Leandra Medine's Blog, page 74

The Cool New Brand for You, Based on Your Personality

In an ideal universe, the outfit you choose each morning not only perfectly encapsulates your truest self to the extent that people just know your favorite Google Image search is “basset hound running,” it also elicits at least three “Where did you get that?” inquiries in a day. If you have the first part of that equation locked down (my congratulations), but could use a little assistance with the second lately, I sympathize.

That’s why I rounded up five under-the-radar brands designing outfit-making pieces your friends probably haven’t seen before. Close your eyes, think “Who am I, really?” and get scrolling.

Pura Utz: For the Person Who Elevates Açaí Bowl Construction to an Art Form and Considers Removing a Friendship Bracelet an Act of Treason

 

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A post shared by Pura Utz (@purautz) on Mar 6, 2019 at 9:52pm PST

There are people who like to accessorize, and then there are people who sleep, shower, and hit the beach in their bracelet stacks—only changing them up when it’s time to invite a new guest to the arm party or when a clasp finally breaks. Pura Utz’s creations—designed in Copenhagen and hand-beaded by Mayan women in Guatemala—are adorable on their own, but really shine when layered (pick up a trio of banana, strawberry, and cherry-themed bracelets and make yourself a fruit salad).

Henning: For the Person Who Gives “Any Given Sunday”-Level Pep Talks and Makes Blazers Look Like Modern Superhero Garb

 

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Former Glamour editor Lauren Chan was frustrated with the lack of luxury workwear for women sizes 12 and above—so she launched her own line, based on the premise that everyone should have access to high-quality staples. Styles run the work-to-drinks gamut from tailored power suits and classic trench coats to the perfect turquoise silk cocktail dress.

Still Here: For the Person Who Can Convince You to Take a Glass-Blowing Class, Scam Your Way Into a Hotel Pool, and Order That Third Drink—All in the Same Day

 

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If you’re the type who asks themselves, “Would I be able to hop a fence in this, if I had to?” before getting dressed, but finds athleisure a step too far, then a top-notch denim stash is essential. Designed in New York City and sustainably produced in Los Angeles, newcomer Stay Here pairs vintage-inspired silhouettes with standout details, like hand-painted back-of-the-leg stripes (as seen on their signature “Tate” cropped jeans) and chain-stitch embroidery in a color theorist’s dream palette. All the better to make your exit a memorable one, right?

Nana-Nana: For the Person Who Remains Ironically Detached About Almost Everything… Except Y2K-Era Fashion

 

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Tokyo-based accessories brand Nana-Nana pulls off a nearly impossible trick: emanating early 2000s Lizzie McGuire vibes (that cartoon-bright vinyl!) while serving jokes (that “Trash Box” bag). Their iPhone cases—especially the ones designed to look like suddenly-retro iPods—are also worth checking out.

Coperni: For the Person Whose Daydreams Almost Always Involve Vespas—But Only as the Driver, Never the Passenger

 

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Courrèges alums Sébastien Meyer and Arnaud Vaillant may have designed Instagram’s next “It” accessory—the “Swipe”, a structured oval shoulder bag that kind of looks like the tip of a thumb if you squint (their Spring 2020 collection has a running tech theme). Modern-day flair aside, Coperni also turns out some really on-point 60s mini dresses, adding up to the perfect wardrobe for swiping right, then planning a Fellini-inspired date.

Any other cool/small/new brands tickling your fancy these days? Tell me in the comments, and don’t forget to ascribe them a personality type so your style soulmates can flock like moths to the appropriate flame.

Feature photos via Pura Utz and Henning.

The post The Cool New Brand for You, Based on Your Personality appeared first on Man Repeller.

A Former Justin Bieber Stan on Why She Finally Quit Him

On August 16th, 2016 in a suburb of Milwaukee, a recent high school graduate lay down on her bed and cried. For the first time in seven years, she had no access to the communication channels on which she’d grown to rely for her identity, her community, and her sense of self-worth.

Her name was Sophie. She’d spent most of her waking hours for nearly a decade tracking Justin Bieber’s every movement, friend group fluctuation, relationship status, and emotional whim for her highly trafficked fan pages. And earlier that day, with a few clicks, she’d deleted everything—on purpose.

An Instagram account. A Tumblr account. Two Twitter accounts. Thirteen thousand photos. Fan fiction that had garnered over 70,000 reads. Hundreds of audio files: his songs, in classic form and in live performance recordings.

Her life as a Justin Bieber stan was officially over.

The term “stan”—a portmanteau of stalker-fan—was widely popularized as a noun in 2000, when Eminem released a song by the same name. It featured a man whose obsession with his favorite rapper escalated quickly from a copycat coif to a basement-lair hastily wallpapered with concert posters, and then abruptly to murder-suicide. In the years since, the idea of a stan has since evolved to be somewhat more positive, and an identity in its own right. The Outline reports that its first documented appearance as a verb occurred when a Twitter user declared, “I stan for santogold” in 2008.

Some months later, in 2009, Sophie—then in middle school—got her first iPhone. It wasn’t long before she’d joined the swarm of young people congregating virtually around a recently discovered blonde heartthrob from Canada. And thus began Sophie’s stan-dom. (She does not self-identify as a Belieber—“‘Belieber’ kind of stood for the people who liked him, but didn’t know him,” she says with some disdain.) In the years that followed, she would learn what true devotion looked like—where the performative parts ended and the reflexive, etherizing ones began, and how it felt to throw it all away. What follows is Sophie’s story, in her own words.

It All Began With a Song
Photo By: Kristin Callahan/Everett Collection

I had heard about Justin Bieber online, but at that point I was young, in grade school, so my mom didn’t let me have much access to the internet. I was a Radio Disney listener and they were playing “One Time” nonstop, and I knew all the words and I was like, “What is this magic? I need to know about this.”

One day, I heard my mom shout up to me, “That kid who sings ‘One Time’ is on the Today Show.” I ran down and I got really close to the TV, and there he was with a scarf on, with his swished hair, and I was like, “No way. This is everything.” My dad came home with the album and I put it into a CD player and lay on my bedroom floor. It felt like the first time that I truly connected to music.

Then I found out that I have very severe scoliosis and I was going to have to have a spinal fusion. I had to spend a month at home, away from school, and my mom was like, “You know, it was going to be your graduation gift, but we’re going to get you an iPhone. And I’m going to let you have a Facebook so you can be in touch with friends.” So that’s when the doors really opened. And when I made that Facebook account and realized they were fan accounts for Justin, this whole world cracked open for me. It was overwhelming. I remember the first one I came across was called Team Bieber and it had 35,000 likes, and I thought, I’m going to make one too.

Eventually, my pages spread to other networks. I’d go on to have two Twitter accounts, an Instagram account, and a Tumblr all dedicated to Justin’s every move, with tens of thousands of followers. On Instagram, I was posting probably three times a day. On Twitter, any second that I had free, I was tweeting. I hit the post limit on Tumblr—250—all the time. I would hit the tweet limit (2,400 per day) all the time too, especially on an awards night.

I spent seven years being a Justin Bieber stan. My days were focused on keeping these accounts up-to-date and making sure I was up on all the news. By freshman year, the hype on my accounts was crazy. That year came with so many insecurities, but I knew for sure that this one thing was mine. There’s some sort of ownership that comes with being a stan. To know you have true, deep-rooted feelings for this person.

When I Met Justin Bieber in Person

I only met him once. July 9th, 2013. That is a day I will never forget. I spent months preparing for it—by creating these fake VIP meet-and-greet passes (I couldn’t afford the real ones). When I got in I was like, Holy shit, all these people that I stalk constantly are here. Mike Lerner, his photographer at the time, Kenny Hamilton, his security director, Scooter Braun, his manager, Alfredo Flores, a photographer-director.

Justin was in sunglasses and a snap-back and tank top. And he smelled like so much cologne I couldn’t breathe when we hugged. I said, “Justin, I love you so much.” And he said, “Okay, let’s take a photo.” They snapped the photo and I started to cry. And he grabbed my arm and pulled me back and hugged me and was like, “Please don’t cry. Seriously, please don’t cry.”

He was so clearly stoned. But in that moment, I loved him so much. My heart was so full. I was like, I don’t care if he’s high. I don’t care if he’s never going to recognize me again. I feel so good right now. I walked out of the curtain and they handed me a Justin Bieber Believe vinyl, signed by him.

How the Height of Stan-dom Really Felt

His music was very important to me—I think that still holds true to this day—but outside of his music, I was in love with his world. I loved knowing about him and the inner workings of that kind of stardom. I was fascinated by it, and I still am. Sure, he was this untouchable person, but I did so much research and I had been so invested. I felt like I knew him better than anyone else, and that felt so good. But it was all so fleeting. When he would say, “Oh my god, I love all my fans!”—he didn’t know any of us by name. It wasn’t real. But I couldn’t see that then. I was blinded.

In truth I was using my standom to cover up things in my life that I was insecure about or felt fearful of. I used it as an escape. It felt like something that defined my personality. I spent a lot of time in my younger years thinking that I was fat, and kids would make fun of me when I was little about being fat. To have something that people thought of me before they thought of something else felt really important. Being open about stanning Justin felt like freedom to me—freedom from being thought of as the fat girl.

Also, being a stan of anything, there’s a community around it. I think that creates a sort of love bond. It doesn’t matter if you’re talking about Glossier in the comments on one of their posts or anything else, you have a common passion and that can bring you joy.

The Month Before I Decided to Get Rid of Everything

My family had been planning this trip to New York City, which had always been my favorite place. And it just so happened that Justin was playing the last two shows of the first leg of his Purpose tour then. So I was like, “Oh my god, I’m going to be able to see Justin at MSG. Holy shit.” But I kind of kept that on the down-low because I knew my parents were like, “This is fucked up. She can’t keep doing this.” But when our tickets to New York were booked, I spilled that I wanted to go. I have a very vivid memory of my dad being like, “This is over. You can’t do this anymore. I’m sick and tired of this.”

The entire time I was in New York, I was on Twitter wondering where he was and what he was doing. I wish there were words to describe the mental anxiety and panic I would feel over knowing I could be near him but not being near him. It was a weight on my chest constantly—not having enough of him. I was distracted the whole trip. On the day of the show, we were having an early dinner, and I was having this tearful, silent moment, thinking, I’m going to miss his show after all. Right then and there, my mom and I bought two tickets and went directly to Madison Square Garden.

A couple days later we were back in Wisconsin. That month, I could feel that my parents were disappointed in how I’d acted leading up to the trip, and then the whole week in New York until they finally relented and let me go to the concert. I could handle their anger, but their disappointment let me know things had gone too far.

The Day My Life Changed for Good
Photo via Getty by BG002/Bauer-Griffin/GC Images

It was August 16, 2016—a little less than a month since I’d seen him and I felt so empty. I’d been doing it for so long, I genuinely didn’t know who I was without it. But it got to the point where I was like, It doesn’t matter, because I can’t continue on with this. The night before I pulled the plug, I texted a friend: “I don’t think I can do this anymore. It’s ruining relationships in my life.”

The next day I woke up, looked at Twitter, and wanted to throw up. That’s when I did it: deleted every social media app from my phone and put blocks on my computer so I couldn’t access Instagram or Twitter. I think I had 13,000 photos on my phone—screenshots and photos and fan theories other things I’d been collecting—and I needed to rid my life of it. I deleted all of his music from my library.

It was just silence. And I felt like I hadn’t heard that kind of silence in so long. It felt strange, almost out of body, that I was existing without those things near me.

Then I laid in bed and cried. I cried and cried and cried. I physically felt like I couldn’t move. When dinnertime came around, my mom came into my room and said, “You have to get up. You don’t have a choice.” And when I finally sat down, my dad asked me what was wrong and I broke down and said, “I got rid of everything today.” They all hugged me. They had known that this thing had been running my life.

The Three Years Since That Day

It took me a really long time to feel like myself again—to go on the journey post-Justin toward self-love and understanding my worth and who I am as an individual. If I walked into a store and his music was playing, I’d walk out. I was very strict with myself. I wrote a YA fiction novel in an effort to get over Justin. The story is about a girl who is completely infatuated with her boyfriend, but he treats her in a very cold, distant way. He leads her on and never lets her in. It helped me understand that the way I was allowing myself to be treated wasn’t fair. I was putting myself through this suffering, thinking that this was the kind of love and treatment I deserved.

Today I kind of think of it as a breakup: Okay, we’ve been “broken up” for a year and a half now, I am allowed to look at a picture of you or scroll through Twitter and not be scared when I come across something that has you in it. I don’t follow him or anything, but I’m also so much stronger now, so those things don’t affect me.

I was living back home when Justin and Hailey got married at a courthouse. A friend texted me saying, “Oh my god, did you see Justin and Hailey are married?” It felt really strange and I cried a little. But it was more happy tears, because in a way, I was like, “Oh thank god, we’ve both moved on.”

*Interview has been edited for length and clarity

Feature Photo via Getty Images.

The post A Former Justin Bieber Stan on Why She Finally Quit Him appeared first on Man Repeller.

How Bon Appétit Became a YouTube Sensation—and Why Claire Saffitz Is the Perfect Star

In the first episode of Gourmet Makes, Food Editor Claire Saffitz is several attempts into replicating a Twinkie in the Bon Appétit test kitchen, and her colleague Brad Leone has an opinion on her latest: It should be chewier.

“But cake isn’t really supposed to be chewy,” says Saffitz.

“Well, I don’t like cake!” says Leone.

“Spongier!” someone in the background yells. It’s Food Stylist Judy Mancini. “Have you ever made a chiffon cake?”

“Oh my god. A chiffon cake? That’s a good idea,” says Saffitz, looking despondent at the thought of starting over. “Can we edit that out?” she asks someone out of frame. They cannot. She groans. The camera lingers on her displeasure. And then she starts over.

Saffitz being mic’d up for an episode of an as-yet-unaired Test Kitchen Talks.

Twenty-five episodes later, Gourmet Makes is now the most popular franchise on Bon Appétit’s beloved YouTube channel, and it’s propelled Saffitz from obscurity into a Jia Tolentino-level media darling. Glossier wants to know about her skincare routine. The Cut wants to know how she gets it done. Grubstreet wants to know what she eats for breakfast (avocado tartine with sliced egg, crispy onions, and arugula—or nothing). Nearly half a million people want to see what she’s doing on Instagram. It’s an unusual level of interest for a chef whose claim to fame is recreating junk food on YouTube with only the mildest measure of enthusiasm, but that’s precisely why her figurehood is fascinating.

That debut episode, “Pastry Chef Attempts to Make a Gourmet Twinkie,” took her four days to tape, runs 11-and-a-half minutes, and has over six million views. In the last moments, when fellow food editor Rick Martinez tastes her final iteration, he’s satisfied—it tastes exactly how he wishes a Twinkie would. “Well, thanks,” she replies neutrally. “I guess we accomplished what we set out to do.”

“I wanted to pull my hair out,” Saffitz told me recently when we met up in Manhattan, where today she can scarcely go a few days without being recognized by fans on the street. “I absolutely hated it and felt it was totally pointless.” So when the episode, which was supposed to be a one-off, blew up, she was perplexed. “I thought it was this nonsensical, sprawling, rudderless show.”

Unsurprisingly, the test kitchen looks exactly the same in real life as it does on the Bon Appétit YouTube channel.

Producers were testing a bunch of video ideas for Condé Nast at the time, and the Bon Appétit test kitchen, with its sprawling marble countertops and massive 35th-floor windows at One World Trade Center, was the perfect setting. Two years of Gourmet Makes later—Starbursts, Doritos, her most dreaded Pop Rocks—the show’s view counts regularly outnumber Bon Appétit’s 4.5M subscribers. And among the passionate Reddit communities and meme accounts (including my own attempt) dedicated to BA’s YouTube presence, Saffitz has cemented her role as the viral muse of the channel, and more importantly, as the culinary internet’s favorite curmudgeon.

Arts, crafts, quince

When I arrive at the Upper West Side apartment Saffitz’s shares with her boyfriend, who also works in food, she’s barefoot in a pair of jeans and a striped T-shirt, her famously grey-streaked hair in a sloppy half-pony. She greets me with a warm hug and takes my coat. Distinctly un-curmudgeonly. Her place feels cozy and lived in. The kitchen is clearly one of two chefs: The burners and oven look restaurant-grade, the counters are stacked with packed utensil cans, the walls are affixed with labeled squeeze bottles and boxes of Saran wrap positioned for maximum efficiency. At one point I watch her twirl a piece of plastic off the box without looking, wrapping something at the same time as she rips it clean.

She moves swiftly and gracefully like that—or just as often: slowly and artfully. When I watch her chop some quince for a recipe she’s testing, or slice her bahn mi sandwich in half, or cut a perfect circle into a slab of dough, I immediately recognize the person I’ve observed on Gourmet Makes. The one who, between nihilistic complaints, goes out of her way to bring art into her work, like when she painstakingly recreated the foil wrapper of a homemade Ferrero Rocher, or deconstructed a strainer to fashion the perfect curved mold for a gourmet Pringle.

“I love arts and crafts,” she says, “I always feel a sense of relief when I get to that part, because I can just sit there, basically in silence.”

She likes silence and she likes order—decisively more than recreating junk food. This tension is central to Gourmet Makes, and part of why her pension for eye-rolling feels charming rather than obnoxious: You get the sense that none of this is her fault. She never claimed airbrushing tiny homemade Skittles was important; it’s just what we—viewers, producers, the internet—are making her do. It might be the most compelling meta-commentary on digital content we have right now.

I think there’s something about watching me go through a stressful process that’s stress-relieving for people.

She’s not and never has been a performer, she tells me. (Whenever she’s filming for a non-BA project and is asked to flub the steps a bit, she can’t. “I’m an indoor cat,” she says. “I need to be in my natural environment.”) It’s absurd to her that she’s made a career out of entertaining people. But her theory for why Gourmet Makes became popular is rooted in these very sentiments: From the beginning, she never really liked it. “I don’t feel that way anymore, necessarily, but there are moments where I’m still like, I can’t believe this is a thing. Why is this a thing? No one should spend their time doing this,” she says. “I think there’s something about watching me go through a stressful process that’s stress-relieving for people.”

Her perseverance is key. Not only do you feel for her as she sets out on the ludicrous endeavor of making homemade Gushers, but you get to watch her push through it to the other side (and she always does). This combination of emotional sincerity and enterprising spirit fuels the entire Bon Appétit YouTube universe, which now features a whole cast of beloved characters (Brad, Molly, Chris, Carla, Andy, Gaby, Amiel, Priya).

BA Social Media Editor Emily Schultz films Molly Baz for a new Instagram franchise they’re calling, of course, “Lunch al Desko.”

Although Saffitz has become a central figure among them, the channel as we know it actually found its footing with Leone, the aforementioned cake-hater whom fans are constantly trying to “ship” with her (neither are single). And as with most strokes of genius, the now-famous voice of the test kitchen was the alchemical result of luck, good timing, and vague intuition.

The potato chip was invented by chance, too

Back in 2016, the Bon Appétit video team was producing straight-forward, three-minute recipe spots for YouTube. During screen tests, the test kitchen manager, Brad Leone, couldn’t stay focused. But Alex Grossman, then-creative director, thought he was funny, and sent a camera guy to follow him around for a bit anyway. The resulting footage, of Leone making his own kombucha, was long and sloppy. It sat untouched for several months. But then a producer named Vincent Cross saw something in the tape that no one else did. He cut it into a nine-minute video that was unlike anything the channel had published before, full of spills and swearing and fast cuts with irreverent commentary added via text overlay by graphics editor Matt Hunziker. They showed it to the higher-ups, who were skeptical. The conversation, Hunziker tells me, went something like this:

“Can we put this on the internet?” Cross asked.

“No,” they said.

“Please?” he asked.

“Fine,” they said.

But they had their doubts: It was way too long for the people’s short attention spans, they said, and it didn’t provide a service. If audiences couldn’t actually learn how to make kombucha by watching, what was the point?

The point, it turned out, was Leone. People loved him. The video was a hit. Actually: “It was a mess,” Hunziker tells me, “but people liked it. So we just kept making messes.”

Hunziker’s been shooting, directing, and editing Leone’s popular fermentation-focused show, It’s Alive, for three years now. And his choices have come to shape the aesthetic of the entire BA canon, now defined by its shaky cam-style filming, unplanned cameos, and focus on (if not full celebration of) kitchen fuckups. In other words, it’s messy. Which is to say: human.

Shows like Gourmet Makes, Reverse Engineering (where chef and supertaster Chris Morocco attempts to recreate recipes by only smell, feel, and taste—highly recommend), and Making Perfect (where the team works together to create the ultimate version of something—block off lots of time for this one) followed, sprinkled in with recipe videos that felt like something your chef-friend might make for you if you asked nicely. Almost all them surpassed 10 minutes in length, many approaching 40, and with view counts ranging from 500k to 10M, attention spans prevailed. Today, Bon Appétit has the fastest growing YouTube channel in the food category, with over 40M monthly views and over 5B minutes watched.

If the lauded cooking-show format of the aughts was a coifed white lady showing viewers how to be the perfect host, and that of the early tens was the disembodied bird’s-eye perspective of Buzzfeed’s supercuts, Bon Appétit stumbled onto the scene at just the right moment: The internet’s bullshit meter was more sophisticated than ever, and anything too stiff (Martha) or slick (Tasty) was missing the mark.

This is great, I quit

In the summer of 2018, a year after the debut of Gourmet Makes, Saffitz was exhausted. On top of filming, she was still working full-time as a senior food editor, developing recipes for the Bon Appétit site and magazine, occasionally writing for it, too. While complaining about her untenable workload to her boyfriend Harris on the phone one day, he suggested she quit. “I was like, ‘That’s so crazy. Don’t say that!’” she recalls. Twenty minutes later, she was convinced he was right.

Setting up the shot involves a lot of fiddling with the bird’s eye camera.

In 2013, Saffitz wouldn’t have dreamed of quitting. She’d just been hired as a freelance recipe tester, and after spending her early twenties feeling a bit lost, she wasn’t about to let the opportunity go. “It was like the universe heard my prayers,” she says. “I’d never been so excited. I always thought if I was just able to get a foot in the door, I could prove through hard work that I really wanted to be there.”

I thought I would just do school forever until they kicked me out.

Saffitz got her degree in American history and literature at Harvard in 2009 and, unsure what to do after graduation, enrolled in culinary school. “I looked at culinary school as more of like a stop gap,” she says. “It was knowledge for the sake of knowledge.” When she finished, she returned to school again: this time for a Master’s in history at McGill University.

“I always loved school,” says say. “I thought I would just do school forever until they kicked me out.” But at McGill she realized she missed cooking, so after graduation she applied to Bon Appétit, and the rest, they say…(I won’t say it). But neither she nor her family expected she’d end up where she did. “When I went to culinary school, I think they thought I was being sort of frivolous,” she says. “Like, ‘What is she doing? She’s veering off course.’ I think they’re a little bit tickled that I made it work.”

By 2018, she was in high demand, considering opportunities her gig at Bon Appétit couldn’t accomodate: freelance work, a cookbook, some of her time back. The day after her phone call with Harris, she quit, hopeful she could transition her role as host of Gourmet Makes into a contracted position. For a while, things hung in the balance, and fans briefly panicked. But she returned to the show that November, on contract, with an episode recreating Sno-Balls, no less.

As we talk, Saffitz carefully arranges slices of quince in a geometrical spiral in a cast iron skillet. She is testing the recipe for a tart, to be published in her forthcoming cookbook about how baking can be just as creative as cooking (working title: Dessert Person—“I’ve always been one”). About halfway through, she pauses, looking discouraged. “I think I might have to redo this,” she says. “People won’t want to make this if it’s so particular.” She undoes her handiwork, opting instead to arrange the slices in straight lines. This makes her a little sad.

Working for herself has been stressful. She likes rules and boundaries and hates change, and freelancing challenges all of those (she recently set a policy that she’d stop working at 10:30 p.m.). Meanwhile, her Bon Appétit gig—she now films about 10 days per month—involves entertaining, which isn’t her forte, and creating recipes no one in their right mind will emulate (this does, per her quince spiral, have its upsides). But she’s always been shy and drawn to hard work. As a kid, she was deeply focused on school, hated being looked at, and spent a lot of time by herself. “I was a high-anxiety kid,” she says. Very serious, very studious. “I wasn’t good at team sports, I just made myself endure it because I thought I had to.”

I bring all this up not to catalogue Saffitz’s path like a sentient LinkedIn profile, but to underline something I find increasingly interesting about her as an unlikely internet icon: She’s an enigma of a quirky kind. Not brilliant and scattered, but determined and aimless. Not brave and rebellious, but anxious and creative. She hates change yet pursues it, wants order but trades in chaos. She’s loved because she hates stuff; performs well because she can’t perform. And above all, she’s aggressively regular—and something about this makes the crowd go wild.

She sends me home with a slice of quince tart. It’s fucking delicious.

Snacks versus meals
Claire Saffitz, loyal clog-wearer in the kitchen.

Two weeks post-quince, I meet Saffitz in the test kitchen. She’s sitting on a stool in a back room, asking fellow video host Amiel Stanek how to purchase more iCloud storage on her iPhone. “I’m late,” she tells me casually. “They told me they need me in two minutes and it’s been 10.”

She’s often late, she says. She’s a night owl and a morning person and she also needs a lot of sleep. This combination can prove tricky, especially because she hates keeping people waiting—but also not that much, she clarifies. (See? Enigma.) Across the room there are five men, two with cameras strapped to their bodies, one with a boom mic, another staring at a screen, and an authoritative one holding papers stapled together (whom I later learn is Jeff, the director of Test Kitchen Talks, among other Condé Nast projects).

Filming is about to start, and the rest of the kitchen is unconcerned. In one corner BA Social Media Editor Emily Schultz is filming Molly Baz (another audience favorite) stir a pot of curry paste on the stove. They’re shooting a new Instagram franchise they’re calling “Lunch al Desko.” Another food editor is prepping her station, another is taking an iPhone photo of chopped kale and a singular hard-boiled egg. A fifth arrives with a recipe in hand for chocolate hazelnut cookies. A massive steel bowl of steel cut oats sits abandoned on a counter. There is no clearing of clutter as the director’s block closes. No “quiet on the set.”

Over the next two hours, Saffitz bangs out five back-to-back tapings. Her and Amiel debate which foods are snacks and which are meals (nachos are a snack; quesadillas are snacks; cinnamon buns are snacks—actually, they’re dessert. When they take too long to decide, Jeff politely asks them to wrap up. Almost nothing is deemed a meal). Next she taste-tests four pieces of steak, each cooked a different way, and describes them to the camera. Then she has to slice, plate, and dress an avocado in a minute—footage which will be cut together and pitted against the efforts of the other BA chefs, who have already filmed theirs. But before the taping begins, I find her staring at a counter littered with ingredients, looking severe.

She’s asked to do a lot, but never to do the impossible: perform.

“This is terrible because I’m so insanely competitive,” she tells me, “but I’m also out of practice.” She asks for turmeric and lime, which a food prep assistant runs to get for her. In the end she attempts a fancy drizzling tactic, placing delicately cut pieces over paper over half the avocado slices to protect them from seasoning. A minute is not long enough for this approach, obviously, and she laughs in spite of herself when time is called. “The splatter was on purpose!” she shouts into the camera.

A mystery meat journey awaits…

Now she’s blindfolded and being asked to taste and identify six deli meats (lots of meats today). She gets only one correct. “How did the others do?” she asks. Supertaster Chris only got two. Brad and Priya got all but one. “Brad?!” she says. Brad, they say. A clatter! The food prep assistant has dropped and shattered a jar of marinara behind the first camera man. It’s an ingredient for the next scene, wherein Saffitz has to make the best pizza in the shortest period of time, after which she’ll cook an egg in a way of her choosing.

Saffitz seems a little glassy-eyed between takes, but not as exhausted as I might expect an indoor cat to be after the conveyor belt of tasks and attention. I think this has something to do with the fact that she’s a pro, but a lot more to do with the way Bon Appétit has embraced her as she is. She’s asked to do a lot, but never to do the impossible: perform. “I’ve worked there for a long time,” she told me back in her apartment. “It’s easy for me to be myself there.”

As docile a revelation as that may seem, being oneself is an increasingly complicated task in 2019. But it’s one Bon Appétit is tackling more effectively than its contemporaries. The channel may have all the makings of a viral hit—satisfying before and afters, the aspirational made approachable, the motley, talented crew of tastemakers—but it’s the unrelenting commitment to presenting humans as they are, not just in their lives but how they feel as content creators, that betrays a more sophisticated understanding of what it means to be authentic.

Another clatter echoes through the kitchen. This time it’s a dropped mason jar. Someone grabs a broom and starts sweeping, and naturally, the camera keeps rolling.

Photos by Louisa Wells.

By the way, Bon Appétit is hosting their annual Hot 10 Party this Saturday, where you can hang with the BA team and taste food from the best new restaurants across America. You’ll also find an open bar and, without a doubt, multiple Man Repeller employees. You can snag tickets here. 

The post How Bon Appétit Became a YouTube Sensation—and Why Claire Saffitz Is the Perfect Star appeared first on Man Repeller.

The Feet in ‘The King’ Tell You Everything You Need to Know About the Movie

As far as Google searches go, the one for “Timothée Chalamet’s feet” is fairly subdued. A mere 1.5 million results, substantially less than “Timothée Chalamet hair” (7.72 million) or “Timothée Chalamet girlfriend” (6.76 million—low, quite frankly, considering how these days it feels like the internet is powered by our collective thirst for that charming little ratbag).

Even “Timothée Chalamet bowl cut” yields more results: some 7.14 million articles about the fact that, during production on his new movie The King, Timmy was sat down, strapped in, and unceremoniously shorn of his very floppy hair. The decision was both historical and literary: in The King, Timmy plays a young Prince Hal en route to becoming King Henry V of England, as told by a few Shakespeare plays. This path takes Hal through all the usual back alleys and side streets—grotty taverns, tankards of ale, buxom bar wenches, and ego-swelling duels—until he’s ready to assume his throne. You know that he’s ready when he cuts his mop of curls into that Very Serious and distressing bowl cut. The party prince is dead. Long live the King!

In some ways, The King is largely recognizable as a historical epic. It centers around a single battle between the English and the French. There are plenty of scenes in which shaggy men in chainmail discuss war strategy by pushing little figurines across a parchment map.

But then, there’s the feet. Chalamet’s feet feature almost as prominently in The King as his bowl cut does; so too do the feet of Joel Edgerton, who plays Prince Hal’s loyal (and only) confidant, Falstaff. At first blush, you may think that thine eyes deceive you, but as the film unfolds, the truth will become clear: This movie is all about feet. When Hal and Falstaff are down on their luck in the first half, the camera lingers on their grubby soles. (Are they walking through the muddy, mucky streets barefoot? How did their feet get so dirty? Don’t @ me, I don’t want to know the answer.) Later, when their fortunes improve, their feet become the focus of their newfound success. In one scene, Falstaff luxuriates in a cedar tub while a servant rubs oils into his mercifully, clean feet. Even later still, when Hal is crowned King, he does so barefoot. The camera lingers on Chalamet’s toes as he pads somberly towards his destiny.

The feet are the thing, really. A sign of how The King subverts the trappings of a traditional biopic in favor of something a little left of center. Think about it: How many historical epics have you seen in which feet–grungy, massaged, regal—play such a pivotal role? And it’s not just the feet that prove subversive. There’s also the way that Chalamet moves in his costumes with the swagger of a man who has lived his entire life under the watchful eye of the internet. Sure, Prince Hal wears billowing tunics and capes, but Chalamet slings a low belt over them and saunters around with the louche, chaotic energy of someone more comfortable in Off White. If you were in doubt about the kind of Prince Hal is, note that he wears a thick gold chain around his neck at all times.

Here, Pattinson uses his fists and fingers to drive the point home. It is—and I cannot stress this enough—wild.

There’s also Robert Pattinson. Our incumbent Batman makes his entrance about halfway through The King, just when you need him the most. Up until this point, the movie has been pretty staid, foot close-ups notwithstanding. By the time it gets to the battlefield, the movie is on autopilot. Then, there he is, ready to wake everyone the fuck up: Pattinson as the Dauphin of France, hair cropped into a shaggy blonde bob and speaking in a French accent so outrageously camp it makes Pepe le Pew look like cinéma vérité.

“You must have giant balls,” Pattinson’s Dauphin trills with delirious relish to Prince Hal. “With a tiny little penis!” Here, Pattinson uses his fists and fingers to drive the point home. It is—and I cannot stress this enough—wild.

If ever there were a period drama made for the meme era, this is it. Everything about this film is designed with today’s viewer in mind. Gone is the Shakespearean dialogue and, in its place, quippy modern parlance. The costumes might be traditional but they’re worn with current, youthful disdain. Pattinson being the most Pattinsonian he’s ever been is impossible not to applaud.

And don’t forget the feet, which appear as if plucked directly from Tumblr stan fiction and woven into the film. Not unlike the countless gif-able moments of The Favourite, The King’s foot obsession takes the lukewarm historical epic genre and shakes it up by the ankles.

The King is in showing selected cinemas now before streaming on Netflix starting November 1.

Photos via Everett Collection. 

The post The Feet in ‘The King’ Tell You Everything You Need to Know About the Movie appeared first on Man Repeller.

Introducing “Can I Borrow That?”: A Breakdown of Our Favorite Guys’ Style

Welcome to Can I Borrow That?, a column dedicated to unpacking the style of guys whose outfits we want to copy–and asking for their input when we do. First up is Dorien Russell, an influencer partnerships manager at HL Group.

I first began following Dorien Russell when he tagged me in a #stickofbutter-inspired Instagram Story post, and ever since I’ve been enchanted with his sense of personal style, a sartorial approach that can be described as dapper but never stuffy. That’s a very fine line to tread–between looking thoughtful and looking forced–but Dorien treads it like a professional tightrope walker, mixing disparate items to concoct the perfect visual equilibrium.

Below, I’ll dissect the appeal of some of his most bookmarkable outfits and attempt to recreate one of them myself, with feedback from the muse in question.

Unpacking Dorien’s Style

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Off-Guard

A post shared by Dorien Russell (@theportraitofdoriengrey) on Aug 6, 2019 at 3:53pm PDT

It’s not easy to combine “beach barbecue” and “Italian businessman” vibes with artful aplomb, but lo, here is Dorien doing exactly that. Look closely, and you can also witness a master pattern-mixer at work–the reds and the blues and the grays are close enough to harmonize but distinctive enough that it doesn’t feel too matchy-matchy. I’m not sure where he was headed in this ensemble and frankly don’t want to ask because my fantasy conclusion (the supermarket, to buy cotton candy grapes) is satisfying in its own right.

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When you see the refund check come through

A post shared by Dorien Russell (@theportraitofdoriengrey) on Mar 21, 2019 at 3:23pm PDT

A VERY IMPORTANT REMINDER that graphic hoodies look really, really good under plaid blazers, huh. It’s clearly (clearly!) an ideal marriage of the epitome of casual with the epitome of tailored, and I cherish a marriage of extreme contrasts like the next commonsensical mortal. Beyond that, I’m thrilled to have this sorely-needed inspiration for how to carry around one of the many canvas totes I’ve accumulated over 27 years of living and make it look cool.

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Yeah, I walked back and forth about 22 times for this photo, but it’s my birthday so who cares???

A post shared by Dorien Russell (@theportraitofdoriengrey) on Apr 5, 2018 at 4:50pm PDT

As has been duly noted, I’m obsessed with the art of layering–emphasis on the art–and therefore feel very qualified to acknowledge when an artiste is among us. Enter Dorien, whose above outfit is prove of his highly evolved skills in this arena. Fitting a button-down shirt under a denim jacket under a tailored overcoat such that the resulting outfit looks streamlined is a challenge in its own right, but doing so in conjunction with perfectly stacked sleeves (so that a little slice of each is visible) is next-level art.

Attempting to Copy It Myself

Okay, now for the part you’ve either been anticipating with glee or reservation: my attempt at recreating one of Dorien’s best ensembles…

“It looks pretty spot on!” Dorien told me–generously. “I love the cardigan over the shoulders touch as that’s my preferred way to wear a cardigan these days,” he continued. “If I re-wore this outfit, that’s exactly how I would update it.”

I must confess that I feel a sheepish sense of satisfaction for successfully making the sweater over my shoulders look intentional. In truth, I don’t own a single solid green knit, so I had to resort to borrowing my fiancé’s pullover–a pullover that regrettably doesn’t open at the front, much to my chagrin before snapping the photo.

“The only thing missing is a bald head and a graphic tee,” Dorien said. “But because I wore that look about a year or so ago, I would do it differently today. I feel like there’s a wave of more tonal/less noisy looks happening at the moment, which is why I would have switched out the shirt for a clean white top or something similar to yours as the cardigan speaks for itself.”

!!!!!!!

The post Introducing “Can I Borrow That?”: A Breakdown of Our Favorite Guys’ Style appeared first on Man Repeller.

My Ideal Fall Style Formula Is a Little Off-Trend

As someone who denounced cropped pants exactly one year ago, it is with a traitorous heart that I proclaim myself back on the bandwagon. My hiatus has been confirmed temporary.

If you remain taken with long hems, you’re in good company; they’re still elbowing their way into the popular consciousness via runways and influencers and will likely cement their coup this winter. But I don’t intend to be a part of it—at least not religiously. And that’s not because I’m anti-puddle hems, necessarily; I’ve just realized through trial and error that they don’t align with my style (crisp, boyish, neat), which is only getting increasingly nitpicky and specific, to my relief. I think the fatigue I felt for cropped pants last fall had less to do with the length and more to do with how unimaginative all the styling was beginning to feel. The near-ubiquitous vintage Levi’s. The capris moonlighting as cropped skinnies. The wide-legs verging on culottes. (All perfectly fine if they still give you a good feeling.)

The crops I want today feel distinct. The pants aren’t short because some tired designer heard that’s what’s in; they’re short because they’re tidy, tailored, and so comfort-oriented they wouldn’t dream of bothering you by sweeping along the rat playground known as the New York City subway platform. They’re also a little oversized (comfort again) and they’re best paired with something like a blazer or a tailored coat to underline the tone of boy-who’s-grown-slightly-out-of-his-church clothes. Something like this:

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Effort[less]

A post shared by Paul (@paulbinam_) on Jun 7, 2019 at 10:43am PDT

Or maybe this:

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Corduroy Tailoring #MargaretHowell

A post shared by Margaret Howell (@margarethowellltd) on Sep 20, 2019 at 4:01am PDT

And even this (although this crop is a little too generous for my taste):

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Try Again !!!!!

Iced Coffee vs. Hot Coffee: October’s Most Agonizing Decision

Of all the months in the year, October is one of the most acute limbos of coffee temperature decision-making. The period between opening your eyes in the morning and standing at the counter of a cafe or bodega is a rollercoaster of physical and emotional embattlement, so easily swinging from one direction to the opposite: iced or hot? ICED OR HOT. You could go either way, and that’s precisely the problem. Below, a time-stamped account.

7:30 a.m. You’re lying in bed under a marshmallow-y duvet, having just extricated yourself from the similarly comfortable womb that is REM sleep. You itch the mosquito bite on your left forearm and curl your toes back and forth and yawn. You repeat these primitive actions a few more times until your cognitive abilities ooze forth like a snail from its shell, just far enough to croak out a single thought: coffee.

7:40 a.m. Your brain is now cooking with enough gas to transition from knowing that coffee is the solution to your throbbing fatigue to fantasizing about what the experience of drinking it will be like. Still under your warm duvet, you picture a frosty glass of caramel-colored espresso swirling with creamy whole milk and a handful of floating iced cubes. Your scalp tingles and the tips of your fingers feel cold with anticipation.

7:50 a.m. TOO COLD. TOO. COLD. You’ve just emerged from under your blanket and your bare legs are covered in goose bumps thanks to the brisk October breeze wafting in through the window you left open last night so you could slumber as al fresco as possible in a fourth-floor New York walk-up. The idea of drinking iced coffee is rendered instantly, hilariously unthinkable. You chortle at your prior delusion. It’s the middle of October, for pumpkin spice’s sake.

8:15 a.m. But it’s kind of warm out for October, huh, you ponder internally as you step out of your building. You’re wearing a wool crewneck sweater under a trench coat which seemed like a great idea when you were getting dressed (chic!), and now seems functionally compromised by the 30-minute walk to work that lies ahead. Maybe today will be an iced coffee day after all. The last iced coffee of the season!, you conclude jubilantly, unbuttoning your trench for proper air flow.

8:20 a.m. Hmm. Not as temperate as you thought. Kind of cold in the shade actually. You re-button your coat. Hot coffee sounds perfect.

8:35 a.m. Not to be dramatic, but you are BOILING UP. And no wonder–given that you’re walking to work at a fast clip in 66-degree weather while wearing a wool crewneck sweater and a trench coat. You pause to wind up your hair in a bun so the back of your neck can cease to suffocate. You are damp with a fine layer of sweat from head to toes, which happen to be ensconced in leather loafers sans socks. Nightmare. You can’t wait to slurp down an iced coffee and restore your body to its normal temperature.

8:45 a.m. You stumble into your favorite coffee shop, which isn’t air-conditioned because it’s the middle of October and only 66 degrees outside, and resist the urge to fan your face with your hands while you order a large iced latte. Your eyes widen like a cartoon character’s when you have the cup in your grasp and you lower your head to take the inaugural sip—the sip you started imagining right when you woke up. You shiver a little bit as the liquid hurdles down your throat. You are reborn anew.

9:00 a.m. You’re sitting in your office, halfway finished with your caffeinated beverage, when you notice you haven’t stopped shivering. Your hands are faintly purple-ish. Each time you pick up your iced latte, they turn from purple-ish to white. Your eyes narrow in on the thermostat, which you realize with horror is set to auto-cool. “Is it just me, or does it feel like Antarctica in here?” you ask your coworkers. They shrug, holding mugs of hot, steamy coffee with infuriating nonchalance. “Maybe because you’re drinking iced coffee in October?”

Tomorrow will be different, you whisper, gripping the sides of your desk with determination. Tomorrow I’ll choose right. 

Graphics by Coco Lashar. 

The post Iced Coffee vs. Hot Coffee: October’s Most Agonizing Decision appeared first on Man Repeller.

A Chicago Condo That Will Restore Your Faith in DIY Projects

Welcome to Make Yourself at Home, a collection of home tours as told through the items within them. Up this week, in the second of four installments we’re running in honor of Renovation Month, Jesse welcomes us into the DIY-ed condo she shares with her husband in Chicago.

When Jesse was 25 and freshly over her last ex, she told her friend Alex she wanted to go out. Being a loyal friend, Alex agreed, and took Jesse to a Chicago bar with a cute bartender named Paul. It wasn’t a setup, exactly, just encouragement. But someone else caught her attention instead: Paul’s boss. Brad, 30, owned the bar, and he and Jesse attached to each other right away, spending the night making fun of people in the “super hipster” dance room in the back. Three months later, Brad proposed. At the time, Jesse was surprised, but knowing Brad now, she’s not as much. “When he gets into something, he’s obsessed,” she told me. Something about it felt right, so Jesse said yes. They moved in together right away and were married nine months later. Paul was a groomsman.

Brad and Jesse loved their shared apartment, but a few years into renting, Jesse suggested they look into buying, so they kicked off a slow and plodding search. A couple years passed. Nothing. Then one day, Jesse stumbled upon a place online that checked all their boxes. It’s too perfect, she thought. It’s going to go off the market too fast. I can’t even think about it. So she didn’t. And she didn’t say anything either. Little did she know, Brad had also seen the place online, and decided to not say anything either out of the same fear. Soon after, during an appointment to see another place, their realtor suggested they go see this other spot instead—unplanned. Naturally, it was the one. They both freaked. It felt like fate.

Originally they wanted a single-family home, and this was a condo, but it was unique in that it had multiple levels and ample private outdoor space, so they were satisfied. In 2015, they moved in (along with their female dog, Kevin). Brad now owns a second bar and Jesse works in marketing, but part of her regrets not pursuing interior design at a younger age. She’s had so much fun decorating the space—“Brad didn’t lift a finger”—especially the parts she was able to DIY through sheer force of will. She’s picked up some freelance styling work as a result (follow her on Instagram here). Below, in her own words, five things that made their house a home; some by very impressive means.

#1: The Cabinets I Painted and Refinished in the Kitchen

The cabinets were the first thing I did. I knew we didn’t have it in our budget to immediately replace them, but they weren’t the right finish. [Ed note: here are before and after pictures of her kitchen.] So I just did a lot of research and cobbled together my best approach and went at it. We got our keys on a Friday and I started that weekend, completely overhauling them before we even moved our stuff in. I knew that if I pulled the trigger on it immediately, I would actually do it.

Brad wanted to veto the project because it was so much work, but I was like, “Well, what if you don’t have to do any of it?” And he was like, “Fine.” So that’s what set the precedent. I grew up in Kentucky on 21 acres with a family that does everything ourselves, and he grew up in the suburbs of Chicago with a stay-at-home mom, so our handiness is on different levels.

A lot of people mistake the cabinets for being white, but they’re actually a very pale gray. It took me forever to figure out what color I wanted. And then I think it might have been a couple of months later that I finally did the hardware, because that was really tough—I had to drill all the holes and line everything up properly. It took a lot of time and calculation. All in redoing the cabinets probably cost between $350 and $400 dollars, and it took about 20 hours with some help from my friends.

The way they came out, it actually looks like we did replace the cabinets and a lot of people don’t believe me when I tell them I just painted them. I think it’s going to be a big asset for us when we do end up moving eventually.

#2. The DIY Marble Backsplash in the Kitchen

Originally there was this horrible—in my opinion—backsplash in the kitchen, with little 1″ x 1″ square tiles of different textures. It was very 1995. When I started to try to get the tile off I discovered they were basically sealed with cement, so this was my first foray into completely cutting out all the drywall and replacing it. My stepdad actually came up and helped me with this. He’s my DIY guru. I could have done it myself, but his help made it a lot faster. We cut all the backsplash out and then replaced all the drywall.

It took me a little while longer before I got the marble up due to financial and time restraints. I would say the marble is one of the most expensive things I’ve done to our house thus far (all in about $1,000 dollars). What I did instead of doing just a slab, was get 12″ x 24″ marble tiles and put them on without a grout line in between so that it kind of gives the illusion of a seamless single slab. And right now we only have the bottom done, but eventually I’m going to do above the cabinets with the same marble as well. (There’s a highlight in my stories of me doing the marble.) [Ed note: Holy shit you’ll be impressed.]

It was a lot of research. That’s my thing. If I’m going to do something, I’m going to research it for hours and hours and hours. This project was terrifying and it was also super exhausting because I had to carry eight 100-pound packs of marble up to our roof deck to cut them with a wet tile saw. All of it was completely terrifying, but we got through it and it’s one of the things that I’m most proud of because it’s really my blood, sweat, and tears.

#3. The Decorative Island Separating the Kitchen and the Living

We have this really large peninsula and, after painting it white, it was just too boring for me. I wanted more visual interest under there. But I didn’t want to do a traditional wainscotting or board and batten—I didn’t want it to look like anything else. And then I found this coffee shop that had an amazing pattern on their coffee bar, but they were doing it with 2′ x 4’s and cutting it out with a miter saw and gluing it all together. [Ed note: Here’s the coffee shop!] So that was my original plan, but then I realized it was going to be too thick on the back of the island, so after some back and forth, I came across these 1” balsa wood strips that would give me that texture but without weight. I cut them all with an X-Acto knife. Material-wise it was perfection, but then I had to do a bunch of math and map out the entire peninsula to get all the angles correct. (I have a tutorial on this on my highlights as well.)

I glued up all the balsa wood strips and then repainted the parts that are same color as the cabinets with the same cabinet paint, and then the wood insets are actually a really, really high-quality, textured contact paper. So it looks like it’s actual wood when it’s not. It was a really painstaking process but it was completely worth it. All in I would say the island probably took about 14 hours but the cost was only about $100.

I feel like a lot of people move into a place and they want to get everything done at once, but because these were all my visions, and a lot of times it was all my money too, it’s been a slower process. But right now the kitchen is definitely my favorite part of the house. I’m slowly working through the rest of it to make it exactly what we want it to be, too.

#4. The Blue Cabinet in the Living Room

The blue cabinet actually belonged to my parents before I was even born. Then it was in my childhood bedrooms my whole life, and then it moved up to Chicago with me, after I was out of the dorms. For the longest time when it was in my parent’s house, it was their spice cabinet, so it still kind of smells like cinnamon when you open it. It’s very nostalgic for me; it smells like my childhood.

It’s been painted and repainted a number of times. I painted it blue when we moved into our place. I don’t even know why I chose that color; it just spoke to me. All the hinges I repainted in gold and changed the hardware to these beautiful pulls that I got from Anthropologie that are teak and marble. They’re gorgeous. It used to have a painting etching on the glass, but I scraped all of that off because it was just a little too busy and I wanted you to be able to see the glassware that’s in there now. In it we keep a collection of beautiful glassware and amazing mugs that we’ve gotten from traveling and friends of ours in the industry and that kind of thing. And so it’s a perfect almost-China cabinet vibe that is a great transition between the kitchen and living area.

#5. The Gallery Wall in the Living Room

This one took a really long time too, and I think one of the reasons I love it so much is my husband and I both are collectors of different types of art, and this was one of the places where I got to take a lot of his beautiful pieces and incorporate them into my own design in our living room. Almost everything was stuff that we had on hand. It was not about, “I want the wall to look like this.” It was more like, “Well, what do we have and how can we make it look the best?”

A lot of them already had frames or I shopped my house. I don’t know if you can really tell, but below the plant, that green frame—I’d actually bought it with a print from a thrift store and ended up tearing the print out. And the map itself is actually a piece of art paper from Blick, but it’s a historic map of the Chicago Transit System.

I didn’t plan the wall out or anything, I just threw the stuff up there. I started with Bowie. That’s the Ziggy Stardust print in the very middle. And mind you, this is the 7th iteration of the way that this looks. There were so many different configurations and I just kept rearranging it—it probably took me about two years to get everything the way that I wanted it. So many holes. So much spackling. The main thing I always say to everybody who asks me is to just take your time, because I think people want to get it done and want to get it right the first time, and get really discouraged if they don’t like the outcome of a project. But I think it’s just being patient. For me, at least, I’ll only know when it’s done when I see it. And that’s definitely what happened with this.

8 PHOTOS
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Photos by Jesse Maguire Bolt.

The post A Chicago Condo That Will Restore Your Faith in DIY Projects appeared first on Man Repeller.

New York’s Best Pizza Meets Australia’s Best Jeans

In partnership with Rolla’s.

Allow me to present a theory I have been diligently working on for the past few years: We are living in the golden age of pizza. There are so many varieties! So many interesting toppings! So many options catering to different dietary restrictions and preferences! We are spoiled with choices. I mean, cauliflower pizza crust? What a world!

Given my occupation and passion for pizza, I have been enlisted to help solve one of the single most common pizza-related quandaries: What’s the best thing to wear while eating a slice or two or few? Something that says, “I honor and respect this pizza restaurant” but doesn’t get in the way of enjoying the experience. Like sugar in tomato sauce, Australia-based brand Rolla’s jeans are the secret ingredient that makes a trip to the very best pizza parlor look like an event but feel like a breeze. They’re comfortable, cute, and come with just the right amount of stretch to let you indulge in laid-back luxury.

The first step: I put together a list of Team Man Repeller’s fave NYC pizza spots. Step 2: Harling Ross whipped up three outfits showcasing Rolla’s jeans that were inspired by my pizza picks. Step 3: Model Isabella Carr test-drove said outfits at Motorino—one of our favorite spots—for stretch, style, and general deliciousness. Results below!

When the moon hits your eye: The best date-night look for amore

Pizza might just be the perfect first-date food: It starts with a bonding exercise in the form of selecting the perfect toppings, maybe a witty tête-à-tête over the merits of anchovies. Then it ends with cute banter about leftovers or the warm afterglow that can only come from polishing off a whole pie together. Here, Isabella exhibits a perfectly constructed date outfit, where the pants have enough stretch to handle even the most serious of toppings (meatballs, anyone?) while she stays looking like a pretty lil’ pepperoni.

Rolla’s Eastcoast Flare Blue Jeans


Karen Blue Jean


Tash Blue Jean


Debbie Blue Jean


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Harling’s recipe: “The classic flare silhouette coupled with a medium wash made me want to lean into the timelessness of a denim-on-denim look (the sartorial equivalent of a Margherita pizza, if you will). I paired them with a denim shirt that I left unbuttoned to show off a plaid mock-neck underneath and topped the whole thing off with a silk head scarf because I find that when you’re deep in the pizza consumption zone, it’s preferable to have your hair out of your face.”

Shared superlative: A perfect fit—Rolla’s jeans are designed to fit the body they’re on, so they kind of, sort of, feel like your soulmate. This particular silhouette acts like a high-rise skinny up top (ideal) and flares out at the bottom (even more ideal), thus turning on the charm in multiple respects. They also feature Rolla’s signature deck stitch on the back–a stamp of approval on your best asset. Other than your personality.

Best date night pizza spots: Ops (very cozy), Motorino’s (I mean, look at it), Emily (beautiful, just like you two), Barbancino (classic), Lucali (if you want a lot of time to talk).

Easy as pie: A laidback look for the most casual pizza outing

While the current avant-garde pizza climate is full of off-the-wall ingredients, beautifully constructed wood pizza ovens the size of studio apartments, and so many status tote bags, it’s important not to overlook one of pizza’s best qualities, its ease. Some days you’re too tired to cook, or go out, or flirt, and just want to order in or roll up to your usual spot to get your usual thing with your best friend. This look is all about deceptive relaxation—the bold-colored cords say, “I’ve got my life together!” while the comfort and stretch say, “I’m going to watch five hours of TV while also texting!” Life’s about balance, ya know.

Rolla’s Eastcoast Flare Cords


Bordeaux Cord


Tan Cord


Seagrass Cord


Midnight Cord


Heather Cord


French Blue Cord


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Harling’s recipe: “In addition to looking great, these flared corduroys are also insanely comfortable—so much so that I rolled with that element and styled the outfit according to my favorite “aesthetically pleasing but still cozy” outfit template: the aforementioned pants, a striped T-shirt, and an almost-as-delicious-as-mozz cardigan.”

Shared superlative: Business in the streets, totally fine to wear in the sheets—You could 100% get into bed with these cords and a slice of pizza, they’re that comfortable. You’ve already put your best flared foot forward for the world, relax a little.

Best all-purpose pizza spots: Artichoke Pizza (you already know), John’s on Bleeker (like being on the set of a fictional pizzeria), Lombardi’s (same), San Matteo Pizza and Espresso bar (let’s hear it for uptown options!), Best Pizza (they have a special that’s a six-pack and a pie), and whatever slice spot is closest to your home.

Serious pizza for a serious woman: Cozy style and comfort food

Grandma pie is like that super smart, no-nonsense friend —salty, kinda rigid, but ultimately a source of comfort for her buddies who are maybe not quite as together. The square grandma slice is one of the all-time top comfort foods, especially as we head into colder months, so Isabella is dressed for maximum coziness. And like that friend we all turn to for support, Rolla’s jeans are surprisingly tough and can stand up to spills, washes, and wears, so if you drop a little pepperoni cup on your thigh, don’t worry about it, she’s got you covered.

Rolla’s Eastcoast Flare Galaxy Black Jean and Black Cord


Galaxy Black Jean


Black Cord


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Harling’s recipe: “Black jeans are the sleekest of blank canvases, so the world was really my oyster for look #2. I decided to contrast them with a grandpa-inspired combination of long-sleeved knit polo, sweater vest, and white brogues. You know what else black jeans are great for? Masking the inevitable tomato sauce splatter from enthusiastic pizza bites.”

Shared superlative: Perfectly cheesy—A grandma slice has to have the exact right amount of stretchy cheese action to work, just like Rolla’s have the right amount of stretch to maintain the shape of the jeans, without feeling too restrictive. You don’t want too much stretch or cheese, but you’ve got to have enough.

Best grandma slices: Prince Street Pizza (those pepperoni cups though!), Emmy Squared (technically Detroit-style, but basically the same thing), L&B Spumoni Gardens (the OG).

6 PHOTOS
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You can shop Rolla’s online at Rolla’s.com and Free People online. If you’d like to try on Rolla’s in person (maybe on the way to a pizza joint?) you can also find them at select Free Peoples store near you.

Photographer: Sabrina Santiago

Stylist: Harling Ross

Market:  Elizabeth Tamkin

Model: Isabella Carr at Wilhelmina

Hair and Makeup Arist:  Shideh Kafei

Stylist Assistant: Jean Pflum 

The post New York’s Best Pizza Meets Australia’s Best Jeans appeared first on Man Repeller.

Theory: All Good Outfits Go Bad at 3 p.m.

I have a theory that no matter how good an outfit is, no matter how great it feels to put on in the morning,  or how diligently I steam it, or how careful I am not to spill any salad dressing on it… it always goes bad by 3 pm. Below is a chronicle of exactly how this expiration transpires, starting with the moment I get dressed in the morning and ending with the ultimate afternoon betrayal.

9 a.m.: 0% expired

Over a black bra, I put on a crisp, white blouse that was just dry-cleaned and smells like a freshly bitten Granny Smith apple. I pair it with straight-leg, high-waist blue jeans but I don’t tuck it in because I think the silhouette will look less fussy and more effortlessly appealing that way, akin to an Olsen twin standing outside a Starbucks waxing poetic on hot-button topics like how expensive is too expensive for a T-shirt and why don’t more people talk about Ashley’s hyphenated name?

I decide to wear my new lace-up boots because it’s the first truly chilly day outside and they seem likely to keep my feet warm while also introducing an element of laid-back cool to the outfit courtesy of their classic aura. I glance in the mirror before leaving my apartment, and promptly take a selfie to document the thrill of a good outfit in its most pristine form. I pose in a way that emphasizes this state even more clearly: shoulders back, arm hanging apart from my torso to show off the uniquely ruched sleeve, one leg torqued jauntily outwards in the way that makes the jeans look perfectly streamlined despite straining my knee joint ever so slightly. You know, nice and relaxed.

9:30 a.m.: 10% expired

I’m 10 minutes into my walk to work and I’m mad. At myself, to be clear–for consistently forgetting to bring an extra stick of deodorant to keep in my locker at the office despite the fact that I arrive sweaty every morning. My just-dry-cleaned shirt is now moist at the armpits and I feel my lower back threatening to join in. Those brand-new lace-up boots? Blister city. The backs of my heels feel like the products of a trendy collaboration between rug burn and paper cuts. I should have worn thicker socks. Why does it feel like my feet are basically bare!???????! I drag myself (and I mean this literally, because the smaller my movements the more tolerable my blisters are) into the elevator at work and walk through the door with a look on my face that–if I had to guess–resembles that of a first-time father holding his newborn infant in a hospital on a 90s sitcom: Can anyone tell I’m panicking?

I’m confronted with a full-length mirror as soon as I limp around the corner. I squint with dread at the disheveled sight that surely awaits me but instead I’m confronted with a similar image to the one I saw in my mirror at home this morning. I push my shoulders back and torque one of my legs to the side, attempting to convince myself the outfit might even look better now that it’s a little worn-in. The sweat zones are less detectable now that I’m standing still and drinking an iced latte. Ditto for the blisters. What’s so bad about a little sweat and a couple of open wounds, anyway? My very good outfit and I had made it through my commute with nary a pigeon excrement or wayward AC dropping encounter. Now that we were safely indoors, what would possibly go wrong? I flash myself a small, private smile and make my way toward a desk.

“Nice shirt,” the colleague across from me says as I sit down in an empty chair.

“Thank you!” I respond cheerily.

3 p.m.: 100% expired

Wow. How did I get here? After three meetings, two essay drafts, one phone call, and half a large container of lentil soup, the good outfit is now bad. My shirt is wrinkled, and the armpit sweat is back in full force. The waistband of my jeans felt like a vice after lunch so I had to undo the top button, which isn’t helping to smooth out my shirt. I ended up changing into different shoes because the blisters returned with a vengeance each time I deigned to walk even a couple feet. Like an avocado that was perfectly ripe and just-the-right-amount-of-soft when I squeezed it in the morning, my entire appearance turned on a dime, mealy and bruised, as soon as the clock struck 3 p.m. WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN!? Why do good outfits always go bad in the afternoon? Is it too much to ask that the sartorial statement I craft at the beginning of the day remain loyal at least until sundown? Is there a particular reason why clothes are allowed to punch out well before dinnertime when the rest of us are out here toiling away?

I sink lower and lower into my chair with each passing hour. If I have to get up to go to the bathroom, I skitter there and back with the nervous energy of an elderly beadle, hoping to inflict the haunted ghost of what was once my good outfit on as few people as possible. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize it’s finally time to go (flee) home, but then experience a resurgence of agony when I check my calendar and remember I was planning to have drinks with a friend. A friend who somehow always manages to look impeccable. I contemplate cancelling. I convince myself that would be deranged. When I walk into the restaurant, I elbow my way toward the back, in search of the most poorly-lit table.

“Nice shirt,” my friend says when she sits down across from me.

“You should have seen it this morning.”

Tell me truly: Is afternoon outfit expiration A THING, or is my brain full of lentils? If the former, is 3 p.m. the universal hour of doom? And are there any preventative solutions out there? I’m open to any ointment, tonic, or invocation.

The post Theory: All Good Outfits Go Bad at 3 p.m. appeared first on Man Repeller.