Leandra Medine's Blog, page 715

Autumn is in @ Zara

Hey! I have an idea. Let’s play a game called Spot the Collection where every time you notice a trend imported directly from a luxury runway of Fall, you apply deodorant, hit your hand on your desk and comment under this post detailing the garment shown vs. the one it emulates.

I can go first if you want:

a. Deodorant applied

b. Hand hit (and hurt)

c. Marc Jacobs and Céline ribbed knits as seen in images 4, 5 and on the shop page of Zara.com.

K, now you.

(Also, though, let’s talk about your feelings. Do you like this look book? I, for one, think it could have been better if not because it’s looking a little too atheltic what with its parkas and sweatpants and nylon zip-ups, then certainly because the up-for-sale, fall-centric items that flourish on the shop pages put these ones to shame.)

Images via Zara

SwE(a)tiquette

A strange thing is happening this August: it’s not very hot. I’m wearing a scarf. Our air conditioner is silent and it’s dripping building juice on to absolutely no one, which is a shame if you consider the fact that during mid-to-late-August one expects a very present and consistent reminder that it is, in fact, still summer.

Like an old hook up who inevitably comes out of the wainscoting the moment you meet someone new, however, the heat will be back. The humidity’s going to attack in the final week and linger (I promise you) through that first week of September, and if you’re wondering how I know this then may I lightly suggest that I’m psychic.

The point is that the promise of heat is imminent. Its accompanying sweat-related etiquette issues will once again rise like the phoenixes of eyesores that they are, and it’s my fault, really, for not providing this guide sooner. But as periods say after a 2-week-long pregnancy scare: better late than never. So let’s get started.

Deodorant In Public

I think the most oft-repeated email I receive asks the question, “Is it ever ok to apply deodorant in public?” This makes me wonder whether or not a deodorant representative and I have a very similar email address. It also clearly states the fact that this is something we as individuals with sweat glands grapple with on a universal level. My general rule-of-thumb regarding public applications is to ask yourself, “Would I be grossed out if someone else did it in public?” If the answer is yes, then the answer to your first question is no.

Exception to the rule: when you are around friends and they can create a human barrier.This is also a fantastic time should you need to change underwear publicly as well.

Running Without a Shirt

“…is it ever ok?” If it is over 85 degrees, and you are running somewhere with enough room to create a 2-foot-no-touching-zone between you and everyone else who would rather not have skin-sex with a wet seal, then yes. It is ok. But wear sunscreen.

Butt Sweat

“What do I do when I am sitting down and I have to get up, but I know that a pool of butt sweat will be left behind?” You have two options: 1) preemptively announce it. “Guys, don’t mind my butt sweat that I just left all over the chair.” This is appropriate around friends, immediate family, and coworkers who you wouldn’t mind getting drunk in front of.

Option number two can be employed on a date, a business meeting, yadda yadda: as you begin to slowly rise, pretend like someone behind you has called your name. Turn as though you are cracking your back, and pull the napkin off your lap to wipe the chair in one fell swoop while scooting your butt off the chair.

If you’re on the subway and have no napkin and are really concerned about what the stranger next to you thinks, distract them by pointing to the giant wasp that just flew into his/her hair.

Talking About How Hot You Are

Believe it or not Bernice, most humans possess the same ability as you do to determine the immediate state of temperature. For example, we all know when it is cold. We all know when it is raining. We all know, as you have now repeated 400 times during this walk, that it is hot. Get a new topic or invest in a hand-held fan.

Managing Expectations and Therefore, Pit Stains

“Dear Amelia, I sweat a lot. How do I avoid wet pit stains?”

Tank tops. White shirts. And never, under absolutely any circumstances, should you wear gray cotton.

Bar Sweat

Similar to the sentiment that I pointed out in our topic regarding shirtless running, no one wants to play lube-wars at a crowded bar, but sometimes — especially in over-populated beach towns — this is inevitable. Avoiding the sweat of others can be impossible unless you stand like a hot dog and whistle at a pitch that hurts the ears of 20-something-year-olds (like 7-Elevens do to avoid loiterers). What you can do, however, is make sure you aren’t contributing to the mass of sopping limbs by avoiding lotion, standing upright on your own two feet and resisting the urge to noodle dance. I know. It’s very hard to resist.

Gold Tats

These have become the thing. There is nothing rude about them, save for the fact that if you put too many on and sweat like a bear with a flu in a Bikram Yoga class, you could potentially blind someone from all of the glistening. If you must apply, stay dry. Bring towels with you or something.

Now carry on, you wayward sons. Embrace the cool while it still feels nice and remember: sweating’s only human, but so are manners.

Image on the left shot by Matt Jones for Elle Spain, Image on the right shot by Ryan Kenny Miskini for Oyster Magazine

5 Things Millennials Are Talking About

The Internet is endlessly fascinated with Millennials because Millennials are basically the Internet. Since they’re all we can talk about anymore, let’s look at what those youthful hooligans have been up to lately:

1. Millennial Models Cover Vogue September Issue 

For this year’s much-anticipated Vogue September issue, Anna Wintour switched things up by putting not one but nine supermodels on the cover. Historically, Vogue pioneered the celebrity magazine cover, but perhaps those days are over. Cover girls Joan Smalls, Cara Delevingne, Karlie Kloss, Arizona Muse, Edie Campbell, Imaan Hammam, Fei Fei Sun, Vanessa Axente and Andreea Diaconu are also being called “The Instagirls” for their influential social media presence. Will these Millennial models garner more “likes” for the magazine than some old fart celeb? [Vogue]

2. Millennials Only Wear Denim Button-Ups

With each passing week a new article over-analyzing Millennials is published; the New York Times is the latest offender. Apparently, Millennials are a generation of optimistic do-gooders who also really, really like denim button-ups. [NYTimes]

3. Chris Martin is (Maybe) Dating Jennifer Lawrence Because She is a Pizza-Eating Millennial 

Whether or not it’s actually true that Jennifer Lawrence is dating Coldplay’s Chris Martin, the resulting headlines are too good to ignore. This one from Mirror is our favorite: “Chris Martin fell for pizza-eating smoker Jennifer Lawrence because she’s nothing like clean-living Gwyneth Paltrow.” Well, there you have it. [Mirror]

4. Millennials Like Getting “Craft Baked”

Everyone’s favorite Millennial, Miley Cyrus, is really into crafting now. This week, she takes her passion to new heights with this 5-ft beaded bong, which she describes on Instagram as a “work in progress.” Can we call this weird collision of infancy and illegality as getting “craft baked?” See what I did there? [Instagram]  

5. Voice of Millennial Generation Dyes Hair Platinum; Proves Anything Is Possible

Lena Dunham, the self-proclaimed “voice of a generation,” got a platinum bowl cut this weekend because Millennials can do whatever they want whenever they want as long as they take a selfie to prove they did it. [Instagram]

Images via Vogue’s September issue shot by Mario Testino, Miley Cyrus’s Instagram and Lena Dunham’s Instagram. 

What’s Your Favorite Part of Summer?

The absolute best part of summer has to be climbing out of the ocean, or the pool, and you’re freezing because the water was ice cold and your lips are blue and your teeth are chattering, and then running into the arms of a gigantic, fluffy towel (probably with some weird print or pattern on it) so that you can bake, bake, bake under the sun like a clay pot until it becomes so unbearable that you absolutely must jump up like a lunatic and run right back into that water.

Maybe it’s being the only friend who refuses to go in the water — “I’ll watch your stuff” — so that you can enjoy a few peaceful moments of absolute silence amid the white noise of laughter and splashing and neighboring conversations.

Or actually, the best part of summer has to be waking up to sunny skies even though it’s as early as 7 AM and then leaving work at 7 PM to a still-bright day.

Then eating dinner outside.

Maybe the best part of summer is being able to grab a gauzy sheath from your closet while still in a yellow haze from the night before, then slipping your feet into the nearest pair of sandals and that, with perhaps the addition of a quick swipe of deodorant, is your outfit for the next 12 hours.

The best part of summer could also be using sunscreen as your only source of perfume, or popsicles as your main source of hydration. It’s leaving your phone at home because you know all your friends will be at the usual spot anyway, and refusing to get sick of the same songs that every bar, restaurant and iPod has played for past 8 weeks.

It’s feeling like a little kid again. And there’s still two long, languid weeks left plus more if you stay true to the equinox so tell me, for the love of a sunny Monday: what’s your favorite part of summer?

– Amelia Diamond

 Camille Rowe shot by Matt Jones for Elle France, Background shot by Matthias Vriens McGrath for Numéro Homme

Your Favorite Summer Dress Redacted

Dresses can be difficult. I don’t mean because sometimes they’re restrictive, or too short, or too long, or don’t quite fit as well as they could, or even because they’re often fussy. I mean it paradoxically — as in, they’re hard because they’re so easy.

See, a dress is like a blender — it does all the legwork for you. It takes all of your ingredients, no matter how strategically you’ve placed them on a plate, combines them in an isolated setting and then with the mere press of a button, it has created a substance that is later displayed as new progeny. This progeny often does not show for the thoughtfulness that went into selecting the incipient materials — ingredients you spent time bringing together, deliberating on what would taste best and why, before resolving to have them irrevocably conjoined — liquidated if you will.

Make sense?

Think about it. When you put on a dress, you resolve to let someone else’s creative endeavor account for your stylistic decision. Where with a pair of pants, you maintain the priestly power of fashion marriage (will you wear them with a crop top or a button down? Will you place a skirt over them? Etc.), with a lone layer of sheath, there are no variables that visibly and often craftily speak to what brought you to the point of dress. It’s like no matter how hard you tried (and I mean that in a good way), you look, frankly speaking, like a mannequin.

Saying this makes me feel like I’m turning my back on some of the greatest pieces of clothing that I have come to know but I also realize that wearing a dress could be as interesting an experience as, say, any number of Lessons in Layering. Enter the jean jacket/floral short/polka dot dress confection (and the two looks that follow) staring at you while you presumably think: aren’t Mondays hard enough? These three outfits are how I’m bringing a little bit of a soul to a one-piece wonder.

The dress: Opening Ceremony

Look 1: Acne jacket, Anne Fontaine blouse, Yves Saint Laurent shorts, Alaia sandals, Oliver Peoples sunglasses

Look 2: Veda cropped blouse, Stella McCartney pants, Jimmy Choo purse

Look 3: Giulietta pants, Carven sandals, Steven Alan hat, Dannijo earrings.

We’re Friends, Right?

In 2003, BBC News published a study that said the institution of friendship can make people significantly happier.

Of course, both these platitudes — friendship and happiness — can be taken to mean as many things as a single girl would like to believe can be extrapolated from simultaneous text message-radio silence and abundant Instagram engagement from a suitor.

There is a baseline understanding that the variables at play in both the instances of friendship/happiness and romantic communication are complex. But as the layers of those onions begin to shed and their inherency is fleshed out, their skeletons are fairly simple to understand: happiness is a state of mind, the commenter, not text messager is an asshole and friendship is not just an interpersonal bond, it is a sister or brotherhood.

Accepting that as truth presents the issue of not whether these relationships can exist in the workplace but what happens when they do. Across every industry, forging friendships seems important, even necessary, to survive but in fashion there is an even stronger emphasis on friendship among designers, journalists, publicists and each other.

Before my friend Rosie Assoulin, who I have known from the time I was 17, launched her eponymous label, she wouldn’t let me see sketches until I promised that my opinion wouldn’t influence the circumstances of our friendship. To this day, when I review a collection, she refuses to read it. This, to me, is how the co-mingling of a sisterhood and a fashion friendship can exist with integrity.

Generally, though, to strike such a balance is difficult. This is furtger evidenced by a story Cathy Horyn penned for the September Issue of Harper’s Bazaar.

In it, she defends herself against allegations brought forward by New York Times’ commenters (or as she calls them, the “public editor”) that her friendship with L’Wren Scott affected her ability to write an objective response to the designer’s death. She goes on to pose the question of whether a true friendship — sisterhood — can exist in the industry of fashion.

Fashion is largely social. And when you’re new, it’s hard to discern whether you’re making friends or simply working. Unfortunately, it is more often that these relationships manifest as the latter, which either alienates or hardens the naive pursuit of a can-have-it-all attitude in fashion.

This may be a leading reason that the stereotypical mantra of fashion is glamorous but unhappy exists.

Then again, though, there are exceptions to every rule. And maybe that’s why we’ve started to see so many smiles in street style.

Image via Le 21 eme.

Red Hair, I Care

The trajectory of my hair color is about as interesting as a dissertation on the nutritional benefits of gorgonzola cheese which is to say that no one short of myself really cares, so I’ll make this brief: I was born with black hair. Then it turned dark brown. And then, some time around age 15, I began to notice it both reddening in the sun and graying in the left-side part.

No one at age 15 has time for red hair let alone grays.

So here’s what I did: started adding highlights.

Here’s what year this was: 2003.

If you’re with me, and can remember this critical time for both fashion and my scalp, you’ll see giant, thick blonde streaks that were equal parts de rigueur and de tacky. I thought they were cute and participated in the trend but somewhere, from the depths of my internal judgement clock, I knew better.

So when I finally grew up and stopped the streaks, my hair (Amelia we do not CARE) found its home in the same tint of red I intercepted when I was 15. I started to embrace it. I declared myself a redhead. I asked the DMV to make a change on my license but they threatened me with a new driver’s test. I told my dad I wanted to go fire-engine so he googled it for “inspo” and found an article about the correlation with red hair and abundant sexuality so texted me to suggest brown instead.

I did not give in.  The red stuck. It wasn’t me, but it was me. Each gray-covering session became less about the gray and more about what distinguishes copper from ginger, etc.

But why am I telling you all this? I don’t know. Maybe I feel like a cheater — I love the women who naturally have this color, who have never done a thing to their hair but can monochrome with the season’s ox blood simply by virtue of being alive. They’re so cool in that offbeat way that noses who adore the smell of nail polish are. I know mine isn’t completely real but it feels that way. It’s become me, and frankly speaking, I just wanted an excuse to celebrate it.

Also, I’m due for a dye job so help a sister out and upload your own favorite redheads in the comments, eh? My appointment’s on Monday at 5.

Slideshow compiled by Franny Keller and Krista Lewis

Well Blend Me Up and Sip Me Slowly! It’s Smoothie Time.

The only thing that gets me out of bed and hauls my ass to the gym most mornings is the promise of one very special blueberry protein buzz smoothie. Its hue is of the slightly muted indigo variety, made even more spectacular by its lack of food coloring and/or artificial flavoring. It tastes like sunshine and ice-cream, promises the dizzying effects of brain freeze, and strikes the perfect balance between tangy and sweet as facilitated by the combination of blueberries and almond milk. If you need further evidence of its super powers, the inclusion of the buzzword “protein” is something I think my primary care physician would feel good about.

Smoothies are magic mainly because they prove that if you blend together a few of this good earth’s heavenly ingredients, the results will be delicious. They are also a superfood-laden self-expression of individuality and preference, as broadcasted by many a “build your own” juice bar. If you can dream it, you can achieve it.

Are you feeling like a lean mean fighting machine? Toss some greens! Is your monthly houseguest fueling your need for chocolate? We hear cacao powder is best paired with banana. Do Mondays make you berry, berry sad? Blast yo ass with some strawberries and chia seeds. If Juice Press’s Cactus Cooler has taught us anything, it’s that you can throw pretty much anything in a blender. Yes, freaks, even humans!

The proliferation of the smoothie bar and the many #acaibowl concoctions that populate my Instagram feed has inspired me to create my own. I have yet to bring this recipe to fruition, but if I were to build the perfect man  smoothie than this is certainly what he it would consist of:

(Guys, feel free to provide proper measurements as my kitchen sensibilities seem to be stuck in the realm of 3rd grade algebra, or something.)

50% chocolate almond butter [for texture]

15% peanut butter caption crunch flavored cereal milk [for nostalgia]

10% vanilla whey protein powder [for Albert at Soho Strength Lab]

10% banana [for taste]

10% crushed Butterfinger [for YOLO's sake]

2% cacao nibs [for cleaning out my pantry's sake]

2% kale  [for my primary care physician]

1% LOVE [for my mother]

I’d drink this smoothie religiously. Heck, I’d even embark on a liquid diet if this promised to be my daily staple. But first, I need somebody to buy me a Vitamix. Those things run $$$teep. Bueller? And second, tell me: if you were your perfect smoothie, what would you be?

Fashion PSA: Amuze is The Internet’s Best Sale Secret

There is an element of discovery that is relentlessly attached to engaging with the Internet and it is my belief that every time a new website launches, a storefront loses a brick to the soil. Especially across the realm of full-time outlet shopping. If you’re looking for a proof of concept, look no further than the extermination of Loehmann’s — RIP.

It used to be that if you wanted to find a deal outside the Gregorian confines of Christmas or Labor Day weekend, you had to haul ass to Woodbury Commons. Now, though, due to the proliferation of flash sale sites like Gilt and Rue La La and more permanent sale sites like The Outnet and Yoox, you don’t have to haul ass so much as you do sit on your ass.

It’s great, really, but with the escalating popularity of sale sites inevitably follows the consumer issue / vendor coup of constantly selling out. Yes, yes, sure, that Isabel Marant turtleneck you wanted was on The Outnet for a mere $49, but it sold out within minutes of being published. And those Michael Kors loafers? LOL. They never even made it up.

This is why when you find a jewel, it makes perfect sense that you should want to keep it to yourself. To yourself and to your mother. I’ve never been one for secrets, though, so I’m going to bring you in on the most recent flash sale site to populate my browser by outlining the details of my recent purchases.

The site is called Amuze. Last Thursday, I bought an embroidered navy blue wool Dries Van Noten blazer that retailed for $2500 for $350. The month before, I bought a pair of nude Reed Krakoff brogues. They retailed for $695 but my price was $225. I have been toying with the idea of annexing purple Tom Ford sandals — down from just under a grand to $325 — but I haven’t pulled the trigger. I’ll do it if you tell me to, though to be quite honest I’ll be just as satisfied if you sit-ass and acquire them yourself.

Sorry I’m still talking. Happy shopping.

Photoshop by Krista Anna Lewis; Photoshop dolls via Prada Spring/Summer 2005 ad campaign; OG Computer via Wikipedia

You Know What They Say About Big Feet?

You know what they say about big feet? It doesn’t matter. (Who’s “they,” anyway?) Here’s what I have to say: embrace your big feet. I’m tired of reading articles instructing me on how to hide my lanky limbs. It’s time to stomp out the Bigfoot bias. Let’s come up with some positive things to say instead.

I’ll give you a visual of my situation: I’m a 5’4’’ petite female with size 10 feet. In profile, I look like a capital ‘L.’ I was on the basketball team in high school, and I trained myself to dribble a little further out than normal so that the ball wouldn’t hit my feet and roll beyond my grasp. This didn’t always work. I spent a lot of time on the bench.

Today, when I’m shopping for shoes, store clerks don’t believe that I know my own size and suggest that I measure my feet on one of those medieval devices. Once they figure it out for themselves — “By George, the girl was right!” — they spend an eternity in the back room, often failing to procure anything that fits. “Maybe you could squeeze into a 9?” they offer, as though we’re in Imperial China.

And when they aren’t ogling at my feet, they mistake me for a dude. TRUE STORY.

Up until recently, I avoided clunky shoes like clogs or rain boots. I thought Converse made me look like a clown. Platforms were out of the question and Uggs were…ugh. I stuck to heels and even bought shoes that were half a size too small for me. Eventually, my big toes popped through the front of my size 8 Supergas and then I really looked like a clown. I realize now that what matters most is getting from A to B comfortably, and at least bigger feet got me there faster.

You know who else has big feet? Oprah. She is a size 11. Jacqueline Kennedy was a size 10 and Audrey Hepburn was a 10.5. So, if there’s one thing we can say about big feet, it’s that they’re attached to badass women. Big feet do also, in fact, mean big socks. But other than that, the stereotypes are all moot.

Here’s what they should say about big feet:

1. Big brains

2. Big doormat

3. Big bell bottoms

4. Big(ger) balance

5. Big toe rings

6. Big skis

7. Big surfboard

8. Big rollerblades

9. Big nails

10. Big Dr. Scholls

Haters gonna hate, and now that you don’t feel so bad about being a Notorious B.I.G. F.O.O.T, here are some shoes that flaunt those flippers…

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Now. Be honest. How big are your feet?

Image by Charlotte Fassler, shoe via The Cut, background via Gothamist.