Leandra Medine's Blog, page 585

Reasons to Take a Road Trip

Leandra and Amelia have taken road trips before, too. Their photos, however, were not analog. Far, far from it.

I don’t know why I took a road trip from Texas to Wyoming this summer when I don’t even have a learner’s permit. (That’s what sleep-deprived, bleary-eyed friends are for.) Maybe it’s because I’ve seen Thelma & Louise too many times, maybe it’s because I own an unreasonable number of denim cutoffs; maybe I fancied myself the female Jack Kerouac.

But what I do know is that I didn’t do it for the ‘gram. The photos in the slideshow above are all analog. They were taken the old fashioned way: on a film camera, which meant I had to study the light, make an estimate, release the shutter, wind the film forward… and wait three weeks until I returned to New York to process the film.

Analog photography is a deliberate, outmoded, often tedious pastime and man, is it glorious. The process of turning a roll of film into a photo you can hold in your hands is anathema to our habitually-sharing, fast-moving, multitasking way of being.

Exposure to light ruins not-yet-developed prints so cellphones are absolutely banned. The chemicals used to process film must be applied in a precise manner for an exact period of time — this makes doing two things at once impossible. The sheer physicality of the task leaves no room for stressful rumination; in the darkroom, I am as close to Zen as someone who schedules “bed time” into her Google calendar each night will ever be.

Once the roll of film develops, you can make infinite prints. A five-second ephemeral selfie of you vomiting a rainbow, this is not.

Road trips, especially ones where you lose yourself in the passing landscape for hours on end, are similarly meditative, semi-tedious anachronisms. They don’t make sense in our modern lives. To partake in such a profoundly inefficient activity is like standing in the way of our goal-oriented, hyper-focused tendencies. We’re told to find a path and stick with it.

A road trip done well is one wherein you stumble across an underrated state park and skinny dip until an RV roars your way and threatens to fine you, where plans are poured over and fantasized about but ultimately subject to spontaneous change when you realize that this truck stop burrito is the best you’ve ever had, and you’d like to stay in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico (a real place) long enough to really grow too big for your one pair of jeans.

And that tacky dive bar you didn’t mean to wander into but you stayed for three hours nearly poking your eye out with darts, that’s the equivalent of a light leak — a burst of pink light onto your photo where the lens opened up and it’s wrong; it’s messed with the composition, but it’s better that way.

Photographed by Kayla Tanenbaum on a Nikon FE2; follow her on Instagram here.  

The post Reasons to Take a Road Trip appeared first on Man Repeller.

What the Nuts Should I Wear This Week?

I have been thinking about a few things lately (just a few), which is probably why I’ve been so fun to have conversations with:

1) How do I get my life back in order? It is feeling very messy.

2) Adele. If you’d like to talk about her new album, I’m all earlobes in the comments section below.

3) What should I wear? And I don’t mean this in the way that you might text your girlfriends. I don’t even mean it in the immediate sense, because all too often that choice is made like one orders lunch to the office via Seamless, which is to say emotionally, or out of laziness.

No, I want to know the answer to this question as a way to help solve problem number uno (that means one), and I’m not so sure that clothes can help.

But I feel like they can try.

First: I’ll need a suit. A suit that I can wear separated, with trousers that are a bit slouchy and wide to avoid something corporate.

I’ll need a coat like that, too. Already own the turtleneck. There’s one thing off the to-do list.

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Oh, and stripes! Big, thick, colorful stripes. We can blame Instagram or Gucci, but I’ll be needing a few.

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Bandanas. And scarves. I actually thought I hated them for a bit just because everyone wore them (have you seen our office?) but I’m starting to miss their paisley hugs around my neck. Here’s what I’ll do instead: buy longer ones, or bigger ones, to drape or make more of a scene in the back. A bow? A bow.

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Hair up for that.

Yea.

This feels good.

Moving on to:

Suede. I know it feels “over,” but when it fits snug, it’s so damn polished.

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I’ll also copy exhibit A, B and C of this man’s entire outfit.

A) being the trench, B) being the straight-across-neck-sweater (but a good crewneck will do), C) being the world’s most starched shirt.

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Then maybe, if I’m feeling brave, I’ll remind myself that nowhere in the late fall/early winter handbook does it stipulate a coat must be navy or black.

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And if all else fails, if this really goes south —

If I can’t get figure out what to wear in the midst of my existential sense,

And in turn, I do not get my life together,

Then fuck it.

I will not start smoking or wearing flip flops, but I might become a pirate.

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Now about that Adele, eh?

Images via Le 21ème, The Sartorialist, and Style Du Monde.

The post What the Nuts Should I Wear This Week? appeared first on Man Repeller.

NY Closets: Edie Parker Designer Brett Heyman

Brett Heyman, designer and creative mind behind the bag line Edie Parker, loves a name. Her purses in frequent rotation are “Lauren” and “Jean”; on the Edie Parker website, you can personalize clutches with your own handle. But where Heyman’s love of the moniker truly makes itself known is in her closet — this is a woman who gives everything a proper title. On Tuesday, she called her outfit, “Donna Summer/Me in Seventh Grade.” On Thursday, “Gold Dust Woman With Sensible Footwear.” Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday have their own epithets, too.

When Juliet asks herself of Romeo, “What’s in a name,” she’s wondering why, if they’re destined to be, should it matter that he’s a Montague. But if she were to ask Brett Heyman that question instead (you never know!) one would assume Heyman might open up her wardrobe doors and reply, “My closet.”

Monday:

I call this “Diane Keaton in Baby Boom.” I really enjoy a men’s inspired look for the aesthetic and comfort. I’m wearing Isabel Marant pants hiked way up, an Acne Studios turtleneck, a blazer by Pomandère and my trusty Céline patent leather tuxedo shoes. They are truly unsexy and my husband gives me questionable looks each time I wear them, but they work with short skirts, trousers, jeans, anything. I needed my hands this morning so I threw on a cross-body Edie Parker velvet bespoke Lauren bag.

Isabel Marant pants, Acne Studios turtleneck, Pomandère blazer, Céline shoes, Edie Parket Lauren bag

Tuesday:

This is “Donna Summer/me in Seventh Grade Grade.” I’m wearing the best bodysuit ever by Protagonist. It has the perfect-height crew neck and just the right amount of give. It sits snugly under my Faith Connexion gold lamé trompe l’oeil skirt with faux sleeves that wrap and tie around my waist. Why not? The shoes are simple black suede Saint Laurent booties. They are the perfect medium heel height – no big girls for me during the day – and go with everything. Never one to shy away from a metallic, I’m wearing an Edie Parker gold confetti Jean clutch.

Protagonist bodysuit, Faith Connexion gold lame skirt, Saint Laurent booties, Edie Parket Jean bag

Wednesday:

Channeling “Girlfriend of a Rolling Stone at the airport in the late ’60s” with this look. I love an outfit. Anything that matches and takes a decision out of the process, I support. I’m wearing a Valentino scalloped poncho with matching scalloped mini-shorts. The boots are YSL black suede and over the-knee. They are equal parts swinging ‘60s and orthopedic. They are beyond comfortable! I love a black ensemble but in the interest of adding a pop of color, I am wearing a mint green Edie Parker chevron Jean bag.

Valentino scalloped poncho and mini-shorts, YSL suede over-the-knee boot, Edie Parker Jean bag

Thursday:

This is “Gold Dust Woman with sensible footwear.” Sometimes I can throw on nothing other than jeans, a fancy vintage robe and some fur-lined slippers to get out of the house. I bought the vintage velvet robe at New York Vintage. I collect these and wear them over everything. I layered a James Perse tank top underneath and paired it with vintage Levi’s from What Goes Around Comes Around. The shoes are Gucci fur slides which, in colder months, I will replace with Gucci fur loafers. I can’t get enough of a cozy shoe. The trunk is solid black Edie Parker that my children and I covered with stickers.

Vintage velvet robe (another option here), James Perse tank top, vintage Levi’s, Gucci slides, Edie Parker Trunk crossbody with stickers

Friday:

In my head, this look can best be described as “Emmanuelle Alt wannabe.” The Faith Connexion shirt and trousers keep it classic while the Dior beaded heels kick things up a notch. I paired it with a playful Edie Parker watermelon Jean bag.

Faith Connexion shirt and trousers, Dior heels, Edie Parker Jean bag

Saturday:

At the end of the week, my look is usually “I give up.” I’ve thrown a yummy and oversized cashmere sweater by Joseph over a light purple Gucci silk pleated skirt. No zipper? No problem. Sometimes a girl needs an elastic waist. I would ordinarily lace up a sneaker and be done with it but since I love these new shoes I will commit to them. I’m wearing Gucci pom pom lace-up heels (low) and a very groovy Edie Parker gold confetti briefcase.

Joseph cashmere sweater, Gucci skirt and pom pom heels, Edie Parker gold confetti briefcase

Visit the Edie Parker website and shop the full collection here. Go follow Edie Parker on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook .

Collage by Elizabeth Tamkin

The post NY Closets: Edie Parker Designer Brett Heyman appeared first on Man Repeller.

Love Means Never Having to Take an Uber

I dreamed of dating an MTA bus driver since I was a little girl. I wanted nothing more than love on wheels (a minimum of eight wheels, to be exact).

My past failed attempts to land an MTA driver produced nothing more than several confused smiles and one “Ma’am, please exit the bus before I call the police.” Then one day, fate stepped in. Or rather, I stepped into fate.

I boarded the M15 at Second Avenue and was immediately blinded by the pearly whites of Carl. As I reached for my MTA card, I knew this would be love at first swipe. The tender way he suggested that I run my card again so that my bus fare may be paid told me everything I needed to know about him. Carl was a keeper.

Every weekday at 3:02 pm, I waited to see Carl’s M15 pull up like a triumphant horse-drawn carriage (not the depressing ones in Central Park). While feeding Carl Snapea Crisps at red lights, I’d tell him about my day and the perils of working the fitting room at Anthropologie.

“How do you tell a woman her pants are just too tight,” I once lamented.

Carl, ever the wise one, took a long pause and then answered, “You just do.” I never thought I’d date a man with such depth.

Though, I wouldn’t necessarily say we were dating. Whenever I brought up the topic, Carl would open his door to let people on to the bus, not even at official bus stops. I took it as his way of reminding us both to be generous with our hearts.

We were on a roll until one afternoon, while making funny faces at each other in Carl’s giant driver mirror, I mentioned that I’d forgotten to give my Uber driver two stars. He was very rude and wouldn’t help me load my Ikea bookshelf into his trunk.

“Uber driver? Since when did you start taking Uber?” Carl inquired with surprising loquaciousness. Prior to this, Carl had simply nodded “yes,” “no,” and, “I love you.” With the exception of his sage advice regarding fitting room honesty, the most his mouth had opened was to accept his beloved Snapeas. I was shocked that he cared.

I tried to explain that the M15, and all other M-busses for that matter, could not take me to Ikea in Brooklyn. And besides, I couldn’t maneuver the bookshelf on the bus. Carl’s M15 came to an abrupt stop. He opened the door, pressed the button that lowers the bus to the curb then pointed his own finger toward the door. I gathered my coat, purse, baby carrots and ranch, and walked.

Convinced it was just a phase, I waited with much anticipation for Carl to make the rounds the next morning. I could see his M15 bus sign illuminating in the distance. Excited to be reunited, I waved as he approached. But when he slowed down and didn’t open my chariot’s door, I became confused. He looked at me. I looked at him. Then, with all his anger, Carl held up a cardboard box top with the letter “U” drawn in black permanent marker. And with that, he accelerated.

Thanks to Uber, Carl was the one who got away.

Joan Smalls Photographed by Alasdair McLellan for W Magazine. Grand Central by Dan DeChiaro.

The post Love Means Never Having to Take an Uber appeared first on Man Repeller.

Monocycle: Episode 2

Welcome to episode 2 of Monocycle!

This week’s monologue was spurred by the attacks on Paris last week and covers a lot of the conversations we’ve been having at Man Repeller on the importance of fearlessness, the weakness we experience in our humanity and the unflinching faith we must continue to demonstrate in order to survive.

And while I know there are a myriad of reputable and much further-educated opinions on this subject, my hope is that what you take away is nothing more or less than an emotional response, a coping mechanism as a result of a circumstance that affects anyone who counts their freedom as a privilege worth celebrating.

Of course, do also engage, interact, share concerns or moments you particularly enjoy and let me know what else you’d like to hear. This — all of it — is for us. And as the band 2gether’s lyrics go, you + me = us.

Logo illustration by Kelly Shami.

The post Monocycle: Episode 2 appeared first on Man Repeller.

Texts from The Group Chat: What Are We Wearing Tonight?

A: What are you wearing tonight?

B: I’m not sure yet. What are you wearing?

A: IDK. Was thinking skirt.

B: It’s so cold though…

A: I know but I want to wear one before it gets cold-cold.

B: Truu. Ok maybe I’ll wear a skirt, too.

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A: Cool what shoes?

B: *…*

A: Wait sorry L just called me. She’s doing a dress.

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B: A dress??

A: Yea I guess this place is semi-whatever.

B: Ughhh I can’t deal with fancy, it’s Friday, I’m tired.

A: I know but a dress is easy because we don’t have to do tops.

B: Good call. Actually I have this off the shoulder dress that I don’t know where else to wear.

A: Pic please!

B: K hang on. Gonna email to you, phone being weird.

A: Kk

B: Did you get it?

A: Yea so cute but ugh now idk what to wear

B: Why?

A: Because my dresses suckkkk

B: No they don’t! Do that blue one.

A: Fucking S has it.

B: So annoying. You can borrow something?

A: What’s L wearing?

B: Let me ask she just Gchatted me.

B: She’s doing high waist flares with an OTS blouse.

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A: You’re both doing off the shoulder? Shit.

B: We don’t all have to wear the same thing!

A: Ik..

A: Wait. I just remembered I bought a jumpsuit at Zara for Halloween but never wore!!

B: You’re doing a jumpsuit?

A: *…*

A: *…*

A: *Photo delivered.*

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B: STOP. What. OMG. You look insane.

A: So good right??

B: Yes but now I want to wear a jumpsuit waaa

A:

B: You’re annoying. What shoes?

A: For you or me?

B: Both.

A: Pumps.

B: Square or pointy?

A: Square for you but maybe pointy for me?

B: Or boots?

A: I can’t do boots.

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B: Hang on I’m gonna shower call you in like, 10.

A: Kk.

B: Hey, shit.

A: What?

B: S said she’s just doing jeans.

A: Really? Ok maybe I will too then.

B: Same.

A: Are you wearing a coat out?

B: Are you gonna wear a coat?

A: Jinx.

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Illustration by Maria Sainte; follow her on Instagram and check out her website too.

The post Texts from The Group Chat: What Are We Wearing Tonight? appeared first on Man Repeller.

Saying Goodbye to ‘The Hunger Games’

Katniss Everdeen’s cold gaze fills the parameters of the 76×97 foot IMAX screen. She appears confused and hurt. The undoing of the white bandage wrapped around her neck reveals milky skin peppered by raw bruises. Despite a critically hoarse voice she manages to say, “I am Katniss Everdeen.” She is unflinching, determined. A warrior.

And she’s a star: Everdeen commands the entire theater (both ours and the one in which she fights), a Yohji Yamamoto-inspired combat outfit armored across her body. Ms. Everdeen’s style has come a long way from the fiery theatrics that hallmarked her earlier costumes. She’s grown slightly more comfortable in her role as the Mockingjay, an emblem as significant for its literal and ideological symbolism. Katniss Everdeen won’t be falling down any red carpets on her way to the Capitol, and yet I can’t help but draw parallels between Everdeen and the woman who plays her.

Like the Mockingjay, Jennifer Lawrence was seemingly plucked from a crowd of hungry contenders, perhaps unprepared for the stratospheric rise in fame that would follow. Lawrence handled her newfound celebrity with a charming mix of apprehension and vehemence. If these two sentiments appear to be conflicted, it’s because they are. People often are.

Lawrence was a refreshing presence, a flicker of reality in a contrived and artificial Hollywood arena. Nobody pulls off Dior and a good fart joke quite like Lawrence. And like the Mockingjay, she yielded to the extravagant costumes that press events often necessitate, but never let them get in the way of a good fight.

Just last month, Lawrence became that flicker once again when in an essay for the Lenny Letter she declared, “I’m over trying to find the adorable way to state my opinion.” She was responding, of course, to recent revelations over how much less she was being paid than “the lucky people with dicks.” Lawrence’s was a voice that women (and supporting men) in the industry could rally behind. Her railing against the cutesy role she and others are expected to play both on and off the screen implicated an industry that has been running on obvious pretenses for decades.

Katniss Everdeen looked better in IMAX than most would from a comfortable distance in perfect sepia tone lighting and yet, she looked tired. Something in her gaze suggested an acknowledgment of the end. Both she and the actor who’s played her for so many years looked ready to move on from this particular game.

Fans of the franchise may not be, of course. No matter how satisfying a conclusion, it’s sad when a great story comes to a close. But Jennifer Lawrence is likely ready to shed the tie-dyed blend of herself and Katniss Everdeen — to finish the chapter and salute her goodbye.

Like they say in Hollywood, “When one door closes, another opens.”

Follow our little moon [boot] walker, Esther on Instagram; feature image via Entertainment Weekly; collage by Krista Anna Lewis.

The post Saying Goodbye to ‘The Hunger Games’ appeared first on Man Repeller.

Life After Getting Laid Off, and Getting It Back in Order

It was just over a week ago that I was summoned to a small conference room to meet with Human Resources. The assistant who grabbed me knew what was afoot, but I, perhaps with some kind of dysphoric naiveté, couldn’t come to the obvious conclusion that I was getting laid off.

It’s a curious thing that is not fun, not pleasant, and certainly not easy. Lay offs are the most unfortunate result of budget cuts — the scourge of the publishing world since 2009, at least. As I write this, Details has closed for good. Lay offs are a terrible business, and nobody, including those responsible for making these decisions, welcomes them. Their effects linger like a fog on a team’s morale.

I barely processed the details of that meeting. My focus was set on the blunt fact that my life was now clocked by an hourglass, the sand of which was my severance package, how long I could pay rent, how far could I stretch my single credit card and how much freelance I could bank off of using my network. All of this exacerbated by the typically slow-to-hire holidays. The more I thought about the circumstances, the deeper the pit in my stomach went.

Earnest and welcome votes of confidence from my colleagues and friends eased some pain: “You’re going to find something soon,” “Anybody would be lucky to have you,” “Travel!” Still, I couldn’t get rid of The Feeling. It wasn’t bad, but it certainly wasn’t good. In some ways, it felt like my birthday. Endless messages about how great I am were heartening. My parents repeated, “You’ll be fine!” People kept buying me drinks. My ego skyrocketed — I felt temporarily great, invincible and optimistic. It was magic, almost. “Onward and upward!” said approximately three thousand text messages.

I left the city for a weekend to take comfort in my mother’s food, my dogs, and sleep. Lots of sleep. And then, after a lethargic and gluttonous weekend spent filling myself with three quarters of a Magnolia layer cake and plenty of Netflix, I returned to the city. To Monday.

That first morning brought the siren’s song of even more binge watching, track pants and Seamless Web — a tune nearly impossible to resist. But, with my Odysseus-like strength conjured by fear of sloth, I denied the doom they would bring. You see, that hourglass is everywhere I look now, a constant warning that I must find a way to keep the life I worked so hard to get.

I found in those first days that keeping to my schedule helped. I’d still wake up in the crazy-early morning, and I’d still go to the gym, and I’d still make my breakfast, but then I’d have to find something to do.

The first days of unemployment were eaten by feverishly e-mailing every person I know and resurrecting my LinkedIn account to find anything that would give me more sand in that hourglass. My mind wracked itself trying to unearth whatever ideas and contacts it could. This is how I kept myself out of doldrum’s way — resigning to a slightly stressful existence.

That stress and the uncertainty is somewhat torturous. But at the same time, there’s an odd pleasantness that comes with it — one I’m hesitant to acknowledge because admitting that not working, even at a job you enjoy, seems wrong. But getting paid (via severance) while enjoying quiet mornings is hard not to love. Casual lunches with my friends who have cracked the freelance code are long and lazy and relaxing. And of course, the thrill of the hunt and the elusive promise of something new around the corner is exciting. Because of these small pleasures, my mind constantly tricks itself into being a euphoric pseudo-bohemian with an Instagram account before devolving into a fraught, frightened and rent-poor psychopath. A dichotomy only to be solved by action, and to act as if that hourglass is already empty.

As I write this, I see a shearling jacket on my coat stand. I bought it with a large chunk of my savings some weeks ago. I don’t regret it, but now that my life is measured in parcels of rent money, I must reconsider it and any future expenses. More layoffs will come, and more still after that. There’s a very real awareness in the publishing industry that no matter how many page views or Twitter followers you have, how many likes you can drum up on Instagram, you never know if you’ll be next.

And if you are, you’ll be presented with two options. The first: submit to severance, to let yourself devolve into a puddle of Netflix goo. But like Inception, if you spend too long there, you’ll forget your reality and eventually be stuck three layers deep playing with a dreidel.

The second: embrace the suck. You’re out of a job, which sucks, but take it graciously. Take the call to spring to action, to reevaluate how happy you may have been and how happy you can be. Also, remember, it’s only temporary.

Follow John on Twitter and Instagram; c ollage by Krista Anna Lewis.

The post Life After Getting Laid Off, and Getting It Back in Order appeared first on Man Repeller.

Life After Getting Laid Off, and Getting it Back in Order

It was just over a week ago that I was summoned to a small conference room to meet with Human Resources. The assistant who grabbed me knew what was afoot, but I, perhaps with some kind of dysphoric naiveté, couldn’t come to the obvious conclusion that I was getting laid off.

It’s a curious thing that is not fun, not pleasant, and certainly not easy. Lay offs are the most unfortunate result of budget cuts — the scourge of the publishing world since 2009, at least. As I write this, Details has closed for good. Lay Offs are a terrible business, and nobody, including those responsible for making these decisions, welcomes them. Their effects linger like a fog on a team’s morale.

I barely processed the details of that meeting. My focus was set on the blunt fact that my life was now clocked by an hourglass, the sand of which was my severance package, how long I could pay rent, how far could I stretch my single credit card and how much freelance I could bank off of using my network. All of this exacerbated by the typically slow-to-hire holidays. The more I thought about the circumstances, the deeper the pit in my stomach went.

Earnest and welcome votes of confidence from my colleagues and friends eased some pain: “You’re going to find something soon,” “Anybody would be lucky to have you,” “Travel!” Still, I couldn’t get rid of The Feeling. It wasn’t bad, but it certainly wasn’t good. In some ways, it felt like my birthday. Endless messages about how great I am were heartening. My parents repeated, “You’ll be fine!” People kept buying me drinks. My ego skyrocketed — I felt temporarily great, invincible and optimistic. It was magic, almost. “Onward and upward!” said approximately three thousand text messages.

I left the city for a weekend to take comfort in my mother’s food, my dogs, and sleep. Lots of sleep. And then, after a lethargic and gluttonous weekend spent filling myself with three quarters of a Magnolia layer cake and plenty of Netflix, I returned to the city. To Monday.

That first morning brought the siren’s song of even more binge watching, track pants and Seamless Web — a tune nearly impossible to resist. But, with my Odysseus-like strength conjured by fear of sloth, I denied the doom they would bring. You see, that hourglass is everywhere I look now, a constant warning that I must find a way to keep the life I worked so hard to get.

I found in those first days that keeping to my schedule helped. I’d still wake up in the crazy-early morning, and I’d still go to the gym, and I’d still make my breakfast, but then I’d have to find something to do.

The first days of unemployment were eaten by feverishly e-mailing every person I know and resurrecting my LinkedIn account to find anything that would give me more sand in that hourglass. My mind wracked itself trying to unearth whatever ideas and contacts it could. This is how I kept myself out of doldrum’s way — resigning to a slightly stressful existence.

That stress and the uncertainty is somewhat torturous. But at the same time, there’s an odd pleasantness that comes with it — one I’m hesitant to acknowledge because admitting that not working, even at a job you enjoy, seems wrong. But getting paid (via severance) while enjoying quiet mornings is hard not to love. Casual lunches with my friends who have cracked the freelance code are long and lazy and relaxing. And of course, the thrill of the hunt and the elusive promise of something new around the corner is exciting. Because of these small pleasures, my mind constantly tricks itself into being a euphoric pseudo-bohemian with an Instagram account before devolving into a fraught, frightened and rent-poor psychopath. A dichotomy only to be solved by action, and to act as if that hourglass is already empty.

As I write this, I see a shearling jacket on my coat stand. I bought it with a large chunk of my savings some weeks ago. I don’t regret it, but now that my life is measured in parcels of rent money, I must reconsider it and any future expenses. More layoffs will come, and more still after that. There’s a very real awareness in the publishing industry that no matter how many page views or Twitter followers you have, how many likes you can drum up on Instagram, you never know if you’ll be next.

And if you are, you’ll be presented with two options. The first: submit to severance, to let yourself devolve into a puddle of Netflix goo. But like Inception, if you spend too long there, you’ll forget your reality and eventually be stuck three layers deep playing with a dreidel.

The second: embrace the suck. You’re out of a job, which sucks, but take it graciously. Take the call to spring to action, to reevaluate how happy you may have been and how happy you can. Also, remember, it’s only temporary.

Follow John on Twitter and Instagram; c ollage by Krista Anna Lewis.

The post Life After Getting Laid Off, and Getting it Back in Order appeared first on Man Repeller.

Shiona Turini: Behind the Scenes of Kehinde Wiley’s “Black Light”

In their October 2015 “Nowstalgia” issue, Paper ran an editorial called “Black Light.” Shot by New York-based artist Kehinde Wiley, the photographs feature black models wearing clothes by black designers to not only send a message about diversity in fashion, but in American society.

“Black lives matter because it’s the prescient thing to highlight in this moment of cultural evolution,” Wiley writes in his intro to the project. “But black lives have mattered for thousands of years. My interest is in the now – what does it feel like to be black in 2015?”

Working behind the scenes was an all-black team, too. Fashion consultant Shiona Turini styled the shoot, and the photos were published around the time I interviewed her for MR’s story on the industry’s diversity issue. Paper agreed to let us run the poignant images and Turini recounted her experience:

“This shoot with Paper Magazine was an opportunity to speak out about the injustices in our society in a creative manner, to uplift those who rarely have a voice. It was a way for us to communicate that Black Lives Matter. Black Talent Matters. Black People Matter.

Designers of all races and ethnic backgrounds matter. But this was a special project where, by focusing on a black artist, black designers and a black team, we could assert our contribution in the industry and highlight talented men and women of color. I’ve said it before: black culture is often part of the inspiration but rarely are black people part of the conversation.

It was important that we didn’t just celebrate the well-known designers of color like Balmain’s Olivier Rousteing, Duro Olowu, or Tracy Reese. We wanted to support up-and-coming brands too, like Harbison, Off-White, Armando Cabral, Chelsea Paris, Telfar, Pyer Moss, Camille Tanoh, KHIRY Collection jewelry, Casely-Hayford, Brother Vellies, Azede Jean-Pierre, LaQuan Smith, Stella Jean, Hood By Air and Public School.

What’s overwhelming and important is that this list of young designers could go on.

We also made an effort to call in brands that have done interesting collaborations with designers and creatives of color, like Puma’s collections with Rihanna and Solange.

Working with Kehinde Wiley was a career highlight; it was magic. But it was also different from any shoot I’ve ever done. He didn’t want anything to feel contrived. He was motivated by whether or not he liked the clothes as opposed to who designed them, which was a spectacular and unique point of view to work under; so often in fashion we get distracted by the label, but Wiley was completely moved by the vision of the final image, not the designer name attached to the garment.

Still, there were so many more brands that I wanted to call in to at the very least have present on set, like Grace Wales Bonner and William Okpo, but the timing didn’t allow. What I wouldn’t give for a part two.”

Photographed by Kehinde Wiley; Styled by Shiona Turini; makeup by Kim White at Artists at Wilhelmina; hair by Nikki Nelms; set design by Von Fedoroff, Matt Maher, and Jane Mai.

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