Leandra Medine's Blog, page 695

The Definitive Guide to The Best Boots for Fall

In a city like New York, where driving is optional but walking is not, your boots become your car — the precise (and perhaps literal) vehicle that transports you from point A to point B. As a result of this, finding The Ones can be likened to the ceaseless pursuit for The One, and aside from trying to find  the contact that just fell out of your eye while driving, there is nothing more stressful thank searching for a pair of solemates.

You might find yourself pondering such questions as: will I still love you tomorrow?

Will you be comfortable enough to wear to work?

Are you versatile enough to wear with going out tops?

Will you provide the support I crave when snow falls, rain pours and sleet destabilizes my morale?

Then it might begin to appear impossible to uncover The Ones. Lists that chronicle “47325426 of The Best Fall Boots!” will try to convince you that maybe you need two, or three or eight pairs. Other lists might suggest you forgo boots all together in the name of slides with socks. Rest assured, though, that like with glass slippers, when the shoe fits — and I do mean fits — there is only one.

Of course, though, no two humans are alike — especially across a platform as robust and diverse as the Man Repeller comment feed, so here are 15 pairs of the greatest boots for Fall.

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Just know, best doesn’t always mean newest.

Oh! And if you’re wondering how the feature image got to look the way it does, here you go:

Polite Alternatives to Ghosting

A Slate article from 2013 has been resurrected again, proliferating among those of my Facebook friends who still use Facebook for means other than stalking exes or pending blind dates. It’s about “Ghosting,” the non-culturally-offensive term for peace-ing out of a party without saying goodbye.

I suppose this term is still offensive to ghosts, so ghosts, I apologize.

There are benefits of ghosting, the author notes — it’s a time saver, it avoids awkward conversations, it keeps the party moving, those who are obsessed with you don’t have to feel the emotion of sadness that lingers in the space between a pulled-away hug, etka, etka. And thanks to modern technology (one that’s been around at least since the time of Nokia and Snake) shooting a text post-disappearing act covers your bases so as not to cause a mid-fête search-extravaganza.

The author acknowledges that ghosting is rude. Still, like a true Larry David, he writes, “Let’s free ourselves from this meaningless, uncomfortable, good time–dampening kabuki. People are thrilled that you showed up, but no one really cares that you’re leaving.”

Unfortunately, the narcissist in me has to disagree.

I say unfortunately because I love to ghost. One minute I am “going to the bathroom to check my hair,” and the next thing everyone knows I’m reporting live from my bedroom with a bag of that weird snack-mix featuring Doritos, pretzels, SunChips and Cheetos. I’m not even sure what the hell company makes that mouth fest but I’m pretty sure my local CVS buys it off the black market. I say I disagree because a lot of people get mad when I leave. A lot of people get mad when we leave — we, the collective group of humans who have been taught (and then reaffirmed by Slate) that it’s okay to do the dip.

If you are of the camp who digs an escape route with your spork before the cookie cake’s even been cut, consider these polite alternatives to ghosting, if for nothing else than to help regain some dignity to these otherwise perfectly social apparitions.

1) Instead of business cards, have “goodbye” cards made and keep them in your wallet. Print various excuses on them: “My cat just swallowed the neighbor’s laptop,” “I was unaware today was also my own birthday,” and “The host owes me money,” are some nice ones. Feel free to mix it up so that everyone can swap different stories about why you left. You will create mystery, but not drama.

2) Make a very big deal about your departure. Employ the use of a smoke machine and confetti. Maybe a few doves. This way you can say goodbye to the entire room of people at once instead of making individual stops.

3) Get the entire party involved in a conga-line, or as many people as possible. Position yourself right in the middle, right in the belly of the snake. Then, after you’ve made at least two laps, unleash your grip from the shoulders of the person in front of you and run for the door as fast as you can. This way, at least every can watch you exit. Loudly yell, “DUTY CALLS!” And then never look back. Not even if someone calls your name.

4) Create a signature “goodbye” song. This may take a few parties to implement, but just as Pavlov’s dogs learned that a bell meant food, your friends will learn that, “Don’t Stop Me Now,” is your official bow-out jam.

5) Wear roller skates so that you can make a fast lap while doing a royal “see ya later!” wave. If anyone questions you explain that it’s past your bed time. They don’t know your life.

People will definitely think you’re weird, but that’s fantastic. Weird is wonderful. And anything’s better than rude.

Add your own, Casper.

Image via Interview Russia and Frankie’s Apartment

NEW MARCEL THE SHELL IS HERE!!!

That settles it, then. Jenny Slate officially wins best Monday morning maker of all time ever.

Thanks, you’re welcome, etc.

Esther’s Picks: Distressed Leather Acne Jacket

Welcome to Esther’s Picks, a new installment wherein I — the smiling idiot above — will showcase my favorite bargain pieces of the week. If you, like me, believe that a Central Park hotdog should cost no more than 50 cents, this series is for you. Nothing gets me going quite like the denim selection on ASOS or an Acne Studios rack at Century 21. I promise to save you cash if you promise to stop eating hotdogs.

Or, we can have our cakes and eat them too because it’s Monday, the seasons are changing, and what’s a chunky knit if not a vehicle to hide the aftermath of a little too much Duncan Hines?

For my first pick, I chose none other than the leather jacket I scored from the aforementioned Acne rack at the Upper West Side’s Century 21 outpost. The jacket, a true beacon of hope for professional discount shoppers, seemed like a stockroom mistake quietly nestled next to at least three black versions beside it. I found it last week which means there is potentially a 16% chance the anterior black mates are still there.

The jacket retailed for $1,200, was discounted to $450, and I used a coupon of my own (that’s the other thing about discount hubs, if you look hard enough, you will always find a supplementary discount code) to pay a total of $250.

That’s $950 dollars saved and two warm arms.

Before purchasing it, I checked its tags, tested its zippers, and then wrote it a haiku:

Distressed tan leather 

Doesn’t come cheap to those who

Do not seek it out 

What to Wear This Week: October 20-25, 2014

Monday, man. How does that always happen so fast? Waiting for the weekend is like waiting for Godot (I will not stop making this joke until someone laughs) but when it comes to Monday, it does just that, you know? Comes.

I know, I know, that’s what she said. But guess what? That’s not what she meant. What she meant was: I could have sworn that the last time I blinked it was Saturday night and I was sitting on my coach in a decadent silk robe pretending to be Sophia Loren with my hair in a towel while eating carrots soaked in lime juice because I heard that they tint your skin and I am really, really not looking forward to re-inheriting the pasty-ass green pallor that is implied with the approaching winter. Now that it’s Monday, though, I’d like to know what to wear this week so can you help a sister out?

Why yes! Yes I can. And because it’s seasonably cold again, I probably can’t force you to F pants but I think that’s okay. Pants, like The Kids, are alright.

Today and tomorrow, which climate-clock-in by the low 60s and might feature a guest appearance by the artist formerly known as rain (not to be confused with Missy Eliott), call for a black blazer. If it’s double breasted, that’s great. If it’s not, that’s cool too. Wear a white t-shirt because you technically don’t need a sweater yet and I feel like you should take advantage of your ability to feel comfortable in cotton for as long as you can, high waist jeans — preferably in a light wash and loafers. Got tassels? Bring ‘em out, bring ‘em out, bring ‘em out. Don’t? Hide pennies in your straps.

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Wednesday called, it said it missed your legs. It’s still not that cold, just maybe a little wet so how about a smock dress, one not unlike those of the mod persuasion to be worn over a cotton turtleneck (I am particular about the body suits by Wolford and consider them well worth the investment). Rock out with your frock out and don’t cover your legs or do if you’re sensitive, whatever. I just think that because I’m going to suggest you wear ankle boots with this outfit, short socks will look better than tights. Boom! It’s Thursday. Cool.

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AND THEN THERE WAS FRIDAY! I’m going to suggest you wear an ivory sweater with white jeans because it seems to bequeath a sense of divine respect and honor to a day that has been created by angels. Wear black boots, though — they’ll serve as a reminder that come Saturday night, that rug is ripped from right out under you faster than a strip of wax comes off a bikini line.

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Sunday. Ouch.

Images via Louis Vuitton Fall 2014, Bikbok, &  Saint Laurent Pre-Fall 2014, shot by Hedi Slimane

The Treasure Trove: A Four Act Play

At the fifth grade roller skating party, Jonathan decided to save the last skate for some tease named Catherine who was wearing jean bootie shorts and knee high striped socks. I was a wreck when I got home that night and decided the most appropriate thing for a newly single girl to do was to lay in bed wailing. The next morning I woke up feeling less dramatic. My mother greeted me with my sack lunch. It took me until midway through lunch period to realize that instead of a sandwich, she had packed me angel food cake with raspberries, strawberries and chocolate syrup on the side — my favorite at the time.

**

After my mother, a true comrade, noticed the Playtex wrappers in my pink wire trashcan, she did not publicly announce that her precious daughter, the only one in her entire family, had finally achieved womanhood. She simply turned my heated blanket on and left out her signature chocolate mousse while I was in the shower.

Years later, when I lost my virginity to my long-time high school boyfriend, my mom figured it out immediately and took the occasion in stride. She even greeted me with a slice of strawberry-rhubarb pie on my way out the door the following morning.

**

On a particularly humid fall night away at college, I had just gotten into the rhythm of drinking when I was liberally tipsy at a local bar. As the lights came on to signal the end of the night, I figured I should probably go home with the guy I’d been seeing.

The moment I unlocked the door to my place, I was hit with a brief wave of sobriety: I left my vibrator out on my bed. I ran inside and “playfully” sprinted up the steps, then viciously clawed through my blankets until I found the light blue chunk of treasure. I chucked it into my laundry basket which was filled to the brim with dirty clothes. It landed silently. Crisis averted.

I was probably still drunk the next morning when I decided I should pay my parents a visit. I was hungry, had no clean clothes, and hadn’t seen them in at least a month. Being only an hour away, I grabbed my laundry basket, my backpack, a Gatorade, and I hit the road. On the way home I jammed out to “Rumors” by Fleetwood Mac — twice.

**

I arrive and my parents, who are both elated to see me, ask if I’ve run out of money.

There are hotdogs on the grill.

I eat so many that I crawl into my childhood bed to take a nap. Later, at dinner, we talk about life and the weight of my family cat. The evening wears on and eventually it’s time to drive back to school. My dad hands me $20 while my mom gives me my laundry basket, which is filled with crisply folded clothes and to my surprise, a batch of her legendary homemade lemon bars.

I show off the platter of baked goods to my roommates when I get back. Then, feeling refreshed, I head upstairs to do work and unpack. It takes me a lemon bar and a half to realize that while putting away my freshly laundered clothes, I never removed the little treasure from the bottom of the basket.

No, no, no, no….

I scream.

I scream so loud that my roommates scream. I scream louder than I ever have to drown out the image in mind, but it doesn’t work. I collapse to the floor and reach into my laundry basket.

There it is — beneath my precisely folded panties. The vibrating, light blue buried treasure.

Written by Emily McMachen

Images via Perpetually Hungry, Volt Cafe Spring 2011, and Wiki

Read This and Then Just Go Home Already

Waste the last hour of your workday on these new sites and the weekend will arrive before you know it. TGIF, drinks on me.

If you majored in Literature and are the one in your friend group always quoting something: Here’s what happens when when writers and the characters they create order at Starbucks. (The site takes submissions, too.) [Literary Starbucks ]

If you wear a lot of cashmere crew-necks but also like to take shots of Fireball: (And if you are of legal drinking age!) [Drunk J. Crew]

If your Thursday night drinks didn’t go as well as you hoped: Art is the new tigers. Raise your hand if your tinder match was at the Koons retrospective too.  [Tinder Guys Posing with Art]

If you have beef with that guy on the train, you know, the one taking up 3 seats: It turns out they’re not assholes who think the subway is their personal living room, or men with extraordinarily large balls. They’re making room for cats! [Saving Room for Cats ]

If you spilled your green juice and your jeans didn’t  button: Not your standard compliments, but that makes them better. [Daily Odd Compliment]

You like typography… but you also like models and bottles: It’s the Kanye/Wes Anderson mashup that you didn’t ask for but that you need. [Kanye Wes]

If your bookshelves are color coded: Like the best still-life Instagrams, but better, way better. [ The Collecteur]

To you, you’re welcome. To your boss, sorry.

Ja Rule is Having a Comeback

Fear of the 2000s is warranted when the anxieties stem from a purely sartorial standpoint. Cowl necks. Good lord, would you pause for a moment and remember cowl necks? Not to mention the velour, the tight male henleys, the satin cargo pants, the kitten-heeled flip flops and though this is hair related — frosted tips on men. We’ve expressed our collective fears of this nature before.

But, what we didn’t talk about is that the early 2000s was a golden era of music. The younger part of the decade was still supporting boy bands, Faith Hill, and Christina Aguilera when she had dreadlocks. The first year post-99 alone gave us Macy Gray’s “I Try,” Eminem’s “Forgot About Dre,” Destiny Child’s “Say My Name,” Matchbox Twenty’s “Bent.” Remember the band Vertical Horizon? Me neither but I bet you remember the song “Everything You Want.” Blink 182’s “All the Small Things”? Britney Spears, Missy Elliott, come on people, I could do this all day.

One jukebox hero stands out though — one whose music still permeates throughout the speakers at bars and yet mention of him has been infrequent if not completely absent. Until now that is.

Check out the trailer!!! http://t.co/N1tiM7056m #FollowtheRules coming soon to @MTV

— Ja Rule (@Ruleyork) September 23, 2014

Ladies and gentlemen, Ja Rule is having a comeback.

The first suspicion came about when he performed this summer at the outside daybed emporium/restaurant club-thing otherwise known as Gurney’s Inn in Montauk. Clearly the rumblings of a big-things volcano.

Then, on a higher profile and assumably less sandy note, he performed at a fashion week party with Rick Ross.

Upon delving into Ja Rule’s tweets it seems that not only is he getting back into his music, he’s been acting. He was the star of a movie titled I’m In Love with a Church Girl and while the trailer below provides plenty of visuals I think sentence one of IMDB’s description says everything you need to know: “Miles Montego (Ja Rule) has it all – cars, boats, good looks, mansion, money, women, but more importantly, he has a past.”

Like his character, Ja Rule has a past too. Sure he went to jail — so did Martha Stewart — but I’m talking about a collective past. Our past. Who doesn’t get teary eyed when they hear “Between Me and You,” featuring Christina Milian, or “I’m Real” with Jennifer Lopez? “Always on Time” with Ashanti — now there’s a classic.

And now, with the official though insanely vague announcement that Ja Rule has reality show coming out about his every day life, it seems that the rapper born into this world as Jeffrey Atkins (who knew?!) has become what we in the biz call a triple threat.

“I don’t know Ja Rule,” says his sweetly naive daughter. “That’s dad.”

But we know Ja Rule. We grew up with him. We were there in the midst of his glory days and can’t look back on high school dances without thinking of his raspy voice. If his show on MTV actually pans out — or even if it doesn’t, though finger’s crossed — it’s with open arms and tiny mustaches that we welcome the punctual rapper back.

It Plants: The Cactus

We have It girls, It bags, It meals (brunch, anyone?) Cousin It, but did you ever stop to think about It Vegetation? Cacti and other succulents are really having their moment. They and their little spiky bits are everywhere from editorials, to advertisements, to fancy apartments that once boasted orchids.

Enjoy it while you can, cacti, because like the Fendi Spybag, all It-items’ time in the sun is limited. Every plant gets its 15 minutes, Andy Warhol famously said.

So what’s next? Discounting grass, carnations are the normcore of flowers. That feels relevant. But then again the ’70s are trending, which for some reason I associate with sunflowers. Daises are kind of like the peter pan collars of flowers — they’re sweet and innocent but can easily be subversive; peonies are for the classy girl who never spills on her white clothes, kind of like a camel coat. Maybe we’ll be seeing venus fly traps everywhere? Those feel kind of niche.

What do you think is the next It vegetation, and what is its fashion equivalent? Inquiring green thumbs would like to know.

Four Outfit Ideas to Steal

It is a universal truth worth acknowledging that when a woman says she literally can’t even, she is referring to one of three things:

She literally can’t even discuss the atrocity that is a man in the wrong. He has either hurt the figuratively-incapable or dumped her close comrade.

She literally can’t even go on eating diet food in lieu of pumpkin spice season.

And, more often than not, she literally can’t even think about getting dressed anymore. Not today, not tomorrow, and she doesn’t remember what she wore yesterday either. The antidotes for clauses one and two will typically and similarly require comfort nourishment, while when she literally can’t even think about getting dressed, there’s no way around her, you know, needing to get dressed. Not if she intends to socialize in the public domain without getting arrested at least. And though a Snickers bar is never a bad idea, it’s also not quite medicinal when it comes to putting your legs inside of pants.

So what should an afflicted party do?

Plagiarize.

Look to the plentiful pages that encompass street style, appreciate the balls on some of these women, marvel in the notion that your brain can remain off for but a mere moment and approximate what you feel most resonates with your sensibilities. Here are four Bethlehems I’m slouching towards.

Idea #1

F your bra, F your collar — long live the Mandarin — F all jewelry except for two dainty earrings to poke into the same ear and F color. This way, you look like you literally can’t even but also like you did. It’s quite wizardly.

Idea #2

Cropped, vaguely saggy-though-still-skinny jeans with delicate, high-heeled mules. Yes! Of course! Why not. If you have a taffeta short sleeve shirt with pearl buttons, do wear it. If you don’t, I think that’s fine too but a collarless jacket will look so unassuming over a shirt with a collar whose lapels are tucked into the jacket. This is like a game of match the oddities only no one wants to play, they just want to play.

Idea #3

Seeing as there is hopefully a 0% chance you haven’t accrued a fringe jacket, this one should be quite easy. You’ll just need a white t-shirt, bell bottoms that are short enough to be worn with almost-flat shoes (or boots depending on whether you consider yourself a largely committed person), a belt you can rely on and some gold chains to wear around your neck. If you keep a red lipstick container nearby, you can also smear some on, look to the closest human in your proximity and declare yourself day-to-night ready. Say it with an exclamation point because it seems like you have to.

Idea #4

In a capacity similar to a guideline pulled from Idea #1, forgo color for the sake of neutrals. Ivory and blush are so gentle, you know? Also: SUSPENDERS! Get a pair of suspenders and clip them to the left, to the left. Carry around a box and tell people Beyoncé kicked you out. When asked why, explain that your swagger was more salient than hers was and, uh, that she literally couldn’t even.