Bruce Leslie - Lauren Conrad Celebrate

To my dad,

who taught me that theres no greater joy than cooking for the ones you love... and that basil can go on just about anything.

I love you!

What does celebrating mean to you?

When I began working on this project, I asked myself this question and tried to figure out what it was about a party that made it really special. For as long as I can remember, Ive loved celebrating, so I know my obsession started at an early age. I shuffled through shoeboxes of old photos, reminisced with family and friends, and even watched crackly home movies that, as fuzzy or imperfect as they may be, possess an unfiltered charm were incapable of capturing on our smartphones nowadays. And during these strolls down memory lane, I was reminded of some of the happiest moments of my life and how they were filled with people, music, food, and, of course, laughter. I remembered the time my dad drove my best friends and me to the mountains for a snowy slumber party to celebrate my thirteenth birthday and how my older cousin taught us all how to put on makeup for the first time. I thought about how every December, my family came together to trim the Christmas tree, listen to carols, and drink hot apple cideronly to one night catch my mother redecorating the tree after wed gone to bed, since her small children hadnt evenly distributed the ornaments (apparently I am my mothers daughter). I remembered standing alongside my dad in the kitchen, in a puff-shouldered party dress, helping him prepare appetizers before guests arrived and him reminding me: Food only tastes as good as it looks. It was a lesson I would always remember.

The first party I recall attending was when I was five years old. It was a surprise party for my moms thirtieth birthday, which is more than a little alarming, since I just recently celebrated my own thirtieth birthday. In the days leading up to the event, I had butterflies in my stomach. I could barely contain my excitementbundles of balloons, a sea of streamers, and a fluffy, frosting-covered cake! The morning of the big event, my dad formulated a plan that had my mom out of the house for the day so he could spend the afternoon in the kitchen preparing and plating beautiful platters of her favorite foods. But more than anything, I remember the bubbling anticipation, knowing she would soon arrive and see all that we planned. With my thick satin headband peeking out from above the couch I was hiding behind, I waited for my cue to explode up like a taffeta-covered jack-in-the-box. When she finally appeared in the doorway, we all jumped out and shouted, Surprise! And then I remember seeing her face. For a moment, she appeared to be in total shock, before bursting into tears and running out of the room.

Ever since that day Ive been strongly opposed to surprise parties. Can you blame me? Truthfully, Ive never understood the appeal of an event where the unassuming guest of honor opens a door only to be shouted at by a large group of overexcited people. He or she is almost never appropriately dressed and always seems more mortified than pleased. Its really sort of cruel when you think about it. Needless to say, it was an event that deeply scarred me.

But memories can be a funny thing. When I retold my version of the story to my parents, they filled in a few details that my five-year-old eyes apparently missed (if Im being honest, I was probably just preoccupied with selecting a party dress). My mother said my dad actually created a theme for the event: a funeral for her youth, to hear him tell it. He chose all black decorationsballoons, linens, you name itand even requested that the guests wear black, all to poke fun at my mothers mounting anxiety over turning thirty. (If youve ever spent time with my dad, this will come as no surprise. He has a unique sense of humorand taught us never to take ourselves too seriously.) He cooked up the menu himself: crab salad finger sandwiches and duck liver pt prepared in a duck-shaped mold and displayed on a bed of parsley. He later confessed that it was actually made of chicken liver to save money and therefore was more of a faux gras. My facial expression must have said it all, because both my parents were quick to assure me that it was a real crowd-pleaser.

Oh! I thought. Her reaction finally made sense! Who wouldnt burst into tears upon stumbling into a slightly offensive, funeral-inspired birthday party complete with fake pt? When I said as much, she quickly corrected me.

No, she said. That wasnt it at all.

She told me she had started crying because when she looked around the room, she saw all these people from different parts of her life who had come together to celebrate her on her special day. It was such an emotional moment that she was instantly overwhelmedand the only thing she could think to do was to run crying out of the room. She felt so lucky to be cared for by so many people and even forgot how anxious she was about the milestone birthday. She even forgave the Grim Reaperchic dcor. Those traumatizing tears that I remember from so many years ago were actually happy ones.

And I realized she had helped answer my question. To me, celebrating is taking a moment to show those special people in our lives how much we love them. Its about creating memories, sharing laughs, and honoring the occasions in life that make everything worthwhile. How and what we celebrate isnt nearly as important as the act itselfeven if that means serving chicken liver shaped like a duck.

As Ive gotten older, party planning has become much more than a frilly dress (but thats not to say your celebration ensemble is unimportant!). These days, I adore any excuse that allows me to indulge in three of my favorite things: food, flowers, and friends. Living in Los Angeles and working in both the fashion and entertainment industries, Ive been fortunate enough to attend some of the most decadent parties imaginable, where literally every last detail was considered and flawlessly executed. But for me, nothing compares to an evening at home, surrounded by loved ones, sipping charming handcrafted cocktails and dining on delicious home-cooked fare.

And its not just the party I enjoy, but everything leading up to it too! I get just as much joy from planning a party as I do from hosting one. (I know, Im strange.)

I live to create. Its what drives me. Whether its a gracefully tailored garment or a tastefully executed tablescape, nothing gives me more joy than making beautiful things. I take great pride in dreaming up a concept, and nothing is more fulfilling than seeing it realizedand thats why I love throwing parties. I can spend weeks (or, in the case of my wedding, nearly a year!) preparing for an eventand after all the planning is complete, Im able to enjoy these special occasions with the people closest to me. What could be better?