I just remembered how much I loooove the three-episode Zach Galifianakis video interview series called "Between Two Ferns." It's the kind of comedy that M would describe as "eeeeeh, AWKWARD" (while tugging at the collar of her shirt), and it cracks my shit up. The whole dang set below:
It's like looking into a crystal ball, you guys. Fall/Winter 09 fashion week is over in NYC, and while this prolly isn't the most exciting fash city in the world, there were still plenty of trends to note. I spent way too much time curating pics (all from NYmag.com, which posts more quickly than Style.com) to share with you of the things I spied with my little eye.
THE VIVIAN WARD BOOT Is there such a thing as "hooker chic?" Because that's what these gray Rodarte boots are, and I'm obsessed. Top to bottom: Rodarte, Charlotte Ronson, Alexandre Herchcovich
THE ANDIE MACDOWELL DOUBLE-BREASTED JACKET Ok, it's more like punk A.M. than Four Weddings, but Hugh Grant would still be plenty seduced. Top to bottom: Alexander Wang, Michael Kors, 3.1 Phillip Lim
CYNDI LAUPER ONE-SLEEVE DRESS It's about time we got some new twist on the asymetrical biznass because because the sleeveless look has been coming and going way too long (see: my senior prom dress...bleh). Top to bottom: Calvin Klein, Yigel Azrouel, Michael Kors
HOLLY GOLIGHTLY GLOVES With something casual-ish and short-sleeved? Adorable. Top to bottom: Marc Jacobs, Derek Lam, Thakoon
RACHEL ZOE FURS The louder and faker, the better Top to bottom: Derek Lam, Alexandre Herchcovitch, Preen
The Oscars. I know, you guys: Heath Ledger, Kate Winslet, Slumdog Millionaire, blah, blah, blah. But! While the actually event may be wiped clean of any drama or suspense, the behind-the-scenes business is still riveting. The Daily Beast has a fascinating (if a little jumbled) article about the stylists who control the carpets (you know, those red ones?): Cristina Ehrlich, Jen Rade, Rachel Zoe, and Estee Stanley. There are too many juicy bits to round up here, so read the whole thing. It reminds me of the 90 seconds of television (captured here in an unembeddable video—Thanks, Jezebel!) during which Jennifer Garner and her Oscar dramz of 08 won my heart.
The fashion industry publication WWD got The Onion treatment yesterday: Somebody put together a high-production spoof called Worldwide Women's Wear Daily, or WWWWD.
Ok, haha:
You can download the whole PDF here, but the real highlight (for me, obvs) is a story about how Little Miss Suri Cruise is America's fashion ICON.
Sorry to go totally overboard on the S.C. front this week, but this is important stuff—and by this I mean my opinion being validated.
Viktor & Rolf designed luggage for Samsonite, and I love it. I'm a sucker for jazzy travel gear that clearly wouldn't survive one trip around the baggage carousel—as in, when I was 15, I was desperado for a Roxy roller. For the time being, this V&R business is available at the new, improved Colette website (not that it's even vaguely affordable, mind you).
This week, K and I checked out Confessions of a Shopaholic. To call the movie good would be beyond generous: It's two redeeming characteristics were that Isla Fisher (like Amy Adams) can make any obnoxious character significantly less annoying and a good chunk of the film was shot in our 'hood (which K would acknowledge by squeezing my arm excitedly...ha). But while the film is no classic, it does achieve a certain amount of value when you consider its message. Many criticized its release, pulling the whole, "A movie about shopping?! In this economic climate?!" Actually, though, it's a movie about debt. When you exit the dark theater, you want to pay off your credit card, not rush to Barney's—a wave of emotion that is helped along by the fact that the clothes in the movie are AWFUL (way more Ab Fab than even The Devil Wears Prada).
Many people assume the film’s release is terrible timing. If they only knew the truth: Becky does not shop so much as lie, cheat and scheme to keep her secret from being detected. As a comical allegory for the last 15 years, when fashion-mad consumerism, among several other things, drove the world’s economy to new heights, the film stirs up prickly issues about the complex interplay of women, fashion, spending and identity.
And as a panicked Becky (who works as a financial journalist, no less) conceals her mounting debt and dreams of a magical bailout, the story has a painfully familiar ring. Frothy as it is, “Confessions of a Shopaholic” glorifies overshopping about as much as “Trainspotting” glamorized heroin.
“I think it’s amazing timing!” said Madeleine Wickham, alias Sophie Kinsella, who wrote the original novel 10 years ago. In New York for the film’s premiere last week, she agreed to have lunch—and do a little shopping—at what might be Becky’s mother ship: Bergdorf Goodman.
“This story is about someone who has too much credit thrust upon her too young, and she goes out and gets loads of lovely shiny things, then she goes bust and has to deal with it,” Ms. Wickham said. “If we’re not all going through that now... ” She trailed off. “We’re all Becky Bloomwood.”
I am experiencing both tremendous pride and guilt over a weekend purchase, and I feel the need to share. Congrats: You are all members of my support group, whether you likes it or not. If you recall (oh dear god, and hopefully you aren't wasting brain storage space on this), I have been obsessing over a pair of G.D. shoes for the last, oh, nine months. I was added to a list at my favorite, frustratingly amazing store, Opening Ceremony, to be notified when said shoes arrived, and on Fri. I got the call. Because I am insane (and have a supportive bf who agreed to be my date to after-work shopping outing), I went to the store, fell in love, got one of the last two pairs (yes, New York, it's totally normal that ridic shoes like this sell out in a matter of hours), and became poor in a matter of minutes. Ta da!!! But—whenever I'm not looking at my Chase balance—I'm happy. Because I officially own these:
Oh, and I called the bf "supportive" in error because he then agreed to take photos of me wearing my new purchase, which makes him "horrifyingly supportive." The photo does not do justice to their fringed, open-toed, s&m-heeled, black leather awesomeness (ahhhhh!!), but it demonstrates my unbridled enthusiasm.
Diane von Furstenberg is on the cover the the S/S installment of Purple, the one magazine I collect in my teensy apt. Bananas/die. Thankfully, Mr. Zahn seems to be taking a one-issue break from men in drag.
...Or so says this blog Film School Rejects. This artist Mitch Ansara has given the middle finger to those stinkin' Hollywood types who keep swiping their movie ideas from classic books ("The Curious Case of an F. Scott Fitzgerald Story Only KIND OF About What That Brad Movie Is About," anyone?). Instead, he's turning the most important movies of our time into sixties-style books—well, sixties-styles book covers, at least, that look pulled straight from bins at Strand, worn edges and all. My favorites are below, and the rest are on M.A.'s Flickr.
Note: All of the designs aren't in black 'n white 'n shocking pink—just the ones for my choice films. This clearly says something (and something not that highbrow) about my movie taste.
ANYWAY, it's written/compiled by this art director slash illustrator chica Leanne Shapton, and there was an article in the NYT about her and her project today. Her take on consumption and the thing-filled nature of our lives (which she's not necessarily criticizing here) just make me want to read and own and hold this thing more:
“It’s sort of about how reliant we are on our things to define us,” Ms. Shapton said, acknowledging that there is a strain of what she described as somewhat “suffocating discernment” running through the protagonists’ lives.
“But I wanted to balance that with a pretty genuine love of very private meaning,” she said, adding that most of the things put up for sale are “those kinds of things that mean everything to the person who owned them and nothing to anyone else.”
Some such things that mean nothing to nobody from Important Artifacts...gotta love the Nuvaring.
Unfortunately, the internet is being a total fucking slacker and is serving up like no pictures of said publication. GAWD. Thankfully, there is this video that gives a better sense of the layouts and content without spoiling all the fun:
This rad line of clothing called Something Else by Natalie Wood and b-day tix to West Side Story on B'way from T reminded me how much I heart the REAL Natalie Wood (no offense, up-and-coming designer), especially the early-to-mid sixties, bobbed, Love with the Proper Stranger era of her life. She's obviously one of my not-so-secret style icons (and one who makes me take pride in my paleness, I might add). Behold:
1962
1964
1964
1964 poster for Love with the Proper Stranger, alongside Steve McQueen. HOT.
I have been ignoring the fact that you have a girlfriend for some time now because, quite frankly, it hurts too much. I have instead been swooning over pictures of you and your Michael Cera-ness in my new favorite magazine, Teen Vogue. But today, Michael Cera, it was brought to my attention by my friend R that said girlfriend Charlyne Yi (also known as "the stoner girlfriend in Knocked Up"—this is a quote because everyone IDs her in these exact words) is 33 years old. I am, as I'm sure you can tell, very upset by this, and for multiple reasons. First off, Michael Cera, there is the fact that she looks even younger than me, and I look very young. I was thus deceived into thinking that she was a nice young random indie girl your own age, and I DO NOT like to be deceived, especially by people I love. (This is where we overlook the fact that this is meant to be a letter to M.C. and allow the true four—or is it seven?—readers of this blog to examine a photo and nod in agreement, ideally emphatically.)
What's more, the relationship is creepy. No offense, Michael Cera, but it is not normal for 33-year-old girls to date 21-year-old boys. When you are 33, you will realize this. No, you will. To say that you are the Smith Jerrod to her Samantha Jones does not appropriately convey the sinking feeling I get in my stomach to think of this. It's more like the tingle that runs up my spine when I consider Woody Allen and Soon-Yi Previn.
Michael Cera, I thought I knew you, and you have disappointed me. That's right: disappointed.
Ten years ago—five even—American women’s fashion was alllll about Marc Jacobs (and Marc by Marc Jacobs and, eventually, Jacobs by Marc by Marc Jacobs, the ridiculously cheeky line sold at the Bleecker Street bin shop).
Now, the U.S. scene is officially about, well, China—or at least adorable dudes of Chinese descent. There are the well-established elder statesmen of the realm, Peter Som and Derek Lam. Then came Phillip Lim, who won the CFDA for Emerging Talent in Womenswear in 2007 (a stinkin’ big deal, ifya don’t know). Then Alexander Wang sashayed into the picture, winning the ’08 CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund award (another wowzers prize) and, most recently Jason Wu, of Michelle Obama dress-making fame, hit the big times.
What gives? Why is it that the Chinese & Chinese-American guys have cornered the market on all that is chic and modern in the U.S. of A.? I’m fascinated, clearly.
This U.K. graphic designer Nikki Farquharson (who does stuff for Missbehave mag) produced a poster series called "Rebuilding Expressions" that gives classic proverbs the ol' 2009 facelift. I'm not a huge fan of the font—makes me feel like I need to attend the School for Kids Who Can’t Read Good and Wanna Learn To Do Other Things Good Too—but the concept and the updates are super smart. Take a look:
Impossible to read, I know. Click the image to enlarge.
It took me until 2008 to realize that writing things on the internet doesn't (necessarily) make you the most annoying person in the universe. Then my friend had a dream that I had a blog where I posted a photo of myself in an orange sequined dress. Hot.
