Leandra Medine's Blog, page 711

If We Controlled the Fashion Week Calendar

I don’t know if this was the case for you but my high school used to send out a calendar that would start in tandem with the school year in September and end the following August. It came pre-marked with days of historical and religious observance that would call for the closing of school. It included events like championship basketball games, bake sales, parent-teacher conferences and the vacation days that were planned before snow storms or hurricanes could interfere with its trajectory. It fed this idea that we were living in our own micro-world. One that seemed completely impervious to the happenings of whatever occurred outside the confines of high school and our respective homes.

If this is how community is built, I think that makes a lot of sense.

Especially, I might add, because within the community of fashion, there is a well-respected, regarded and heeded calendar. Not coincidentally at all, it goes by the name, The Fashion Calendar. Instituted just over 65 years ago by Ruth Finley, it was put in place to function as a master planner that would eliminate scheduling conflicts among the denizens of the high school that is fashion. On July 25th, 2014, fashion history was made when the CFDA announced that it had acquired the fashion calendar. Because it’s the first day of New York Fashion Week and as a result, the following seven days will be largely dependent on adhering to the information doled by this calendar, here are some changes Amelia and myself would like to petition for, starting with, as fate and our fingertips would have it, the start times.

While several shows across the calendar begin at 9AM, we’d like to suggest a hard, blanket start at 10AM. No, 10:20AM. (In fashion speak, this means 11.)

This will make change #2 feel much more comfortable, which is the mandatory serving of hard liquor for shows that occur past 7PM (also, a required Gloria Gaynor song should be seeded somewhere throughout the soundtracks of every show that presents).

For change #3, we’d institute better snacks that could theoretically emerge from mobile vending machines set up across New York City that are accessible only through a special key fob that would make fashion people feel even more important than we already are not and might also present the opportunity to participate in random acts of kindness (e.g. you get a snack, see someone who can’t access the machine to get their own snack and so you give them yours. Nice bucket challenge complete. Five for you, Glenn Coco).

The other solution to nourishment is a unanimous break time for food consumption. I theorize this doesn’t exist because that break time might be mistaken for an outfit change which I’d be hard pressed to assume the fashion calendar has any interest in perpetuating.

Seeing as the calendar controls so much of how fashion week occurs, we also wouldn’t mind if fashion week invitations were strongly recommended to be sent via pigeon or garden gnome as opposed to messenger. It’s hot in September and really cool in February, you know?

Additionally, should shows really maintain the capability to occur between a radius of sometimes 80 blocks? I just don’t know. But in our version of the fashion week calendar, all shows are separated by no more than two blocks. This makes getting around by cartwheel, on knees or using little baby snails as shoes seem far more lucrative. Plus, it further eliminates our carbon foot print! That’s a win for everyone.

Any additional suggestions? Deposit them you know where and don’t forget to follow our asses on Twitter, Vine and Instagram where we will be updating regularly! Ta ta.

5 Things We’ve Already Learned From NYFW

The first day of New York Fashion Week has barely happened, but there’s already lots to learn. This next month is going to feel like running a marathon (in heels — or not), so let’s get a head start by looking at what’s already out there. It’s not cheating if everybody wins.

1. Eyesight Is Out

We already know that the bucket hat is back in a big way, but if you’re going to REALLY embrace this trend, sacrifices will have to be made. For Band of Outsiders, this means your eyesight. And as the Margiela diet proved, sartorial is blindness not as easy as it looks, pun intended.

2. Early Retirement Is In

We should have seen this coming with the rise of Birkenstocks, but old age swag has never looked so good. Duckie Brown’s collection makes us want to book a one-way flight to Boca Raton for a post-fashion week retirement.

3. Gary Graham Is a Football Fan

If you can peel your eyes away from the clothes for one second, lookbooks can be like a game of I SPY. In Gary Graham’s lookbook, I spy with my little eye a New York Giants bumper sticker.

4. Sneakers Can Be Weapons Too

Stilettos have already proven themselves to be the best self-defense weapon, but these new sneakers from Valentino work too if you’re on the move and feel the need to threaten someone with your footwear.

 

5. Fringe Dances Even When You Aren’t 

There appears to be some paranormal activity happening with Sachin & Babi’s fringe pieces. This model doesn’t even look like she’s breathing, and yet her shirt has got some serious dance moves.

 

Images via Style.com

What’s It Gonna Be: Heels or Flats?

Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. We’ve covered The Great Debate — most recently last December when Amelia waxed mind-numbing poetic on a pair of violet-colored shoes that she was too pretentious to just call purple. She went on to mention Jackie O and Betty Boop (impressively in the same sentence) but ultimately reached no conclusion on the topic of a conundrum that has been permeating genres within the fashion industry since long before the progeny of Stan Smith — white tennis sneakers marked with a silhouette of his face — first stepped foot (pun wholly intended) on the Upper West Side last February.

So, what’s it gonna be? Heels or flats?

According to a story in T Magazine’s September issue, the rage is on in the direction of flat footwear, which, according to the story’s author, is superseding the symbolism linked to the high heel in one very critical way. The humble former has become representative of power while the latter, a past talisman of polish, strong work ethic and elegance — attributes that when rolled into one make up the physical manifestation of power — slips to the sideline.

The question of why this is happening has largely been answered with the simple concept of a) the cyclical nature of fashion and b) wearer resentment toward years spent enduring the pain to appropriately dress the part.

But here’s what I don’t get: have we really been enduring pain on a historical scale here? Enough to credit the current pervasiveness of sneakers? Until about five years ago, the heels weren’t so high that we were conclusively unable to walk. It was only after the resurgence of heels in popular culture became so mainstream that in order to trigger higher pressure valves, there was only one direction in which to move — and that was up. Way, way up. Some might credit Christian Louboutin, a champion of the 5+ inch heel within the high fashion world, for the proliferation of this trend and his success has only really exploded on a widely global scale in the last decade.

Don’t get me wrong here — I see what’s happening, I’m participating in what’s happening, I’m just not quite sure it’s fair to blame heels for the recent popularity of flat shoes. And because, you know, this is the cogitation station, I would love to hear not whether you’re choosing flats over heels, but why you’re choosing flats over heels?

If you don’t feel like talking, just settle on clicking.

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An App a Day Keeps the Bad Outfits Away

There are a number of acceptable activities one can perform in public. Breathing is a good example; walking is typically another. Waving at friends, crossing streets, putting groceries in your designated cart, thinking internally — all of these are totally fine.

However, there are some things I have recently learned are not okay, such as subjecting an entire subway to your proposed wardrobe for the week via a PowerPoint presentation and one conveniently portable projector. The strangers of underground New York City made it abundantly clear they do not care about my outfit anxieties at 9 AM.

Which is exactly why Leandra and I have both taken to the Cogitation Station in the past: to see if our outfits are flashy or trashy, and then in the comments section we let you decide. But we can’t always do this, and you can’t always do this! Close friends don’t necessarily cut it opinion-wise. Instagram is for sunsets and food. Captive public transportation audiences, I now understand, are out.

We can’t forget that we live in an App-for-That Age, though. In fact I’m sure there’s an app that allows you to create apps. But the kind of app I currently need is the kind that can replace curmudgeon-y commuter “stylists” with a slew of people who are willing and able to answer me with a simple, friendly “yes” or “no.”

Apparently I also need an app that tells me when “an app I need” already exists – FittingRoom has been hanging in the i-Thingy store serving the aforementioned purpose. It’s similar to Instagram in that you follow people, they follow you, you both upload pictures and then find yourself stuck in a black hole of feed-scrolling. But it’s unique in the sense that everyone’s there to ask, “How do I look?”

And they’re also there to tell you honestly, or give suggestions (“Good, but try a red belt instead”) or offer shopping tips. What I’ve witnessed from my own jaunt with FittingRoom is a community of people who are happy to participate, and I can only imagine that the more people who join with an opinion to share, the better.

As opposed to, you know…my fellow 1 Train riders.

Check it out, stick a feather in your cap, upload a picture and call yourself Hanky Poodle Dandy. If you find me on there, feel free to tell me like it is. And if you see me on the subway — save me a seat?

Part of a collaboration with FittingRoom App.

I Blindfolded Myself Then Picked Out an Outfit, Here’s What I Look Like

Have you ever known closet bliss? I have not but I dream about it 3/7 nights a week. I wouldn’t be so assuming as to think that you are particularly starved to experience the same kinds of dreams but in the event that you are, you must first understand what closet bliss is. And while you might suppose it is a room full of decadent stuff, that is not the case. One might even argue that to achieve closet bliss is to know the opposite of a crowded closet. Figure this: you blindfold yourself, you look, of course without actually looking, into your closet, you pull out 3-5 (or 7-8! Whatever) garments and learn that once you’ve removed the blindfold from your eyes, what sits in a pile before you is exactly what you hoped you’d be wearing. This infers a wardrobe so comprehensively streamlined you can literally get dressed with your freaking eyes closed.

I aspire toward this.

I like to think I work toward it.

But the last time I tested whether I’ve been able to carry out closet bliss, what I came out with was the first 9 photos in this slideshow and as you see them now, they should point toward nothing more, nothing less than an over-effusive child’s jaunt through her own closet, her mother’s closet, who peaked sometime in the late 70s, her dog-training brother’s closet and her sister’s closet. I guess you should know that her sister still wears diapers. But that her mother doesn’t believe in utilizing layers and layers of sheets and so she recycles.

So what gives? I like to think that I know myself soooooooo well, I would never so much as allow a garment to permeate my closet if we hadn’t socially invested in a human-to-thread marriage and I don’t think I’m wrong, I just think that maybe my idea of closet bliss is flawed. Because I will likely never be the girl who has 75 pairs of the same jeans and 15 of the same sweater, 20 of the same white shirt and some shoes that run a gamut extensive enough to pair properly with the aforementioned. I’m just too weird.

This concept could only be further propelled by pictorial evidence as demonstrated in the last nine images of this slideshow, which are supposed to portray what I hoped would have emerged from a blind outfit-picking session.

I urge you to try this at home. Use the clothes you come up with to gauge your personal eccentricity. Then wear it out and wear it well because it is FASHUN WEEK.

The Thought Process of Getting Dressed

It’s 7:45? That’s annoying, I thought I’d be out of bed by 7:30. Now I definitely won’t have time to fix my hair, which means I probably shouldn’t try to wear that blue knee length knit dress – the one with the very dramatic deep v neck and skimpy spaghetti strap sleeves, which tends to look good only when my hair is both perfectly straight and chaotically stringy. So what now? I guess technically speaking I could quickly fix my hair but now that I think about it, I wanted to wear that open neck dress because of that gold necklace, which I already determined doesn’t look as good as it should with this dress, so I’d rather wear separates anyway.

Bed head it is.

Holy macaroon seed! It’s 91 degrees out? Smells like linen party suit USA to me. But that’s too easy. It’s the first day back post Labor Day, I’d like to exude at least the impression that I attempted to try — you know, like I respect the work week, or whatever. So, maybe it’s about that sequined racer back top from H&M that came into the office two weeks ago, which I put on with my high waist ripped jeans? I felt pretty cool that day.

Ah, but I have a doctor’s appointment uptown at 9:30 and the reason I’m up this early is so that I can walk there. Duh. It’s 89 blocks away so sneakers seem like a non-negotiable here. I guess I will start from there and make my way up. You know what’s been a really reliable outfit? That white Rosie Assoulin crop top with the poppy Yves Saint Laurent shorts. I wore that the last time it felt this hot. Yeah, let me try that on.

Mmhmm, still as good as I remember it. The shorts feel a little snug though. Actually, I think they always hit me like this. But, oh, weird with sneakers. Why do my knees look like this in some shorts? What a weird length. I should probably just wear my clogs again. But I can’t walk 89 blocks in wood heels, that would be like trying to brush my teeth with a swiss army knife. Or something. How about these slides? These are cute, I walked to Soho House in them last night and that was fine? But Soho House is 15 blocks away, Leandra. I think this always boils down to the fact that you’re too impulsive. Think long term. Think about how you’re going to feel once you hit 20th street and realize that the subsequent 69 blocks are going to obliterate your feet if you don’t get into a cab and then remember how much you hate cabs.

Sneakers, Leandra. Sneakers. But if I’m going to wear sneakers, I really ought to change. So is it about a pair of denim cut offs? Ugh that’s so obvious. I feel like something skimpy. Something delicate to offset the black Nikes pervading my feet. How about a slip dress? Do I have a slip dress? There’s that one Miu Miu nightgown I got as a gift. I can put on black high waist underwear under and a matching bra, that never seems like a bad idea. Ooooh, and it will look good with that necklace! But, eh, it’s shin-length and realistically speaking, how many mornings of naked legs do I have ahead of me? Think underwear.

I’m thinking underwear.

Oh! How about this satin Lisa Perry spaghetti strap dress? It’s not quite as flimsy as my mental conception wants it to be but I love the neckline and it’s certainly short enough. Pockets! I always forget this dress has pockets. Pockets are the life of the party. Like that friend who shows up to book club with a bottle of tequila. Man, this dress is a good one. And I’ll tell you what else, it pairs better with Nike Frees than any number of shoes I’ve previously worn with it.

This is also kind of perfect because I have an event right after work. Maybe I take some heels in a bag and change into them? But I don’t need to wear heels to that event. I’ll just take some brogues. Yeah, that’s a nice marriage of feminine, barely-there mini dress and menswear style lace up loafers. Yeah. Okay, it’s 8:01. I should leave. Back pack? Purse-purse? No, no, neither. They’re going to weigh my arms down, how many power walkers do you see lugging shit around? I’m going to take this fanny pack with me. But then what about the shoes for later?

Whatever, I’ll just come home after work.

Come on, Leandra, you know yourself. You are not going home after work.

Why not? I can do it. If I just tell myself there is no other option, I will do it.

You will also stress yourself out so greatly that you’ll probably miss your period again and then you know what will happen? We’ll find ourselves right here, back at square A, getting dressed and contemplating footwear for a day that starts way uptown.

Against your will.

At a doctor’s office.

Yeah, I’m gonna take my shoes in a bag. But you know what? I kind of definitely want to wear that knit dress. Let me just change real quick.

Fast Times at Real Life High

I began my Tuesday with an email from a friend (who is still in school) asking if the end of summer feels the same when you’re no longer a student. The short answer, of course, is yes and no.

No because come Tuesday-post-Labor Day, those who work go back to the same office they left on Friday. No because there’s no declaration that this is the semester of All A’s, or that you’ll make a new friend or maybe, a boyfriend. No because the tote you’ve been schlepping your laptop in all season hasn’t been replaced with some shiny new backpack. No because Pink Pearl erasers don’t really need to be refreshed for the sake of September 2.

It does, however, feel bittersweet; there’s the “yes” part to my younger friend’s question. The end of summer is always sad. But it also comes partnered with a sense of excitement: a fresh start, a new outlook, a chance do something really great.

Fashion Week helps that mentality — having shows on the imminent horizon is a reminder that in just a few days we will all get hit with new ideas and inspiration and things to talk about and places to be. Even if you don’t work in the industry of clothes or live in a city that hosts the sartorial equivalent of Back to School, social media allows everyone to dive right in to a portal of creativity that sets off a chain reaction for the next few months.

What will I wear?

What will I think?

And the very existential: who will I be?

The end of August “after you’ve been working all summer” (as my friend kindly reminded) is a much more seamless transition than being jolted from lazy Wednesdays into pop quizzes. Most guys you know aren’t going to “suddenly get hot”; your adult lunch table will probably not — assuming you just run to the corner deli or hit up Panera — “have drama.”

I think you never stop missing June, September will always feel new, and eventually you learn to be happy that leaves turn brown and crunchy.

Image shot by Ellen von Unwerth for Vs. Magazine

Instagram Inspiration: When I was Cool

Instagram can either facilitate extreme cases of procrastination or serve as an immense source of inspiration.

A great account does both.

According to absolutely zero research on my behalf save for a pathetic polling among my own friends, 50% of our Instagram scrolling is done from a horizontal surface such as the couch or bed, and 35% of that is done in the mornings while trying to decide if we will actually attend the 7:30 AM yoga class we’re signed up for, or if we will be early to work, or when we can’t find the strength to escape the burrito-y confines of our blankets just yet. This means the feeds we follow have the ability to dictate the direction of our day.

A killer ‘gram viewed through that blurry, one-eyed pirate squint can be the proverbial “Right Side of the Bed” come to life.

I often get called out for my morning “likes.” My creepy friends who follow their friends’ activity (as opposed to caring only about their own digital currency like me and other narcissists, I suppose) often make fun of the deluge of lighthouses, sunrises and sailboats I double-tap before brushing my teeth. I’ve also been known to heart a bunch of flat-faced cats.

But when I need a burst of something slightly left-of-center, a bit of surreality, fashion, nostalgia, and the type of artsy-ness that I’m not sure I always totally “get” but that I definitely appreciate – if only from a baseline aesthetic opinion — I check out When I Was Cool.

The account is a mix of forgotten ads, European editorials and runways that existed prior to the immediacy of online archives. It’s tinged with a sort of fetishist-sexuality, but in that way fashion often is, allowing it to exist in the spirit of a photographer’s gallery without any need for that NSFW warning. It is — per the word used in the account’s own name — cool.

And in order to allow you to get your own inspiration on (you can sample their account from the slideshow above, btw) I highly and humbly suggest you follow them too.

…Then tell me what accounts you follow for inspiration so I can copy you and we can like the same things.

 

[ @WhenIWasCool; Images via the When I Was Cool account ]

Boots vs. Boots

Style, man.

It’s so…personal.

But when you’re trying to make a point and you want your clothes to punctuate that point and you know very well that in order for that to happen efficiently you can’t quite imagine the world as the expansive oyster that Sir Cliché has made it out to be, what are you supposed to do?

[Thinking]

[Still thinking]

In an immediate past, I’d have probably suggested you consult a friend or an opinion that you have come to respect. Today, I will not do that.

Why?

Because Amelia.

What?

We butt heads where ankle boots that sound like a horse’s hoof-clack while in motion are concerned.

Take this post for example — I’m trying to make a point here, right? And to make this point — that fall is around the corner but summer isn’t over yet — I could have issued any number of different, let’s say, sartorial tactics amounting to same pair of winter-appropriate footwear.

Think three tone dresses or maybe blue jeans and an additional cardigan — linen blend! So end-of-summer chic! — with a plaid shirt around my waist and so many bracelets on my wrist and like, 16 shades of lipsticks ranging from purple to red across my pucker and a hat. No, two hats. Fine, one hat and a neck scarf. No! Necklace. Necklace and neck scarf. Yeah.

But noooooo. Because I consulted the opinion of Resident Asshead (trademark pending) I turned up in white high waist jeans, a t-shirt, a blazer, a fanny pack and duh, the boots.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing technically wrong with this look. As a matter of fact, there is a 0% chance I won’t wear it at some point between now and December. It is, after all, still a sentence that I’ve written. But I wanted to say this stuff more dramatically. I didn’t get a chance to confuse it/myself with overly flowery prose and words that, frankly speaking, don’t really deserve a chance to be used as frequently as I try to use them.

But I tried to add a hat — call it the four syllable word equivalent of the outfit’s sentence. You know what Amelia said? That it gave me triangle head. Frustratingly, I totally agreed. So I stuck to the single, above-eye-level syllable-ers. Then I was like, how about a plaid shirt over this tee? That looked fine, but she was all, “Look, you can and should do you,” which I took to mean, “HAGFGDASBBJyoulooklikeafuckingtreecarfreshenerHAGHAJAJSHVDJAHVA!” So I took that off too.

By the time we were ready to shoot I was wearing the equivalent of a four word sentence and I know she was satisfied and I know the point we wanted to make was going to be made — and clearly at that, but before the camera would click, out from my pocket emerged a little red scarf to tie around my neck. The boots deserved it, ya know?

Now here’s the important part: would you wear this? What would you change? And, of course, can I get yo’numba?

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Stella McCartney blazer, Blk Dnm t-shirt and jeans, Oliver Peoples sunglasses, Reece Hudson fanny pack and Freda Salvador boots. In partnership with Freda Salvador

Abrooching Another World’s Accessories

When I penned that story, Do You Really Want to Dress Like a Bowl of Lucky Charms?, I renounced the pastel-pink-padded days of yore and lime green details and purple knee pads.

It was October, fall and winter were still but a mere drop in the bucket of novelty and frankly speaking, I just wanted to wear black.

Black and navy and charcoal grey and maybe once the liquid in the aforementioned bucket reached its brim, I’d have been okay with white and ivory.

I felt like an inflated version of a spokesperson for The Row plus or minus a few thousand dollars worth of thread count and that made me feel cool, which, of course, is exactly what it always boils down to: coolness.

But I think I’m ready. For those lucky charms that is.

This isn’t to say I’m looking to jump back on an electric bandwagon that could potentially re-render me a neon sheep of Fashion Week. But I don’t want to look so plain. Maybe I should say normal — I don’t want to look so normal. And a good way to combat that kind of monochromatic malaise, I think, is to place a greater emphasis not really on reacquainting my wardrobe with rollicking color but rather, on accessories. And where bib-style necklaces will fail — and trust me now, they will — or an arm full of bangles might present a grave fate for your sweaters, you know what won’t?

A brooch.

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A brooch!

Why has it taken this long for this totem of old world glamour to seep its way into our unapologetically informal lifestyle? We’ve brought everything else back from the dead — hair flips, red lips, art-deco style pearls. And for a people who have proven themselves masters of the disconnect (in fashion, Birkenstocks are best served with silk slip dresses, am I right?), why haven’t we resolved to pin things to our sweatshirts? Or to the pockets on our jean jackets?

You know, I bought a small linen table cloth decorated by embroidered daisies when I was in Croatia last month. I figured I would wear it as a sarong but when I realized my hips were too wide for it to be tied around my body, I took to Etsy, found a brooch and boom shaka laka: problem solved. So consider this a call to action — let’s solve all our problems.

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