Leandra Medine's Blog, page 77

3 MR Team Members Explain Their Fashion “Uniforms”

In partnership with The OUTNET.

Much like capsule wardrobes and the perfect pair of white cotton underwear, fashion “uniforms” are venerated as the stuff of sartorial holy grails. They are renowned as the ultimate signal that you know your style and therefore yourself through and through–to the extent that you are able to recognize a specific combination of clothing as distinctively, unwaveringly you. They’re also lauded as the secret to getting dressed quickly in the morning, to saving time before you head out the door so you can spend it elsewhere once you’re out in the world. In a sense, having a fashion uniform is akin to a state of enlightenment, a higher plane of existence.

Of course, in practice, the concept of a uniform is much more nuanced. It can be defined in multiple ways, from a loose template to a highly particular set of criteria. It can encapsulate someone’s entire style philosophy or just a small, reliable subsection. It can be a fixed point or an amorphous, evolving idea. To explore the fascination around uniform dressing and what it means to different people, three members of Team Man Repeller (myself included) styled themselves in personal-to-us uniforms with clothes from The OUTNET and unpacked why we chose what we did. Scroll down to give it a read, and tell us about your relationship with fashion uniforms in the comments below.

Harling Ross, Fashion Director and Brand Strategist

I wore a uniform every day from kindergarten through eighth grade–a uniform that involved an itchy wool skirt and little under-shorts with a perpetually too-tight elastic waistband. I think that probably shaped my relationship with fashion uniforms from an early age, because I associated them with restriction and conforming, which is why when I started at a different school in ninth grade and suddenly didn’t have one anymore, I was burdened by the opposite problem. It was like walking into a candy store after being deprived of sugar for a decade and being told, “Go ahead! Eat whatever you want!” Needless to say, the results (i.e. outfits) were a bit chaotic.

It wasn’t until I graduated from college that I began to reconsider my relationship with uniform dressing. I knew I was never going to be the type of person who would make a singular commitment to a certain ensemble for the rest of my life, but I still craved a happy medium that would give me structure while still allowing for evolution. I wanted a go-to template I could rely on whenever I was stumped about what to wear, or simply in the mood to put on something tried-and-true that made me feel like my best self.

I’m writing about this as if my process to finding a “uniform” was thoroughly intentional, but I suppose it only seems that way in hindsight–as is the case with many byproducts of growing up. The truth is, at the time it felt more inevitable than intentional, like a gravitational force was pulling me towards certain articles of clothing in certain combinations. The one that stuck is what I’m wearing via The OUTNET in these photos: a feminine (often floral) dress, a plain blazer (though this could be swapped out for a cardigan depending on my mood), and loafers.

It’s ideal because it’s comfortable without devolving into sweatpants territory, and exemplifies my favorite aesthetic sandwich: a statement piece bookended by two neutral classics. It’s not boring by any means, but is simple enough that it leaves room for decorative flair by way of accessories (in this case, I opted for a burgundy purse to pick up on the dress’s print). In other words, it hits all my personal benchmarks for the ultimate outfit uniform, one that announces I have an interest in fashion without sacrificing my ability to walk 25 minutes to work with ease, give or take a caffeinated beverage detour.

Sandro dress


Joseph blazer


Jil Sander Navy brogues


Staud bucket bag


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Crystal Anderson, Head of Production

I used to think of uniforms as innately monotonous because they are pre-conceived, but my mindset shifted when I realized that a “uniform” doesn’t necessarily mean the exact same clothes combined in the exact same way every time. My version of a uniform is less about consistency when it comes to the specific components and more about consistency when it comes to the function these components are performing. The function I personally look for in a uniform is the ability to move freely while simultaneously showing my personality to the world.

Oftentimes, that means big, blousy layers upon big, blousy layers. Summer, winter, or otherwise, layers are my armor–and the more voluminous the better (if you see me in two pieces of clothing, I’m probably way behind on doing laundry). Not only does a pile of loose layers allow me to move freely, but it is also perfect fodder for taking pieces that hundreds of people might own and making them squarely and uniquely me.

I was first drawn to the above Simon Rocha dress (which I’m wearing backwards) because it looks like something a celebrity would jump out of at a fancy birthday party. When I saw it, I immediately thought, ohhh! I can layer so much stuff under and around that glorious volcanic eruption of tiers and ruffles!! Case in point: I added a second dress underneath, which was sleek enough to avoid any weird bunching but still a statement in its own right with its dramatic long sleeves. For my last party trick, I layered on a flannel shirt from Faith Connection–the cherry on top! The result was a uniform tailor-made for me and only me, and that is my greatest joy, truly.

Simone Rocha ruffled dress


Rokh houndstooth dress


Faith Connexion flannel shirt


Christopher Kane velvet pumps


Ellery earrings


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Gyan Yankovich, Managing Editor

I find comfort in uniforms. I wore a uniform throughout my entire schooling years (they’re mandatory in Australia) and during my university years, I worked at a retail chain store where a new uniform was assigned at the beginning of each month. In hindsight, I’m positive this kind of prescriptive dressing from age four to 19 is probably why I am so drawn to wearing a uniform as an adult. During my morning routine, choosing clothes for the day is assigned to the final five minutes I have before rushing out the door—this time allowance includes 2–3 minutes for necessary steaming, so I really do limit myself. The only reason this particular routine works for me is because I almost exclusively buy clothes that fit within certain constraints that mean they’ll match most other things in my (pretty minimal) wardrobe: black and white T-shirts, high-waisted jeans and pants, and sweaters. I know I can leave myself such little time to get dressed in the morning because I’m accustomed to uniforms, and I know everything I own works together.

This outfit is painfully me, especially the pants. I exclusively wear high-waisted pants, shorts, jeans, and skirts—about a year and a half ago I also traded out all my old underwear for new high-waisted underwear. The thought of any piece of clothing sitting lower than an inch below my belly button is my own personal nightmare. This sweater is also Typical Me in that it’s equal parts “would go with anything” and “more fun than your average sweater.” I am in no way a maximalist so on the rare occasion I do wear a print or bold color, I have a deep and desperate need to pair with something perfectly neutral—in the case of this outfit, I’m achieving my dream combination of top and bottom that both qualify as “neutral but also interesting in the way of texture or silhouette.” While the shoes and bag aren’t exactly neutral they also fall within my dream color palette that’s made up exclusively of burnt oranges, olive greens, creams, and blacks. If I was wearing either with anything other than a black or beige outfit I wouldn’t feel exactly like myself but in this scenario everything’s just how I like it.

What I love most about my uniform is how comfortable I feel in it. While the high-waisted pant and *insert top or sweater* uniform has only truly solidified in the past two years, I’ve always felt happiest in outfits that feel both chic and wearable—as in, wear-from-9am-to-9pm-if-need-be wearable. This particular outfit, in all its fall beauty, is a kind of new development. Before moving to New York two years ago my autumn and winter outfits were simply my summer outfits with the addition of a jacket, and maybe tights and a coat if it was exceptionally cold out. (Miss you, Sydney!) Since being in NYC I’ve realized that, yes, I actually do need to dress for the season, which means altering my uniform as the year ebbs and flows through periods of weather I either love or hate.

The uniform feels quintessentially me because it’s minimal, while also being flattering and relatively grown up. It feels like me because I feel like me in it. I can’t think of anywhere, besides maybe a funeral or a wedding, that I wouldn’t feel comfortable wearing this outfit.

Helmut Lang sweater


Mansur Gavriel taffeta pants


ATP Atelier mules


Nanushka shoulder bag


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3 PHOTOS
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Photos by Sabrina Santiago.

The post 3 MR Team Members Explain Their Fashion “Uniforms” appeared first on Man Repeller.

What’s the Best Deodorant to Wear Under a Sweater?

I’m not a big sweater, but I do love sweaters.

I’ve been sitting here for 54 minutes and so far that sentence is all I have come up with. This story pitch has been seated upright at the top of my pitch list — besting out such imminent hits as “A Deep Dive: Why Are People Obsessed with Cats?” and a feature-length profile on this one magician who regularly performs at Washington Square Park — since this one day in July, when after a streak of very hot days, it dropped down rather suddenly to 60 and I needed to wear a sweater.

Here I’d spent all summer boasting, “Ra ra, I don’t wear deodorant because I don’t smell” every time I excused myself from a conversation on the topic until that fateful 60-degree day, when I lifted my arm while wearing that sweater to pull a book (Twizzler) from a shelf (bag) and got so distracted by the french onion soup someone was heating up next to me that I forgot the Twizzler.

As it turned out, no one was in near proximity. There was no french onion soup. I was the french onion soup and so it went that on that day that I learned the truth: I smell too. Which, I mean, I know. I have always known, but the odor — a faint whiff, really, has never been so pungent as to require that I add the laborious step of lifting my right arm and swiping, then my left arm and swiping again to any form of a beauty routine.

Apparently, it is the lethal combination of skin-to-knit that elicits this stench and with both sweater season upon us and my pursuit of The Very Best One (this one, maybe? More on the pursuit soon) to carry me through the entirety of fall and winter (more on this soon), I could use the unlikely accessory of not a gold chain (but I’ll take it), or unexpected coral necklace (I think I have it!), but a very good deodorant. And yeah, I know, there are shit tons of lists that exist in spades across the Internet and even on this site, but I am looking for the very specific combination of deodorant that is sheer enough to not fuck up my sweater with streaks every time I put it on, smooth enough to not make me feel like I glue-sticked my armpits together and am trying to separate them, and durable enough to freeze out, if you will, the onion soup.

I’d like it to be aluminum-free, and I suppose it can be lightly scented, but I’m not sure it needs to smell like a pumpkin spice latte. Because I’m of the generation of selfies and shelfies and curated stuffsies, I wouldn’t mind if the packaging was cute and “aligned” with my medicine cabinet, but this criterion is low on the list. So, can you help me find the best one? I’ll pay you back with words on whatever you want.

Graphics by Coco Lashar.

The post What’s the Best Deodorant to Wear Under a Sweater? appeared first on Man Repeller.

10 Burning Questions I Have for Milo Ventimiglia About His Instagram (Mostly)

On Tuesday night, sick as a dog and in the mood to assuage the annoyance of stuffed sinuses with entertainment, I opened Instagram. There, I was met with a deluge of posts (precisely 49) from one man and one man only: Milo Anthony Ventimiglia.

Milo Ventimiglia, of This Is Us fame–and Heroes and Gilmore Girls, for those of us who enjoy the deeper cuts–is a one-of-a-kind Instagram user. Once every two months or so, Ventimiglia will go forth at-random to do what I call a “photo dump.” He will post pic after artsy-fartsy pic with the occasional stern selfie thrown in for the ladies (hello, engagement rate!). Scrolling through his posts and subsequently his profile page, I had a lot of questions both as a beloved fan (marry me) and Social Media Manager (indulge me). Here they are in the order they popped into my brain:

1. Do you use VSCO? If so what is your combination of filters? I’m 95% sure you use VSCO A5, but I’m ready to be proven wrong.

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Beverly Hills, CA. MV

A post shared by Milo Anthony Ventimiglia (@miloanthonyventimiglia) on Oct 1, 2019 at 5:06pm PDT

2. Are these iPhone, digital, or film camera shots? A blend? What’s the balance? Why is this balance important to you? TELL ME.

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Down. Nairobi, Kenya. MV

A post shared by Milo Anthony Ventimiglia (@miloanthonyventimiglia) on Jun 28, 2019 at 2:44pm PDT

3. Let’s not fudge and mudge here, Milo. We all know you use a grid preview app. Which one? Spill.

4. Do you have an editorial calendar? If so, do you plan out the narrative arc of your images?

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2 to go. London, England. MV

A post shared by Milo Anthony Ventimiglia (@miloanthonyventimiglia) on Oct 1, 2019 at 5:05pm PDT

Also, an addendum to the above question: These donut holes… Were they good? Were you consciously leaving the reader out of your sensory experience by avoiding a review or a location tag??

5. Why do you only allow select comments from friends? Will there be a time when you can give me and mine the opportunity to freely express our thirst?

6. I have a lot of questions about this pic. What’s going on here? Should I search for it in the fibers? What compelled the pic? Are you good? As commenter @jessicaradloff14 wrote beneath it: “OK you’re gonna have to explain this one.”

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Hollywood, CA. MV

A post shared by Milo Anthony Ventimiglia (@miloanthonyventimiglia) on Oct 1, 2019 at 5:06pm PDT

7. You often use the conceit of the camera pointed down at your feet. Is this a metaphor to mean… you are always on the move? You delight in the mundane? You especially like feet? I could use an explainer.

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Robert E Millsap. General Contractor. Los Angeles, CA. MV

A post shared by Milo Anthony Ventimiglia (@miloanthonyventimiglia) on Oct 1, 2019 at 5:02pm PDT

8. What compels you to sign off on every Instagram post “MV”? Do you consider these posts dispatches? And if so, are they really dispatches if you’re rocketing them off 49 at a time? MV, please let an AM know.

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Truck Furniture Maker. Los Angeles, CA.

Entireworld Is So Good Right Now

Lately, I’ve been drawn to things that feel a little out of step. Art, books, movies, etc. that seem to see the breakneck speed at which everything is moving and cooly, calmly, collectedly say: “Hmmm, no. I’d rather live like this instead.”

I noticed it in my reading and movie-watching choices first. For years, I had an obsession with stories that expertly mimicked and reflected back modern life. Things that were aggressively of-the-moment. But now, I’m gravitating toward stories that offer a slightly alternative reality. They’re often slower, longer, a bit more dreamy, tender, and essential—they may feel nostalgic or futuristic or like they’re hanging in some balance where time just isn’t quite so relevant.

These things make me feel, in a word, warm. In another word: nourished. Maybe even a little transported. Until recently, a clothing line had yet to make me feel it. Then I saw Entireworld’s fall collection. It took me a minute to decode why such simple garments felt, on some level, vaguely transcendent, but the answer itself was right there: the colors! That’s all it was. Bright tomato red, a gentle lilac, a cheery yellow. The simple beauty and intentionality of them made me pause. (They remind me of a Thelonious Monk quote I love, actually: “When you look at the keyboard, all the notes are there already. But if you mean a note enough, it will sound different. You got to pick the notes you really mean!”)

This was clearly color that was employed not as an afterthought, or even a finishing touch, but as the entire point. Taken together, the hues in the collection hum like some kind of sartorial sound bath.

 

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A post shared by Entireworld (@entireworld) on Oct 1, 2019 at 8:30am PDT

As it turns out, my tuning fork was right on the turtleneck—the humming was not an accident. “We’re all about color all the time. There’s something so pure and powerful about color as the primary design element, and the interaction between all of those colors when you’re shopping around on our site,” founder Scott Sternberg explained over email. “For Fall, we wanted to push against this idea of ‘autumnal’ colors as needing to be muted, darker, or, like, less joyful.”

 

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A post shared by Entireworld (@entireworld) on Sep 26, 2019 at 2:40pm PDT

This optimism has been baked into the brand from the very beginning (you remember the launch video, yes?). And I think that’s part of what makes Entireworld so often feel like it’s not a brand for right now—in the best way. No, it feels more like a brand for the future, when we’ve figured out that we don’t need so much. When we’ve finally fully acknowledged that a simple styling trick (matching your sock to your sweater, for example), could actually go a long way. When we’re living harmoniously on Neptune, wearing coordinated monochrome sweatsuits, listening to some kind of music we don’t have a word for yet. Can you picture it? I can.

All right, here they are—the spoils at the end of the rainbow.

Sweatsuits for the Year 2053




















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Soft Ribbed Sweaters





























See All 9



Tiny Sweaters!

















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How About Boxy Sweaters?














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Cute Cami & Underwear Sets


























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Snack Review: What Is a Transitional Dip, You Ask?

Welcome to Return of the Snack, a column evaluating snacks and entertaining the thoughts that arise while eating and shopping for them.

I once saw someone I envy shopping dejectedly at Trader Joe’s after work on a Tuesday. He was wearing headphones and, like me, appeared worn out by the mere idea of feeding and caring for the corporeal forms we haul through life until they betray us by ending it all in one final act of rebellion. He shuffled through the aisles a few feet ahead of me and I felt a profound calm wash over me. We aren’t so different after all, are we? My point: Trader Joe’s is the great equalizer.

While my brilliant compatriots often write about perfect transitional outfits for the hazy time between summer and fall, I am here to make the case that dip is the perfect transitional weather food. In my below pièce de résistance, I will address the various dips that take you from summer to fall, but also the essence of “dip” itself. I chose Trader Joe’s because it’s a national chain with good prices and a storied snack reputation and I am hoping to do my part to heal our fractured nation with some relatable food content. (Wish me luck.)

I tried five dips with four different vessels—a spoon, baby carrots, pita chips, and blue corn tortilla chips. The right vessel can make a dip sing and the wrong chip can make a dip ding. I ranked them on a straightforward 1-10 scale for general taste and quality. Let’s begin, shall we?

Everything but the Bagel Dip

Based on the name, I thought I would love this dip, but I’ve got to say I was disappointed. It was more yogurt-y than everything bagel-y and I was tempted to add more seasoning but did not want to compromise the integrity of the experiment.

Spoon: 4

Tortilla chip: 4

Carrot: 3 (slimy again)

Pita chip: 4.5 (the hefty crunch of the pita chip added some substance to the experience, but it was still pretty bland)

This dip is less of a snack and more of a lesson. It serves as a reminder not to build something up in your head, setting it up to meet near-impossible standards only to be disappointed. It’s also a reminder that just because something may be amazing in one arena (everything seasoning on bagels), it doesn’t mean it will rock in a different one (everything seasoning in this cursed dip), but that’s okay (I still love everything seasoning).

Final word: I completely forgot I even tried this dip until I went back on the TJ’s website to check something.

Avocado’s Number Guacamole

If possible, do not buy your guacamole from Trader Joe’s—buy it from a restaurant (or be a hero and make it yourself). But if that’s expensive or the effort required to get the good stuff is far greater than your desire to show up somewhere with guacamole, then this will do just fine. This is a good utility guac: more condiment than dip in that it’s better served as an accent to something than a stand-alone star. Unfortunately it knows that any guac is better than no guac, so it really phones the flavor in.

Spoon: Strong 5

Tortilla chip: 7

Carrot: 5

Pita chip: 4

Though eaten year-round by me and most people I know, guacamole has a height-of-summer vibe, like margaritas on a patio when the sun is only beginning to fade at 8 p.m. It is best when eaten outside, perhaps because exposure to the elements only hastens its demise and we are a culture obsessed with youth. Guacamole is fleeting, like summer itself. That said, indoor guac has the distinct tone of “we’re going to try our best, damn it,” making it the ideal transitional snack for only the most melancholy among us.

Final word: I mean, it’s guacamole.

Tzatziki Creamy Garlic Cucumber Dip

This dip is straight-forward, pretty much what you’d expect: cooling, tangy, delicious. As a midwesterner, my allegiances will always lie with a cream-based dip, so I’m inclined to like this bad boy (though it can’t hold a candle to the ultimate dip base: cream cheese). I wish I had more to say about this, but it’s simply a good dip. Maybe not the only dip you’d want to serve to guests, but a good one nevertheless.

Spoon: 6.5

Tortilla chip: 6.5

Carrot: 6 (kind of slimy together)

Pita chip: 7 (a slimy dip deserves a thick chip, these two get each other)

This is a solid transition dip because it’s a standalone item but really sings as an accompaniment to hot food. It balances out spice. You can eat it on your stoop with some chips and a glass of white on Monday when it’s 83 and dollop it on some lamb three days later when it’s dipped below 70. It’s the tank tops of dips, good on its own, good under a layer. I feel so supported by this dip, and hope you will too.

Final word: Maybe not a dip you’d break out to wow a crowd, but it’s nice to have around.

Jalapeño-Lime Almond Dip

Challenge: turn ground-up almonds into a dip that doesn’t taste like almond butter. If this were the Great British Bake-Off and this dip were put in front of me, Prue Leith, first of all, my glasses would match my outfit, but second of all, I would say, “Hmmmm… a bit unexpected but the lemon really comes through.” I couldn’t get a handle on whether I like this dip. I thought mmmmmm, and then weird, and then not bad, and then just kept eating it, but not voraciously. Maybe this mysteriousness is what kept me going? It’s a bit like what I always imagined eating floam to be like.

Spoon: Sometimes a 4, sometimes a 7!

Tortilla chip: 6

Carrot: 4 (this is really unfair to carrots, stacking them up against real chips like this)

Pita chip: 5

What a mystery this dip is. So many things at once, full of contradictory statements and messages, mixing the familiar and the foreign. This dip isn’t good for fall, it is fall itself.

Final word: Would not buy again, but glad I experienced it. Kind of how I imagine I would feel about sky-diving if I ever did it.

Creamy Spinach & Artichoke Dip

What I wanted was hot dip. What I wanted was multiple hot dips, ready-made and easy to heat, filling my house with buttery rich scents just begging to be remembered for months to come. As I walked down the aisles of not one but two different Trader Joe’s, all I could find in the way of heat-ability was this spinach and artichoke dip. It’s good, it’s so good. I think it might be the best of the frozen spinach and artichoke dips I’ve experienced. I want some now.

Spoon: 10

Tortilla chip: 10 (the perfect couple, the Courtney B. Vance and Angela Basset of snacks)

Carrot: 7 (I’m so sorry carrots, but also eating this dip on carrots is better than not eating this dip, so it gets a 7)

Pita chip: 10 (another perfect snack couple)

Hot dips are the transitional weather MVP. They straddle the sweet memories of summer spent around a shared bowl with the promise of cozy snacking nights to come. As football season starts and holiday parties loom on the horizon, a hot dip says, “Who cares if dairy makes you bloat? You’re wearing a big sweater.” And thank god for that.

Final word: I considered making the 30-minute trek back to TJ’s when I finished this just to get some more.

The post Snack Review: What Is a Transitional Dip, You Ask? appeared first on Man Repeller.

Celeb Look of the Week: A Bunch of Supermodels Giving 90s Going-Out Energy

As a child of the 90s, I was spoiled on iconic images of Naomi, Kate, Cindy, Tyra, and Christy wearing equally iconic outfits of the going-out variety. There were mini dresses and mini skirts. Platform heels and angora shrugs. Plaid jackets and see-through white tanks. Bra tops and mom jeans. It was a feast of inspiration that we have coasted on for almost three decades because the supermodels of today haven’t been as keen on late-night group shots featuring uniquely festive attire UNTIL:

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Seriously

Unconventional Life Hack: Think of Your Attention Span Like a Bank Account

About three weeks ago, I removed the Facebook app from my phone and, three days later, the algorithm started sending me emails to let me know what I was missing. This person posted an update! There’s a conversation in one of your groups! Someone commented on your post!

“Who knew Facebook was such a whiny ex?” I joked to a friend.

“Right?!” she replied. “It’s the same whenever I try to unsubscribe from anything, too. It’s always the same: ‘Please come back!’ or ‘Tell us what we did wrong!’ It’s breakup language.”

It’s easy to think of technology as an unhealthy relationship—and laugh at how clingy and “personal” marketing language has become—but these tactics are beginning to leave a bitter taste in my mouth. When brands try to inspire loyalty this way, especially with young audiences, they’re asking consumers to not just purchase a thing, but subscribe to it—and not just as a product or service, but as a lifestyle, too. My inbox and notifications are flooded with requests for my money, attention, empathy, and care; it’s no wonder I end up feeling exhausted by simply swiping my thumb down a screen.

When I removed the Facebook app from my phone, I wasn’t breaking up with it, I just wanted a little space.

When I consider the heartstring language used to keep our money flowing out of our pockets, I’m reminded of the same manipulative processes designed to keep many of us scrolling through social media long after our interest or curiosity has waned. When I removed the Facebook app from my phone, I wasn’t breaking up with it, I just wanted a little space. I can understand a company wanting my money back for a product, but did Facebook really care if I took a few days off?

“Attention economy” experts like Tristan Harris have pointed out that if you’re finding it hard to put down your phone, it’s not your fault. The technology is intentionally designed to be addictive. The “pull down refresh” feature on Facebook and Instagram functions the same way a slot machine does. Will it be another article on the crisis du jour or a brain-massaging kitten video? The random rewards of likes, comments, shares, and posts reinforce desirable behavior with the same method used by dog trainers: give a treat regularly, but not every time.

But even though I (and many of us) know this, nothing actually shifted for me until I had a “Soylent Green is people!” moment and realized that Facebook and other social media platforms are “free” for us because we are the product. Or rather, our attention is. And when we give it to these apps, the content we consume can make us feel like we’re the ones getting the value, but the real value is our attention. And it’s being sold to the brands whose ads clutter our feeds.

Once I came to grips with this, I wondered: What would it mean to be economical with my attention—to budget it like I budget my money? The first step would be to acknowledge that attention is a resource that I own entirely, but have limited stores of. Next, I’d make a conscious decision about how to spend it. If I were saving money for a trip, for instance, I’d set some goals and look for ways to save. Creating a savings account for attention might function the same way. We’d have to ask ourselves what we’re saving for: Nurturing a relationship? Learning a new skill? Finishing a passion project?

I’ve found it’s easier to put down my phone when I remind myself what I’m saving my attention for.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve tried shifting my thinking to reflect this view, and something interesting has happened: Just as it’s easier to say no to unnecessary expenses when I have a trip or larger purchase in mind, I’ve found it’s easier to put down my phone when I remind myself what I’m saving my attention for. I’m still working on my wake and scroll habit, but I have been sticking to my goal of at least having a cup of coffee before I get my morning Instagram fix.

The biggest shift has been in how I value my own attention: Just as one can experience decision fatigue by simply picking out an outfit for the day, or hit empathy exhaustion by working in the service or care industry, I was spending my attention stores on ads and notifications before I even approached the work I’d intended to get done for the day. When I started to think about all the tech companies spending millions of dollars and countless hours scheming make sure this happened, I instantly felt self-satisfied when putting down my phone.

How much money were they wasting trying to sell me something while I chose to look out the window for my morning commute? If I choose to spend an uninterrupted hour with a friend or a book (and actually keep my phone in my bag the whole time), how much would they have spent to buy that hour from me? And if it’s worth so much to them, then isn’t it time I treated my own attention with the same respect?

Artwork by Coco Lashar.

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The Rare Delight of the Actually-Good Movie Remake

Did you know that there are about 121 remakes and reboots currently in the works?—Like, how could there possibly be so many? What beloved childhood classic of mine is next on the chopping block? Anytime another remake is announced, be it Clueless or The Princess Bride—two movies that should be left alone!—the Internet collectively groans, yet we drag our asses to the theaters, give studios more money and thus more incentive to keep recycling material. And all for what? So we can declare, for the umpeenth time, “It’s not as good as the original”?

After so many “live action” Disney remakes, one starts to dissociate. But the worst is when they trick you into thinking it’s your duty to support certain films, especially of the gender-swapped variety that get misogynist bros up in arms as soon as the trailer drops (ahem, Ghostbusters). And then there’s something patronizing about immediately remaking fresh new foreign films for English-speaking audiences. The Korean thriller Parasite hasn’t even been released stateside and it’s already in talks for an American remake. Give it a minute, will ya?!

A new Clueless? *Shrugging while shopping emoji*

Yet the concept of a remake or reboot is refreshing and fascinating. Think about it on IRL terms: how I wish I could remake certain periods of my own life—wouldn’t that be great, to have that kind of rewriting power? In theory, a remake lets you relive your favorite stories, but also learn from mistakes and update it with relevant material. There’s something aspirational to this, if we forget about all the remakes that have failed or embarrassed us. If the formula is right, even the recently recycled has the power to excite.

I can’t speak on this particular one yet, but Greta Gerwig’s Little Women had many of you screaming, sweating, and screenshotting leading up to the trailer drop. It was a whole cultural moment. Here, it’s a combination of a trusted director (though Gerwig is new-ish behind the camera, her debut solo directorial effort, Lady Bird, was enough proof of greatness to come) and casting (Timothée Chalamet just feels so right as the heir to young Christian Bale’s throne). And even the Little Women I speak of there was a remake (by the way, here’s a success story: I like the ’90s remake more than the ’40s original). The perfect culmination of director and cast also rendered the American remake of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo far superior, breaking the general rule that the international original is better. Noomi Rapace was fine, but Rooney Mara’s goth waif transformation not only improved the portrayal of hacker extraordinaire Lisbeth Salander, but actually changed Mara’s entire look and career. As for David Fincher, I don’t know a better auteur for crime thrillers.

Rooney Mara throbbing with Scandinavian chill

Here’s another exception: Jim McBride’s Breathless with Richard Gere. I’d argue this one is at least as good as Godard’s Breathless. If Gerwig stuck to Little Women’s 19th Century era and Fincher lets his Dragon Tattoo throb with the same Scandinavian chill of his predecessor’s, McBride benefitted from taking on a drastically different setting and tone and owning it completely and unabashedly: his vision of a decadent L.A. in the ’80s, instead of black-and-white Paris. Though each couple has an American and a Frenchie, Gere’s id-driven, sexpot passion makes the American version pop in an oh-so-American way. Especially when crossing country borders, there’s a delicate balance to keeping the spirit of the original without appropriating what might be a unique concern to the place of origin. In that case, remakes benefit from almost being unrecognizable as such (the 1983 Breathless, if it weren’t for the obvious title, could count). The Tawainese director Tsai Ming-Liang took Rebel Without a Cause and gave it a nightlife-drenched, urban ’90s Taipei update with Rebels of the Neon God.

The mark of a great remake could also be that it eloquently captures the atmosphere of its time, without openly pandering to its audience, thus becoming significant societal commentary. David Cronenberg’s The Fly and John Carpenter’s The Thing are the shining, go-to examples of remakes that are better. It isn’t so surprising in hindsight, now knowing Cronenberg and Carpenter are masters of horror. Both of their remakes capture political paranoia in subtext, while Cronenberg pushed the envelope with eroticizing one of the grossest films ever made (Jeff Goldblum and Geena Davis are so sexy until they’re… so not).

It had its moments!

Oftentimes, it can also be a matter of which order you saw the movie and what it meant to you then. The Steve Martin-starring Father of the Bride was such a special father-daughter viewing experience for me growing up that my dad and I still make jokes about the kind of in-law he would be. My dad used to teach me to play basketball, as Martin’s George does with his daughter. I always laugh at the hot dog scene and the financial spiral he falls into, because I can imagine my own dad going through such a panic. These are scenes burned into my fond movie-watching memories. Many years later, I watched Minnelli’s 1950 original, and while still good, it didn’t quite hit the same. This was not me and my dad’s movie.

If I stop grumbling about non-stop reboots and remakes for a sec, I can see younger audiences delighting over Gerwig’s Little Women as I had with the previous version as a kid growing up in the ’90s. Then I remember all the little girls who had dressed up as Ghostbusters and asked for autographs from the new all-female cast. There’s no stopping Hollywood’s remake machine, so maybe we should just focus on finding the ones worth delighting in.

Photos via Everett Collection.

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Ask MR: Does Where I Live Have to Define Me?

Hello and welcome to our advice column, Ask MR, where we answer your burning questions, hoping we’ll become the ointment to your life rash. Ask us a question by sending one of us a DM, emailing write@manrepeller.com with the subject line “ASK MR A QUESTION,” or simply leaving one in the comments.

“Is the area you live in an indicator of your success? More specifically: Does someone choose to sit on a porch on a mildly warm spring day in *insert rural place* doing nothing because they have peace with themselves and feel fine sitting with their thoughts, or does one sit on that porch in that place because they don’t have the capability or motivation to be more traditionally successful, stay busy, go places, and do things?”

Your question is one I’ve asked myself a lot. I live in New York now, but I grew up in a place where there were porches aplenty. A few months after I turned 19, I left my hometown and moved to Sydney, chasing my own version of success. At that time, success to me was getting the entry-level magazine job all my university lecturers had warned me against dreaming about. And things were great: I had the job I wanted and was making it the Big City. But in the eyes of other people, with their own ideas regarding what it means to thrive, I might not have looked nearly as successful as I felt. I was completely friendless, I was set to graduate well behind the rest of my class, and I was earning a wage so low it would literally be illegal now. Still, I felt successful, and even if my definition of success has since evolved, at the time, I felt fulfilled.

Whether you choose to live in one of the biggest cities in the world or regional Australia, there is always the potential for reward.

The closer I get to 30, the more curious I am about the ways people in my life mark their own successes. Take my sister, for example, who remained in our hometown while I moved to Sydney, then New York, racing after various career milestones. She has two children, has built a house, and is currently building a second, which will likely have an excellent porch for sitting. It would be impossible to say which of us is more successful, because it’s simply not objective. We’ve both put tons of work into making our respective dreams come to fruition. Despite our polar-opposite journeys, we’re both motivated, busy, and capable—because whether you choose to live in one of the biggest cities in the world or regional Australia, there is always the potential for reward. That’s important to remember.

In the past, I’ve wished my sister and I shared similar paths so we could have grown in the same direction and swapped advice along the way, but now I find solace in our differences. It reassures me that we are both living our lives as intended. So much of growing up and finding independence is endeavoring to define our own versions of success outside the constraints of what we were coded to believe as kids. To look around and acknowledge that everyone can find success, regardless of the size of their goals or where they live. Thinking this way can be incredibly reassuring, because it means your motivations are yours and yours alone.

Meditating on a porch and career-climbing in a city are two commercial extremes of what it could mean to succeed.

It seems like you’re grappling with two things right now: What it means to be successful and where you want to live. And I think it will be difficult for you to parse either until you reconfigure your definition of success into something more personal. Meditating on a porch and career-climbing in a city are two commercial extremes of what it could mean to succeed. Until you establish your own definition, I think these will continue to feel inadequate to you.

For some people, success is establishing a career in a certain line of work. For others, it manifests in more material ways—in the shapes of houses, cars, or overseas vacations. And for others, success means something a little more abstract, like building a community, excelling at a hobby, or managing their physical and mental health. One of the most important questions you can ask yourself right now is: What does success mean to me?

So, what is it that you want? More specifically, what do you want right now? When you imagine yourself sitting on that porch, do you see yourself now or are you older? Are you alone or with a family? Are you calm or are you bored? Is the reality of this life crisp in your mind or more like a scene out of a movie, tinged in sepia? If you’re finding it hard to answer these questions, I suggest you start writing. List everything you want, then circle the things you want the soonest. Now look at these words and link them together, considering the resources you will need to achieve some measure of them. Feel free to get literal: Are your goals related to an industry that operates out of a certain city? And if so, does that city conflict with any of your other goals? Have you felt any of these things before, and if so, how? Your list may not go according to plan, but asking yourself these questions might help you tap into your own desires, instead of looking to everyone else’s.

You can be successful and valid and fulfilled without ever leaving the country, state, or town you were born in. The most critical factor is not place, but person.

I wanted to answer your letter because your question is something I’ve thought about a lot. What would it mean for me to leave New York? Will I ever be able to move on from this city without feeling like that move comes with an acceptance that my career has hit its peak? And beyond that, what would it mean if I woke up one day and craved the pace of my hometown, and the paddocks of kangaroos and eucalyptus trees that surround it? Would I judge myself for returning to the place I was once so desperate to leave? And if so, would I relay the same judgements to a friend making the same return home? Where we live is a large part of our identities, unpacking our thoughts about where we call home will always be a complex and deeply personal process.

I also wanted to write to you because I’m close to a lot of people who live in rural areas, and they’re just as complex, motivated, and impressive as anybody I’ve met in New York. To conflate success with the region you live in is to suggest that people living in small towns don’t have ambition, but you can be busy, social, and valuable no matter where you live. You can be successful and valid and fulfilled without ever leaving the country, state, or town you were born in. The most critical factor is not place, but person. And for some people, their most potent version of fulfillment can’t happen without a drastic life change. If and when you have those feelings, it’s a matter of assessing how hard you want to work to make it happen, and sometimes, making peace with the fact that your other goals—say, days of porch-sitting in the sunshine—might just have to wait a little while.

Ask MR Identity by Madeline Montoya.

The post Ask MR: Does Where I Live Have to Define Me? appeared first on Man Repeller.

Ta-da! The Gucci Ring Bag Is the Magical Fall Accessory You Need

In partnership with Gucci.

It is an undisputed truth shared by jazz standards, rom-coms, and pumpkin-flavor enthusiasts that autumn is a truly magical time. It’s a feast for the senses, a party for your eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, not to mention an excuse to layer yourself like a golden-crusted millefeuille, piling on sweaters and shirts with so much enthusiasm that it goes without saying you might be interested in a helping hand, a piece of extra aesthetic real estate to join you in your pursuit of depth and textural intrigue–like, for example, a purse that comes replete with a silk scarf tied around the handle à la Gucci’s Ring Bag.

Medium leather shoulder bag with scarf


Medium suede shoulder bag with scarf


Medium leather shoulder bag with scarf


Medium suede shoulder bag


Small leather shoulder bag


Small leather shoulder bag


Small leather shoulder bag


Small leather shoulder bag


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It’s the pinnacle of accessory excellence: an accessory that accessorizes itself, that marries a classic silky layer with a functional but no less aesthetically pleasing vehicle for your keys and rhinestone sunglasses. Oh, and the scarf is removable! Just in case you and your bag are sitting inside a toasty subway car and the handle starts to overheat, or if you’re feeling a little jealous of the innate dapperness that only a swatch of silky perfection can provide. Magical. Just like autumn itself.

Speaking of magical (and apologies for this not-so-subtle transition…) Leandra took her GG Ring Bag for a spin on a quintessential autumn afternoon and things went a little haywire when she encountered—of all things!—a magician.

If the pumpkin-flavored-something you are hopefully sipping right now is making you loopy with eagerness for more deets on how the magic was made (but not literally, you know we can’t give away those kinds of trade secrets), take a gander at the below slideshow for behind-the-scenes insights and emotional abracadabras.

12 PHOTOS
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Moiré pants with ankle tie


Silk wool tuxedo jacket


Silk wool mini skirt


Poplin shirt with labels


Metallic leather platform pump


Ribbed wool mini dress


Mid-heel slide with tiger head


Fluid drill fitted jacket


Fluid drill vest


Quilted culotte pant


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Photos by

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