic Awareness Month • National Roller Skating Month • National Kitchen and Bath Month • National Pickled Pepper Month



Traci Daberko is an illustrator and graphic designer in Seattle, WA. See her work at J. Cooper Animal Print Pencil Skirt Labels 1922 Augusta St., Greenville



“...join us in raising awareness throughout the month of October.

October 1-31

Domestic Violence Awareness Month Please join Safe Harbor for the following events throughout October as they work to raise community awareness and to alleviate domestic violence in the Upstate of South Carolina. Friday, October 7 Domestic Violence Awareness Display at Main St. Plaza by Falls Park in downtown Greenville Tuesday, October 11 Helping Hands Day at Sticky Fingers Friday, October 14 Domestic Violence Awareness Display at Anderson Mall Wednesday, October 19 Charity Dinner Night at the Tiki Hut Lakeside Grill on Lake Keowee in Seneca Thursday, October 20 Safe Harbor Happy Hour Night at Soby’s Friday, October 21 Domestic Violence Awareness Display at Haywood Mall in Greenville Friday, October 28 Awareness Cook-Out at Safe Harbor Saturday, October 29 Safe Harbor Links of Hope Golf Tournament Check out Safe Harbor’s Facebook and Twitter pages each day throughout the month of October to learn important information about domestic violence and how you can join us in raising awareness throughout the month of October.

864.467.3636 or



You Only Live Once. Get up with the sunrise before the sun sets on all your chances.

Katie Toussaint


his room is temporary. Every part of it. The single window that opens to the slant of the roof. The bed beneath, clouded with pillows. The sealed brick fireplace, hearth strewn with fabric flower petals. The mirror I’m looking into while not-so-artfully applying eye shadow. And every part is mine for the summer. But nothing worth remembering has happened here. Outside of this space, I’ve had months of new people, live music, walking bridges, writing in coffee shops, and relaxing on rooftops along the South Carolina coast. I’ve formed an easy friendship with the three girls who sleep behind the other white doors of this apartment, and the sun is setting on our summer and on our college lives. So we try to live a little. I put down my makeup brush and open my door to join them in the living room for Friday night festivities. We collect our respective bags, phones and keys, and lock the house behind us. We stroll the city’s cobbled streets and uneven sidewalks awash with light from lampposts and restaurants. We bar-hop and mingle and dance and sing and sweat until we ache for fresh air. Then we walk away from the sleepless bustle of downtown, down side streets tunneled by moon-kissed trees, up the stairs to our second-floor home in the house with the grey peeling paint. We throw down our bags and phones and keys. We make plans to wake up in three hours to see the sun rise on the beach. I laugh and doubt it will happen. I shut myself in my room, close my curtain on the night, and sink into sleep under the whir of the ceiling fan. At 5:30am I sit up to the scrape of a door opening and the tap of footsteps. The voices of my housemates muffle through my wall and I lie back and consider feigning unconsciousness so I can actually feel alive later. I reason that every day presents the chance to see the sunrise. But I’ve never taken that chance. What if this is the last time I can take it here? At this point, it’s not the room that matters, what’s in it or that it’s mine. What matters is that I decide to leave it. I half-fall out of bed, yank open my door, and see Clare rummaging around the kitchen for her car keys. She looks at me and asks, “You coming?”

I raise my arms over my head in the affirmative and drag myself into the bathroom. I poke my contacts in my eyes, throw on a swimsuit, snatch my stillsandy beach towel and stumble down the stairs to catch up with the other girls. Sarah Jean is already planted shotgun in Clare’s little silver car, somehow bubbling with conversation and energy. Erin, however, is still metabolizing last night’s beverage selection in the backseat and lolls against the strap of her seatbelt. I toss my towel on the floor next to her and climb in. Clare backs out of the driveway, turns onto the main street, and we are off and up and over the bridge, windows cracked, sunroof wide open, hair whipping. Time seems swifter, and we fly to beat the 6:26am sunrise. Houses and buildings cut across our vision. The pre-dawn light threads itself through the green marsh grasses, pink skimming the sporadic pools. Clare turns the car onto a side street and swerves it into a thicket of shrubbery next to the beach access point. We hop out, kick off our flip-flops and walk until we find the perfect place to plop down on our towels. I lean back and look up—the skyline is swathed in a pastel haze. I breathe in the sight and the thought that we beat our own odds by getting here. That we left our personal spaces for a greater space. Some place without doors or keyholes, without ceilings, without floors. 6:26 arrives and ticks past. Clare starts to curse the fact that we came all the way here when it’s too cloudy for us to see the sunrise instead of merely the changing light. Sarah Jean interrupts her, saying, “Hey guys, look.” We glance east and there it is: A crescent-curved flame. It expands into an orb and rises as though gravity never mattered. We are caught in this sight, in this place, in this intersection of sand and ocean, of night and day. In this place that is not ours to own. This place that is not temporary, but timeless. The sun keeps climbing, but our eyelids droop. We shuffle back through the sand to the car. It’s time to head back to where we came from, to civilization, to sleep. We grab bagels on the way and drive on, sipping light roasts swirling in Styrofoam cups. We roll onward, upward, back over the bridge to the city, content with our coffee buzzes, with the foreign feel of the early hour. Sarah Jean tilts her head out the window, toward the waves of the sea, the waking city. “YOLO,” she says. You Only Live Once. Get up with the sunrise before the sun sets on all your chances. Walk out of the rooms you own and step closer to the places you can never forget.

Katie Toussaint is a senior at the University of Richmond and a former skirt! intern. She enjoys the desk space and coffee buzzes that Richmond has to offer, but misses her cubicle and the Keurig coffeemaker at the skirt! office. 10 


The Open House Issue


nourishes you, feeds your adventurous spirit, invites you to the kitchen table to tell your tales of wandering.




The Open House Issue


the place you can carry wherever you go, whether it’s in a backpack, a pickup truck or a tiny trailer.



It’s a house filled with ghosts, all nice ones of course, but nevertheless, ghosts.


Suzanne Fretwell

egend has it that kings in ancient Thailand would deviously bestow the “gift” of a rare and sacred albino elephant on certain unfavored people. Because the white elephant was so costly to maintain and not permitted to work (being sacred and all), the sorry recipient would eventually end up in financial ruin. Our family’s summer home on the coast of Maine was often referred to as a white elephant by my grandfather. As a child I didn’t understand the expression, but the house was big and white, so the imagery made sense to me. Now that I am a grandma myself, I have a greater appreciation for what it took to keep the house in the family all these years. In fact, with the death of our mother, who owned it the last three decades of her 94 years, my two siblings and I are truly finding out what Granddad meant. I’m sure neither our grandparents nor our mother regarded us as unfavored people, but as we face the enormous expenses and physical challenges of maintaining this house of memories, it is becoming clear to the three of us that we have indeed inherited a white elephant. My grandparents are long gone now, as are most of the relatives who lived or visited there from 1946 on. However, like the white elephant, their spirits and the house are sacred to us and to our children. It is a large 250-year-old place, packed with the accumulation of several generations, where for the past 65 years we have gathered for summer vacations. There are enough bedrooms for all of us and enough space to be together without being underfoot. It is a place that connects us to our deceased relatives and childhood memories. Traditions here run deep. Old family portraits adorn the walls, trinkets clutter every surface; furniture, china, and kitchen equipment belonging to my great grandparents is still used, and a myriad of dust-gathering notes and postcards have been hanging on doors or walls for decades. Some of the mattresses are at least 70 years old. It’s a house filled with ghosts, all nice ones of course, but nevertheless, ghosts. My grandchildren are the fifth generation to experience the magic of exploring the nooks and crannies of this historic old place. They are already in love with it and no wonder. Besides a huge old barn and a two-acre field out back, legend has it the sliding wooden window panels were designed to keep out arrows from attacking Native Americans. A narrow twisting staircase goes to a cupola, or widow’s walk, on the very top of the house, where wives of sea captains could watch anxiously for returning ships. As a seven-year-old dodg-

ing his grandma’s constant announcements of “I have some projects for you!” my now-grown son discovered (as we all did) escape could be made via any of the three staircases to the top floor, up one and down another, without anyone knowing his whereabouts. When I asked my brother how he’d feel if the house were sold and he’d have to drive by knowing that someone else was in “our” place, he replied that, aside from a pang of nostalgia, it would be no harder than going by any house he ever lived in. In some ways I think that’s a typical man’s view, but in other ways I imagine he’s just plain tired of dealing with it. As the only son and eldest sibling, he has been the overseer of the house, both financially and physically for more than two decades, all while managing his own business, home, and family obligations. My sister thinks it would be freeing to sell everything and move on with our lives. Both my brother and I can see the wisdom and appeal of that option, but for me there is the nagging feeling that we’d somehow be letting our future progeny down, as well as our deceased ancestors. After all, who gets to experience living history the way we’ve been privileged to do? And once we let it go, it will be gone for good. As we continue to bat around ideas on how to make the property support itself, the reality sets in—that we three are too old to take on such projects, the younger generation has their own lives to live and there is simply not enough money to pay for all that could and should be done. For now we are all taking a few months to gather facts and ponder our options and our instincts. Meanwhile, we have started lists of what maintenance must be done in the near future: new paint and new roofing on both the barn and the house, shoring up ominously sagging sections of the barn, major yard work, replacing the kitchen floor that is dangerously pitted with broken chunks of 65-yearold linoleum. Dealing with this aged family treasure feels strangely the same as what we experienced in the years before our mother passed away (and our father and grandparents before her). We saw the signs of decline, both big and small, but resisted reality until major illness eventually took over. Many attempts were made to fix and repair her physical issues, but in time, with the gentle guidance of hospice, we just had to let her go as peacefully and as comfortably as possible. Many generations have lovingly maintained her house as well. With its advanced age, however, the challenge has become more difficult and not always in the best interest of this historic home...or those who have inherited it. In reality, there comes a time when the kindest thing may be to let go of the past, of people, of things and perhaps even a beloved white elephant.

Suzanne’s articles and photos have appeared in Southcoast Magazine and she has published and photographed the Southport Calendar for five years. As the founder of a 100+ member singles group in Southport, NC, one of her passions has also been sharing 20 years of experiences and ideas for living a full and rewarding single life.



MOR Cosmetics • The Emporium Black Collection


Addison by Spectacle Eyeworks

“The Print Collection” Fragrances by Stella McCartney Sephora Haywood Mall in JC Penney, Greenville 864. 297.3550

Sheril Editor



Mermaid’s Tears OPI Nail Lacquer

Nikki skirt! Publisher

Garrison Opticians McDaniel Village Greenville 864.271.1812

Denise Sales Executive

The Open House Issue


scene of birth, death, begetting, forgetting, holding, unfolding and dreaming.




Welcome Mat

Sandy Glenn | Just Add Water Unhappy with the way her first delivery played out in a typical hospital environment, Sandy went in search of a better birth experience. “Josiah, my third son, was the first documented water birth in SC by a licensed midwife. It was a fabulous experience and I decided that every woman needed the same opportunity.” Now a licensed midwife herself, Sandy offers a unique pregnancy and delivery experience at her birth center in Simpsonville, Carolina WaterBirth. “Our motto is ‘Enjoy Your Birth’ because we want women to know that birth truly can be enjoyable. Yes, it’s hard work, but with the right support and preparation, it can be the most fulfilling experience of your life. I get to witness some of the most life-changing and powerful experiences of a person’s life, so I try diligently to protect and empower those moments.” Photo by John Fowler of Sandy with client Jenny Moeder



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Join us October 6th & 7th • 6PM-9PM for shopping and an evening of fun! Proceeds benefit Hearing Loss Association of America

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Welcome Mat

Women Build | Home Made Not your ordinary run-of-the-sawmill women, these gals don’t mind a little sweat and some dirt under their fingernails for a good cause. Through the Habitat for Humanity Women Build program, volunteers get hands-on construction training and the chance to help deserving women and children rebuild their lives by building their own homes. “I enjoy working side by side with the homeowners because I can see just how hard they have worked in order to have a home and how determined they are to have a better life,” says volunteer Ellen Butler. Besides the satisfaction of a job well done, the ladies of WB also get something else out of the experience, explains Ruthie Collins, who has been with the local group since they started eleven years ago. “The girls have formed a sisterhood and I think we will be friends for life!” Read more at Photo by John Fowler Pictured Front to Back: Ellen Butler, Elizabeth Hall, Ruthie Collins, Sissie Giddens, Fred Camp, Gayle Hagins, Ashley Reynolds, Nikki Grumbine



Take Care of Your


From aromatherapy to facials, pilates to yoga, do something special just for you!

Healthy Hair is Always in Style We would like to welcome Jennifer Buffington to our team! We carry L’anza, Pureology & Kenra Products

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If you would like to advertise on this page or are interested in more information contact Denise Nelson 551-7295

any shampoo, cut and style

Expires 12/31/2011.

220 22 0 Ar A r li Arli ling ngtto ng t o n Av ton Av en Aven enue ue • G reen re envi vill lle e, S C • 86 864 4 - 37 4-37 4370 0 - 03 0-03 00388 88 Gre i ll SC AIM80459

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1607 Woodruff Rd. (across from Happy Pie)




Welcome Mat

Toni and Melanony | Playing Defense After hearing about the high levels of child abuse within our community, Toni Clark and Melanony Parker felt the need to take action. Through their organization, Defenders for Children, this dynamic duo strive to make a real difference in children’s lives by focusing on increasing public awareness, child abuse prevention and assisting existing children’s support organizations. “We felt the crime of child abuse had been ignored and had remained virtually silent because people just didn’t like to talk about it,” says Melanony. “We decided we needed to shout it from the mountains to get people to take notice and step up to make a difference.” Toni agrees. “My goal is to see the Upstate become a role model for other communities by showing them that people do care and will come together to help protect all of God’s children and keep them safe.” For more information, visit Photo by John Fowler



You’ll be pleasantly surprised when you explore Clayton, Georgia! Our unique shops feature the best in art, antiques, books, flowers, hardware, sporting goods, furniture, gifts, wine and much more.

Mother Daughter Friend Sister Wife

To delight the palate, make sure to enjoy outstanding restaurants while you are here. Welcome to beautiful Clayton! Just 11/2 hours from Atlanta AIM80398

Every Woman Should Know.

At Any Lab Test Now, we want every woman to have the opportunity to detect the early signs of Breast Cancer.

No more excuses, this Advance Medical Test is now more affordable than ever;

At just $99 you get three advanced medical tests that check for the Breast Cancer Antigen Regular $579

Breast cancer is the most common malignancy in American women, accounting for approximately 30 percent of their new cancer cases – get tested today.

Call Today 864-329-0935 1140 Woodruff Road, Suite 107 Greenville, SC 29607


Next to Whole Foods



He’s So Original

Greenville’s Chefs Are Fired Up! Dedicated to their cuisine and a cause, these talented chefs represent some of the Upstate eateries that will be participating in the March of Dimes Signature Chefs Auction on November 13. This year marks the gala fundraiser’s 20th year in Greenville, so the best-of-the-best are really turning up the heat in the kitchen, offering gourmet samplings and fantastic culinary-themed live auction packages. Participating restaurants include Chophouse ‘47, Devereaux’s, Embassy Suites, Irashiai, Nantucket Seafood Grill, Nosedive, Rick Erwin’s West End Grille, Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse, Soby’s and Soby’s on the Side, Stella’s Southern Bistro, Table 301, The Lazy Goat, and The Trappe Door. For more information, call 864.235.8576. What do you love about skirt!? “skirt! has a real passion for the community.” How do you feel wearing a skirt? “It’s all for the babies!” Photo by John Fowler Chefs pictured from L to R. Back: Ken Talbott,Tanner Marino, Alan Scott, David Rude. Front: Josh Beeby, Rodney Freidank,Teryi Youngblood, Joey Pearson, Shaun Garcia,Victoria Moore.



Consignment Chic Smart fashionistas know how to save money and still look fabulous!


Antique Mall, Upscale Thrift & Consignment Shop

Great prices on gently used, name brand and designer clothing, accessories, home décor and more. Each purchase makes a difference in someone’s life.

Consignments Welcome

2111-J North Pleasantburg Drive, Greenville • 864.242.1751

Proceeds go to help Shalom House Ministries Dealer Space & Showcases Available. 10-6 everyday except Wednesday & Sunday AIM80467 M80467

Safe Harbor Resale Shop benefits Safe Harbor: a non-profit local organization. Safe Harbor provides safe shelter, counseling, and advocacy for victims of domestic violence and provides leadership for education and prevention efforts throughout its four-county service area - Anderson, Greenville, Oconee and Pickens, South Carolina. AIM80607


Vendor Space Available

300 South Main St, Anderson, SC • 864-226-1002 2

Between BiLo and Play It Again Sports




Furniture • Home Decor • Lamps • Art • Mirrors

art • antiques • funk

19 Mohawk Drive, Greenville, SC 29609



Always Buying Appraisal Services Available

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Consign & Design 2118 Augusta St., Greenville (next to McDonald's) | 864-236-5570 | Mon.-Fri. 10-6: Saturday 10-4 AIM80461

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Interested in Consigning? We accept consignments daily. No Appointment Necessary! We Offer Pick Up and Delivery

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Not Your Average Consignment Store Fall Clothing Arriving Daily Fall Decor Section

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Interested in advertising your Consignment/ Resale Business on this page? Call Sarah Page at 864.356.2903 or email


206E New Neely Ferry Rd., Mauldin, SC

Celebrating 8+ Years in Business!

Upscale Consignment Furnituree Mon., Fri. & Sat. 10-4 • Tues. 11-6 Wed. & Thurs. 10-5:30 Furniture Online & Updated Daily



1001 S. Batesville Rd. • Near 85 & Pelham • 848-3737



October survival guide Sweater weather Halloween Costumes Pumpkin-Carving Parties wild Turkey American Honey An Extra Hour Autumn Leaves Tailgating



The eyes in the spooky old photographs seemed to follow me accusingly as I moved about the room.


Stacy Appel

hough the house wasn’t especially large, no more stately than its neighbors on the block, my parents had been charmed by the vast yard dotted with dogwood and elms, and the honeysuckle-covered back fence. They scraped together every last dollar to get a mortgage on it when I was a toddler. My mother adored the screened-in upstairs sunporch and the enormous detached garage, which she promptly filled with chairs to be reupholstered, bed frames, umbrella stands and bric-a-brac which she used in her design business, leaving just a bit of room for the family’s old rakes, busted lawnmowers and tricycles. By the time I was old enough to explore, I refused to enter the cobwebby garage, nor could I be convinced to slide open the trap door which led to a mysterious attic. My older brother had reported seeing hideous spiders in both locations. But I was more curious than afraid when it came to my first solo expedition through a latched door off the kitchen into our basement. I enjoyed the solid sound my shoes made on the the hollow wooden steps, and I liked to sit on the landing where the staircase curved halfway down. Our basement consisted of six musty-smelling rooms, intriguing and poorly lit. The furnace room was more intimidating than the others: a huge asbestos-covered inferno in the corner coughed and sputtered before falling deathly silent, then suddenly belched to life again. I ducked the severe gazes of the strangers in antique portrait frames which leaned against all the walls in stacks where my mother had placed her purchases. The eyes in the spooky old photographs seemed to follow me accusingly as I moved about the room. Next door was an ancient bathroom, with rusted medicine cabinet, long clawfoot tub and a dish of dusty seashell guest soaps on the sink. Nearby was the small bedroom turned office—my mother’s drafting table and file cabinet took up most of the room now. My grandparents had lived there briefly when I was three, right before my grandfather had a heart attack. I retained only a vague impression of the grim old man who never spoke to me, but I vividly remembered a siren wailing to a halt in front of our house, paramedics racing down our basement steps, and one of them swearing loudly when they got the stretcher stuck attempting to navigate the curve of the staircase on the way back up. At the far end a door led to the laundry room, where a tall metal cabinet stood full of turpentine, bleach and wonderfully toxic substances in cloudy bottles and cans. My brother and I were forbidden to touch them, so we snuck down there and pretended to drink them, thrilled by the skull-and-crossbones on the labels. We liked to imagine what my mother would do if we emptied one or two into the sink and lay down next to the dryer, eyes closed, empty bottles at our feet. Best of all was the cavernous recreation room with linoleum flooring, built-in shelves along the long walls, even a fireplace nestled between two sets of windows. It was the perfect room for parties. I remember my mother promising to clear it out so

that my brother could have Scout meetings down there; a few years later, she began to make the same promises to me about slumber parties and birthday celebrations. “We’ll put the stereo down here,” she said gaily, “the floor’s perfect for dancing!” Or, “Maybe we should have a sofa bed and a coffee table, and a little refrigerator!” We watched the shelves fill up with lamp fixtures, vases, carpet samples, sconces. The fireplace was obscured by antiques she found on buying trips to Gettysburg or Baltimore, and rolls of wallpaper left over from clients’ homes. My brother and I never quite gave up hope that she would keep her word and clean it out one day, both of us feeling that to poke a hole in her fantasy would somehow be an act of cruelty. After all, several of our friends really did have magnificently appointed rec rooms with wood-paneled bars and pool tables and televisions. Who was to say my mother wouldn’t suddenly transform the basement overnight, especially as my brother neared adolescence? Never mind that even our living room furniture was actually her interior design inventory, with price stickers on end tables and statues and Japanese screens, and the basement so full she couldn’t find items she needed. One autumn evening when I was ten, our family’s genial black tomcat, Texas, didn’t return home. My father traversed the neighborhood calling him while my mother checked under every bed. When a week went by with no sign of Texas, my parents and brother gave up, grieving deeply for a cat they’d known longer than me. They were tender in their efforts to console me, but I would not be comforted—I couldn’t let myself believe he was gone. I talked to the cat every night while trying to fall asleep, feeling him near me. Once in the middle of the night I believed I heard him meowing back. The sound seemed so real I rose from my bed and called out to him. “No, honey, remember? Texas is gone now,” said my father, stumbling sleepyeyed into my room to quiet me. I waited until he left again, then took my slippers in hand and crept down to the kitchen in bare feet. Once I’d found a flashlight next to the stove, I unlatched the basement door. The meowing in my mind was distinct and plaintive; I followed it without question all the way down the basement steps. “Texas? Texas?” I called him over and over, and went into the overflowing rec room, for I sensed him somewhere there, alive. A bureau behind a coat rack seemed to glow before my flashlight. It was my mother who finally followed me down to where I stood crying in front of the antique bureau, my mother who finally slid open the bottom drawer just to show me it couldn’t be so. A moment later we found the cat lying there very much alive, though dehydrated and far too weak to cry out. It was my mother who carried him upstairs in a towel, gave him water with a syringe until he could hoist himself up enough to eat, while my father and brother looked on, amazed. It was my mother who fixed us hot chocolate and pound cake to celebrate. Later she pretended that she had believed me all along. Though the rec room full of antiques would remain exactly the same for the next 23 years, its fireplace blocked and floor obscured by brass, iron, wood and wicker, I had to admire the way she stuck to her story about emptying it out. I imagined the marvelous parties she meant us to have, the mother she meant to be, the treasures lurking anywhere in a house, upstairs or down, when one is willing to peer beyond the obvious.

Stacy Appel is an award-winning writer in Lafayette, California, whose work has been featured in the Chicago Tribune and other publications. She has also written for National Public Radio. She is a contributor to the book You Know You’re a Writer When… by Adair Lara. Contact Stacy at WordWork



Love this Poster? Prints are available for purchase at

Jennifer Renninger is an illustrator from Tampa, FL, whose clients include The New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Harper’s, Bark, Urban Outfitters, O Magazine and Chronicle Books. 26 



Around Town

Fun Find!

s Matching Ottoman Home At Last reer 102 Sunbelt Ct., G 864.848.3737


The Three Graces in Porc ela La Bella Estate Antiques Shoppe 637 Howell Road, Green ville 864.268.5200


Skirt Alert rt Warm Up…

Sachin + Babi Gracie Combo Coat

Vestiti 1818 Augusta St., Greenville 864.451.7553

Accessorize! Treska Jewelry

Buckle Up…

Shannon Boots by Eric Michaels

JP Collection 27 S. P;easamtburg Dr., Greenville 864.239.3999

Muse Shoe Studio 2222 Augusta Av e, Greenville 864.271.9750




“My word! So who do you know? What strings did you pull?”

Stephanie Hunt



Dorm Domicile

I began to get a giddy, guilty feeling as other mothers took a break from unpacking to peer in Room 301. We were becoming an attraction. “Wow, this is huge! How’d you girls get so lucky?” visitor after visitor exclaimed. “My son’s in a closet compared to this,” one mom bemoaned. “My word! So who do you know? What strings did you pull?” another asked as she carried an orphaned bookshelf (“No room for this!”) back down to her car. We had pulled no strings; we had none to tug. My daughter and her roommate had simply hit the dorm-lotto jackpot—a corner room with airy 12-foot ceilings, two windows, gleaming vinyl floors and two not huge but adequate Elfa-outfitted closets. The walls were supposedly “healable,” which I think is code for “hang posters with abandon,” and the beds were rigged to be lofted if so desired, which meant that with a little umph and imagination the girls could create multiple interior design scenarios. Their cheerful matching comforters, a splurge from The Company Store, were icing on the cake. I was thrilled to see my daughter’s excitement, to observe as she laid claim to her new university home, figuring out what to put where and negotiating easily with her roommate, a friend from high school. “We could put your desk here, mine in the corner and the refrigerator there. Or stack my drawers against this wall, then put the bookshelf in the entryway….” They were having a blast only a few hours into their college career, launching into nascent adulthood via the first frontier of domesticity. All around us the dorm and campus were buzzing with the energy and electricity of possibility. Wide-open doors, intriguing new faces, still-clean linens, the Christmas morning smell of new plastic (à la storage bins, drawers, crates) in all its Target excess and glory. My daughter’s freshman move-in day, with minimal emotional and physical mayhem, was not exactly the chaotic stash-and-squeeze fest that had been my own experience some 30 years ago. In contrast to my daughter’s palatial dorm room, my first college abode was cramped and slightly dreary, especially on the muggy, rainy day when my mother and I first scoped it out a few weeks before the semester started. The cleaning crews were doing damage control after summer school residents had cleared out, and kindly let us in to take a peek. I was thrilled and enchanted; my mother was dismayed and depressed. “I can’t believe you want to go here,” she said as we climbed back in the car, wet and weary. We’d just come from moving my older sister into her beautifully-appointed sorority house, an old Southern manse oozing with grandeur and charm at a nearby university, and to my mother’s refined décor sensibilities, the contrast was jarring. I’m still not sure how we did it, three total strangers shacked up in Canterbury Room 102: Tracy, organized and by-the-book from Dallas, Texas; Diana, homesick and naïve from Puerto Rico; and me, preppy and ready-toplay from small-town North Carolina. Somehow we managed to stake out personal space in our musty shoebox of a room. It was originally designed as a double, but given the shortage of student housing an added bunk and a crammed-in third chest of drawers magically “expanded” it to a triple. Our dorm’s hallways were ancient, dark and incredibly narrow—two thin-ish people could walk abreast, but just barely—with painted brick walls and cold stone floors that became an obstacle course of sticky spilled beer and discarded Dominos boxes every weekend. Thirty-some girls shared a bathroom with a row of stalls and four or five showers. It was a classic Gothic campus: impressive, stately and ornate on the outside, stark and utilitarian on the inside, with no hint of ritz, glamour or elbow room. But I don’t ever remember thinking anything about my humble dorm other than this is awesome. I was 18 years old, away and on my own, eager to explore, question, learn (though not necessarily study!), meet new people and expand my horizons. Closet space was not high on my list of concerns. I’m happy to know my daughter is in roomy, comfortable digs, but I can’t help but think the university’s resources might be better directed. I understand that swanky new dorms help woo students in the increasingly fierce college application game—they wowed us when we visited. But I also know that learning to make do, to get creative with limited resources and get comfy with discomfort is part of life’s core curriculum. “Dormitory” comes from the Latin, to sleep. I’m not sure how much sleeping I did in college, but that squished Gothic shoebox gave me plenty of room for dreaming. I wish the same for my freshman; I’m hoping she wanders far and wide beyond her cozy dormitory. The point of education, after all, is to wake up. Stephanie Hunt is a writer in Mount Pleasant, SC. She can’t possibly be old enough to have a child in college, but appreciates her reduced laundry load now nonetheless. Read more at or



f-word [ Feminism Free-For-All ]

Rape Failing The 10-year-old Israeli Arab women’s magazine called Lilac has always pushed the envelope but is breaking some taboos in conservative Arab society by featuring a model wearing a bikini on its cover. The monthly magazine is

Fashion Favorite

Love her or hate her, you have to give Anna Win-

We have to wonder about the mentality of management at Forever 21 to offer a shirt for girls printed with the slogan “Allergic to Algebra.” Around the same time, JC Penney offered a similar t-shirt for girls with the slogan “I’m too pretty to do homework, so my brother has to do it for me.” Both were pulled after customers protested, but what’s up with a corporate culture that thinks it’s okay to characterize girls as airheads?

Financial Zero. That’s the number of female CEOs at the 20 biggest U.S. banks and securities firms.

about women’s fashion, work, health and yes, sex, but the “bikini issue” is a first.

tour credit for turning out one consistently beauti-

The editor, Yara Mash-

ful issue of Vogue after another since 1988. And

our, aims to represent

their notorious September 2011 issue was so big

a younger generation

you needed to be in shape to carry it around. We

of Arab women who,

don’t think she’s a bitch, just one bitchin’ editor.

although they still have to fight for their rights, are actively pursuing


and careers.



Vive La France

Singer, songwriter, actress, human rights activist, inspiration for the Birkin bag and muse and lover of the legendary Serge Gainsbourg, Jane Birkin, begins a U.S. tour in November. The Birkin/Gainsbourg chemistry endures—download their sultry duet, “Je t’ non plus,” which was banned by the Pope and the BBC when it was released for being too sexy and provocative.

Mustardseed and Moonshine •


Clairebella “Links”

Juliska “Country Estates” Foxfire Gallery 2222 Augusta Rd. Greenville 864.242.0742

Kate Carlyle 1922 Augusta Rd. Greenville 864.421.0440

iittala “Taika” Macy’s Haywood Mall Greenville 864.297.2020



Meet My Muse: Peter Walsh

Adriel McIntyre, AKA The Intrepid Declutterer. Across the Carolinas, wherever there’s a mess to manage, you’re sure to find this professional organizer armed with her trusty label maker.

Where I Shop Locally: L’s on Augusta

My Pet: Mini Potted Fern

Signature Scent: Dr. Bronner’s Peppermint Soap

My Gadget: Label Maker

My Desk: The passenger’s seat My Watch: Needs a battery Favorite Flower: Wild Red, White or Beer? Hard Cider Where You’ll Find Me On Friday Nights: Outside Favorite Feminist: My mother Favorite Restaurant: Saffron Indian Favorite TV Show: Don’t have a TV... Dream

Photo by John Fowler

Vacation: New Zealand Shoes I Covet: Fryes My Workout: Water & sunshine Where I Get My Coffee: Leopard Forest Favorite Shoes: Chacos



October Reasons to get online Shaun Usher accumulates and commentates on Letters of Note—letters, memos and other forms of correspondence among celebrities and unknowns. Find a mix of moments from historical to hysterical. Craving something? Not sure what to make with the contents of your fridge? Sign up for Gojee, a visual wonderland of recipe ideas suggested when you update each ingredient you want to include (or exclude). Visit Do Lectures to get your brain cranking. If you didn’t make it to the speaker weekends in September (in California

Books we are enjoying

and Wales), watch videos on creativity, business, environment, well-being and more.

Jagger: Rebel, Rock Star, Rambler, Rogue Marc Spitz Nikki Hardin Publisher, skirt!

Tired of cookie cutter bodies? See real women’s posts on My Body Gallery. You can search images by height, weight, pant/ shirt size and body shape.

At My Grandmother’s Knee Faye Porter Sheril Bennett Turner Editor

Excusesto catch up on a few blogs “In theory, a guy like Jack would never go for a girl like me. ‘You think I’m a baby killer, I think you’re a misogynist’ isn’t exactly a strong foundation for a relationship.” Chloe Angyal, Dealbreakers

“Every true Parisienne has certain key items in her wardrobe: at least one beautifully printed scarf, a chic sac à main, a black cocktail dress and classic trench among them. But to most, the lingerie she wears under her carefully crafted ensemble is as central to her wardrobe as her Chanel mini sac.”

“We’ve lived in Tennessee for just over four years now, and it’s about time we start earning our Southern credentials. Like the boy scouts for grown ups, but instead of badges for fire starting and knot tying, we’ve got biscuit making and chicken frying.”



planetnikki [ a visual journal ]

If I told the absolute truth in my journals, smoke would curl out of the pages, and my words would leave scorch marks lust, taboos, envy, desire, fiery sorrow,

from anger, unlived lives.

When I was a girl, I had a diary with a lock on it, and now I would love to have a high-tech journal that would self-destruct if anyone but me

opened it—

maybe then I could discover/reveal the me beneath the

the brown paper wrapper.

I have developed a sudden inexplicable desire to learn how to play poker. To bluff, to raise, to call, to drink whiskey, to go to Las Vegas. Who has moved into my body?

On constant replay on my iPhone this month: “Bruxelles” by Dick Annegarn.

If only I could imitate Jung’s fearless “confrontation with the unconscious” that he undertook in The Red Book in my own journals.

Nikki Hardin is the founder and publisher of skirt! magazine. She blogs at 34



August 26, 27, 28 Upstate Women’s Show

September 1 Mayme Baker Studios Open House

The 5th Annual Upstate Women’s Show featured fashion shows, cooking demos, dance routines, fitness demos—plus loads of shopping opportunities just for us gals.

Mayme and fans celebrated the grand opening of their new location at 93 Cleveland Street with food from Table 301, entertainment by Chocolate Thunder and plenty of fun!



A Special thanks to Shinola for the posh skirt! booth decor!

Be a skirt! Insider! • •



Don't buy cheap clothes, buy good clothes CHEAP!

McDaniel Village | 1922 Augusta St., Ste. 112 864.631.1919 | Monday through Friday 10-6 • Saturday 10-5 • Sunday 1-5 AIM80442

skirt! Greenville October 2011  

skirt! Magazine Greenville