Leandra Medine's Blog, page 693

While Mercury Was Busy Enjoying the Retrograde Resort & Spa…

Hello Mercury.

I hope you just read my delivery of your name through the same closed-teeth disdain with which Jerry Seinfeld greets Newman. It looks a bit friendlier on the computer screen but note that in person, it’s far worse.

Your month-long vacation is almost coming to an end. Club Retrograde sounds like it’s been a really fantastic time for you. You’ve gotten to stop, unwind, take a step backwards, chill. On Instagram you appear to have gotten a tan, lost a little bit of weight; your cheeks are rosy, your hair is ombre’d, and it seems as though you’ve picked up a lover by the pool.

How nice.

While you’ve been waking up to the sounds of nature and doing yoga on the velvet sand of your beach-front resort, the rest of us on earth (not to mention the entirety of the hard-working solar system) have been completely, and irrefutably, fucked.

You’re the planet of communication. We need you to ensure conversations are being interpreted correctly. We need you to aid us in being clear and making sense. You are the Hooked On Phonics to our 3rd-grade reading level. When you abandoned us for 24 days to take some bullshit planetary sabbatical, the tower of Babel crashed down upon us.

In fact, a Verizon tower did go down. Yes, Mercury. Don’t look so shocked. It happened exactly one week ago and ruined half of New York City’s plans, not to mention completely screwed over anyone working remotely from their cell phones.

Let’s talk about cell phones while we’re at it. My brand new iPhone 6’s screen cracked. Same thing happened to three of my friends, and the 20 other strangers who waited at the Genius bar in a slumped-over fraternity of crushed glass and broken dreams. “Here you go, Apple,” we said cheerfully as we deposited our life savings into sleekly designed shredders. “Good bye, productivity,” we waved as the Internet in our building went down for the second time in three days. “Who needs the Internet anyway, LOL! Not us websites.”

Susan Miller tells us you’re the head of perception and negotiation. This could explain why, as you were shaving your legs to the sound of dolphins chirping, Mercury, important deals were falling through. High fives were being awkwardly missed. Suspicious though innocent activities were being perceived as relationship infidelities and restaurants were misinterpreting Seamless orders with careless abandon.

Commerce is just one more area you were supposed to handle, yet failed. It’s like you’re a drunk babysitter who lost a kid in the mall. You let the stock market drop down an escalator along with your cheese fries by almost 10% last week. And why couldn’t you just put one of those monkey backpacks with a leash on e-retail? I returned the same pair of shoes THREE TIMES, Mercury. Jesus. Do you even care?

In a few days you’re going to come back from Club Retrograde. You’ll be refreshed, you’ll be rejuvenated, and you’ll feel alive. The 12 signs will be forced to accept you back because you’re a planet, and we’ll spew bullshit pleasantries as you bore us with photos from your trip. But I wanted to write you this letter so that you know that you really screwed us over. You’ve used up your vacation days, Mercury. Welcome to overtime.

And will the genius who photoshopped that viral image of Audrey please stand up?

All of the Ways Mercury in Retrograde F*cked Us

Hello Mercury.

I hope you just read my delivery of your name through the same closed-teeth disdain with which Jerry Seinfeld greets Newman. It looks a bit friendlier on the computer screen but note that in person, it’s far worse.

Your month-long vacation is almost coming to an end. Club Retrograde sounds like it’s been a really fantastic time for you. You’ve gotten to stop, unwind, take a step backwards, chill. On Instagram you appear to have gotten a tan, lost a little bit of weight; your cheeks are rosy, your hair is ombre’d, and it seems as though you’ve picked up a lover by the pool.

How nice.

While you’ve been waking up to the sounds of nature and doing yoga on the velvet sand of your beach-front resort, the rest of us on earth (not to mention the entirety of the hard-working solar system) have been completely, and irrefutably, fucked.

You’re the planet of communication. We need you to ensure conversations are being interpreted correctly. We need you to aid us in being clear and making sense. You are the Hooked On Phonics to our 3rd-grade reading level. When you abandoned us for 24 days to take some bullshit planetary sabbatical, the tower of Babel crashed down upon us.

In fact, a Verizon tower did go down. Yes, Mercury. Don’t look so shocked. It happened exactly one week ago and ruined half of New York City’s plans, not to mention completely screwed over anyone working remotely from their cell phones.

Let’s talk about cell phones while we’re at it. My brand new iPhone 6’s screen cracked. Same thing happened to three of my friends, and the 20 other strangers who waited at the Genius bar in a slumped-over fraternity of crushed glass and broken dreams. “Here you go, Apple,” we said cheerfully as we deposited our life savings into sleekly designed shredders. “Good bye, productivity,” we waved as the Internet in our building went down for the second time in three days. “Who needs the Internet anyway, LOL! Not us websites.”

Susan Miller tells us you’re the head of perception and negotiation. This could explain why, as you were shaving your legs to the sound of dolphins chirping, Mercury, important deals were falling through. High fives were being awkwardly missed. Suspicious though innocent activities were being perceived as relationship infidelities and restaurants were misinterpreting Seamless orders with careless abandon.

Commerce is just one more area you were supposed to handle, yet failed. It’s like you’re a drunk babysitter who lost a kid in the mall. You let the stock market drop down an escalator along with your cheese fries by almost 10% last week. And why couldn’t you just put one of those monkey backpacks with a leash on e-retail? I returned the same pair of shoes THREE TIMES, Mercury. Jesus. Do you even care?

In a few days you’re going to come back from Club Retrograde. You’ll be refreshed, you’ll be rejuvenated, and you’ll feel alive. The 12 signs will be forced to accept you back because you’re a planet, and we’ll spew bullshit pleasantries as you bore us with photos from your trip. But I wanted to write you this letter so that you know that you really screwed us over. You’ve used up your vacation days, Mercury. Welcome to overtime.

And will the genius who photoshopped that viral image of Audrey please stand up?

MR Writer’s Club: When Did You Lose Your Virginity?

Were you:

a) In the backseat of a car

b) On the wing of an airplane

c) Eating lamb balls in a bathtub

d) Playing baseball while mastering a headstand

e) Other

If other, specify _____________________.

I could have just left it at that — added the bit about a 500 word count, our officially unofficial hash tag (#mrwritersclub), the email address for submissions (write@manrepeller.com) and your deadline (which, duh, is next Friday at 12PM).

But it’s important that you know the following: at Man Repeller, we believe that to lose your virginity could amount to such an extensive range of incidences, it might be harder to navigate than the gluten free pasta aisle at Whole Foods. (For example, I just lost my hugely terrible analogy virginity to a sentence about gluten free pasta.)

Let me take this three degrees further: I lost my lying virginity when I was five and my mother asked me if I had washed my hands after I peed. I did not.

I lost my cell phone virginity when I was in 8th grade; my dad bought it for me on the condition that I would pay him back in 150 hours of back massage. We had a contract written up and everything — I still owe him 149 hours and 51 minutes.

I lost my Vegemite virginity on Wednesday when I arrived in Brisbane, Australia. If I could take it back, I’m not 100% certain that I wouldn’t.

Make sense?

Of course, de facto virginity stories are widely welcome too — I was wearing socks when that happened. But I’ll leave the decision making to the narrator. (That’s you.) So, go ahead. Tell all. Or none. We’re waiting.

Original image via the Sunday Times Style Magazine

Internet Happy Hour Featuring Brad Pitt, Pizza, and Playboy: Then and Now

The Internet has been good to us this week. Monday gave us Marcell the Shell, and now Thursday is gifting us with a new episode of Between Two Ferns. Has Christmas come early, or what?! Sorry, dad joke, I know.

Here are 5 things to get you through your (here’s hoping) last hour of work.

1. Between Two Ferns With Brad Pitt

Between Two Ferns is back! And it’s better than that time Zach Galifianakis called President Obama a “community organizer.”   Galifianakis proves he has no boundaries in his new interview with Brad Pitt. No topic is too sensitive, including, yes, Jennifer Aniston. Watch the new episode here. [Funny or Die]

2. This Dude Ate 15 Slices of Pizza in One Day

Buzzfeed’s Norberto Briceño may have single-handedly answered our round table question: Is 25 the New 21? In celebration of the entrance into adulthood that is 26, Briceño crafted his own pizza challenge. The result? Lots of money spent on Tums. [Buzzfeed] 

3. Christian Bale Will Play Steve Jobs in a Biopic About the Late CEO of Apple

Bale is known to drastically transform himself for movie roles. I can’t wait to see how he adapts for this one, although I’m sure a black turtleneck and Jerry Seinfeld jeans will have never looked better. [The Daily Beast] 

4. Lauren Conrad Got a Haircut and the Internet is Freaking Out

Her words, not mine, “Got my first haircut in years.” Lauren Conrad succumbed to the uneven bob trend and The Hills devotees worldwide let out a collective cry. In the words of The Fray, “Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.”  [Refinery 29]

5. Past Playboy Pinups: Then and Now

The Cut interviewed six former Playboy Pinups of the 50s, 60s and 70s. The ladies disclosed what it meant to capture the male gaze then, and what it means now, in a series of fascinating photographs and corresponding commentaries. [The Cut]

One more for good luck…

6. Take 25% off your first Need Supply order

Enter the code DOIT at the checkout [Need Supply]

I Tried a Pole Dancing Class

I didn’t need to feel sexy.

I also didn’t need to send that Snapchat of my bunions or eat 2,000 calories worth of pancakes at breakfast, so in light of the things I shouldn’t have done but did anyway, I signed up for a pole dancing class.

Why not spin? Or yoga? Because been there, done that, and my browser’s sidebar of “suggested ads” kept pushing something on me called Body and Pole — a hint to stop searching for Magic Mike XXL updates, perhaps.

Body and Pole’s website recommended we wear “booty shorts,” preferably spandex, and definitely short enough to expose the inner thigh; bare skin is needed in order to get a grip on the pole. Then, after digging up an old pair that said “dancer” on the ass/booty, I scoured the Internet for an hour looking for any reason not to try the class.

[*Google*]

Common to slip off pole while pole dancing? Beginner

Beginner pole dancing bad accident

Are STDs pole-borne?

Strip club freak accidents

Aside from the last search, most sources turned up photos of average looking women with average looking bodies in well-lit studios, smiling in spandex shorts. They looked like they were going to pick up their sons from soccer practice after class.

They looked like women who needed to feel sexy.

[*Google*]

Drunk pole dancing bachelorette horrible injuries

My friend and I turned up to the class ready to laugh. We would begin by “warming up,” which meant tacking on a pelvis pop at the end of each “yoga-esque” movement. Our instructor, a 20-something blonde with covetable thigh muscles, led us through the movements. She spoke s-l-o-o-o-w-l-y-y-y, extending each vowel while she demonstrated the various poses. While most of us avoided looking at ourselves in the mirror, the instructor locked eyes with her reflection. She stared at herself as she chaturanga’d on the floor, as she shook her “money maker,” as she ran her hand down her chest and torso. I wasn’t sure who she was entertaining, but I was grateful to have something to look at other than myself.

The mirror made me notice all of the parts of my body that don’t lend themselves to pole dancing: my flat chest and my chicken legs, my short hair that couldn’t be whipped back or forth and if I had some, hips that would lie. I looked around, eager to meet the eyes of someone I could laugh with, but all participants earnestly attempted each movement, locking eyes with themselves in the mirror, too.

And everyone looked awkward, but no one cared.

The instructor purred, “Strut your stuff! Walk with purpose! Don’t just hold the pole, own the pole.” The class responded; they sauntered around the pole, they let their hair down. The instructor continued with her encouragement. She politely complimented my body roll, but I knew I looked like a fish convulsing out of water. She shouted phrases, crafted to empower:

“You are YOU! You are sexy! You are beautiful and strong!”

I gave in; she was motivating! I sashayed – not walked – around the pole. I latched the inside of my hamstring onto the metal rod to perform a spin and my leg turned to jelly. “Try again!” My friend took a tumble and still, the instructor complimented us on our finesse. She then took to her own pole to demonstrate the proper way to propel ones body around a pole, making eye-love with her toned physique in the now-foggy mirror.

At the end of the 90-minute class, we all made our way to the locker room. One woman changed into a Dickies medical uniform, another exotic blonde walked out into the brisk night, still in her spandex bootie shorts. The instructor wiped down the poles and reset the playlist. As I exited the studio, I could hear the instructors voice welcome the 7:30 crop.

Welcome to Body and Pole! Mark your spot and let’s get this party st-a-a-a-r-ted! Who’s ready to feel sexy?

I made my way out and took a subway back to my apartment, feeling as ordinary as ever.

[*Google*]

Body roll, step-by-step instructions.

Image shot by Camilla Akrans for Numéro #79, December 2006

What Song Would You Sing to Audition for “The Voice”

I spend a lot of time thinking about how to make CeeLo Green cry.

The Boy Scouts motto is “always be prepared,” but because camping isn’t in the cards for me, the more practical use of my time and effort is to contemplate my potential audition song for “The Voice.”

Just in case.

You see, CeeLo is the judge you want on your side. He’s the one with the mega production studio and is probably the only other judge besides Blake Shelton who will answer your texts when you start panicking about developing nodules on your vocal chords. But you have to choose the right song to get him. You have to make him cry.

Everyone does the same old thing. “I Will Always Love You” is cliché, and rarely pulled off properly. “Summertime” was owned by Fantasia on American Idol, and newsflash to planet earth: you are not Mariah Carey. (This is both good and bad news for us all.)

You don’t want a song that’s too sappy, but if you go with anything too upbeat you run the risk of losing sound quality in your overzealous effort to not come off like you’re at karaoke. If you go with anything too current, or too iconic, you’ll be compared instead of considered. If you go with anything too obscure, you lose that important hook of familiarity.

My song of choice would be the “One Less Bell to Answer/A House is Not a Home” medley between Glee’s Mr. Schuester and April Rhodes aka Kristin Chenoweth because it’s not too hot, not too cold so all you need is a light jacket. But also because it will tug at CeeLo’s heartstrings while blowing his mind. The song technically requires two people singing at once — and I’d do it alone.

Boom. Cue tears.

Now what about you? What song would you use to audition for The Voice, and why? If you’re asking me why, then hello, I already told you: one should always be prepared.

Talking Shoes with the Man Behind Women’s Design at J. Crew

Tom Mora appreciates beautiful luggage. Just after our handshake and before our conversation about clothes and shoes, the head of women’s design for J. Crew and I got into a brief discussion on weekend bags we’ve loved and lost. Though the topic seems apropos of nothing, it makes sense that the man responsible for women’s clothing cares deeply about quality, durability, wearability and beauty.

We spoke at the brand’s Madison Avenue store in celebration of Sophia Webster for J. Crew’s second collection. When asked what came first in this process  — the chicken (being clothes) or the egg (shoes) — Mora explained it as a collaborative effort that unfolded simultaneously:

“We looked at what we were doing for the season and created color pallettes — a bronze-y group, a print group, a striped group, for example — and then Sophia took that and riffed off it. She came back with her materials, her sketches, her interpretation, and we just went back and forth. It’s been really lovely, and she’s so chic.”

Sophia Webster is designer who is known for her whacky prints, her bold color schemes, zig zags, pom poms and the occasional pair of wings. J. Crew is a brand known for its classic aesthetic rooted in an American sportswear sensibility. When melded together, as they have in this case, the result is a shoe that feels accessible to a typical J. Crew customer, but also, like a bit of a dare.

“I think a little discomfort is good,” said Mora. “We’re very true to ourselves at J. Crew but we constantly evolve. It’s done so seamlessly that there’s never that hiccup where the customer feels like, ‘Whoa, I don’t get that,’ but it challenges the designer and in turn, challenges your customer. You kind of want to take your customer on a journey through your style evolution of the brand.

What’s great about these shoes is that you can be in a t-shirt and jeans and then throw on a pair of the Sophia Webster heels and that’s it. You look like a rockstar.”

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A Decade of Thakoon

When Thakoon Panichgul calls something “literally awesome,” he literally means awesome. As in, bewildering, astonishing, overwhelming. The kind of awesome that pushes you forward, keeps you up and on your toes, that makes you want to be better by virtue of also making you think that you are better. For the designer, Steven Meisel shooting his clothes, Grace Coddington styling his clothes, and ten years later, an anniversary that promises a future more robust than its impressive past — that is literally awesome.

The brand’s tenth birthday is being celebrated with a capsule collection, pulling silhouettes from his decade-old archive to be sold exclusively at Barneys, which picked up his label after its 2004 launch. “Some pieces were immediately obvious,” Mr. Panichgul says. “The peony dress, and the floral sequin jacket popped into my head at the outset. For me these will always have that special pull, and feel essential in the most indulgent way.”

There’s a cut-out gown, several smart party dresses, at least two nods to his signature masculine shirting that comes spiked with just a faint splash of femininity and one sequined jacket that seems to want to tell you that in 2004, its incipient incarnation was paraded on the shoulders of a very special woman. And that of course, there’s no reason said woman can’t now be you.

Last week, I drove to Seacaucus, New Jersey, where for the first time, I was exposed to the literal brick-and-mortar photo album that is a clothing warehouse. There, one copy of every garment Mr. Panichgul has ever sent down his runway stood like soldiers, pristinely wrapped in plastic — and then in garment bags — begging to be rediscovered. On the extracts, Panichgul says, “I am always onto the next, so it’s sort of out of sight, out of mind. Like a yearbook you store away.”

Then again, though, in sight, in mind. I found the red and blue gingham puffer jacket in a garment bag marked A/W11. It gently reminded me of the first season I ever covered fashion week; when women across the West Side Highway ran up and down in this puffer — the puffer — marching to the welcome beat of warmth.

Then there were the radical disco cowboy printed shorts with metallic trim and complimenting, counter-print blouses. These reminded me of the first Thakoon show to which I was ever invited. I saw the yellow and green and red and pink striped sweaters he made for Fall ’12, the ivory boucle, shoulder-padded jackets that predate the popularity incited by Isabel Marant and the various prints — always indicative of Thakoon but never overpowering — that have been interspersed throughout every season.

Panichgul notes that his woman has evolved. “Initially I think my tendency at the start was more overtly and consistently feminine. As I have grown, and generally become more grounded, I find myself weaving an enhanced level of sophistication and depth into the language of the Thakoon collections. Like the women we dress, the expression and execution of references and the overarching aesthetic are more finely tuned.”

Of course, this isn’t a bad thing. “I know myself well, and I make decisions very quickly. I know exactly what I like. So if I look back eight years, ten years, or even two, it is a bit funny that I can see certain threads that bind my aesthetic together – they are there unintentionally. It sort of reminds me why we are here, ten years later.”

Pretty awesome.

Photos by Nicole Cohen

A Joan Didion Documentary is Being Made; Dawson’s Creek (Starring Dogs) Has Already Been Made

It’s hump hour on hump day, and we have link after link of good news for you to peruse.

Let’s Get This Movie Made

In what is sure to be a truly spectacular film, Joan Didion’s nephew Griffin Dunne is making a documentary about the great American writer’s life. Titled after Didion’s own words, the film “We Tell Ourselves Stories In Order to Live,” is the first documentary to focus on Didion. Help be a part of Joan Didion’s story by contributing to the project here. [Vogue]

Money Can’t Buy You Class

But it can buy you a copy of the much anticipated Advanced Style movie. Get it here, then just try and tell me you’re not inspired to also buy a fantastic hat.

Dachshund’s Creek

Continuing in our theme of important trailer-news this week, someone re-made “Dawson’s Creek” with dachshunds. #youdoyou [Uproxx]

Kevin Arnold and Winnie Cooper Probably Had Sex in the Final Episode

There was a “Wonder Years” reunion this week, and the not-so-shocking secrets came out. [Vulture]

“Friends” Fan Fiction Just Reached New Levels

Courtesy of the good folks at Vulture and someone really good at coding, we bring you Ugly Naked Guy, dancing. [Vulture, again]

Online Shopping Made Me Want To Be a Fashion Writer

Over lunch one day, Leandra asked me why I got into the fashion business and I found myself at a loss for words. In theory, it should have been an easy question to answer, but it’s like asking someone to explain why they prefer toast with butter, or why they tie their right shoe first and then their left.

I can’t pinpoint a single moment or a certain period in my life where I consciously decided fashion is what I want to do. This realization then triggered a mini existential crisis: why am I doing this? If I didn’t have an answer, then perhaps I needed to re-evaluate my life choices.

This wasn’t the time or place for re-evaluation, though, so I mumbled a half-formed thought: “Online shopping is what got me into fashion.” Once I said these words out loud, they made total sense. So I ran with the idea. Now, after taking a much closer look at my own path, I can see how the invention of online shopping may have actually influenced an entire generation of fashion lovers.

Coincidentally, the week she asked marked the 20-year anniversary of the invention of online shopping. According to a New York Times article that Marketplace dug up from the archives, August 10, 1994 marks the first Internet credit card transaction, which involved a $12.48 Sting CD. It’s been 20 years since e-commerce started, which means my generation grew up right alongside the online shopping boom and inevitably, we were shaped by it.

Because most brands update their websites with new products on a weekly basis, online shopping (or rather online browsing) is a part of my daily routine. Partially, I do this because products go out of stock so quickly, but mostly because I garner immense pleasure from browsing pretty things. Why? The same reasons anyone likes to shop in stores apply to shopping online, but it’s a far more pleasurable and addictive experience via the Internet. Unlike regular shopping, which can be both physically and mentally strenuous (have you ever had to pee while in the middle of a 20-person line at Zara?), you’re able to completely immerse yourself and your mind on the Internet.

Shopping online is a private experience. You can take your time with it (perhaps too much) zooming-in on fabric swatches or comparing sale prices. It’s also an independent act in the sense that anyone, anywhere, with any budget can participate in it. When online shopping was first invented, runway shows were still an elite, exclusive experience (unlike today, when many are streamed live). Online shopping became a way for the average person to participate in high fashion; looking at clothes doesn’t have to involve purchasing anything — there are no salespeople pressuring you. Instead, online shopping can be an equal-opportunity education.

If you spend enough time online shopping, you’ll acquire a wealth of otherwise-useless knowledge about brands, inseams, fabrics, price points, etc. and develop educated opinions on such matters. For me, fashion writing became an outlet for all of the product information that I collected over time. Online shopping gave me something to say as well as a desire to say it. I now speak the language. Besides, if online shopping gave me this much pleasure, then I figured writing about clothing would produce the same effect. And here I am.

On the Internet, clothes are presented as information, rather than just material goods with a price tag. We can study them, obsess over them and catalogue them in our minds. In this way, online shopping allows everyone to be a fashion expert, a stylist and a critic; you just have to buy into it.

Image shot by Tung Walsh for lula #16 spring/summer 2013