Leandra Medine's Blog, page 703

What Your Bun Says About You

The Messy Bun:

Messy buns are the hair-equivalent of sweatpants. They’re either worn by someone who could not care less what you think, or — like pigtails – they’re worn by someone who is trying super, super, super hard to look cute without looking like they tried at all. Very often you can discern the former from the latter by asking yourself, “Is that bun actually messy, or artfully messy?” Signs of an irreverent MB: front bumps, pieces that failed to make it into the hair tie, weird bits sticking out in unflattering ways. Signs of a messy-on-purpose MB: J.Crew-esque whisps of hair surrounding the face.

MBs are the knot of choice when the subway is too hot after a long day, when your first rubber-band breaks during a workout class (always carry a backup), when you haven’t had your first cup of coffee yet but need to run an errand, or when you’re watching “the game” at a sports bar.

The Ballerina Bun:

Slicked back and twisted behind the head, ballerina buns should be avoided unless you are, in fact, a dancer, or if you have a celebrity stylist grooming you for a black tie event.

This style is hard because most people don’t have enough hair to prevent them from looking slightly bald at the temple. However, if pulled off correctly it says, “I can drink red wine in a white dress and not spill a drop.”

The Sock Bun:

The sock bun is the exception to the ban on ballerina buns for the woman who wants to look polished. A blazer and gobstopper pearls are often nearby. By following the instructions of at least 20 different YouTube video tutorials, this look can be achieved by almost anyone whose hair hits her shoulders. It’s acceptable for corporate jobs and non-weekend nights out, but beware: it’s a look, and someone will absolutely ask you if there’s a donut hiding in there.

The Top Knot:

The bun of choice for anyone who works in fashion, art, music or lives in Williamsburg – aka influencers, hipsters, people who care about influencers/hipsters or at the very least people who use the word “influencers.” And “hipsters.” Sitting at the crown of one’s head, the top knot is like a loud-printed statement piece: if you wear it, own it. Top knots also require your hair to satisfy the Goldilocks test of not too much,  not too little. With thin hair you run the risk of looking like you’re preparing to put a wig on, and with too much you’ll end up looking like a small furry animal is chilling on your head.

The French Twist:

Wearing a French twist is like faking a British accent – the effort to appear sophisticated is typically extremely counterproductive. But there are two kinds: those held up by bobby pins, and those secured with clip. French twists held up by bobby pins are exclusive to black tie events with a cultural components, like the opera. Rule of thumb: if you can’t wear elbow length gloves, don’t do one.

Meanwhile, French twists in a clip are reserved for moms who are running late to pick up their kids from school. To avoid temptation, throw out any clips large enough to engulf your forearm.

The Half Bun:

Half buns are quickly taking the place of top knots in both fashion and hipster culture. It says, “I consider style without putting too much effort into it,” or, “I forgot to shower again, but only the top part of my hair is gross. The bottom part is still killing it though, so I’m gonna let it do its thing.”

The Cinnabon (contextually, the Cinna-bun):

The Cinnabon cinna-bun says, “I am enjoying life today.” It’s a highly caloric but freaking delicious delicacy that can be purchased at indoor malls and transportation centers.

Like comedian Jim Gaffigan once said, you need a nap about halfway through the pastry. Set your alarm, though, because it’s the middle part that counts – it’s gooey and doughy and has absorbed extra frosting, so it’s more or less a forkful of heaven. Avoid contact with actual hair.

The Man Bun:

The holy grail of buns; a topic ripe for controversy. Some people revere a man who dares to bun his hair (think John Snow, Jared Leto, Miles McMillan). Those who don’t like it — male or female — secretly wish that they themselves could pull it off.

Now show us your bun and tell us what it says.

What Are You Doing This Weekend? Want to Watch a Movie?

Have you ever left a great film hating it solely because you weren’t the one to write it? That’s exactly what Craig Johnson’s The Skeleton Twins did to me.

The film portrays SNL veterans Bill Hader and Kristen Wiig as twins Milo and Maggie Dean. A listless Maggie stands in the bathroom of her Upstate New York home, contemplating suicide by way of a mouthful of sleeping pills when she receives a call that Milo’s been admitted into a Los Angeles hospital after a failed suicide attempt of his own.

Although he hasn’t seen his sister in years, Milo returns to his childhood neighborhood to live with Maggie and her lighthearted jock husband, Lance (Luke Wilson). Their respective returns to neglected pasts are fraught with speed bumps, and watching Milo and Maggie navigate them awkwardly is both bizarre and charming.

In recent months, Hollywood has seen a revival of sorts in this “coming home and forcibly confronting familial issues” dramedy category. Shawn Levy’s This is Where I Leave You and David Dobkin’s The Judge are the most recent films to cover the subject. While This is Where I Leave You attempts to portray perfectly-imperfect characters, The Skeleton Twins shows the darker, more realistic imperfections of humans. It’s in Maggie and Milo’s defects that the film succeeds.

The chemistry between Wiig and Hader is palpable, if a little uncomfortable at times. It’s supposed to be. This is very much a story about two siblings beginning to know each other again. Maggie and Milo slowly become each other’s sounding boards, confiding to one another about their innermost fuck ups and regrets, inching towards a bond that is strong, but far from perfect.

Milo is a lonely, gay struggling actor; Maggie is a wearied housewife and dental assistant. Cheating death on the same day brought them both back together, and what a reunion it is. Through the sludge that has become their lives, Maggie and Milo laugh frequently with self-deprecation and indulge in the occasional lip-sync (their rendition of the 80’s anthem “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” was one of most memorable scenes of the film), making them human and relatable, despite the reality that a films’ audience will always have circumstantial differences.

And that’s the thing the film does best – it captures the unnerving doubts that all of us have and reveals the things we do to cope, then forces us to confront them, and hopefully laugh. I left the film feeling a little bit delirious, slightly depressed, hungry for something, and with a strong inclination to call my brother.

To Grandmother’s House We Go

The right wall immediately upon entering my grandma’s house — not the sharp turn into the ivory painted living room but the bear-right lean of the off-center staircase, that wall — is covered in a mirrored silver wallpaper with twisting, looping swirls, and when you walk up the steps with your palm pressed flush against the paper’s warped reflection you can make a dragging noise that squeaks, leaving behind a satisfying hand print from the friction-caused heat.

There are a few different camps of grandmothers and their respective papers. There are those (like mine) who keep entire walls intact from the heydays of their interior decorator circa 1970-groovy. There are those in Palm Beach who’ve absorbed the local color palette, those who were inspired by The Birdcage, those who studied at the house of chintz – the common bond being that their eccentricities allow for absolutely zero creative stifling when it comes to patterned real estate.

There’s no such thing as too loud, no fear of shrinking the appearance of space. If these walls could talk they’d be thanking the women who dressed them, and then would ask if perhaps someone could set that nice young chair up with the cute velvet fabric.

Prints on the Spring 2015 runway seemed to pay homage to these grandmas in what’s perhaps a rebellion against their shuffle board partner, Norm. There were Asian-influenced cherry reds that backed pale roses at Simone Rocha, lotus flowers at Prada, tall reeds and bursting blue somethings over an orange fabric at Marni (where textured coats were inspired by the kind of wallpaper that also matches the couch). At Thakoon it was navy palms, at Sophie it was fanned ferns — these grandmothers live somewhere tropical, or prefer for their houseplants to blend into the background. At Honor and Yigal the prints were more like fine china (wallpaper better suited for the bedroom, as opposed to Karen Walker’s yellow variety, which appeared stripped from a bold dining room on Philadelphia’s mainline).

These prints are a commitment. They can swallow a room in one gulp; they speak boldly over a large crowd. But when considered against the contrast of minimalism or its athletic cousin jogging somewhere in between, they’re the burst of necessary air that comes when your grandma finally opens the window despite “a terrible chill outside,” making you nostalgic for the wallpaper that you used to high five.

Images via Style.com

Attn. to the Members of the MR Writer’s Club (Aka, All of You)

Remember last week when Leandra announced this fun new thing we’re doing called the MR Writer’s Club? If you don’t, that’s ok, it’s been quite a long week and I don’t know about you but I was dropped on the stairs once as a child.

To fill you in quickly, it’s this new initiative where we will ask you, the readers, a question which will then prompt you, the writers, to submit a story. We’ll be doing this once a week so if the current topic isn’t your jam-jive, not to worry — there’s plenty more where that come from and we’ll have a new one erry Friday.

Up today: We want to know, in 500 words, what you are the best at. I know that there’s technically always someone better than you at something, bla bla bla, but no. We what to know what you are the best at. Even if it’s sneezing. Do you practice it every day? Does it come naturally? Did you turn it into a career or does no one know about your secret life as a professional soundtrack sneezer?

All submissions should be e-mailed to write@manrepeller.com. If you’re feeling especially brave, drop it in the comments below. And if you’re working through brain freeze on your story and want to tweet or ‘gram about it, use the hashtag #manrepellerwritersclub so we can offer moral support and cheese.

FINALLY: check back Saturday (that’s tomorrow, calendar forgoers) at 10 AM when we will be running the winner of last week’s prompt, “What is making you happy right now, and why?”

Standing Up to Inspirational Quotes

The photo is of three girls jumping off the edge of a pool at night — they’re holding each other’s hands over their heads, knees bent high like runners frozen mid-air. Above them in white cursive spells out the words, “No regrets.”

Tell that to the girl who — about an hour later — found herself explaining to the cops that they weren’t “breaking in to someone’s house” since the neighbor’s backyard is technically outside. Or to the girl who accidentally forgot that her phone was in her pocket mid-splash, the one who broke her toe upon landing, and the fourth girl who took said picture and knew this was a bad idea all along.

Such inspirational quotes should come with a warning sign. The platitudes you see on Pinterest, Instagram, Tumblr — it’s all a bunch of block-lettered BS that can result in year-long groundings, a trip to the doctor’s office, or jail.

Take one I just saw today, “Great things never came from comfort zones.” False. Lots of great things come from comfort zones: watercoloring. Lunch. Kittens. Laughing. Biscuits! You know what happens outside of comfort zones? A tiger bites your arm off. Yellow tape is there for a reason.

“Do one thing every day that scares you.” This is another popular one, similar to the above. In theory, it’s romantic. It conjures up images of men running through airport terminals to catch the women of their dreams before one-way flights to Europe; stoic mountain climbers with frosted ice on their chins held proud and high; someone finally speaking the words, “I love you,” even though her heart’s been badly broken. In reality, it’s a conspiracy against safety and common sense.

You know what scares me? Getting murdered. See the logic?

The quotes supposedly have good intentions: “Don’t look back, you’re not going that way.” (Move forward with your life, be in the moment, focus on now.) But from a practical standpoint I have to question this rationale, because what about driving? If you don’t look behind you while reversing, you’ll crash.

I think that a large portion of these quotes were originally created by very eloquent pre-teens with no license in order to manipulate their parents:

“Mistakes are proof that you’re trying” might as well be, “Sorry for partying.” “Don’t be mad that I failed history.” “I didn’t know eyebrows should be plucked, not shaved.” Millennials sprinkle quotable euphemisms for their excuses throughout social media where Internet savvy parents pick them up, pin them, print them and stitch them on to pillows.

Meanwhile many of these quotes just sound completely insane.

“Forget all of the reasons it won’t work and focus on the one reason that it will.” Well, just because the skunk you “adopted” hasn’t sprayed you yet doesn’t mean it won’t.

“Sometimes life is about about risking everything for the dream no one can see.” Beautiful if the dream is something like, “World peace.” Not so much if the dream is, “Marry my imaginary friend.”

“What if I fall?” begins one popular print on Etsy that immediately answers itself, “Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?”

Well, my darling, maybe I sound cranky. But don’t say I didn’t warn you about about four girls, one cop, a pool closed for the fall and an extremely flawed policy about “no regrets.” I would have warned you sooner but I’m trying to not look back.

The Alexander Wang x H&M Campaign is Here, Plus More!

Take a break from complaining about the rain, and talk about this shit instead.

1. LOOK: The Alexander Wang for H&M campaign is here 

The sports-inspired clothes are modeled by new supers Joan Smalls, Raquel Zimmermann and Isabeli Fontana, as well as actual professional athletes. [Fashionista]

2. STREAM: James Franco has another project 

SNL gave him unprecedented access behind the scenes, so he directed a documentary about the making of an episode. [Vulture]

3. SWOON: Victoria Beckham gives a tour of her new London boutique

It opens today. Also, she has a mantra she repeats to herself constantly throughout the day: “I know what I want.” [Elle]

4. SHAKE YO’ HEAD:  Jersey Shore’s The Situation indicted for tax fraud

He he didn’t pay taxes on nine million dollars. More importantly, he made nine million dollars!? SMH/Pump My Fist. [People]

5. GAWK: Thick-maned Goddess of TV Connie Britton flips her hair 

There are GIFS, and then there are GIFS of Connie Britton. It’s almost Friday. You’re welcome. [Buzzfeed]

Before you go back to work — weigh in below with your thoughts on the Alexander Wang for H&M campaign. I, for one, am regretting my decision to skip ice hockey tryouts back in the day.

No Umbrella? No Problem.

It’s a wonder that in the year 2014 we have hypoallergenic dogs and phones that play fetch, yet somehow no one has managed to create an umbrella that doesn’t flip inside out the moment you open it. I picture civilized aliens in waist coasts drinking tea, looking down on us from whatever the planetary equivalent of Brooklyn is, wondering what it is about wet drops coming down from the sky that renders humans suddenly unable to function: “Look Margaret, they’re at it again. Running around like headless horsemen, flailing about with those stupid contraptions that seem to catch wind quicker than our nosey neighbor Gertrude, then blow around like mad and drag these sad people into oncoming traffic.”

Those with properly constructed umbrellas may disagree. My grandfather had the same umbrella for 15 years — the kind with a curved wooden handle and deep hunter green fabric. It succeeded exceptionally well at keeping him dry when he didn’t leave it at every single restaurant he frequented for lunch.

But we are smarter than umbrellas. We don’t need their flimsy promises anymore; $10 for shelter is too good to be true, CVS. Let’s show the aliens that we too take enjoyment in artisanal tea that comes from strained lavender, and that we’re better than the mountains of lost, wet bat wings we’ve left behind in cabs, diners, movie theaters and stairwells. We’re resourceful.

Instead of an umbrella, why don’t you try…

- A hat

- A coffee table book as opposed to a newspaper (you will look equally cultured but will be far more protected, plus it’s a great arm workout)

- A gigantic hooded-cape sans hungry, role playing wolf

- A flying squirrel who has perfected the art of hovering mid-air for extended periods of time, and is looking for a BFF to hang with

- Any amphibious animal with terrific balance who can sit atop your head in lieu of the hat

- Someone who needs a shower and a nap

- A trench coat worn over your head, buttoned up like a BAPE with a little peep-hole for the eyes

- A watermelon sliced in half and scooped (rinse thoroughly first, naturally)

- A vacation to a country where it is currently not raining

- Finally, an actual house. Not on your head, but as in, do not go outside.

Alright, your turn. What works better than an umbrella? And who else forgot theirs today?

(PS – If you do go with the hat option…)

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

Image via the Stylograph

Waist Knot, Want Not

When learning to do pirouettes in ballet class, my teacher told me to focus on a point in the audience or the room so as not to get dizzy. I found myself practicing this same exercise when zooming through S/S 2015 lookbooks on Style.com. The unwavering staple this season is the belt, which cinched almost every waist that walked down the runway. Let’s focus on this trend.

Why so many belts? Why now?

The shape of a woman’s body is one of the most fundamental inspirations when it comes to garment design, her waist being the literal center. Traditionally, clothes that failed to highlight a woman’s curves were seen as “unflattering,” and thus undesirable. Yet as of late, clothes trending on both the runway and the street shroud the female figure under layers upon layers of fabric. We see billowing tunics, bulky jumpsuits, floor-length shawls, etc. This season, the American bathrobe meets Japanese kimonos — casual comfort combined with traditional refinement.

The relationship between a woman’s form and how she chooses to adorn it may indeed be shifting, but are we really ready to ignore a woman’s waistline? The prevalence of the belt this season makes me think not.

We’re told by critics that the future of fashion is all about sneakers, slip-ons and sweatpants. Form now follows function, meaning that rather than dressing for work, our clothes now work for us. But when you strap a belt around a woman’s waist, you’re basically pointing an arrow at her figure. In my world, functionality means being able to eat a large lunch. And if belts aren’t holding up pants, what function do they really serve?

We’re also told that gender is fluid in fashion now. Women are wearing everything from tailored pantsuits to overalls to jumpsuits. (And vise versa: men are wearing crop tops and skirts.) But by highlighting the shape of a woman’s waist, the belt still signifies feminine beauty, specifically the ideal, slender form.

Our clothes may say, “free at last!” but our accessories still have a firm grasp on womens’ waistlines.

This is not to say that belts are evil accessories of the patriarchy. To play devil’s advocate, belts can also be a sign of power in our society: think Karate belts or championship trophies. We praised them on the site last winter and applauded the collections they tied together beautifully this season. They are no doubt a necessary accessory, both aesthetically and functionally. Yet, at this moment in time I have to wonder how much breathing room some belts leave for progress.

Images via Style.com

Your *Mom* Loves Mindy

There’s no impression like the first one, which is why it was either unfortunate or a foreshadow-y blessing in disguise that Danny Castellano’s mom thought Mindy was the housekeeper upon meeting her.

The laugh from Danny’s deadpan delivery of said news was another important first impression last night, because two seconds after the punchline dropped came the old intro song that we’ve either grown to love or accepted but hate: “beep-beep,beep-beep, boop-boop.” What even is that? A xylophone?

Dr. Castellano reveals he hasn’t actually told his mom (Annette) about their relationship. “She’s difficult,” he explains. “She’s never liked any of my ex-girlfriends.” But Mindy, being Mindy, has a plan.

In other news, Peter walks in on Morgan, who is peeing while sitting down with the door open. (I just found out guys can pee this way about two weeks ago and I have to be honest, it blew my mind.) Tamra, who I forgot was dating Morgan, apparently forbade him from peeing whilst standing because it “looks like singing in the rain.” Peter tells Morgan he’s whipped, Morgan agrees to stand up to Tamra and in doing so falls over, off the toilet, because his legs have fallen asleep.

Back in the waiting room of Schulman & Associates, Danny is visited by his mom and his hot younger brother who played Divya Narendra in the Social Network. Danny tells his Annette/his mom that Mindy is his girlfriend, Annette apologizes, and Mindy explains that it happens all the time: “One Thanksgiving, a little boy thought I was the Dora the Explorer balloon.” We see a moment of hope for the mother/not daughter relationship.

Hope floats, however, when it’s revealed that Danny and his brother are taking their mom out to a birthday brunch at the same exact time Mindy’s scheduled to perform a C-section. Shady.

Cut to the next scene at an expensive looking restaurant. Danny’s halfway through reading the appetizers out loud to the table (featuring Danny, Annette, Annette’s best friend, and Divya Narendra) when who should appear in a bright pink blazer dress with gem-encrusted snaps but Cameron Winklevoss! Oh wait, whoops, wrong movie, sorry, the Divya thing keeps throwing me off –

– when who should appear in a bright pink blazer dress with gem-encrusted snaps but Mindy Lahiri! And no one looks happy to see her.

BUT. Like a Winklevoss triplet, Mindy is an Olympic athlete of the world’s hardest sport: getting your boyfriend’s mom to like you.

Mindy’s Rules to Winning Over Moms:

Step 1 – Compliment her

Step 2 – Find common ground in a television show. Run to the bathroom and Google if you’re unfamiliar with the show she brought up.

Step 3- Come bearing gifts and don’t forget about the mom’s friend

Step 4 – Agree with everything the mom says. (It’s freezing! Enough with Michael Fassbender’s penis! The waiter is rude!)

It works. Mindy wins her over and all is going exceptionally well, until Danny gives his mom a new oven as opposed to what she really wanted (which was for Helen, the waitress at her favorite diner, to die. K.). Annette refuses the gift (even though it’s already installed), Danny looks devastated, Divya’s present of a stuffed bear gets a standing ovation (shitty gift for a millionaire, no?) and Mindy breaks cardinal rule #4 — agree with everything — and stands up for Danny to Annette.

This was not the move. Annette goes off on a guilt-rant about how she’s clearly a burden on Danny and doesn’t want him helping her financially any more, which he apparently does on the reg.

She then turns to Mindy and clarifies what we’ve been wondering all brunch: “I do not like you.”

The Winklevii have been defeated again.

Meanwhile the very strange Peter/Morgan/Tamra subplot continued to unfold:

- Tamra grants Morgan freedom to pee while standing up, Peter coins the term “Mazel Brov!” (like Mazel Tov/Mazel, bro) in congratulations.

- It’s TOO SOON, though, because now Tamra wants Morgan to sell all of his dogs (I think he has like, 40 or something?) because she’s allergic.

- Peter thinks Tamra’s lying because he’s wounded from what’s-her-face who made out with made-for-tv-Hugh-Grant last week, shoves a dog named Nicole in her face to prove it, she goes into anaphylaxis shock (Tamra, not Nicole) and Morgan has to stab Tamra with an EpiPen which makes it a very good thing that they work in a doctor’s office.

- Tamra’s fine, all three of them make up, Morgan’s allowed to keep all 40 dogs because Tamra agrees to start taking allergy medicine, and in one big happy family moment, Morgan gives Peter the gift of Nicole — the fluffy pomeranian with hemorrhoids.

But the sweet ending doesn’t there — we still have bows to tie up in Mindy’s world.

Snooping per usual in Danny’s office, she steals his phone, calls Danny’s mom whose voicemail reveals she’s gone back to working as a hotel housekeeper so that she doesn’t have to rely on her son.

Mindy heads to Staten Island where she finds Annette lying on the floor of the hotel she’s house-keeping with a popped-out hip. Annette won’t let her help her, and so in the show’s second act of aggressive medicine last night, Mindy more or less attacks Annette, resets her hip and the two women have a good, old fashioned bonding session.

The episode concludes with mom, Mindy and Danny at the home he grew up in. They’re the picture of happiness — Mindy is chopping vegetables, Annette is using her new stove.

After a Hallmark meal the two retreat to Danny’s childhood bedroom where, under the posters of many mustached men, Annette interrupts their three-seconds-too-long ear make out session to yell at Mindy for giving her son a boner.

Ah, relationships. Just when you think everything is perfect, someone gets stabbed with an EpiPen.

Now your turn: do you like Morgan and Tamra together? Does anyone have a weird crush on Peter? Did anyone think it was funny when Danny started unbuttoning Mindy’s dress because he thought it was a “little trench”? Does anyone else miss Betsy?

Dries, I Love You

I think I saw a tea party from the future at Dries Van Noten — what else could those vaguely tribal (with their sheer printed tonal blouses and striped tunics, vests and sweaters) but still metropolitan (cue the presence of sheen, leather handbags and some sequined t-shirts) and definitely evolved (sheer dresses worn over pinstriped pants and silver — dare I say flash – tattoos, intended to look like lip rings on the center of each model’s lower lip pointing toward an understanding that it is clearly 2014) though not hugely modern (needlepoint prints on flimsy chiffon? Brilliant) clothes, worn over a runway made entirely of green grass mean?

Oh my God and the flatforms.

Hey, here’s an idea. Why don’t you take a stab at the one sentence review using the evidence we’ve provided above.

Images via Style.com