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There's something inexplicably thrilling about prowling eBay for vintage. In the process of hunting for, say, ridiculous sunglasses, you come to realize the sweet-spot brands to shop for: ones that aren't so major that there's tons of B.S. to dig through (Chanel, Gucci, Dior) but the ones that aren't too obscure to turn up results. I spent, oh, some 20 hours recently searching for a new-old bag, and, as my shopping evolved my go-tos for the world of oversized leather sacks you throw your shiz in and try not to set on subway floors became Bottega, YSL, and Coach by Bonnie Cashin.Yes, I said Coach. And I f-ing hate Coach—no offense to my many stylish friends who own bags, keychains, and wristlets. But the brilliance of Bonnie Cashin, who lauched the company's women's accessories line in 1962 after doing big things on her own in the ready-to-wear world, is that she totally got simplicity. No logo fabrics, no weird tassles—just modern shapes in cool colors with unexpected hardware, like exterior kiss-lock pockets.Here are some of my favorite classic designs by the B.C.:
Double header satchel purse, avail at Ruby Lane.
Watermelon tote, also at Ruby Lane.
Double kiss-lock handbag, was on eBay—try to ignore the doily.The UCLA library acquired the designer's archive in 2004, and there is a really rad online exhibit on it's website. A few choice photos:
Her Noh coat, in paper, circa 1965.
A graffiti wall in one of her houses where she posted quotes. HI, ADORABLE. Circa 1962.
The designer, circa 1960. Um, Chiquita bananas?
1964 Coach ad.Can you tell I have a girl crush?
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.
Suri Cruise gets all tulled up at Disneyland. If wearing cheap princess costumes is wrong, I don't want to be right.
Lots more at Just Jared. Thank you, K, for sharing and thus making my morning.
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).
Anyway, the NYT has a spot-on article by David Colman about how the release of this flick actually mirrors all the shiz everyone is going through: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:
Swiped from The Fashion Loving StylistOh, 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.
Pardon the clutter.
While I did get to watch Obama's speech and hand-on-Lincoln's-bible moment today—in the comfort of my office conference room, which was strangely feel-goody—I missed every ounce of inauguration coverage before noon or after 12:26 PM. Alex Pareene of Gawker (already) has a pretty sweet roundup of best-of today clips, but I think we can (AND SHOULD) all agree that this was the highlight:
The word hat just doesn't do that creation justice.
By way of Refinery 29.I love a tennis boy almost as much as a soccer boy (see: my long-lost PBF) and am therefore OBSESSED with these new canvas kicks from A.P.C. x Nike. ("x" is the symbol used for all collaborations these days as the "+" is apparently too mundane?) They are a revival of Nike's 1975 All-Court model. Jean Touitou, I heart you.
The street style blogs are insanely overwhelming, and, to be honest, I don't need Mr. Sartorialist's commentary on what some chick is wearing or where she's standing. Thus, this aggregator site streetstyl.es is genius, pulling in the posts (photos only, thanks) from all the big real people fash sites and tons you've (or, I've) never heard of. THANK YOU.
