Leandra Medine's Blog, page 731

How to Wear Ballet Flats Without Looking Basic

Before there was the basic bitch, there was, plainly, the concept of looking basic. It was equally as lethal as the former term and frankly, Charlotte got her job at Man Repeller because during her interview, she exclaimed with equal parts conviction and the swagger of a Fred Astaire/Lena Dunham hybrid creature that the only thing worse than looking bad is looking basic.

You know the drill, right? A cardigan and skinny jeans. Maybe a little black dress. It’s like the unironic, unaffected version of normcore. And you know what the most emphatic totem of basic dressing is?

Ballet flats.

Always has been, always will be.

But see, there’s a caveat because in recent months, the popularly comfortable shoe is seeping right back into the fashion zeitgeist via Saint Laurent, Isabel Marant, Céline and A.P.C.

The final location comes with an anecdote: last Sunday, while I was committing to a pair of white jeans and a striped shirt from the mens department at the anterior, I saw a woman walk over to the register with a pair of red ballet flats. They looked used and that made them seem maximally appealing.

I asked if I could see a pair for myself and when I did, I tried them on. First in nude, then in red, then in black patent — held up against my large white jeans and oversize t-shirt — and that’s when I settled on the shoes. For a minute, I felt like I was trying to renew my license to look basic, or “jappy,” as we Yeshiva students called it way back yonder, but then I got to thinking about what my liking the shoes implied.

I concluded that because I dress like a boy five out of seven days a week, my conceding to ballet flats meant coming to understand that I’m ready to wear them because I know how to wear them. So, without further ado, I give you: how to wear ballet flats without looking like a basic bitch who has just spent the entirety of her Sunday in the West Village, taking photos of tulips and hash-tagging #nofilter.

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What you see here is a pair of enormous ripped jeans I purchased from Asos three years ago. They’re worn right below my stomach and fastened with a black belt. While you don’t have to wear a dramatic off-the-shoulder top to approximate the same concept (a t-shirt plus trench coat or jean jacket will do, I’d steer clear of a blazer unless it’s boxy and big), I figured that pairing a traditionally fancy-as-fuck top with the jeans and flats would detract even further from the wrath of that which is eleMENTAL.

The ultimate key here is: big pants, a little bit of exposed ankle and messy hair. Here’s a shopping bar to break it down:

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And here are flats so you too can defeat basic bitchery.

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I’m glad we had this chat.

We Tried the Coffee Diet

My brother is convinced that he will outlive the rest of my family because he doesn’t drink coffee. I know I mentioned this last week but it’s worth reiterating. There is also substantial-though-unproven evidence floating around the Internet and brick and mortar juice bars citywide that suggest coffee is a poison our bodies have been conditioned to process. But for every naysayer, there is an advocate vetting in favor of the third-party stimulant.

Embarrassingly, for a minute back in January, I almost agreed with the former conjectures. So much so that I wrote a story about it. It was only a matter of two or three weeks before I was back on the hamster wheel that is caffeine addiction and I wondered why I ever went off coffee in the first place, which clearly, I forgot about because last week, I suggested something really stupid to Amelia. Something dumber than the time I suggested we shave each other’s heads and use our hair as reverse wigs.

A coffee cleanse.

I was half-kidding when I said it but when she looked at me like a pissed off rodent, I thought to myself, self, do it for the story. So, from Tuesday of last week until as recently as this morning, neither of us have consumed coffee. Well, that’s not entirely true, but we’ve tried not to consume coffee. We’ve also ruled out tea and have resorted to mornings of extensive hot water with lemon, chiefly to satisfy an oral fixation.

And here is probably where, one week in, you might imagine I fancy myself a natural energy evangelist but last Thursday around 3pm, a friend of mine, henceforth to be called Angel Grip, brought me an iced coffee with almond milk and I drank it. And it felt incredible.

I didn’t want to but I absolutely felt like it was my duty. After all, he came by! Holding an iced drink! Cut with almond milk! Well knowing I hate dairy milk! For me! So, I did, and you know what? I turned into a machine. A machine with capabilities that far exceeded the ones I had been demonstrating all week.

And not just that, I got happy. I know, I know, caffeine highs are a very real thing but if they work every time, why deprive yourself of the controversially false giggles?

I should note that not drinking coffee didn’t give me headaches or any of the withdrawal symptoms I’d read about. I couldn’t determine whether the bags under my eyes, which were supposed to go away actually did go away (I’m going with nahzzzz). I also wasn’t as hungry (one time I read that when you feel hungry after drinking a coffee what you’re actually experiencing is a withdrawal symptom) but what’s wrong with hunger?

And, fine, I did sleep better at night. My head hit the pillow and it was off to Snoozeville for me almost immediately. It’s just, the cons far outweighed the pros, which have left me to conclude that if ever you are feeling like coffee hasn’t been doing you well, go off of it for a week, if only to remind yourself that it is your sister — biological or not. It is your favorite cousin from Michigan. It is your mother, it is your baby nurse, and it needs you as much as you need it.

Also, though, drink a lot of water. This is non-negotiable.

-Leandra

Not drinking coffee for multiple consecutive days, on purpose, is probably one of the top three dumbest things Leandra has ever gotten us into. The first was the time we bought pet roosters. The second was the time she sat on my shoulders and we put an enormous trench coat over us and pretended to be a human totem pole. This was so much worse.

Without coffee I was basically a mildly-functioning baby slug with zero social or motor skills. Everything was hard. Hands suddenly made for terrible typing utensils. I’d forgot to bend my knees. Words seemed longer than they ever had before — even longer than the time we drank tequila all day instead of water. My head pounded. I had a non-alcohol induced, mid-day hangover for three days and it was absolute hell.

By Wednesday I turned a bit of a corner. I didn’t foam any Rabies from the mouth when Leandra suggested we get our thousandth hot water with lemon, and I was actually crossing things off the to-do list. I fell asleep pleasantly at 10:30 PM, whereas my normal bed time is typically a very awful 2 AM.

But on Thursday AM, the phantom hangover hit again. This is what withdrawal feels like, I thought.

Around my thousandth yawn a miracle happened. Leandra’s angel of a friend brought us iced coffees so I found a beer funnel and chugged it. From there, I turned into Jordan Belfort on coke. I mean I was getting everything done. And I had SO many ideas. I made phone calls, wrote five stories, went grocery shopping and learned a new language all in like, one hour. 

On Friday I vowed to be “good” again. No coffee; back to being Amelia the Dying Toad. But Saturday and Sunday brought a whole new set of challenges, aka: real hangovers, so I cheated. Twice.

Monday was my last chance to redeem myself. It was a little bit easier considering I wake up most Mondays with a violent case of anxiety, only instead of exasperating said anxiety with heart palpitations from coffee, I sort of grumpily eased into my day. Around noon I was able to form polite sentences! Then by 2 PM, I think I really did die. This is my ghost writing currently (using Siri to type since ghosts don’t have appendages), and my only conclusion from this awful experiment is that no coffee, whatever the health benefits, is just not for me.

-Amelia

Get to Know the New CFDA Incubator Designers

May marks the end of the school year for most American universities, but for a select group of emerging designers in the US, it’s just the beginning. Ten brands have been chosen by The Council of Fashion Designers of America to be part of the CFDA Incubator Program. At the close of this month, they will move into new design studios within the same building (like a fashion dorm!) to be mentored by industry experts (stylish spirit guides!), all in an effort to take their labels to new heights.

Allow me to introduce the CFDA Incubator Class of 2014-2016.

KATIE ERMILIO, designed by Katie Ermilio

How did you get into fashion? I grew up in the business — my dad was a bespoke menswear designer so it was just part of my childhood. I originally wanted to be in magazines, but I’d make my own clothes to wear to my internships.

Your brand is… rooted in minimalistic, feminine pieces that are meant to be worn and loved forever. They’re meant to be heirlooms.

Describe the woman who wears your line: I designed for private clients before starting my own label, which meant that I was sitting directly with each customer one on one, discussing her life and upcoming events and what she was looking for. I launched this clothing line for that woman. Only now, she’s across the board age-wise, and it’s all about how each individual woman chooses to style the pieces she buys.

Any advice for young people looking to get into this industry? Intern as much as you can so you learn as much as you can. And be relentlessly supportive of yourself!

ISA TAPIA, designed by Isa Tapia

Why shoes? When I was working at Oscar de la Renta as an assistant I would always observe the shoe designer. During my time there, I had the opportunity to go to Italy and work with the people who made the footwear, and they showed me the whole process from beginning to end. I just loved it — it was so architectural. I came back from that trip wanting to design shoes.

Your brand is… It’s fun, easy to wear. There’s a little bit of sex appeal to everything. It’s for anyone who likes fashion or works in fashion, but isn’t a victim of it. It has to be functional, practical, and stylish. I’m a woman designing for women, and I don’t want to be stumbling around because my shoes are uncomfortable, either.

What’s the most exciting part about being in this program? The industry support, and being surrounded by designers who are in a similar place. It’s easy to be overwhelmed by the scale of things when you’re a start up, but when I talked to other people in the program I was like, “Oh you’re experiencing this too.”

Any words of fashion wisdom? Have fun with fashion and be yourself. If you like it, wear it! And don’t be afraid of color; something really fun and colorful can turn your whole day around. That printed dress, that hot pink shoe — it can change your mood.

KAELEN, designed by Kaelen Haworth

What got you into fashion? I always wanted to do something in fashion, so after graduating from school in Canada as an English Major, I went to Parsons.  

Your brand is… Modern, on the minimal side, with a really heavy focus on details that have to be seen up close in order to appreciate them. The wearer knows the details are there, though — like the nice underwear principle!

Describe the woman who wears your line: I can tell you who she’s not. She’s not the 25-year-old socialite unicorn who everyone wants her to be. People seem to want to hear: “She’s 25, she has a hot body, she doesn’t do anything and she parties all the time.” But I envision her as the Tilda Swinton-type woman. Or I hope she is.

I think she’s so sure in her style and what she wants to project that there’s not that much commonality in what she wears; her closet is an archive of things she loves and she’s just always editing it, choosing things that speak to her. She cares about details and functionality.

On music: I have a record collection that I’m psyched about. It’s kind of weird and obscure. There’s Aretha, a ton of Gladys Knight & the Pips…having more than one Pips record is a strange thing. When it comes to rap, I like Biggie, Tupac, The Roots.

KARA, designed by Sarah Law

What turned you on to bag designing? When I was at Parsons, I’d make bags for the students to carry their portfolios. I’d sell them from my dorm room. I like the element of functionality of bags, and that they inhabit the worlds of both art and fashion.

Your brand is… It’s for a person who’s adventurous, always curious. Someone who’s very much inspired by the world, interested in traveling, being in the wilderness…someone with an adventurous spirit.

What’s the most exciting part about being in this program?  To be able to call my mentor — someone who started from the ground up and really had to do everything himself — on a moment’s notice and ask him how he’d handle a business question. That’s amazing.

Favorite restaurant: El Parador. It’s been around for so long that a lot of regulars propose there. All along the walls they have these brass plaques that say, “On this day, this person proposed to this person.”

NOMIA, designed by Yara Flinn

What got you into fashion and how old were you: I started my line when I was 22. I wanted to go to art school originally but didn’t get in to the masters programs, so I thought I might as well try fashion. I’m still influenced by art in terms of composition in textures and colors and the juxtaposition between the two, and that carries over to my designs.

Describe your brand: It’s influenced by art, cities, and tomboy style all mixed together. When I’m designing and thinking about how things are styled, I like to think about the contrast between masculine and feminine: basketball shorts with crop tops, for example. I like things to be unexpected and balanced.

The women who wear your line are… Women who work in a creative area: graphic designers, arts, gallery owners who work with artists…people who appreciate the arts influence in my line, but also its wearability.

On music: I’m a huge rap music fan. I’m kind of worried about moving into the space because I rap around my studio, and now I’m going to have to hold it in.

ORLEY, by Matthew & Alex Orley, Samantha Florence

What inspired you to start Orley? 

Matthew Orley: We’ve been surrounded by fashion since we were young. Sam’s family was in the fashion business, and Alex and I worked retail in high school. We’ve wanted to work together for a while, so it was less a distinct moment of awe and more about focusing ourselves to actually make the company a reality.

On company dynamic: 

Matthew: We’re a family business ourselves, and we work with family-run factories in Italy. Since Sam and I are engaged, and Alex and I are brothers, we’re really comfortable with each other. We can really let our opinions be known.

Describe your brand in three sentences or less: Menswear with a focus on luxury knitwear, and a commitment to the highest quality manufacturing.

The man who wears your line is: Us, really.

What’s the most exciting part about being in this program? Having access to so many industry leaders as mentors, especially because they really understand our brand and want to help. It’s been a big game changer.

NONOO, designed by Misha Nonoo

What got you into fashion: I love all types of design, from architecture to art to fashion, so I knew from a very young age that I wanted to be a designer. I took a different route, though: I went to business school first, and then apprenticed at an atelier. Both benefited me enormously.

The woman who wears your brand is… I always say the woman who wears Nonoo is like a naughty square. She’s quite buttoned-up and composed, but has a sense of playfulness and cheekiness. She has something extra about her.

Where does the name come from? It’s a Middle Eastern name that means “little one.” The proper way to pronounce the name is “nu nu.’ My parents call me Naughty Nonoo, and so does my husband.

Any advice for someone looking to get into the industry? Be passionate, be committed.

DEZSO BY SARA BELTRÁN, designed by Sara Beltrán

What got you into jewelry design: I come from a creative family — my mom used to paint and do ceramics and hand-make things. I always loved jewelry though. Before I was designing it I saw someone on the street wearing a necklace that I liked. I asked her who made it, turns out it was a prototype, and I realized I could make that. So I did.

Describe your brand in three sentences or less: Understated luxury — it’s sophisticated but low-profile. You can wear layers and layers but not feel like you’re wearing too much. Everything is inspired by the ocean; there are palm leaves and shark teeth. It has a very organic feel and is inspired by nature.

What’s the most exciting part about being in this program?  I’m excited to move and create a new space. I’m looking forward to the bonding and learning from each other. Everyone has a lot of of the same questions, so you don’t feel like you’re alone in your challenges. And it’s cool to be surrounded by people who are at the same level of growing — it will help us grow faster.

The woman or man who wears your jewelry is… Someone who can appreciate and understand the perfection of the pieces’ imperfections — everything is hand made. For me, I think it’s more special to buy something that’s unique.

On sharks: I use a lot of the shark tooth-shape in my jewelry so everything thinks I’m a surfer, but I’m actually scared of sharks! In Japan they have a thing called Oka surfers — it’s having the look of the surfer, but you don’t have surf. That’s me, an Oka surfer.

LUCIO CASTRO, designed by Lucio Castro

How did you get in to fashion? I’m from Argentina. Before coming to New York and getting my BFA in fashion at Parsons, I worked in film directing for a production company. Film is still one of my total loves, but its process of story-telling is long. When I worked for my friend’s store in Buenos Aires, I realized I liked the immediacy fashion had when it came to explaining the narrative of daily life.

What inspires you? To make clothes that tell some sort of narrative. My brand is about texture and fabrics and color, not radically changing a silhouette.

Some people think fashion is superficial, but to me it’s absolutely not. It’s linked to personality, and I love that. My grandfather died before I was born, so the way I put his persona together was to look at the clothes in his closet and picture how he wore them.

What’s the most exciting part about being in this program? Being on the same floor as all these other designers, all these other ideas. We come from different places and I think it’s going to make everyone’s designs better. It’s this sense of community that excites me the most.

Any advice to aspiring designers? It’s very easy to get lost, to hear what other people think you should do, but it’s always important to try and keep your voice as clear as possible. The more you design for yourself, the better it will be.

A PEACE TREATY, by Dana Arbib, Farah Malk & Jesse Meighan

What got you into fashion and how old were you: 

Dana: I was born into fashion. My parents took me to Rome and taught me about bespoke and couture clothing as soon as I was old enough to crawl. My father still uses the same Italian tailor he did as a child.

Farah: As soon as I learned how to open the drawers of my mom’s dresser, I literally fell inside the wonderland of her accessories — Liberty silks, tortoise shell hair clips and tokens from her travels like Egyptian turquoise amulets and Turkish leather hobo bags. I must have been 3 or 4 years old.

Jesse: I grew up in Colorado where style means dressing like you’re ready for a hike at a moment’s notice. But my sister bought me a subscription to Sassy Magazine (RIP) when I turned 13 and my whole world changed.

Describe your brand in three sentences or less: Handmade, Curated, Cultured, Vibrant, Refined. The person who wears our line is a cultural mixologist.

What’s the most exciting part about being in this program? Access to the most amazing mentors in fashion and the fact that they are down to loan us their time and wisdom, plus sharing a space with nine other creative and entrepreneurial designers who totally inspire us!

Best NYC memory:

Jesse: I recently witnessed a turf war dust-up between the R&B quartet dudes and pan flute guy on the R train and it made me completely swoon for NYC.

Best piece of advice you’ve ever received:

Dana: Don’t hate what you don’t understand.

Farah: Trust your gut.

Jesse: Fake it ’til you make it.

***

Check out their designs in the slideshow above, and let us know who you’re excited about!

A Wedding Outfit that Doesn’t Suck

May is upon us. In exactly three days, the falsely pegged May Flowers, which come in the wake of April Showers by way of the nursery rhymes of yore will not start blooming but we will watch for them. And as we do that, we will likely also consider that with May comes the rancorous preparations for June.

If you are passively reading, it is likely that you’ve skimmed passed the adjective “rancorous” without so much as thinking twice. If you are reading more actively, the changes are higher that you’re wondering why in the good name of perfect, San Diego-esque weather I would describe the preparations for the month of June as anything less than delightful.

But there is a third option here. You could be reading attentively and have still glossed over the word in question without giving it much thought.

This, I assume, is probably because you’ve been the victim of at least a handful of June weddings. And every woman who has had to forfeit her right to basking in the romance of early summer weekends for the sake of not just attending a wedding you probably shouldn’t have been invited to in the first place, but feeling victimized by a strange urgency to wear a frustratingly awful dress, understands fine and well that with that experience comes only resentment.

Kate says that if you feel a cold coming on, you should immediately down a spoonful of elderberry syrup to nip your ailment in the bud and promote immunity. I say if you feel a wedding that is not your own coming on, you should nip the anxiety in the bud by subscribing to a suggestion outlined in this post: forget the dress. Why don’t you try a long skirt with a button up blouse you already own, love and have found has never once let you down?

If you can already tell you’ll probably hate the food they’ll serve, you can take a lunchbox masquerading itself as an “avant-garde handbag,” too.

Then, you’ll dance the night away.

CH Carolina Herrera blouse and skirt (these ones by Alice and Olivia are pretty solid too, as is this Rick Owens one, which is on sUpEr SaLe), Oliver Peoples sunglasses (similar Asos pair right hurr), Mark Cross handbag. Photos by Matt Borkowski

Kanye’s Workout Plan

This February marked the 10 year anniversary of Kanye West releasing his debut album College Dropout. As my favorite recording artist of all time, I felt the need to acknowledge this milestone, but it can be hard to celebrate somebody without them there (with the exception of Biggie, whose birthday my friends and I feted a few weeks ago with cardboard Burger King crowns and a bottle of champagne). Then, after passing a newsstand and seeing a headline about Kim Kardashian’s recent makeover, it hit me: I should dedicate a week to a food and exercise regimen inspired by a Yeezus classic, “The New Workout Plan.” Thus, the Kanye West Diet was born. Here are the rules, and the lyrics that inspired them:

“1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and get them sit ups right and tuck your tummy tight and do your crunches like this”

Rule 1: 50 sit ups every day before leaving the house

“All them mocha lattes, you gotta do Pilates”

Rule 2: Dairy and caffeine are not only allowed, they are encouraged.

Rule 3: I am going to alternate between Physique 57 — a Pilates-inspired barre class — and yoga, and go at least four times per week.

“Eat your salad, no dessert, get the man you deserve”

Rule 4: At least one salad per day.

Rule 5: No refined sugar.

In my case, “the man you deserve” is Ralph Lauren. I have a pair of Purple Label leather pants that are a little too tight, and I was cautiously optimistic that they’ll fit like a glove by day 7.

Monday:

I woke up and did 50 sit ups immediately. (I start most of my workouts with “All of the Lights” or “Power.”) Then I had a mocha latte inspired smoothie: almond milk, two espresso shots, a banana, chocolate protein powder, almond butter and some agave. A decent amount of research went into my choice of protein powder and I recommend Tera’s Whey.

For lunch I had a Guacamole Greens salad at Sweet Green, with falafel instead of chicken, and a lentil soup. At some point I decided to mix the soup into the salad because to channel a true artist one must embrace experimentation and erratic behavior. It tasted great.

After work I did a Physique 57 class. I really felt like a million bucks when it was done. Eight million with inflation factored in.

Tuesday:

I did my crunches and had the same smoothie again but this time I added cinnamon because you only live once. Then I did a yoga class at my gym.

For lunch I had a chopped salad at Monkey Bar. Two beautiful chocolate eggs were placed on top of the check and I insisted that my friend have both. Turning down chocolate is hard; turning down free chocolate is nearly impossible.

Wednesday:

Just when I thought my breakfast smoothie couldn’t get any more awesome, I stepped it up again and drank it from a champagne flute. Regular glass is way too pedestrian for the rock star lifestyle.

Being a luminary no doubt entails having things made custom for you, so for lunch I ordered a bespoke salad: kale (because everything wonderful in life starts with K), corn, cheese, tomato, cucumber, onion, quinoa, and double avocado.

Thursday:

Eggs over Yeezy, sit ups and yoga before work were definitely the inspiration behind the track “I am a God.”

I really wanted have deep dish pizza this week in honor of Kanye’s Chicago roots but that’s hard to find in New York, so I stacked two slices on top of each other and put a side order of marinara sauce on top.

Friday:

I started my day with a mocha latte from Starbucks and when they asked my name I said “Sophie spelled with a K.” My cup said Ksofie.

More smoothies, sit ups, Pilates, and another tailor-made salad. But shortly after lunch I had a major epiphany: being a true artist and superstar is all about breaking rules, not following them. Thus, I had to stop the Kanye West Diet immediately. I did, however, wear the Yeezus-inspired leather pants the entire weekend.

– Written by Sophie Milrom

Would You Get a Tattoo?

In February of this year, Dan Brooks wrote a story for New York Times magazine called “The Existential Anguish of the Tattoo.” In it, he addressed a relatively new truth. “Tattoos began as a gesture of rebellion and became so ubiquitous as to carry no stigma at all.”

Six months earlier, a story by Amy Larocca appeared in New York Magazine on the relationship between Marc Jacobs and his tattoos. It underscored a similar point. “The tattoos just are what they are: another piece of fashion, the world that has thus far defined a great deal of his life. His tattoos might as well be another collection, like the time he was inspired by Debbie Harry, or the time he couldn’t stop thinking about mods.”

Three months before that, tattoo artist Scott Campbell sat front row at the Marchesa fashion show next to his wife, Lake Bell, who had recently appeared on the cover of the aforementioned magazine cloaked in monochromatic roses drawn on by her husband. If you were lucky enough to grip an unobstructed view at the show, you could see that underneath the intricate lace work and tulle gowns emblematic of the brand were tattoos (presumably temporary) inked by Campbell.

And as recently as last month, couture-capable designers like Vika Gazinskaya and couture-de-facto designers like the team behind Maison Martin Margiela were showing their imminent fall and summer collections respectively. Both included tattoo-inspired prints; in the case of Gaziskaya, they were hand-painted prints. At Margiela, they were embroidered patches sewn together.

With tattoos slipping into the mainstream fashion consciousness, (much the same way piercings staked their claim several years ago,) there arises the inevitable question of: why now?

To answer that, though, it’s important to consider whether you have a tattoo, or would get one at all.

When I was sixteen, I fantasized about a little mustard-colored butterfly, which would flap as I laughed, against my left hip bone. It was very Kelly Kapowski during her 90210 months. It would now serve as an indubitable placard of basic bitch-ness.

That phase passed quickly. I didn’t consider a tattoo again until recently. In 2014, would I get one? Probably not. But not for the same reason I’d have said no as recently as three years ago. Back then, I agreed with an ideology that had been imparted on me: to have a tattoo is to scream using your body instead of your mouth.

Today, to have a tattoo is to be in fashion. And in some sense, to foretell nostalgia.

In Brooks’ Times story, he notes that, “Getting a tattoo may be a way for your past sense to dominate your present self but getting sick of your tattoo is a way for your present self to betray your past.”

I don’t think I could handle bringing the present me into the future and subsequently wanting to divorce myself from her.

There is an undeniable if not somewhat admirable sense of hubris tethered to the tattooing process, and whether or not you are willing to acknowledge that the ink on your body will represent even a morsel of who you are in perpetuity does not change that fact that it will. (Even if “who you were” was plainly an aesthete.) Similarly to a tattoo, this fact hasn’t changed through the motions of the anterior appearing in popular culture. First, as a totem of rebelliousness and now, for being au courant.

But why have they become so fashionable? It’s possible that it has something to do with the hyper-transience of our current lives. The fact that what we put out is subject to get buried under what everyone else puts out might detract from our respective senses of identity. Getting a tattoo hones in precisely on who we are, or who we think we are, and makes that point with unceasing conviction.

It could conversely mean something as simple as appreciating that fashion always dips its hand into the zeitgeist of days past. Or maybe I’m completely off. Do you have a tattoo? Why’d you get it? If you don’t, do you want one? Why now? Why not?

Couch Potato

Short of maternal embrace, there is no comfort so great as a big, cozy couch. I know this to be true.

After all, it had been while sitting atop a plastic yellow couch that I first kissed some idiot named Adam in nursery school. Every year, my parents insisted my siblings and I assemble “on the green couch” in order to receive our annual bounty of Hanukkah gifts. And whenever I called in sick to school, my mother laid the same careworn sofa with pink cotton sheets, turned on The Price is Right, and brought me my lunch on a silver platter. Bob Barker at my fingertips and Nesquik sipped through a Krazy Straw? Show me more perfect happiness. I dare you.

Such early exposure to its charms explains why tufted furniture is the creature comfort that I have missed most since leaving New York over fourteen weeks ago. More even than I pine for my hair dryer or Poland Springs or Hulu, I yearn for that hideous old couch. It has seen me at my best and accepted me at my very worst. It has forgiven unspeakable crimes. A sibling who shall rename nameless peed on it once. (You know who you are.) But happy memories and barely endured hangovers do not alone account for the degree to which I long for it. Nostalgia is only partly to blame for the dull ache.

I’ve essentially been on the move for more than three months. I’ve traveled to England, Scotland, France, Ireland, and Israel. I’ve traipsed through world-famous museums, consumed my weight in mozzarella, and found that house wine makes everything taste better. I have been caught snapping selfies in public more often than I care to admit. I’ve seized the day and YOLO’d and carpe’d every diem. The life of a functional nomad is not too shabby. In fact, it puts even the winnings of Bob Barker’s Showcase Showdown to shame. But to revel in such an itinerant existence forces certain compromises.

It turns out you cannot pack a couch in your carry-on bag. I inaugurated the 30% Rule in January. Mine can still barely fit a pillow.

Couches are neither native nor necessary to travel. Hotels and dorm rooms and hostels provide beds for sleeping and chairs for sitting. Some even offer perfunctory love seats or brocade chaises or stiff divans. But do not mistake such imitators for true couches. A chaise will not hold you in its rapturous grip. A divan will not keep you warm at night. Thank goodness. If they did, I might never have roused myself from them to see the Eiffel Tower or the Duomo or Dover Street Market.

Sofas do not motivate or inspire or galvanize. They are not exclusive and they are very probably the enemies of great adventure. But they are also irresistible. One time, I sat down on one after lunch. The next thing I knew it was two in the morning. I don’t even regret it.

If These Men Were Women

Have you ever wondered what your favorite actor might look like if he were a woman? What he might wear, what kinds of accessories he might gravitate toward and whether or not he might find himself stricken by the plague of basic bitch-ness.

If the answer is no then I have exactly nothing to show you this morning.

If, however, your answer is an effusive, “yes, yes, a thousand times yes! I think about how Piers Morgan would wear culottes if he were a woman all the time!,” then I have just the story for you (minus the whole Piers Morgan in culottes thing): a series of illustrated renderings as drawn by Charlotte Fassler of three of our favorite men — Jared Leto, Leonardo DiCaprio and Jay Leno.

Fine, full disclosure, the alliteration was a selling point too.

But right now that is neither here nor there.

Consider Jared Leto in a Givenchy plaid shirt from Fall, leather pants by whoever your imagination feels like conjuring and a sheer, knee-length skirt-over-pants plus the Balenciaga motorcycle boots of popular culture-yore — naturally tousled and ombre hair notwithstanding. We thought about putting him in an outfit that might seem more emblematic of his days as Angela Chase’s beau but opted against it which actually proved itself a futile effort because ultimately, when push comes to shove, Jared Leto = Jordan Catalano.

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And here’s Leonardo DiCaprio. Our skillful set of in-house anthropologists determined that if DiCap were a woman, he would likely be Jennifer Aniston. This is precisely why he appears clothed in a banal brown Theory tank top, J Brand jeans and some Chloé sandals which, full disclosure, I own. To maintain to spirit of the male version of DiCap, there are also a pair of Isabel Marant x Oliver Peoples sunglasses to consider and a baseball cap, which Charlotte executively decided to scribe with the letters “L” and “A.”

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Finally, here’s Jay. The man, the myth, the chin — who has been known to peel away at the layers of his late night suiting to kick it back more comfortably in a Canadian tuxedo. It’s worth mentioning that he was tux-ing before tux-ing was a thing (or, at very least, before I knew it was a thing). He wears a Saint Laurent belt to show off his pop culture sensibility and meme-brand brogue loafers for the same reason. Not invaluable is the fact that his jeans are by The Row and his fuschia, croc-skin clutch was made specifically for him by Nancy Gonzalez.

Deduction? The man is my accidental style icon.

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I Want to Be Julia Sarr-Jamois

Hey! You there, miss, in the business casual outfit a fashion intern would slaughter for and the gym shoes your personal trainer just purchased on Zappos.

Yes, you, in the color, pattern and texture, looking not like a child running amuck in her mom’s closet and more like the oracle of personal style.

How do you do it?

Your Breton stripes and Art Deco skirt; your banana-print bottoms and athletic tops; your crosshatch fur and a wicker basket. I want in.

I want to wear sneakers and sweatshirts and designer skirts at once, aligning like the mythical cherry-cherry-cherry on a slot machine; a hopeful combination, but never a reality.

I want to be comfortable and stylish, a fortuitous empty promise that comes true wherever she lays her Swoosh-clad foot.

To look at her directly is to stare at a Magic Eye in the nanosecond as it begins to make sense — quizzical, approachable, mood-altering.

To gaze upon her textured coif is an inevitable precursor to swiveling in a salon chair.

To see her is to experience a once-in-a-lifetime secret. She is the chicken to an egg, the Harry to Hogwarts, the style to street.

Or whatever.

Her photos read like a textbook for figuring it out, while doubling as a puzzling guide to the incapability of cribbing her unparalleled style.

Did that facial decor come from a costume shop? Did that shoulder-slung sack come from Céline? Is it high end? High street? Something you repurposed from a dress-up box?

Nevermind where your garden grows, what does your closet look like? Is it organized by color, allowing you to be summoned by the rainbow collective on a daily basis? Or is it prioritized by event, the glitzy, detailed frocks clanging together whenever one is plucked off the rod to be taken out for a night on the town.

And even with a face so beautiful, hair so voluminous, legs so long, skin so glowing, it’s like staring into an eclipse.

I want to live.

Or do whatever it is that your sweatshirt is telling me to do.

Written by Carlye Wisel

Finding Style in Trial and Error

It’s been said that if you fall off your bicycle, you should get back on and just keep riding. I understand that the larger metaphor-for-life was initially instituted to depress the plague of discouragement, but I also understand that the euphemism has prevailed because as humans, we have historically demonstrated that we learn from our blunders. Steve Jobs was pushed out of his own company in 1985 only to return in ’96 and eventually render every other business in the history of work obsolete.

Naomi Campbell famously fell to her ankles (no, really) while walking in a Vivienne Westwood show in 1993 but that’s frequently overlooked. And I failed my road test four times before I became a professional race car driver.

But when considering style, why does it always seem like if you’re not consistently “getting it right,” you don’t have it. There’s a saying that goes, “style can’t be taught,” which has been underscored by a comment Anna Wintour once made — “either you have it or you don’t.”

If this is true, it means that the ability to style is an inherent quality that a man or woman possesses. And if that quality is inherent, the supposition is that like with blinking, or with breathing, there’s no learning — from blunders or otherwise — to take place. Frankly, though, who’s to say that if you are one of these ostensibly lucky gene carriers, you can’t come into a few snafus along the way? Especially, I might add, in this golden era of pics-or-I-never-wore-it.

I guess it always boils back down to Instagram.

Last month I watched hundreds of comments rake in regarding a photo I posted of an outfit which included a blue bralette-style crop top and high waist burgundy satin shorts. The responses were mostly respectful but almost universally against the look. I called it the Obamacare of Selfies, primarily because most people hated it (and I understood why), but because I created it, I stood really firmly behind it.

The following day, I posted another photo (a full green look), which received glowing reviews — some even from the commenters who just the previous day told me I had “zero sense of style.”

It occurred to me then that to say style is inherent is fair but it is also vaguely flawed. This is chiefly because personal style is deep-rooted in opinion. Not everyone is going to agree but this is precisely what makes it personal (and often too, compelling). Is it a coincidence that the second photo was the one that received the positive feedback? Maybe, but it might also be a nod to my testing the trial and error formula and understanding what could have worked and what didn’t.

Much like writing, style is a muscle that needs to be trained in order to function as the best version of itself. Sometimes it works better than you knew it was capable of performing while other times it feels kind of weak. As a result, it can often let you down but there is an ultimate, baseline understanding that it’s always there and that it’s yours. Sure, it constantly needs to be challenged in order to continue operating successfully but what doesn’t?

Don’t wait for the bike to tip over. Throw yourself off that shit and see what happens.

Oh! By the way! I’m not really a professional race car driver. I do have my license, though.