Leandra Medine's Blog, page 689

Cathy Horyn on ‘Joe Eula: Master of Twentieth-Century Fashion Illustration’

American journalist Cathy Horyn begins her tribute to the late fashion illustrator Joe Eula with an anecdote regarding Coco Chanel from 1962. Eula was in Chanel’s Paris salon rapid-fire sketching — in part because speed was his signature, but also because Eula wasn’t technically supposed to be there. “The French houses didn’t want anyone sketching their clothes; they complained incessantly about copies,” Horyn said.

In fact, Coco Chanel was headed directly towards Joe Eula to kick him out when Eula, in his impulsive way, began sketching the famed designer. “…By the time the terror had reached him,” Horyn wrote, “he had finished her portrait.” Chanel and Eula would go on to be friends — she and the same illustrator who sketched brave, fluid lines that brought immediacy and life to the houses of Dior, Givenchy, Bill Blass, Charles James and Halston.

Joe Eula was a true artist. He brought out the sound of Miles Davis in a haunting, backwards-leaning, horn-blowing silhouette of a man. He made dresses dance on paper. He captured the soul of the Supremes with his dexterous gestures and rendered the sheer likeness of society women with mere strokes. He was the creative director of Halston during the ’70s, “the era of the designer’s greatest influence.” He was a critic; unafraid to speak his mind or have an opinion or live his life any way other than exactly how he saw fit. He once stood up during a 1980 Saint Laurent couture show, took Lizzette Kattan (then fashion editor of Italian Harper’s Bazaar) by the hand, said a few choice, albeit critical words and marched out of the venue. And those who met him seemingly fell under his spell immediately.

“Joe Eula: Master of Twentieth-Century Fashion Illustration,” (Harper Collins, released today) explores the enigmatic man who Andy Warhol once called “the most important person” in New York. “What makes Eula such a difficult figure to grasp in the fashion and cultural scene of the past seventy-five years,” wrote the book’s author, Cathy Hoyrn, “is that he sticks out like a sore thumb, and yet in another sense, he seems nowhere to be found.”

She notes that despite all he produced, Eula is rarely mentioned among the list of such regarded fashion illustrators as Eric (Carl Erickson), René Bouché, and Antonio Lopez. When Horyn was asked to write about Joe Eula’s career to accompany an archival collection of his work, she knew that to a different generation — those under the age of 45 — Joe Eula was going to feel new.

“His career,” she told me during an interview in October, “what he was doing then is what people want to do now: a little bit of everything. They want to be a stylist, but also have a collection, and be an art director. People that are in their twenties today don’t think, ‘I want to sit in the front row until I’m 80.’ They don’t want to do that. If they do, they’re crazy. They can do many different things, and Joe believed in that. And he did that.”

What follows is a conversation with Cathy Horyn on the brilliant fashion illustrator, artist and respected rebel, Joe Eula. If his name was previously forgotten or unknown, perhaps this book can change that.

Amelia Diamond: What made you want to be part of this project? It seems like you have a very personal relationship with him.

Cathy Horyn: I do, and that’s why I did the book. Melisa Gosnell [executor of the art estate of Joe Eula] — her name is on the cover — she was very close with Joe. I met her through Joe when he was still alive. They were very close. Joe trusted her, as far as his artwork. She went to Harper Collins and said, “I have this book idea.” They called me, and because it was Joe, I said yes right away.

I knew a lot…about Joe, but it was still difficult for me to get my head around him. What was Joe? How do you describe Joe? When David Downton [fashion illustrator quoted in the book] is talking about why Joe is not in the pantheon of illustrators in terms of technique, he’s right.

AD: Downton said you could never get a “bad Eric,” but you could get a “bad Joe.” I guess I wonder — why?

CH: David Downton noted that Joe worked for newspapers, and Eric was in Vogue. The famous illustrators were in magazines that people kept. People threw away newspapers. We forget that; that people really kept those magazines. My mother, she kept all of the W’s, she kept Gourmet. Sketches appeared in American Vogue, going back to the 20s and the teens, before photographs were allowed to be published — it was all sketches. That’s one factor.

Also, Eric wasn’t sketching on deadline, Joe was. Joe was sketching — often in shows where he wasn’t supposed to be sketching. Another factor is that Joe had no attention span, he was very impatient. He didn’t want to revise.

AD: It seemed like his personality jumped off the page.

CH: Yet he wasn’t annoying. Some people who are like that are. I don’t know what he was like in the ‘70s — people who had known him then — mid ’70s to early ‘80s — said they weren’t great years. He was working, but there were too many drugs. People who knew him during that time brought it up later and said he had really come back down to earth. But when I knew him, he was fairly gentle.

If my house was burning and my dog was out of the house and I could grab one thing, it would be his drawing of me, the one that he did in the kitchen. He did that in 30 seconds on a notepad in his kitchen. It was half that size [printed in the book], maybe a little bigger.

I had come to his apartment to interview him about Bill Blass. It was a sunny day, we had just met. We sat in his living room talking, and all of his original artwork was there too, so it was like a big gallery in a tiny, weird apartment. Then we went into the kitchen, which was like as big as that bar over there [points], maybe smaller. I wanted to see the view out the window and he just said, “Stop right there,” and then ripped it off and handed it to me.

AD: Was it so fast that you couldn’t be embarrassed?

CH: I knew enough to stop. I just stopped. I didn’t look down. I just did what he told me to do.

It’s one of my favorite things. I don’t think there’s a photograph that anyone’s done that’s as good as that drawing. It’s what Liza Minnelli said, which I thought was very dead-on: “Joe showed you how the dress was meant to be worn.” It’s the intent. I thought it was so true, because she said, “I move all the time.”

To me, he captured the person that I think I am.

One of Joe Eula’s illustrations printed in the book

 

He did have a big ego. He could be assertive. If you were working on something and talking to him about it he’d be like, “No, forget that.” Other times he’d tell you to do things that you didn’t want to do — or couldn’t do. But most of the time he was right, because he was so contemporary.

It’s just funny to me that he spent so much time with Halston, but he never broadcasted that fact. He did say to people, “If it weren’t for me, there wouldn’t be Halston.” He said that after that earlier decade. When I met him, in the end of the ’90s, he never talked like that. In fact, I didn’t think to ask him about Halston.

AD: And Halston never really made this relationship public, it seemed.

CH: Very little. The only way you knew about it was if you were around, you went to Joe’s parties, and you read the Warhol Diaries. That’s it. There’s a lot in the Warhol Diaries about Joe, more than I expected, but he wasn’t at Studio 54, he wasn’t really a part of that scene.

AD: Do you think that’s why he was able to capture these moments? There are writers who are so immersed in the fashion industry — especially young ones — they feel such a passion and such a love for it, that it can be hard for them to disassociate themselves from it when need be.

CH: That’s generally true, though. Joe knew everybody, so it was kind of a weird combo.

I expect some of his attitude was about work, that he had to be involved. He was a real worker bee. He had a chalkboard in his apartment on 54th street that had his entire schedule written on it, whoever the new client was, the new job. He was constantly working.

I also think he was okay being in the background. There were moments where he wasn’t, but for the most part, he was ok with it. I think Joe probably believed pretty early on that he was crucial to a lot of people, and I don’t think he needed to go beyond that. There’s evidence of this that later on — in the ’70s and ’80s, when he stands up with Lizzette at the Saint Laurent show — I mean it’s unthinkable he would do that. He was friends with those guys. They were friends afterwards, actually.

AD: I think that’s something Emilia Petrarca’s article touched on — that in this day and age, people are afraid to be critics, are afraid of opinion. He wasn’t like that.

CH: Not at all. First, he grew up in a climate when it was free — there weren’t really critics — he could be the person who he wanted to be. There is the big question: was he bisexual? Some said absolutely not, he was gay. Others said yes. There were men, but he never lived with anyone. I think Joe could very easily have said to someone, “Okay, that’s it, out.” He could get impatient with people. He wanted his world, to do things the way he wanted to do things.

People who lived in those years, ‘60s, ‘70s, a little bit of the ‘80s, they were more tolerant, they were more assertive, there was no political correctness. They were all such strong personalities. Later on, Joe would say, “Fuck them.” But when he said something like that, you could look at him and say, “Joe, you never cared. Why are you getting upset now?” He never followed those kind of rules.

What bugged him about Halston in the end was that Halston got so grand. He would say, “I’m the only person who could tell Halston, ‘You’ve got your head up your ass.’”

AD: You wrote that some people felt Joe might be resentful of Halston, that he was living vicariously through him. Did you get that sense?

CH: Not really. I did hear that from people. Halston was where the action was. When I did Joe’s obituary and I interviewed Fernando [Sánchez, late designer and friend of Mr. Eula's since the '60s] and he made that comment, “If it hadn’t been for Elsa [Peretti] and Joe, Halston would have never been the success that he was.”

AD: Another thing that was amazing about this book is the time. It was such a beautiful time in fashion; it feels like we don’t have that now. They say we’re always nostalgic for the past, but I can’t help but look back on that period with Yves Saint Laurent and Karl Lagerfeld and Oscar de la Renta and Andy Warhol, all in the same room…

CH: We all have to deal with the Internet and what it’s done. That’s the answer, right there. It’s not killing fashion, it’s making fashion into something else. Fashion will be there. It is an evolution. I look at it like that. In 15 years we’ll be looking at someone else. I don’t mind it. I think it’s easier if you don’t judge it too much or feel too sentimental about it.

The era of Oscar de la Renta and those guys of the ‘60s, building those brands the way they did, coming out of the back room and becoming superstars, and Oscar being the superstar because of his ambition, that’s what he wanted. Azzedine Alaïa used to say that you wouldn’t get another original designer who could also have an impact – like how Azzedine had an impact.

But, I always look at Margiela. He was a guy who came along in his time and made clothes out of garbage bags and showed in the subway, and it created a movement. He did it on a shoestring. It can be done, and I believe there are people who are personally dedicated enough. We’re just not in the moment right now.

AD: We were just talking about an article in The Atlantic –  “Is 25 the new 21?” – and the point that the author circles back to is that kids in this generation have such strong parental support, so they can take creative jobs for little to nothing. We’re very set on our career goals, but because of supportive parents, very few of us are really “starting from scratch.” At the same time, I feel like these modern opportunities afford for more people to come out of the woodwork.

CH: I think so too. I think we’re seeing that especially in writing. I find things to read all the time by young writers. People will say, “Did you see so and so on Salon? She’s great,” and I didn’t know about her. I find that there are a lot of opportunities in a strange way. Blogs are getting a lot of respect. I think that what’s got to be tough — I don’t know if you guys feel angst — but there was no angst when I was coming along. You just moved up the ladder.

AD: Leandra is more comfortable with the word “blog” than I am. She’s one year younger than I am, and I know this is weird, but she’s just under the wire where I’m a little bit more “magazines.” She’s very comfortable with it. I’ll always say “website” and she’ll say, “We’re a blog, you can say it. It’s good to say.”

CH: She’s right. But I can hear what you’re saying. You’re in the hybrid. You’re in the in-between stage. It’s funny to hear about people who still live in the magazine world. The angst we didn’t deal with. We dealt with recessions. I applied to 75 newspapers when I got out of graduate school. I wrote those letters. I heard from 3. It was post-Watergate. I eventually got a job, but the pickings were slim. I wasn’t worried about it. I wasn’t panicky. No one was talking about newspapers going under.

My first interview at The Washington Post was like a meet and greet kind of thing. They said we have no job for you but we just want to meet you to keep an eye on you. When I finished the day of interviews the man who was in charge of administration said, “Everyone really liked you. You got great feedback. It will be about seven years.”

It was seven years.

AD: Was it really?

CH: Oh yeah. I went off, got another job. Then I went to Detroit. Then I started covering fashion, and that’s when they were interested.

AD: We have so many readers who care about writing too. Do you have any advice? It’s a scary field to enter into. It’s over-saturated, which is exciting but probably overwhelming. 

CH: I think a true voice always works. Never look at what anyone else is doing. Look at it, but say, “Eh.” I remember for a while, everyone was beginning interviews with, “Last Wednesday…” and I remember thinking, Can anyone start a story a different way? I think it’s good to stand your ground. And I think snark is over. Snark will kill you, and irony will kill you unless you’re really good at it.

Also, I’m not too interested in first-person. When I first started, my father used to say — just as an exercise — try to reduce the length of your copy by 50%. I had too many adverbs and adjectives. It’s the same with first person. See if you can reduce it. It’s more graceful without it.

The other thing I would say about those who want to be critics: it’s an opportunity. Look at the writers who aren’t fashion writers, who are great critics. Look at Sontag, look at Ellen Willis. Look at Manny Farber, the film critic for The New Republic and The Nation. I used to read all the new journalists in the ‘60s. Those were my influences. When you see how people can think about stuff, it gives you encouragement. I think there is definitely an opportunity for someone to get into it.

AD: So. It seemed like people approached Eula with apprehension, or an aversion to him, and then every time, when he drew their portrait, it was like “…and then they became friends, then they became close.” It was almost as if he put a magic spell on them.

CH: He did have a way with people, whether he drew their portrait or not. I felt like I knew him for a long time. We had a rapport. Maybe because with Joe, we were there talking about Bill Blass, and I felt like I was talking to an equal, whereas Bill was no equal. Bill was way up here. Maybe Joe always felt like he was among the worker bees. He wasn’t one of the grand people, although he could have an attitude like that, obviously. Maybe that was it. Lizzette was a classic example of love at first sight, and they stayed friends until the end of his life. Joe had such an affection for the Italians. For Elsa, number one. I wish I could have interviewed Elsa for the book…

Joe Eula’s sketch of Elsa Peretti 

 

Maybe it was magic, though. He just had a wonderful way.

It’s funny, we talked about then and now, and one of the things that always struck me is that it always seems like people then had more time. They were less in a hurry to get somewhere, so if they met someone they liked, they would just stop and get into the conversation. They weren’t necessarily thinking, “Well what is this person going to do for me?” I’ve never been able to put my finger on why the world today is like that. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I feel that way.

Whenever I hear Joe’s stories, I think of the way he lived upstate. It was so perfect and untouched, with these big old stone walls. The photos [in the book] showed only 1/10th of the place. He’d have fresh flowers, and this fireplace he designed like something out of Italy.

Back then, you could take time to do things and hang out. Joe had that in his personality always. I would go up there and sit in the kitchen, and I never felt like I had to be anywhere else. I could be there. Maybe if I left New York I would find it among other types of people. That’s why people leave New York, actually. 

Joe was able to maintain that until the end of his life. He never was affected by commerce.

…You know, I remember taking him to the racetrack, to Belmont, for a story. It was so beautiful. It was a beautiful day. Poor Joe had emphysema, but he was like, “Okay, let’s do that!” Joe and I just schlepped around the back of the track.

AD: And he would just draw while walking around?

CH: He would stand; he would lean. Joe did a lot of drawings on the spot and then he allegedly revised some, but I don’t think he did that much revision. What did he on the spot was as good as it was going to get. He had this amazing feeling — 20 times more than mine, a sensitivity for things. I definitely had it for Belmont; I knew that there was a story there even if I couldn’t explain why. It was my favorite type of fashion story because it was about the essence rather than something that’s real. It’s the aura and not the thing.

When you stand there at the back of the track and you watch these girls and guys, and the way they have their clothes on — it wasn’t the jockey silks. Can you imagine today, proposing a story about the back of the track at Belmont? It was fun. It was a different kind of world that you’re trying to capture.

AD: Do you have anything else you want to say about this book?

CH: I’m glad we did the book. I’m glad Liz Sullivan and Harper Collins were behind it. It looks the way it looks because of Liz. She really did an amazing job.

AD: It must have been like your baby.

CH: Kind of. I had my portion to do. I like doing the reporting. I love research, I love the reporting. I love talking to people and figuring things out. Joe wanted to do a book, and I think he was resistant about working with other people to do it. I think we captured the essence of him, or captured what was important to capture.

What I hope people get about it — we all say this now, but the world moves on so quickly. Everything becomes very packaged. You don’t get a sense of what people were like. Fashion’s terrible about that: packaging things, cleaning them up, the person’s real personality is gone. They all look like saints.

I think a book like this, with its warts and all — he wasn’t perfect, he did some bad things, the loudmouth moments, the Saint Laurent moment, the drugs, the fact that he was hiding money in the backyard in a paper bag… It’s one more keyhole to look into the way the world was at a certain time. For someone assembling their historical views of things, I thought it would be good to have Joe’s perspective.

**

“JOE EULA: Master of Twentieth-Century Fashion Illustration,” by Cathy Horyn is on sale beginning November 11, 2014. To learn more, or purchase the book, visit here. Illustrations above come from “Joe Eula: Master of Twentieth-Century Fashion Illustration,” Copyright 2014 by Melisa Gosnell. Images reprinted courtesy of Harper Design.

5 for Your 5 PM

Your Monday will be 5 times better by the end of this 5 minute article after you’ve clicked on these 5 links, promise.

An Interview: Michéle Lamy talks

Nick Axelrod interviews Michéle Lamy. You might know her as Rick Owens’ wife and muse, but she is also credited with this sliver of good advice, “The eyes have to be brighter than the clothes,” and doesn’t own a single pair of jeans. Mind = blown. Read up for more cerebral explosions. [via Yahoo]

An Explanation: Dancing Queens 

If you move more like 71-year-old Jagger as opposed to the Rolling Stones-heyday-Jagger that Adam Levine was referencing, that might not be your fault. According to the NY Mag’s Science of Us, there is such thing as rhythmic color-blindness. They don’t call it that but we will. Don’t stop dancing, though — just blame your genes and bust a move. Also, Mick’s definitely still got better moves than most humans. [via Science of Us]

A Comeback: Gemma’s New Cover 

Since she walked the Prada show in September, the peanut gallery hasn’t shut up about aughts supermodel Gemma Ward’s possible return to the scene. She brought her Alien Angel good looks to this month’s Vogue Australia, and unlike with LL Cool J, you can definitely call it a comeback.  [via Fashionista]

A Preview: Broad City 

Broad City

Get More: Comedy Central,Funny Videos,Funny TV Shows

That show you keep quoting to your best friend? It’s finally back for Season 2. Check out what’s up, what’s happening, what’s going on. [Vulture]

A Tour: Concept Stores 

A virtual shopping jaunt of the world’s coolest concept stores, from New York to Paris to Tokyo to…Canada! Click, look, lust, laugh, live, lie down (when you’re off of work). [via Vogue Paris]

MR’s Guide to The Best Smoothie in NYC

Humanity is entering a Benjamin Buttonian era of regression wherein we are not physically growing down but have been reclaiming behavioral mannerisms that we last maintained as infants.

Mat Pilates, for example, is a call to action to get back on all fours. Behemoths of companies such as The Huffington Post and Google have implemented nap pods at their respective offices, and at an impressively steady and rapid pace, eaters are becoming drinkers — maintaining the nutritional benefits provided by food but eschewing the use of teeth to chew it in the name of lips to drink it. Is this condition a good one or bad for the future of civilization? Are we consuming excessive bananas? How many pureed almonds are too many? Is our being straw-fed precisely the reason the millennial generation has adopted a reputation as entitled, spoiled, ungrateful, etc?

Frankly, I’m not quite sure, which might be because I’ve been far too busy drinking smoothies, and at Man Repeller, we’re committed to like-mindedness and excellence and so if you’re on the Smoothie train, so are we. Here’s a list of the ten best smoothies in New York City as dictated by team Man Repeller.

Caravan of Dreams, 405 East 6th Street, NYC

Superfood Smoothie #2, which includes raspberries, blueberries, dates, vanilla bean with sesame, hemp, chia, flax, sunflower seeds, spirulina, aloe vera, kelp, black currants and stevia. It tastes like an ice cream parfait, if you can believe that, only vaguely heavier and healthfully sweeter. The hints of date are pronounced during the swallowing phase of drinking this smoothie while the sesame flavor remains innocuously present throughout the experience. The calories clock in around 650.

Melvin’s Juice Box, 130 W. Houston Street, NYC

The Jamaican Green, with banana, kale, apple, lemon, ginger, celery.

Not too sweet, but also not technically a smoothie. Melvin’s is particularly impressive because of the founder’s knowledge of juicing and its nutritional benefits/detriments.

Juice Generation, 97 Greenwich Ave, NYC or these locations

The Protein Buzz, which includes blueberries, raspberries, bananas, your choice of non-dairy milk (we prefer almond milk), agave, your choice of protein (hemp, soy whey — we prefer whey). It looks like blended periwinkle fairy dust and tastes like heaven. In the event you’re unaware of what heaven tastes like, it is incidentally a combination of blueberries and raspberries and bananas and several powders we didn’t even know existed just two years ago.

Joyful Almond, which includes almond butter, almond milk, cacao nibs, frozen coco-milk, banana, raw agave and ice because when your sweet tooth comes knocking and refuses to leave without at least first obliterating even a layer of what occurs between your skin and your stomach, you can rest assured that at least your body will know what to do once your mouth, stomach and newly-sound mind have satiated this craving.

The Peanut Butter Split, which includes peanut butter, almond milk, banana and frozen coconut. This smoothie is effectively a liquid Reese’s Peanut Butter cup. I’m sorry, do you need a better descriptive clause to get you there?

Juice Press, 250 Mott Street, NYC and these locations too

The Harvey Wallbanger, which includes banana, dates, almond butter, vanilla, cinnamon and cacao. It’s different from the Joyful Almond in that if you find yourself to be the victim of a pumpkin spice craving, you can satisfy that notion with the cinnamon present in this sweet-ass mo-frika. It’s also been called your favorite iced-coffee on crack cocaine*, so there’s that.

*By us — it’s been called that by one of us.

Organic Avenue, 62 Bleecker Street, NYC, other locations found here

The Powerhouse Smoothie, which includes kale, bananas, almond butter, cashew hemp “mylk” and protein powder. Amelia calls this a sound alternative to a Bloody Mary which I’m still fairly fuzzy on because it tastes like a banana split that was beaten up for giving a kid too many cavities, and so refined itself without compromising its proclivity for the saccharine by only disseminating ostensibly healthy sweet bits. You can also taste the kale every few sips, which is an interesting wonder.

Liquiteria, 170 Second Avenue, NYC and here 

The Mean Green, which includes kale, spinach, pineapple, banana, mango and pineapple juice. It does not taste like there is any greenery in it which, if you, like Krista, kind of hate, will rejoice in. If you, like Krista, also studied visual arts in college, you will enjoy its color, too. Because it’s beautiful. (Add some mint and chia at home if you’re making it yourself and you like living on the edge.)

The Mudslide, which includes blueberries, bananas, vegan protein, spirulina & vanilla almond milk. Apparently, this smoothie, which I drink about three times weekly, is high in amino acids and that is supposed to be a great thing. Also, it’s filling and dark enough that when you look into your plastic cup, you actually think you might be drinking mud only to be so pleasantly surprised when you take a sip to learn that while it’s not birthday cake, it’s not not a birthday, you know, smoothie.

From a Korean health food bodega located on 108th and Broadway, there is one more smoothie, called the Nutty Proten which includes raw cashews, raw almonds (henceforth to be called rawmonds), strawberries, honey, almond milk and coconut yogurt. Have you ever tried strawberries with nuts? Trust us on this one. It’s worth the trek — or simple gallop depending on where you live.

And for good measure, here’s a recipe I try every so often:

One banana, a cup of almond milk, a single date, a spoonful of chia seeds and two spoons of matcha powder. It looks green, it acts green, but fundamentally, it’s just a sweet breakfast masquerading itself as “good for you.”

Speaking of, our own Kayla doesn’t do smoothies, so in lieu of the anterior, she’d recommend a milkshake. For a classic shake, try EJ’s Diner on the Upper East Side. Also worth tasting: their challah French toast. For foodies who want innovative and Instagramable milkshakes, Odd Fellows Ice Cream Co. has absurd flavors like chorizo and caramel swirl. These remind us why we’re living.

Drops mic.

(Smoothie recs welcome.)

Your Grandma Could Shop at Country Road

But you should know about the Australian e-retailer first.

I’m going to pause here and let Gemma Ward brainwash you in all the right ways:

Great. Same page? Country Road is an Australian shop (don’t worry, it ships internationally) that offers everything you need to approximate the kind of spontaneous, elegantly understated life that, judging from obsessive Instagram stalking, all Australians seem to possess.

A strong measure of great clothing is often: who would this look good on other than me? In Country Road’s case, the answer is practically everyone. This tunic, for example, would look lovely on Lauren Hutton, my grandma (see also: N-Duo Concept), or you. Wear it with your favorite jeans to up the Cool Mom factor, with slacks a la G-money, or sans-pants like the lucky model above. Wear it to the beach or on the subway so long as you don’t put your bare cheeks on the seats.

If you don’t want your older relatives stealing your clothes, Country Road does sell quite a crop top. 

They also sell killer men’s clothes, which you can steal, and they carry kids’ clothes, which we do not recommend you steal, plus, get ready decor fans– home goods. I don’t drink coffee, but maybe I would if I had these mugs.

As for this throw, it will be good on your couch, good on your shoulders.

Price point is akin to Zara’s and that leaves me with just one more question: what are you waiting for? Let me know what you buy, especially if we’re the same size.

Also, actually, one more question: would it be weird to register for a wedding at an Australian store if you are not engaged but really into serving platters? Asking for a friend.

I Found the Perfect Jeans

Fact: locating perfect denim is akin to achieving ideal companionship, but here’s a question worth canvassing: what happens after you’ve uncovered your happy ending? Do all the fireworks and salsa dancing emojis continue to populate the movie screen that is your life? Do Taylor Swift songs play every time you and your loved one (be s/he human or cotton) are reunited? Are there fights? Ruts that seem insurmountable?

I met my perfect jeans in September. They were folded among a selection of much darker, more rigid denim in a pile labeled size 29 but they looked small, you know, so I gave them a chance. They deserved a chance. And upon slipping them over my legs — right, then left — I learned that in spite of their tag, which suggested my waist size had inflated four sizes in the last 28 seconds, these jeans were IT. They stood tall, heroically — just hovering over my belly button, accentuating the female region that facilitates procreation famously with a zipper and two vaguely acidic pockets. The pant holes stopped short just an inch above my ankle and flared like a saucy new cohort, which it was.

And though it is still early, I’m thrilled to postulate a statement about the veracity of the aforementioned Happily Ever After. Because, you know, the fireworks, the salsa dancing (and Salmon Salsa), the Taylor Swift songs remain. There are no ruts, very few fights and much the same way a slice of whole wheat toast will never disappoint your gauge of expectations, neither will these pants. I think. Above you’ll find five ways I wear them to do what you want with. Below you’ll find descriptions and credits.

1. For When You Don’t Want to Get Dressed but Still Want to Look Cool: Jocelyn jacket, Rebel and Crown t-shirt, Saint Laurent belt and Eytys sneakers.

2. For When You’re Going to a Theme Party in Brooklyn and the Theme is Theme Party in Brooklyn: Wolfold turtleneck bodysuit, Sea New York plaid shirt, Annelise Michelson bracelets, Zara boots

3. For When You’re Having Drinks on a Saturday Night Right After the Gym and Want Everyone to Know You Worked Out Like This: Maison Martin Margiela net sweater (one left! On Yoox!), Nike sports bra, Rochas boots (also from Yoox), Anya Hindmarch Coco Pops clutch

4. For When It’s Not Fashion Week but It’s Also Not Not Fashion Week: Wear a dress over your pants, duh! Max Mara sweater, Acne scarf, Proenza Schouler slip dress, Chanel shoes, Olympia Le-Tan box bag

5. For the Other 361 Days of the Year, When You Want to Look French but Also a Little Western: St. James striped shirt, Hermes bandana, Isabel Marant pumps

New York Closets: Shiona Turini

Before you move to New York City and live there — really live there (take the subway, walk to work during a snow storm, schlep groceries in a paper bag that inevitably breaks from the further-away-but-cheaper supermarket), there’s this vision of who the New York woman is. She’s elegant. A sharp dresser. Always put together, always walking fast in super high heels because she’s busy; she’s got somewhere to be. It never seems to become a reality once you attempt it personally, but the movies say she’s real, and movies never lie.

Shiona Turini is that woman. Her inability to look disheveled in this hectic city is astounding, yet she routinely gets coffee in pajamas, relies on friends for weather updates instead of meteorologists, and wears dramatic coats for the purpose of being easily spotted in a crowd. With that, meet Shiona, the Fashion Market Director at Cosmopolitan, lover of crop tops, and contestant number two in our New York Closets series.

Sunday:

Yesterday was my official debut as a brunette. Bye bye blonde Shiona.

Today, I went to watch my assistant Hannah run the NYC marathon and needed to wear something that would catch her eye immediately (especially since she didn’t know I’d have brown hair). This Fendi coat with crazy reflective sunglasses seemed like the best bet.

I wore it with my American Apparel high waisted jeans that I’m not ashamed to admit I wear almost every single weekend. I keep three pairs on standby.

Fendi coat,  Michael Kors knit (another item I wear way way way too much), American Apparel jeans, Nike + Riccardo Tisci sneakers and Dior sunglasses

Monday:

I walk to Starbucks every morning in pajamas, religiously. Sometimes I go get a second cup of coffee when I’m all dressed up just so they know that I have the ability to look good and clean up nice. A barista once told me I “looked so different.” Rude. Also confirmation that I did not wake up like this.

Dior cape, Wolford bodysuit, Alaïa skirt, Jennifer Fisher necklace, Valentino bag and shoes. Four of the gold bangles that I wear every day are my moms, one is Coordinates and the cuff is Ferragamo.

Tuesday:

I’m a creature of habit and a pretty lazy dresser, which explains why I wear this skirt at least once a week. The length and the shape are so ladylike, the studs are super subtle, and the leather is so soft that I want to wear it every day.

Throwback Saint Laurent jacket, Valentino skirt, Dior shoes, Ferragamo bag

Wednesday:

My friend Nicole told me that it was the last warm day of the year, so I decided to wear this Altuzarra skirt before it got too cold.

She lied. I was freezing all day. And, mid-day I realized the slit was way higher than I remembered and probably a little risqué for the office. Oh well.

Equipment blazer and button up, Zara vest (under blazer), Altuzarra snakeskin skirt, Gianvito Rossi pumps, Saint Laurent sunglasses and an Alaïa pouch that I bought while I was in Paris for shows and have used every.single.day. since.

Wednesday Night:

Usually, for events like one I attended Wednesday evening at the Guggenheim, people are dressed more prom than party. I love Dior because the clothes are feminine while still being cool and sexy. And there’s ALWAYS a crop top in the collection.

Dior top, skirt and shoes, Saint Laurent leather jacket from when Tom Ford was still designing — it’s my favorite thing in my closet.

Thursday:

I love a power suit. I always feel like Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface when I wear one. This is my favorite of the moment. The entire team at Cosmo had a walk thru at Lincoln Center for our Fun Fearless Life conference this weekend, so I thought a woman-in-charge look was appropriate. Girl Power.

DKNY jacket and pant, Margiela bodysuit, Gianvito Rossi shoes

Friday:

Just another day in the office, just another crop top.

Balenciaga jacket, Marc Jacobs top, ASOS skirt, Gianvito Rossi shoes

Date Night with Dr. Dare

“How many layers are in moussaka?” I asked my aunt over the phone, as I placed slices of fried eggplant on the bottom of a greased dish.

She married a charming Greek man and knew everything there was to know about cooking their indigenous cuisine. It was my eighth date with Jesse, and he had never been to my place before. I had to get this right.

“Just don’t burn the béchamel sauce,” she said. “That’s the key.”

We met online. His name was DrGoodHair45 and immediately, we clicked. His interests: his band, Jesse and the Rippers, riding his motorcycle and spending time with his three nieces. He confessed on our third date that the little one, Michelle, was his favorite.

The buzzer rang. I ran to the door and swung it open. There he was, Mr. Katsopolis. With his shaggy dark hair matted to his head, he was the perfect dose of sweaty and groomed.

“This helmet messes my flow,” he said, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “I parked my Harley out front, hope that’s cool.”

He placed his fringed leather jacket on the back of my kitchen chair, then walked over to me in his acid washed jeans and placed his arms around my waist.

“Something smells good in here,” he said as he nuzzled his nose against my neck.

I made sure to have a Beach Boys playlist on.

Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama.

Jesse and I instantly bonded over our love of music, and we’d both recently gotten out of long-term relationships. He talked a bit about his ex-girlfriend Becky on our fourth date. I recognized her from the talk show, Wake Up San Francisco. And if I’m being really honest, I was jealous when I saw her face on my television the next morning.

The oven beeped. I excused myself and ran back to the kitchen. As I waited for the moussaka to cool down, I watched him admire his reflection in the mirror. He took out a comb from his back pocket and slicked his hair back. My insides twisted.

“After dinner, what do you say we go to The Smash Club?” he shouted from the dining room.

“Sounds great!” I shouted back.

I tried to sound casual but I’d been waiting for this moment. He owned the most popular nightclub in the city, but this was the first time he asked me to go with him.

I brought out the moussaka. I was nervous, but the golden crust seemed to mimic all of the Google image searches I’d found of the recipe. I cut out a slab, and placed it on a plate in front of him.

He smiled, grabbed his fork, and cut into it.

“Wait,” I said.

I leaned over him, looked into his baby blue eyes, and blew the steam emanating off the small chunk of beef, eggplant and cream.

“Be careful,” I cautioned. “It’s hot.”

He stared back at me, took one bite and said, “Have mercy.”

Written by Amanda DiPasquale

Oct. 20, 1972

The sun never reared its head in the morning. It did not concern me, though. He would be shining by noon once the marine layer wore off and the early morning fog lifted itself out of the crevices of the canyon. I had risen later than usual. 10 A.M.—maybe 11. My body ached, felt sluggish. My head pulsed with the residual effects of marijuana and brandy. The sun began to break through the fog, and the light was white and raw. There’s a latency to the seasons in California. Deep into October and the heat is still relentless. The wind is violent. The only way to mark autumn among the evergreen flora and chaparral setting is by the light. On this morning, it danced between the sloping branches of the eucalyptus trees in my backyard.

———————

Joni and Neil left their guitars here last night. I hopped in my Stingray and drove to Joni’s. No one answered after 10 knocks. I left both guitars on the porch.

——————–

I continued driving. It was Sunday, after all. I had done a lot of damage to the tenets of my Midwestern upbringing. I had traveled the globe as a lone female, slept with many people, digested many suspicious substances. But there was something about the Sunday Drive I couldn’t shake off. I remember it was the only time I felt free. My father let me sit in the front seat, and on the days my mother didn’t join us he would speed down the country roads. The fields of wheat and barley looked like butter melting into the dirt road.

—————–

I drove on the 101 with unusual fluidity that day. I stopped my car when I got to water’s edge in Malibu. I felt at peace—damage done. Free from the push-pull—maybe? Almost. But that’s the funny thing about Los Angeles. I never got it. And I never will get it. A monstrosity built on fantasy and semi-attainable dreams. But just like that, it could implode on itself. The sea could erode the cliffs I once danced upon at soirees. The darlings of Hollywood could fall into an abyss created by savage tectonic plates. The wells could dry up, and the oasis of a perceived delusion could shrivel into a harsh reality.

—————–

It was late afternoon before I knew it. This was the second time I’d missed lunch with Michelle Phillips at The Country Store. I blamed it on the seasonal latency.

Written by Emma Hager

Not a Thing, Not Not a Thing

Just a quick after-note to let you know I have, as recently as three hours ago, taken to wearing socks with slides in anticipation of the weekend ahead. I came into a pair of black slides by Newbark earlier this morning and experienced that can’t-not-wear-you feeling that tends only to come in the wake of something so fresh, so novel so downright compelling, everything else, that has ever fallen into your possession is temporarily rendered futile.

I put them on and felt vaguely like an Olsen twin but also spectacularly like a five-star chalet guest transporting herself from the rooftop lounge to the ground level spa and that, my friends, that is reason alone to continue forward on my quest to debunk a societal standard that outlines that which is appropriately tagged footwear among the colder seasons of our hemisphere and inaugurate a new truth: as long as your socks are thick enough, pants warm enough and toes vigilant enough, there is no reason summer slides can’t be winter slides.

Can I get an ay-men?

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Sunglasses by Spektre, scarf by Acne, neckerchief by Hermes but try this one by Isabel Marant, coat by & Other Stories, sweater by Max Mara, jeans by Nudie, socks from J. Crew and slides by Newbark

Missed Connections

**

You, the Toasted Coconut donut that was sitting on the windowsill of Dough in Bed Stuy. Me, the silly, naive girl walking out of the shop with only a coffee in hand because I swore that today was “diet day.” I couldn’t help but look back at you, my emotions all glazed and confused, but even though I wanted you, I had to keep my word. The cashier made it worse. “They’re all new,” she sang. “Made just this morning.”

Of course I was tempted, but I’m leaving it up to fate: if you’re still in that windowsill tomorrow morning, I’ll take a chance and break my promise.

**

L Train. Manhattan bound. I was sitting next to a couple who was arguing about whether or not they should have bought that “stupid chair that looks like a robot” from IKEA.

At this exact moment I had the greatest idea ever dreamed up in the history of a brain, perfect for the short story that I had to submit for my creative writing class in exactly two hours. My unreliable iPhone battery bailed on me so I couldn’t write the stroke of brilliance down. As Murphy’s old school Law would have it, my pen was out of ink. As soon as I got out of the L to transfer to the R, I got distracted by a band playing on the subway platform and just as quickly as it had appeared, the idea was gone. Poof.

Where are you? Will we meet again? Please come back.

**

You were the boy in Paris that all my friends from home said I was bound to meet abroad. I was lost, and as if on cue in some indie rom com, you appeared — tripping clumsily — right in front of me. We laughed, then talked, then walked. You walked me for thirty minutes to the restaurant where I would meet my friends. I asked if you wanted to join us, but as soon as you saw them drinking and laughing and carrying on, you wavered.

“Um, I don’t think so,” you said. “They look a bit…untamed.”

If I ever get to see you again, I would address your pungent body odor and call you a dick.

Written by Jessica Jacolbe

Image of Marilyn Monroe shot by Michael Ochs in New York, 1955