Leandra Medine's Blog, page 700
October 6, 2014
Have You Seen “Gone Girl” Yet?
Note: the below is spoiler free, but you’re encouraged to go plot-revealing-nuts in the comments section.
Gone Girl was originally a novel that profited from a large and fervent fan base, an element that could either work for or against its movie adaptation. How would director David Fincher handle time, which was skillfully manipulated on paper through dated diary entries and flashbacks? Who would voice the film when the novel was characterized by its shifting, untrustworthy narrator? Would the casting director see the married couple, Nick and Amy Dunne, the same way Gone Girls’ readers did? Who would we — meaning those who read the book and those who came into this movie blind — believe?
The film opens with the voice of Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) speaking off screen. “The primal questions of marriage,” he states, are: “What are you thinking? How are you feeling? What have we done to each other?” On screen we see a tight shot of the back of a blonde head, its body asleep, face down on a pillow.
“I imagine cracking open her head,” he continues, “unspooling her brain, trying to get answers.” The blonde head swivels to reveal the face of Amy Dunne (Rosamund Pike), and immediately the film shifts into a high-gear mystery.
The storyline oscillates between the initial stages of their picture perfect courtship and the poor, tired state of their relationship leading up to Amy’s disappearance. We start in the present on the very day she vanishes, and just as quickly as she’s gone, strong suspicions are drawn that we’re dealing with a kidnapping. Amy’s husband Nick, the “corn-fed, salt-of-the-earth Missouri boy,” has an eerily laid back attitude that renders him a suspect in the media’s eye and the target for a lot of small town hate.
Meanwhile, Amy delivers her own version of the events with such a chilling and surreptitious temperament, we’re not sure who to trust, making the film every bit as thrilling as the book (even with full knowledge of the imminent reveal).
David Fincher is meticulous and on point in his portrait of North Carthage, Missouri. It’s Nick Dunne’s hometown, and one of the strongest characters in the film. Fincher also stays faithful to the borderline obsessive qualities that consumed Flynn’s original characters, further maintaining the suspense and mystery of the novel on screen through narrations that are even shakier and more absurd when spoken, as opposed to read.
I was surprised to realize that I was questioning my original perception of the plot, unsure of who or what to believe even after having devoured the book. The voices sounded different in the theater — more conspiratorial (perhaps bordering on “campy”) than they had on the page; my own trust wavered because the characters off-page seemed even further removed.
There is something to be said about a medium breathing new life into familiar characters. In fact, I was initially annoyed that my understanding of the story had changed. But then again, if Gone Girl taught me one thing, it’s that our opinions are informed by where we stand and how we choose to interpret what we see.
Which means that now, it’s your turn. If you saw the movie (and read the book) what did you think? If you saw the movie and didn’t read the book, what did you think?
AND, if you haven’t done either but are carefully avoiding spoilers, click here, here or here instead for a fun distraction.
Image on the right via Entertainment Weekly
LoRCA Studio Poplin is Pretty, Pretty Good
Does anyone else in this chatroom feel like poplin wasn’t even a fabric before last season when all of a sudden relatively contemporary designers such as Alexander Wang and Suno were offering up a robust selection of the cotton blend in the form of t-shirt gone perfectly right?
This sounds absurd considering the mere fact that Phoebe Philo has been playing with the fabric since she first stepped foot into the atelier that is Céline, whereas Consuelo Castiglioni and Jil Sander have potentially been doing it for an even longer period of time. I might even go so far as to speculate they were born swathed in the material.
Today, Rosie Assoulin is unofficially the poplin shirt dress whispererm and Ports 1961 has it out for some of the best white poplin silhouettes of the fall season — ditto for Prabal Gurung, Carven and The Row.
But on a quieter corner, at the intersection of practical luxury and mystery, resides the unassuming, newly launched LoRCA Studio with its highly edited selection of four shirt silhouettes meant to become the “timeless mainstays” that embody a woman’s closet. No doubt they will — particularly because in addition to their servings, which offer challis and viscose, there’s a delightful nod to, yes, poplin.
I test-drove the Unna style in blue last summer because there is no such thing as knowing too many rigid, cotton t-shirts and found this: in oppressive, July heat, the shirt is not so ideal. On a brisk October day that might or might not call for cloaking by way of blazer or cape: indubitably right. Perfect, even.
In partnership with LoRCA Studio
The Designer Musical Chair Cheat Sheet
With the morning news of John Galliano approaching, annexing and taking over the throne at Maison Martin Margiela, it’s official: this past season in Paris was perhaps one of the most anti-climatically climactic of recent memory.
Vanessa Friedman, reporting for The New York Times, astutely pointed out in the Sunday paper that without any real version of calamity occurring overseas (typically, designers begin to shuffle when companies contract that new-direction bug), the season has been exceptionally malleable.
And quiet, too. When Alexander Wang landed at the helm of Balenciaga, the fashion world felt as though it was on the brink of blowing up. Ditto to Raf Simons’ transfer over to Christian Dior, Alessandro Dell’Acqua’s landing at Rochas and, of course, Nicolas Ghesquière’s move (and perhaps, too, the preceding departure of Marc Jacobs) to Louis Vuitton.
But maybe some of the motions of last week in Paris went over your head, so here’s a quick cheat sheet. This way, next fashion week, when you’re talking about how much you loved the lacework at Oscar’s most recent show, you’ll know it wasn’t actually his show.
Julie de Libran, previously of Prada, Louis Vuitton and her own, eponymous couture collection showed her first collection for Sonia Rykiel last week in Paris.
Peter Copping, creative director at Nina Ricci, has officially accepted a position at Oscar de la Renta.
As a result, Guillaume Henry — the designer behind Carven, will be taking over for Copping at Nina Ricci.
Who is to take over at Carven is still yet to be disclosed.
Amid all of this, Christophe Lemaire, who’s been designing womens ready-to-wear at Hermés since 2010, showed his last collection for the house and will be replaced by Nadège Vanhee-Cybulski, most recently of The Row.
Jean Paul Gaultier showed his last collection for the eponymous house and, once again, as of this morning, Galliano is the new Margiela. I repeat, Galliano is in at Margiela.
Buckle up!
Runway Images via Style.com
About Face
A commonality among women who work in fashion is that it’s rare to find one who wears “a full face.” (Of makeup, that is.) The assumption is that the individual is working for the clothes (and what surrounds them — designing, styling, shooting, critiquing, etc.) but doesn’t quite need to engage in the “full look” so empathetically. Maybe this is why design houses (e.g. Chloé, Thakoon, MBMJ, Erdem) leaned heavy on a fresh-faced, light-to-no makeup look for their Spring collections. At Marc Jacobs, in fact, there was nothing more than expertly applied moisturizer.
But just because some runways boasted the cosmetic equivalent of “normcore” didn’t mean makeup artists were out of a job. At Preen, the models were dappled with pencil-drawn freckles.
And then there were eyebrows; who knew they could be manipulated so expansively? The world’s most famous ones — Cara Delevingne’s — were bleached at Givenchy. At Miu Miu they were erased then drawn back on, while at Rodarte, they appeared to be pierced. At Dries Van Noten, strips of gold were faux-tattooed to his models’ lips to look like lip rings. At Dolce & Gabbana, wine-painted pouts remained a focal point.
Of course, though, makeup will never be ignored. We love it, we need it, it reminds us we’re in control. At Saint Laurent, Louis Vuitton and Chanel, eyes were rimmed in black. At Chanel specifically, not every model in the line up was marked, but a few had their lids dusted with a multicolored tie-dye powder. Cool.
At Rochas, the eyes were dotted, and above the lashes at Fendi were statement-making lines of frosted blue.
Lids were lined with strips of pink satin at Dior — half moons of designer textile rather than pigment or eyeshadow, which was the most ingenious interpretation of the month’s underlying wink to the viral hashtag #nomakeup. Satin’s a fabric, after all, and during fashion week, we wake up for the clothes.
October 5, 2014
What I’m Best At: Your, You’re, Yore? Well.
Written by Mia Lardiere
I am the best at being the worst.
I forgot my father’s birthday because it wasn’t on Facebook.
I neglectfully burn popcorn while pinning a twenty-four ingredient dinner recipe to my Pinterest board, and cringe at the sugar content in your PSL while dousing my dark roast in carcinogens from yellow packets.
Black leggings are basic until they happen to me, in which case they are classic, and what do you mean, “The magazines at my salon are not yours to keep?”
The only memory I hold dear from past relationships is learning the correct lyrics to the Scorpions’ “Rock You Like a Hurricane,” although I still believe it sounds like, “Raunchy Like a Hurricane”.
Do you believe in love at first sight, or do I have lipstick on my teeth again?
There will always be space reserved on the yoga mat for my iPhone as we meditate mindfully in final savasana because despite any photo scandals, we honor the light that exists in each other. (Besides — the only thing I have to hide is a roll of selfies in headgear snapped accidentally while checking emails in bed.)
I mastered “your,” “you’re” AND “yore,” and I am “well,” not “good.”
…But really, am I either?
October 4, 2014
What I’m Best At: Doing It For The Vine
Written by Annie Ertle
Sometimes I find myself applying the social media battle cry of “do it for the Vine” to my own life. The phrase is supposed to encourage people to abandon their insecurities for the benefit of a six second video, but following such advice means I often find myself in situations where I can only shrug and say, “At least it will make a good story.”
It was this mentality that found me searching for any summer job.
I saw that my local supermarket was hiring. The official title was “grocery clerk,” a position that entailed stocking shelves and not much else. Don’t underestimate the physical prowess necessary for grocery clerking, though — in the phone interview I was asked if I could “bend, stand, reach, jump, squat, and lift 50 pounds.” Now let me break out the Crayola watercolors and paint a picture for you: I am small. I have the upper body strength of a weak hamster. I find it very difficult to lift 50 pounds, but like my rodent sisters on stationary wheels, I am resilient. I am woman! So I said yes. I got the job.
On day one I was handed an androgynous (read: men’s) polo and then was escorted to the back of the store. I met my coworkers (all men, all wearing men’s polos), and then my boss gestured towards the carts that were teetering with packaged foods. “I guess we’ll get you started.”
I later found myself standing in Aisle 3 with canned peaches in one hand. I was staring at a wall of food, searching for where my piece fit into the puzzle. The store security guard walked past me, clapped his hand on my shoulder and said with a chuckle, “You look lost!” He was not wrong.
I continued my shift, then I went home and cried.
But like artisan bread, I rise, so I went back to work the next day, and the day after that. Eventually I got the hang of things. I developed muscles and picked up heavy dog food and heaved it like I was the Brawny paper towel guy (Aisle 12). I learned the store layout, even the exotic contents of the world cuisine aisle (Ghee? On your right, bottom shelf).
To pay my dues, I spent a lot of time in pet food. Grocery clerks will tell you that cat food is the bane of their existence because of the tiny cans and the disgusting flavors (savory shredded tuna and cheese, anyone?) but this environment is where I flourished.
My nimble fingers were efficient and quick, and I could have a whole shelf up in record time.
At my final shift, a coworker told me that when he first saw me, he didn’t think I would last a day. But of course I did.
I am the best cat food stocker in the world.
Photo shot by Ally Lindsay
October 3, 2014
The Smarts at Saint Laurent
Two things are for sure: the Saint Laurent show of this past Spring/Summer season will have amassed a similar reaction to the collections that came before. Self-professed Yves girls will cry, as a sort of perennial prelude to their longing for the spectacular scent of new that the deceased designer once injected into fashion, while tired critics will have raised another brow, scrambling to make a point that differs from the several about evolution, fast fashion, vanity and sex that have insofar surrounded Hedi Slimane’s collection. Meanwhile innocent, unrelated third party onlookers will roll their eyes, frustrated again by the purported deconstruction of what once was The fashion house.
Paradoxically, though, the collection will hit stores come February and as with every other season, the very people who scoffed will quietly slip into the shop, rub their fingers against the fine leather, allow their eyes to feast on lamé that seems to have been derived from de facto gold threads, and declare their love. Just short of declaring this love, they will also either resolve to dream or resolve to forgo abundant cash in the name of looking cool. But this will be difficult, because everything will have sold out.
Again.
One week later, the following collection will be presented and the hamster wheel through which we run will resume.
I’d rather not admonish the use of denim shorts on a Saint Laurent runway this season. I don’t want to talk about how sure I was platforms were finished and yet, there they are. One can argue the multifarious reasons a fatigue print has no place in Paris, but what’s the point? Let’s just take the clothes — and this is an important point that runs counter to fashion — for what they are: the brainchild of a very smart visionary. If Slimane wasn’t smart, we never would have cared about boxy jackets and leather mini skirts with the same, fresh conviction we do now. We’d laugh at the vaguely sinister patent leather or leopard print pointed toe lace up boots of current street style marvel, and there is no way — absolutely no way — we’d be thinking about studded capri pants or Isadora Duncan-style neck scarves tenderly and judiciously.
It is consistently interesting to watch as our proclivities change with time — to understand and address that when fashion is presented to us, no matter how much we detest or conversely adore it, it could so suddenly be turned on it own head; how just like that, our emotions toward runway can flip with the switch of a new season presented in-store. This is precisely what separates the fashion, a larger conversation, from the clothes — a much more personal relationship. And when considering the dichotomy, there are traditionally two schools. From one emerge those who accept this disparity and from the other, those who can’t quite see it. Neither is particularly right or wrong in their viewpoint but in between them sits a bridge that has mastered a middle point and acknowledged both.
For spring, he likes top hats.
Images via Style.com
Did You Know That There is An App For GIFS?
I was texting with my friend Emily yesterday about random things and noticed that her previously-lacking GIF-game was suddenly on unparalleled fire. If I mentioned the word banana she was like, BOOM, banana GIF. If I said the word dolphin, SLAM, dolphin.
She wasn’t missing a beat, and equally as impressive was that the GIF-sources were completely varied. Most GIF collectors, like myself, tend to have a central theme. (For example the vast majority of mine revolve around Martha Stewart, Oprah and 1980s teen movies, whereas my friend Conley keeps a tightly curated grouping of RHOBH’s Camille and her various emotions.) Emily’s GIFS were so good,and so fast – normally one needs at least a minute locate an appropriate response — that I started to get suspicious.
It was after I said the word “socks” in a throwaway mention and she sent this back immediately:
– that I was like, Emily. The GIF-gig is up. There’s no way she randomly sought out a moving image of Chord Overstreet wearing a headband in a men’s bathroom declaring that he needs “more socks.”
I got her to “confess” the GIF’s point of origin, and so it was that there’s a relatively new app, changing lives, one animated figure at a time.
It’s called Riffsy GIF Keyboard and I suggest you download it to your phone before reading any further. (Note: you don’t need the new iPhone but you do need an iPhone and it has to be operating on iOS 8.) You can read more about the app here and download it here.
I’m still playing with it, but basically you install it like an Emoji keyboard and access it the same way. You can browse through an overwhelming library of GIFS, or, you can search KEYWORDS (hence her heroic reflexes re: banana, sock, dolphin and sneeze). The app retains so many GIFs that I almost feel like using it is cheating. After all, part of the fun of finding arbitrary GIFS of Martha Stewart drinking a 40 is having people write back “…why do you have that?”
Then again, though, you really just never know when you’ll have less than 5 seconds to locate and send Chord Overstreet in a men’s bathroom declaring that he needs more socks, so, have fun, and happy T.GIF!
How to Dress Next Week as Informed by Paris
Vitamin C is to low energy what Paris fashion week is to an outfit rut, and the only way to combat either is by consuming a large enough dose of the antidote. Two days past the official termination of fashion month, it could be seen as though getting dressed is…tired. Like any single participant across the bi-annual rally just wants to curl up into a ball made of lightweight cotton or french terry, call it temporary quits and sprawl.
But this tends not to be the case at all. With each progressing season, it becomes clearer that fashion week is not unlike riding a bicycle when it comes to personal style in that the more you do it, the more you see it, the further immersed in it you are, the better you get.
What’s more, you don’t forget — you don’t want to escape it, you just want to keep trying until your finger tips fall off and you can no longer button your pants.
Here’s a first stab at how to dress next week using three definitive styles that capture qualities endemic to being Parisian but also don’t lose sight of the reality that we are American.
Monday – Tuesday: Two trends to consider that never actually disappeared but are staring at you through a display at eye level right now: fringe and suede. Do you have a fringe jacket? Possibly. Is it suede? Probably. If you don’t, call your mom. Something tells me she has one. (Or this Topshop x Kate Moss version is on sale.) Use it to cloak a long, untucked button down (or shirt dress!) and ankle-length straight-leg jeans (knee holes optional). Because it’s not really cold yet, bring out flat slides one more time. Have a meaningful last hurrah.
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Wednesday – Thursday: Another trend that never left, hasn’t quite “come back” but is never not worth playing with (unless the title of your book ruins it for you) is overalls. A fitted pair will nicely compliment the crux of this look — a white button down (possibly the same one you wore Monday and Tuesday) and black bow tie. (For a two-in-one, see: this.) If you hate overalls, wear high waist jeans. If you hate high waist jeans, I have to ask why?
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When it gets a bit colder, I’m going to wear boiler suits with turtlenecks underneath them. You’re invited to do the same.
Friday – Saturday: The weekend is near! Celebrate it not with comfort. Try a boxy blazer not unlike the offerings Saint Laurent’s Hedi Slimane keeps winking at us. Have a leather mini skirt? Wear that too. You will look like Donald Duck from behind and maybe if you’re lucky, Lou Doillon from the front. Wear a t-shirt because it’s the weekend after all and per your feet: how about a pair of shin-length socks that peek out of a pair of black Chelsea boots.
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Yeah, that’s the stuff.
As for Sunday — French terry is, after all, you know, French.
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