...Is what P and I were shouting at about 10.30p last night, the impatient toddlers that we are. We went to see Little Boots at Le Poisson Rouge—along with T and D—and I have to say that I can't remember the last time I left a show so...so...in love. (Though, unlike the could-be mos behind us, I do NOT want to have her babies.) And I can't decide what I liked most: the suburban girl dance routines, the Hitchcockian platinum updo, or, um, the music. So judge for yourself?
Now, considering that I was one of the seven people to purchase Mandy Moore's last album Wild Hope, it probably comes as no surprise that I'm also psyched for her next, Amanda Leigh, out on 5/26. I do think, though, that even if I didn't know this was "I love you, forever. Love always, Mandy" singing, I'd still love the first single "I Could Break Your Heart Any Day of the Week." It's Jo Dee Messina plus Katy Perry—you know, in a good way.
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.:
T started a blog! With all of his insane concert reviews. (Um, he went to shows Wed., Thurs., Fri., and Sat. last week.) It's called Last Night's Set—Last Night's Party riff, get it?—and you should read it.
Ok, I'm sorry, but I want to be upset with this grade-school style blogger Ava of Because I Love Style, but she's genius. I can't actually READ her site because you have to be invited—good parenting, wha?—and I'm apparently not cool enough for that, but there was a post over at the die-for Sea of Shoes about, and I can't get enough. I mean, we're not talking Limited Too here, folks. We're talking diy Ann Demeulemeester sandals SLASH boots. Holy.
If you were wondering it doesn't get better than this.
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.
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.
Well, the rumor mill (apparently Gawker is back to covering publishing news? huh) says that Anna Wintour might be replaced by Carine Roitfeld (of French Vogue) come 2009. Now, last week, the gossipy guys and gals were claiming A Dubs was going to go work for Obama, soo...Ya get my drift. Regardless, I'm OBSESSED with Carine. As in, I want to be her intern/personal slave esp. if that means getting to touch her clothes. An ode:
Tina Fey is on the cover of the new issue of Vanity Fair, but before I address the article, which was written by Maureen Dowd, we've gots to talk about the styling. Why is it that whenever anyone wants to prove T.F. (or, really, anyone for that matter) can be glamorous, they do this forced retro Hollywood L.A. Confidential look with red lipstick, side-swept curls, a bustier, and peep-toes? I'm over it. Way over it. And I'm also way over the biting-the-eyeglasses trick, which is apparently universal moron language for "I'm both smart and sexy!!!"
Moving on: The story itself feels...old. Like it was meant to come out on 11/11—a mere week after the election—but we are just seeing it now. This is clearly a problem that all magazines are facing—how do you deal with a topic that everyone cares about when you can't be at all current about it—but you can really feel it here when a big ol' chunk of page is dedicated to Tina doin' the Palin. The best parts of the piece come straight outta the comedienne's mouth. I guess that's kind of a duh, but still.
On binging before her shoot with Annie Leibovitz:
"Annie’s going to photograph my soul, right?"
On her high school social life:
"I remember bringing people over in high school to play—that’s how cool I am—that game Celebrity. That’s how I successfully remained a virgin well into my 20s, bringing gay boys over to play Celebrity."
On moving to NY
"I’m five four and a half, and I think I was maxing out at just short of 150 pounds, which isn’t so big. But when you move to New York from Chicago, you feel really big. Because everyone is pulled together, small, and Asian. Everyone’s Asian."
PS: Happy belated Thanksgiving!
PPS: Sorry for the long blogging break! I'm back! Not that you were really worried.
I loooove watching TV on DVD, but I hate the fact that you have to commit to, like, a gazillion episodes if the show was on network telly or a 95 hour-long, fast forward-free ones if the program was on HBO. Right now, I'm stoked on checking out The West Wing—of which I've never seen a single moment—but seven seasons? I do have a JOB (for now), you know. Thankfully, today Y advised me that, really, only the first three are worth watching. Approximately 80 hours of my life are thus saved. (Is using those hours to troll online shopping websites for really good sales better?? Prolly not so much.)
Can someone—anyone? Bueller?—make a website that compiles this information for me? Because the weight of my Netflix queue is too much to withstand, and I feel like I'm already such a terrible cultural consumer considering I didn't watch any teevee live from season 2 of Dawson's Creek to season 5 of SATC.
Anyway, I will offer my suggestions (in hopes that you'll gimme yours in return, duh). Sharing is caring, you guys.
The Wire: Seasons 1-4. You've heard it a milllllion times. The show is DA BOMB. So just watch, otay? BUT, the fourth should have been the last. I don't like when Michael Lee becomes a bad boy. It keeps me up at night.
Weeds: Season 1-2. When Nancy becomes an f-ing full-on drug lord? Count me out
Wonderfalls: All 13 episodes. Yup, it's a brilliant-but-canceled.
I'm Alan Partrige: Season 1. That's enough of Steve Coogan to give you quotes for daaaaays.
Arrested Development: Seasons 2-3. Yes, I know, funniest show, like, EVA, but it doesn't really get going until the 2nd year. The first few episodes can be a tough sell to someone who hasn't seen.
And now! A break for a gratuitous photo of Tristan Wilds (who played Michael Lee and is now on, barf, 90210). He has the best smile in the galaxy. But I can't find a pic where he shows it. HBO! Help!
Next up are The West Wing, Veronica Mars, My So-Called Life (because, let's be honest, I hardly remember), and Battlestar Galactica. And clearly I need advice.
Yesterday, I read Joan Didion's essay "Where the Kissing Never Stops" in Slouching Towards Bethleham about Joan Baez and her school for non-violence, and today I read this "Peace, Love, and Shopping" business about Simon Doonan's hippy-dippy, peace sign-dripping holiday windows for Barneys that—guess what?—also pay homage to the folk superstar (among others). This is a case of synchronicity...and plenty of reason for a mini ode.
I'm endlessly jealous of people younger than me who have impeccable fashion sense. I mean, you can't tie your own shoes, but you can throw it down in Balenciaga? I'M SORRY. Emma Watson (of Harry Pawta fame) is one such person. She's 18 now, which makes her technically a grown-up, and she's fully evolved beyond the too-fashiony phase of her life (which, in her case, included lots of feathers, some red lipstick, and a flapper dress here and there). At that age, most girls are just discovering the full glory of a slutty halter top and "going-out" pants. Ugh. ANYWAY, a look at E.W.'s prowess over the past two months:
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.
Tina Fey is on the cover of the new issue of Vanity Fair, but before I address the article, which was written by Maureen Dowd, we've gots to talk about the styling. Why is it that whenever anyone wants to prove T.F. (or, really, anyone for that matter) can be glamorous, they do this forced retro Hollywood L.A. Confidential look with red lipstick, side-swept curls, a bustier, and peep-toes? I'm over it. Way over it. And I'm also way over the biting-the-eyeglasses trick, which is apparently universal moron language for "I'm both smart and sexy!!!"
Moving on: The story itself feels...old. Like it was meant to come out on 11/11—a mere week after the election—but we are just seeing it now. This is clearly a problem that all magazines are facing—how do you deal with a topic that everyone cares about when you can't be at all current about it—but you can really feel it here when a big ol' chunk of page is dedicated to Tina doin' the Palin. The best parts of the piece come straight outta the comedienne's mouth. I guess that's kind of a duh, but still.
