Leandra Medine's Blog, page 730

Shopping with Mom

My mother carries a paper outline of my right foot around with her at all times. Initially, it was the sole of an old sandal she found abandoned in my closet when I packed up for college, which eventually evolved into a more flexible, less-worn version of the same concept. There was the cardboard model for a while, then the Dr. Scholl’s insert. In its most recent adaptation, my foot was traced onto a piece of beautiful Crane’s cardstock I gave her for Mother’s Day about a decade ago.

The process of stenciling my footprint was only slightly mortifying. Still, it was a necessary step that had to be taken.

She deploys this stencil every time she strolls through a shoe department having a sale. While I’ve never seen her in action, I assume the scene goes something like this: amidst the rows of overflowing racks, something catches her eye in a 7.5. She discreetly shoves my foot’s Flat Stanley in to check its size, sends me a picture, and on certain fortuitous occasions, a purchase is made.

Perhaps it’s a little strange – even marginally overboard – that as a 21-year-old, I still rely on my mom to pick out a good portion of my clothing. There’s a whiff of emotional reliance about the process coupled with the danger of living-above-one’s-means that I should probably stop ignoring. But I’d like to suggest, if only to save some face, that there is something grander at work here: a bonding activity that doesn’t make me childish, but rather, keeps us in contact.

Over the years, my mother has become my most trusted shopping partner. It took work to achieve our particular level of shopping telepathy. There were arguments, sensitive feelings, returned shirts, a few tears. But shopping has become a part of our ritual, like a passed-down tradition from grandmother to mother to me. If something is worth celebrating, we shop. If either of us is upset, we shop. If it’s a nice day, we shop. If it’s crappy out, we still shop. And the physical distance between us is nothing; we’ve turned Skype sessions into dressing room consultations and Facetime calls into proper fittings. Call us hopeless materialists if you want. I prefer to think of it as upgraded retail therapy.

Groups of friends bond this way too, of course — the idea of shopping companions is nothing new. But I’ve never been able to enjoy such team jaunts, however, because feelings of impatience and distrust lurk in my mind when third party judgements threaten to invade. It’s my mom, and my mom alone, whose dressing room opinion I trust.

Friends wonder aloud about my close relationship with my mother, vaguely hinting that it appears a large part of me forgot to grow up. Or, perhaps more ominously, actively refuses to. And I guess they have a point. This habit has turned me into somewhat of a helicopter child, entering adulthood attached to her both financially and emotionally. It can be hard to accept that at age 21, my mom still does things for me. Helps support me. My proverbial umbilical cord stretches through a cardstock cut-out and text messages about shoes.

The nice thing about moms, though, is that you can’t outgrow them. And besides, my feet stopped growing years ago.

Written by Emily Ferber. Her work has appeared in New York Magazine, ELLE and The Atlantic.

Re-Appropriating Your Neck Scarf

In the event that I have been successful in manipulating you to believe, at any point during the last, let’s say, six months, that you absolutely must acquire a silk scarf to wear wrapped around your neck, this story is for you.

In the event that I have not, may I just ask what it is about the scarves that you have found unappealing? I’m not judging you. Good on you for not giving in, I just feel bad you’ve had to weather months of seeing my neck act paralyzed by an inflated ribbon.

And now, with the temperatures becoming more amenable to a lifestyle that requires fewer layers, there is a 100% possibility that I will relocate those neck scarves and instead call them arm scarves. Why? Because they’re colorful and they make me feel good and I had this idea last week when I tried on a tube top I had recently purchased (the one pictured), that in order to make it look cooler, it could really benefit from pretending that it’s actually an off-the-shoulder blouse.

See, that’s the other thing. I’m nuts about anything off the shoulder. Finding a blouse, however, that doesn’t seem too manipulated by outfitting guidelines of, say, a West Coast Music Festival has proven difficult unless I am willing to drop it like it’s hot and spend $1,500 on this piratical one by Alexander McQueen, which I realize I have mentioned three times in the past week.

So, this is what I’m doing. I’m tying small, colorful silk scarves around my upper arms. Sometimes I’m tying two around both arms, other times, I’m just tying one and looking a little like Sarah Jessica Parker as Carrie Bradshaw during a season I can’t quite pinpoint but know had to exist at some…point.

I urge you to try it because it still seems fresh but if you don’t want to, I get it. I TOTALLY GET IT.

Tube top by Costume National, shorts by Levi’s, sandals by Laurence Dacade, sunglasses by Spektre and I suggest Vestiare Collective for scarves if you don’t have an older relative who, during at least one period in her lifetime, believed that she was Grace Kelly in a convertible.

The B-Word

If you search the word, “bitch,” Google will provide four definitions.

The first is a female dog. The second, underscored by its informal denigration, says “a spiteful or unpleasant woman.” (There are also synonyms provided such as witch, vixen, she-devil and hellcat.) The third and fourth definitions, which are informal, non-pronouns include “a difficult or unpleasant situation or thing” and “a complaint.” Though its first appearance in Germanic discourse dates as far back as 1000 A.D., never has it been as prominently used as in the aughts.

I don’t use the word very frequently (for no reason other than my preferring alternative synonyms) and I think as a result of that, I have a skewed perception of how offensive it can be. Its crudity seems like something I should understand plainly — to call someone a bitch is to frankly offend them, but then again, was it not Joreen who first instituted The Bitch Manifesto in 1968 to call attention to the term and its positive attributes? And now more than ever, girls are using the word as a term of endearment to describe their friends.

The definitions have become muddled, so it’s hard to say when it’s appropriate to get offended by its use and when its not. But maybe, too, therein lies the problem. My friend Roxana is only really affected by the term because she doesn’t like that a woman could be called a name that also means, essentially, pain in the ass.

Another friend, Lara, says that the problem with the term is much more imbued with the person who’s using it, the tone with which they’re communicating and the context. She provided an example, “If you called me a bitch, I’d call you one back. And we’d laugh and have a smoothie. If my boss called me a bitch, I’d sue him.”

Last week, I wrote a story called How to Wear Ballet Flats Without Looking Basic. The story’s pretense was essentially: ballet flats can be boring, let’s try to make them more interesting. What manifested post-publication was a reaction that erred far more closely on the side of pissed than it did on the side of pleased. This is presumably because in the story, I called attention to a new societal phenomenon called “The Basic Bitch” without insulting the implications tethered to the term.

For the uninitiated, “the basic bitch,” which went viral in April because of a College Humor video, is essentially, a concentrated female cliche.

To correct myself and last week’s story, I should say that there is absolutely nothing wrong with looking basic if basic is what you’re going for. If the vibe you want to emanate with your look is one of a persuasion so casual, the look in question doesn’t even actually matter, then do that. Feel good and you will look good. The science here is so simple that I’m not even sure it can be called science. I’m just left wondering whether the concept of being basic is what signaled the response or the use of the term bitch?

Do you use it? How? Do you think twice before you say it? Are you offended by it? Why? Or maybe, why not? Are you comfortable using it in some settings but not in others? Does its being used by some people offend you but by others, not as much? Whens the last time you said it and if you had to come up with the closest synonym for it, what would it be? Am I asking too many questions?

Having to answer so many can be a real bitch, huh.

…Too soon?

Why Not Wear Your Favorite Shirt Dress As A….Shirt?

Dresses are tough.

No matter how elaborate or intricate one may be, no matter how wonderful it might make you feel, a dress always make a very singular point. And much like with a short sentence, a dress is not easy to re-punctuate. That’s a talent reserved mostly for separates. A pair of khaki shorts can be as plain as white bread one day and as feisty as Antoine Dodson the next given the proper accoutrements. So too can a blouse. Or a skirt, even pants. Because those are items that say nothing about their wearer and everything about diversity at once.

A dress, though. A dress is a commitment. To saying something and saying it over and over again.

Sure, it can be styled and restyled ad nauseam until your entire closet has been turned on its head, but at its essence will always remain the dress. The same short sentence that makes the same point no matter how hard you try to move its commas and its periods and its semicolons if they’re there.

Never has this felt as true and hit as close to home as last week when I tried to repurpose a white Christopher Kane shirt dress. When I wore it last fashion week, I wore it (as photographed above) with a pair of platform sandals, a gold choker and sunglasses. I wanted to wear it again without the choker, maybe a neck scarf, a pair of slides or sneakers; I would have felt comfortable with stilettos too, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake how…the same I felt. And see, that’s the fundamental issue, isn’t it? That you always turn out feeling the same.

Once you’ve put together an outfit and worn it and reaped all the intrinsic benefits of feeling great in it, can you ever actually re-approximate that feeling of greatness by wearing it again? Not unless you can actually, meaningfully wear it differently. I think.

So you know what I did? I wore it as a blouse. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought to do it earlier but by pairing it with my favorite $3 Levi’s jeans and an old anorak vest I once bought from Club Monaco after having seen it on Tibi’s Amy Smilovic and thinking it was Céline, it felt so dangnab new.

Like adding a new object to the subject of that anterior, concise sentence.

As for the reflective sunglasses by Spektre, the colorful Gucci neck scarf peeking out of my pocket, the green minaudiere by Reece Hudson and the nude mules (incidentally) by Tibi — those were just the dotted i’s and crossed t’s I’d forgot to include during the first edit.

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How To Stop Drinking Coffee

I sit next to Amelia in the office. Most days, it’s a delight. Last week — as Amelia and Leandra dropped coffee cold turkey — it was not. And even though they’re off the no-coffee wagon and back to normal, it seems like a good time to talk coffee alternatives.

The thing is, I have no beef with coffee. I know that it tastes delicious, and I know it makes me feel like my heart’s going to explode. But is it inherently bad? For otherwise healthy people who enjoy coffee in moderation, I’m leaning toward probably not. If you’re trying to cut back, though, here are my favorite less-well-known substitutes:

Yerba Mate. A few years ago I visited a friend in Buenos Aires, returned home, canceled my lease and moved to Recoleta, where I started drinking lots of red wine and mate. Mate’s bump feels less jittery than coffee to me, though it’s definitely still a stimulant. Make sure you put cool water on the leaves first and use water that’s hot but not boiling, otherwise it’ll come out too bitter. Also the dark roast rules with milk and honey.

Genmaicha. This tea smells like food and it’s amazing. It’s a roasted rice and green tea, so you get some caffeine, but the taste is quite different from green tea alone. Know that green tea gets bitter when steeped for too long, and Genmaicha’s best with water temps around 170 – 185 degrees F.

Kukicha. A roasted twig tea with about 1/10 the amount of caffeine as a cup of coffee, and a laundry list of supposed health benefits, including alkalization of the body. It has a rich, earthy flavor and gives me the same zen/self-congratulatory aura I have when I leave yoga class.

Rosemary. If you’re used to caffeine, rosemary tea’s not going to do much for you. However, if you’ve weaned yourself off and are looking for an herb that promotes focus without jitters, rosemary’s your girl. Mentioned before in ‘how to fight midday fatigue,’ dried rosemary steeped in hot water is great for calm focus, and is often recommended as an herbal supplement for people with ADD.

Ashwagandha.  Ashwagandha is my favorite adaptogen, which is a group of herbs that support the adrenal system, which coffee tends to mess with. If you’re coming off caffeine these are particularly helpful as your system adjusts. Boil 2 parts Ashwagandha root powder to 1 part cinnamon for 20 minutes and drink daily.

And if you’re in the throes of caffeine withdrawal, drink lots of water, take naps, and try to scale down the caffeine instead of dropping off drastically. Also maybe don’t sit next to me. Until you’re nice again. Amelia. Thanks.

Miu Miu Campaign image featuring Chloë Sevigny 

Office Apropos: Spring Has Sprung

Day 1

Leandra: Wheel in the banjos! I’m home! I just got back from a week-long Passover trip in Mexico where there was zero gluten and plenty of mixed nuts, and it is my belief that nothing says I’m home quite like a lady blouse from Max Mara and mid-heel, shiny ballet flats by a storied house on its way back in. Except, of course, ripped high waist jeans that cost $3. So that’s where I’m at.

Max Mara blouse, Levi’s jeans, Bruno Magli shoes.

Charlotte: All black everything only made sense as I mourned the end of a fun-filled weekend. However Amelia told me I looked like an art student straight out of the 90s (which I think is a good thing?). To her credit I was wearing a cardigan coupled with a vintage little boy’s vest, linen trousers, and some funky brogues.

Amelia: I feel like my outfit today says “ancient Bethlehem meets Nantucket.” I feel like my pose in the second picture says, “I’m drunk.”

Ralph Lauren suede coat, Vince sweater, Madewell jeans, H&M sandals, Westward Leaning sunglasses and my shirt, I am sorry to tell you, is a weird equestrian brand that definitely does not have a website.

Day 2

Leandra: Suddenly, it has occurred to me that I am capital-T-Tanned. (Or is it tan? I can never quite get that right.) So much so that I look vaguely irresponsible for allowing the sun to penetrate my skin so comprehensively. My dad always says that sitting in the sun is like taking a mortgage out on your youth that you can never pay back and I fear I will have to face the repercussions of just that any moment now but at least I’m wearing a ton of denim to assuage the effects of terrible, aging skin, right? Right?

The jacket is Acne, the blouse (which features a tail — A TAIL! — is by an Australian brand called Georgia Alice, the jeans are Patrick Ervell and the white pumps are Valentino.

To answer your question, there is no such thing as too much denim. (Were you going to ask that?)

Charlotte: Nice weather! Time to break in some new shoes! Jokes — this was an overly ambitious Tuesday move. Evidently these Zara shoes are fine for standing, but miserable for walking. I complained the entire way to lunch with Amelia and she loved it so much, she threw kale at me. I later changed into gym shoes and my feet thanked me.

Vint & York sunglasses, vintage military jacket, Karen Walker sweater, Topshop pantaloons.

Amelia: I like my jeans like I like my fountain-Diet Cokes: extra large, and extra cool. A fun story about these jeans is that I took them off at friend’s house in August and just got them back this week so it was celebration city. My cool-ass sweatshirt is by Ayr, sunglasses are Westward Leaning, yes my underwear is showing, my sandals are ASOS and I’m holding my keys because after taking this picture I had to move my Porsche.

Day 3

Leandra: Real talk: I walked in this morning wearing red mid heel, ballet-style shoes with ankle straps but changed into these clogs when they arrived by mail. I LIKE THEM SO MUCH! They are the almond to my butter, the grape to my wine and most importantly, the cashew to my analogy about Beyoncé being the superior female performing artist. They make me feel like a funky aunt who knows how to paint even though I don’t and I plan not to change out of high waist pants and striped t-shirts forever and ever aymen.

Zara t-shirt, Acne jeans, Rochas clogs and Hermes neck scarf.

Charlotte: This is my best “you can’t sit with me at the sock hop” pose. It’s not warm and it’s not summer so I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe this is my attempt to emulate my spring sketches? At the end of the day I had to sprint from the train as my skirt inevitably blew every which way so that was fun! Good thing I wore Adidas!

Vintage crop top, vintage midi skirt, Ray Ban glasses, Adidas sneakers.

Amelia: You know those days when you don’t want to put on clothes, but because you have to enter public domain in a respectable manner (i.e., in pants), you try to find the most pajama-like equivalents you can? That’s what happened here. My shirt is J.Creezy, pants are by Ayr, my cell phone’s in my pocket but I’m still happy to see you, my leather jahquet is AllSaints and I’d also like to point out that I’m wearing mandals.

Day 4

Leandra: I don’t really know what I was going for today and I think that really shines through in the particular pose where I am pretrending (hehe) to be on a surf board. The burgundy pants are by Apiece Apart while the red flannel shirt is from Uniqlo. The white shirt under it is from Zara and the loafers are Stella McCartney. They make me feel fresh in the same way that baby food does.

Charlotte: I have deemed this look “After Jared Leto,” inspired by his ability to pull off lady clothes debatably better than a lady. After illustrating his delicate features and scrawling hearts on my notebook I unintentionally began to embody his swagger as I swept my hair up into a man bun. Sadly, this vintage floral pajama getup, biker jacket, clunker shoes, Ray Bans and man bun would probably all look better on him…sigh.

Amelia: On Thursday I wore my hair blouse, a Ralph Lauren v-neck that I turned backwards so it became a crew-neck, a white oxford that you can’t see because the hair blouse is covering it, and my jacket is Maje which I borrowed from Leandra with a very real plan to forget to give it back. You can just call me Tammy Taylor.

Jeans are Madewell, sandals are Elizabeth & James.

Day 5

Leandra: Nothing says “it’s the weekend, time to party” like high waist, 70s style pajama pants replete with primary colored polka dots and a makeshift fupa to boot. Am I right? Am I right? Also, it was a delight wearing sandals. I hope I can do it again soon. Bye!

Laurence Dacade shoes (and man oh man do I now want these), Giulietta pants, Zara t-shirt.

Charlotte: HOWDY Y’all it’s Friday so I’m channeling a John Lennon cowboy hybrid with a hint of Picasso.  That fringy situation is a vintage score from Texas, stripes are T by Wang, jeans are Rag & Bone and the shoes are Shelly’s London. Where the party at?

Amelia: I entered into some dangerous belly button territory with my final outfit o-the-week, but with good friends on close watch, I never had a full-on Mandy Moore moment. My blazer was my mom’s and I’m still working through my emotions on its shoulder pads, the top is Zara, sandals are ASOS, sunglasses are Vint & York and my new favorite trousers are Tibi. The second this picture was taken I bolted so fast into the weekend that Leandra and Charlotte’s wigs fell off.

HAPPY FRIDAY!

Vanessa Para, Para, Paradis

When the London tube first said “mind the gap,” I wonder if it was because someone saw her smile. She must have been visiting from Paris and switching trains when she laughed so hard that all her teeth showed, and this man who makes slogans for a living caught sight and just…fell right in.

In love with that space, and that face, and then perhaps rather unfortunately, dramatically and romantically, into the gap.

I wonder about how the sun feels every time she wears a hat. The thing about her in a hat is that she looks otherworldly, as though hats were invented to shade only her. So does the sun feel excluded? Or does it understand style?

She wears leather in this way that I’ll never be able to, and I bet she’s figured out how to keep her elbows perennially soft. I don’t think she worries if this works with that, or what the dress code is and if it’s “okay” to wear jeans.

She probably just does it anyway, and the whole ball-gowned room sighs in jealousy.

Men must look at her in a trouser and give up all hope, either because they can’t have her, or because they’ll never look like she does in the same pair they own. Women, at the very least, have come to accept it.

I wonder if her co-stars have a hard time remembering their lines when hers form around the corner of her eyes. And I wonder if Robert Frost were to see her now, he’d take back the sentiment that “nothing gold can stay.”

There’s this wispy thing about her hair, as though a bird sits atop her head each morning and methodically selects the individual strands that deserve to be out of place. With it’s beak it musses, and very clean feet, it tap dances, until her mane is perfectly, ethereally messy.

And I wonder if every time this happens, a J.Crew model gets her wings.

Five Things You Need for Spring

Okay, not “need.” Technically, you need nothing save for a good health insurance plan and tender love and care, which should theoretically be provided to yourself from, erm, yourself. But should you also want, say, a cherry on top of an ice cream sundae that comes replete with all the ingredients that make you feel full anyway, look no further than the Excel spreadsheet provided below. It will chronicle items and help analyze cost vs. supposed cost-per-wear taking into account time you spend in said items and how you rank, intrinsic feeling-wise, on a scale numbered 1-10.

Kidding, I’m totally kidding.

No Excel spreadsheet, no fake-data analysis. Just five good things I want and am therefore projecting onto you.

1. End-all-be-all Sunglasses. You know what I don’t like? Feeling like I have to have several different pairs of sunglasses to speak to the nuances of the girl I am trying to be on different days. I just want the ones. The Chameleonic Ones. Ideally, these make everything look cooler without also making me look either boring or crazy or both. As of right now, the only pair that has ever come close is this set of round frames by Ralph Lauren, which I had in houndstooth until recently, I lost them. I am now back at square A and considering either these or these.

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2. An Indulgent Scarf. Not to wear because it’s cold, even though frankly, it kind of is, but simply because if you’re willing to allow them to, scarves make the woman. If you’re lucky enough to find a really large square one, you can fold it in half so it takes the shape of a triangle and then wrap it around your neck, making sure that the widest point falls to the front. Then, you can wrap the narrower points around your neck and let them hang from the front thus creating the illusion of a top. The only thing else you’ll really need is a white tank or t-shirt and some jeans and if it gets really hot, you can reassess your scarf’s purpose and wear it as a sarong. I am partial toward the Spanish-style red and black scarf of one Dries Van Noten but it retails for $780.

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3. Interesting Jeans. Is it ever really a list of things I, personally, need if there isn’t at least one component of denim involved? I fell hard for the kooky flared jeans from Valentino’s S/S 2014 collection and even contemplated buying them but before I could muster the courage to drop it like its hot, those crazy culottes sold out so here I consider some jeans-can-be-the-hero-of-your-life-too alternatives.

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4. Off-the-Shoulder Anything. Except a ukulele because I don’t even know how that could be worn off the shoulder. I think it just occurred to me that I am trying to emulate a Spanish-step dweller this spring and I have no regrets at all about that. I’ve come across some very decent OTS blouses in my day and have recently become imprisoned by the offerings of one Vika Gazinskaya and another Alexander McQueen, but there is life after Net-A-Porter, or so I am told, so consider this a more approachable market suggestion.

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5. Clogs. I’ve spent the last few weeks trying really hard to look like a funky aunt. I know that seems like an unusual description but consider the role of an aunt, who is maternal enough to be related to someone who would go so far as to have a child and then the adjective “funky,” which is somehow frequently likened to both fashionability and earthiness, ergo clogs. There is a pair by Rochas, which I am nuts about, but I do also really like the ones by Swedish Hasbeens.

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Now tell me what you want!

The Shock Value of Belly Buttons

“Nipple” used to be the most-searched word on the Internet. Websites would find any excuse to insert it into a headline for its traffic-driving purposes — an errant piece of pokey flesh between boring if not completely irrelevant statements that could get almost anyone to click. “Sloth Found On Tree: Unsure if Dead, Nipple, or Just Asleep.” Screw the news, THAT sounds fascinating!

Nipples had become “a thing.” Remember the Sex and the City episode where Samantha inserted fake ones into her shirt to attract men? This was similar, only now, nipples were being used to hook men and women of all sexual orientations. Shock-bait equal opportunists. They marched down countless runways for back-to-back seasons. They were exposed (albeit for political reasons, not fashion) on the street. They were tattooed dark, became the “cool” thing to pierce and were flaunted under see-through tops at celebrity-packed parties.

Eventually, they became so over-hyped that when Kendall Jenner exposed hers last fashion week, the gossip wasn’t about nipples as much as it was that a Kardashian had just walked a Marc Jacobs show.

You see, just as male society eventually grew desensitized to ample cleavage (to quote Mean Girls, “It only counts if you saw nipple”), the Janet Jackson generation of Nip-Slips had finally gotten used to seeing female areolas proliferate. Which meant that something had to be next on the list of fashionably scandalous body parts — and I think this spring it’s the belly button.

It became clear once the crop top trend declared it wasn’t going anywhere. I was scared at first, but my personal aversion towards the trend wasn’t about my lack of abs. Rather, it was because the thought of walking around with my “button” showing felt more intimate than going pantsless. For a body part that’s been covered up for the better half of my life (save for beaches, showers and bed time) showing my belly button now would feel almost…scandalous.

Just as bare nipples once had been.

I came around to the cropped-thing once I found a loophole: low-slung pants showing the skin around my hips is fine. That I can do. And Leandra and I both agreed that so long as the little holes on our stomachs are covered up by high-waisted bottoms, we would practically wear bras in public. That’s still a lot of flesh, and yet, walking around with my belly button out feels like a much louder statement — one that says a whole lot more than, “I did sit ups and ate kale all winter.”

If it’s true that history repeats itself (and judging by the fact that the ’90s are back, we can all comfortably agree it does), then there’s bound to be a future moment when suddenly, showing off belly buttons won’t seem so shocking. Until then, I guess I’ll spend my summer anxiously hiking up my shorts to avoid BB-itis, and cursing the day that Britney Spears essentially ruined the innocent belly button for all.

Where Are They Now?

I think that “looking both ways” was the most important message to come from the movie Mean Girls. It’s true that there are plenty of other obvious themes from which our society can benefit: accepting others for who they are, female empowerment, respect, understanding self-worth, learning that words have power, that Kalteen bars make you gain weight, that butter isn’t a carb, and of course, the meaning of true friendship — but had it not been for the film’s street safety PSA, some of us may not be here today to read and/or write this.

School buses, it turns out, are the real Mean Girls.

Never has that fact been clearer than this morning when Leandra almost got hit by a bus. What’s strange if not absolutely serendipitous is that today marks the official ten year anniversary of the most-quoted teen movie in history, and while drinking our coffee in the projection room above the auditorium discussing how weird it was that Leandra almost lost her shins, we received another piece of news: 2014 also commemorates the tenth year that VH1′s hit show Where Are They Now has been off the air. Which is simply to say — you can’t get what we’re about give you anywhere else.

So, VH1 mourners and Mean Girls enthusiasts, unite, because we know where Regina George, Cady Heron, Gretchen Wieners, Karen Smith, Janis Ian and Damian (just Damian) are now.

Regina George has aged out of her silver Lexus and now travels via private jet. Instead of Fendi purses, she totes Saint Laurent purses, and has replaced her love of velour track suits for expensive yoga pants. She’s the editrix of a women’s fashion magazine in Japan where the majority of her daily wardrobe is straight up Versace. This is a gig she worked her way up to after attending college on a lacrosse scholarship.

Cady Heron became a photographer for National Geographic. Because she’s constantly traveling, her closet has become a tightly edited selection of comfortable flats, white shirts and loose trousers — her favorite of which are Céline. Cady’s “thing” is buying a new bracelet in every country she visits, and her favorite band is still Ladysmith Black Mambazo.

Gretchen Wieners left the Cool Asian clique once high school ended and joined three different sororities in college. After graduating, she moved to Williamsburg where she adopted a new group of friends called The Hipsters, and a uniform of high waisted denim, ’90s shirts, flatforms, boater hats and John Lennon sunglasses. She’s brought back the hoop earrings and started a sustainable clothing line. It’s called “Fetch.”

Karen Smith graduated cum laude from Harvard and went on to get her PHD from Yale, where she is now a professor in meteorology. Her wardrobe is a combination of A-line skirts, blouses and sweater vests with waist belts, but it’s less “librarian” and far more Michael Kors. Her boobs can still tell when it’s raining.

Janis Ian had her style nailed early on, but her current status as a premier gallery owner and world-renowned artist has allowed for an abundance of Junya Watanabe and Comme des Garçons. She’s still loyal to her old Doc Martens (although Balenciaga boots make a regular appearance) and her collection of flannels rivals that of Jared Leto’s as a man or woman.

Damian interned at W during college then landed a job at GQ where he currently works for both print and web. He wears a lot of GANT, cuffs all of his pants, loves trendy sneakers and carries a sharp canvas tote with leather detailing. His signature item is a pair of custom cuff links engraved with the number “4,” made by Chanel. You know. As in Coco.

And last but not least, we can’t forget Wendy. Wendy skipped college and moved to Montana where she became a billionaire after her Kickstarter for turning her dad’s old tools into mustard became the most successful start up in history. Yes, even more so than Facebook.

Wait, who’s Wendy?

SHE DOESN’T EVEN GO HERE.

Illustrations by Charlotte Fassler