Leandra Medine's Blog, page 86

One Sentence Recap Day 3 Dispatch: Collina Strada, Tibi, Mansur Gavriel and More

One-sentence reviews are back, which in fashion week terms is like the equivalent of a box arriving at your doorstep full of confetti and outfit ideas. The promise of new identities to be explored and new ideas to be transcribed. Of thoughtful debate and examination. It’s all there, on runway platforms and ballpoint pen tips: infinite question marks waiting to be turned into exclamation points. And it’s all so much, so consider this your text message recap. Scroll for our preliminary takes—brief stabs at the heart of what makes NYFW tick—and chime in with your thoughts. What good, after all, is a text message sent without a rebuttal received?

Day Three
Collina Strada

I raced to Collina Strada’s venue from another show, so by the time I arrived I was on the verge of panic that I was going to miss it, causing a slight delay in my fully digesting the surroundings once I (finally) took my seat. The show was situated on the outskirts of a park in the East Village, allowing bystanders to peep through an iron gate and see what I saw: a corridor of NYC pavement lined with picnic tables topped with all manner of farmer’s market spoils—oranges, kale, squash, flowers, etc.—through which models wearing tie-dye, velvet, iridescent ensembles engaged in all manner of New York City activities, from pushing kids in strollers, or calmly eating grapes to breaking out into spontaneous freestyle dance. Dance! —Harling

Jason Wu

Jason Wu is a brand that makes me want to get dressed up, an impulse that was no doubt exacerbated by the fact that I was dressed down while in attendance at the brand’s show and party, in stark contrast to the ethereal gowns floating inches away from my sturdy Birkenstocks—and when I say “floating” I don’t mean it metaphorically, the preponderance of feathers and chiffon caused each garment to literally hover with every step the models took. —Harling

Rosie Assoulin

Rosie Assoulin’s presentation was perched amid farmers’ market shoppers at the Union Square Italian restaurant Bocce, where her visitors were met with a self-pickling station upon entering the venye. Just past the station was Assoulin herself, taking editors through her new collection — classic Rosie in its joyful, feminine wearability; think: long, asymmetrical hemlines, ruffled shirts, skirts attached to shorts and utilitarian but sleek khaki sets. The accessories had an heirloom quality to them, from brass produce jewelry to literal basket bags and wide-brim straw sun hats—still, small quirky details made them feel perfectly of-the-moment. —Elizabeth

Tibi

If I were handing out senior superlatives for fashion week shows, “comfiest seat” would be awarded to Tibi, which took place in the middle of Times Square in a venue stacked theater-style with red velvet chairs—a fitting perch from which to view another iteration of Amy Smilovic’s mission to clothe women both stylishly and comfortably at the same time. The components of each outfit didn’t stray far from those in previous seasons (which is kind of the point—Tibi’s formula is what makes it so consistently compelling), though there was undoubtedly a standout piece: parachute cargo pants rendered in shades so vibrant they seemed edible, from cotton candy hues to just-ripe melon. —Harling

Staud

Social media clothes are usually pretty impractical—you put them on to take a picture then take them off because they’re kind of impossible to wear—but when the clothes deliver on your color-bait desires while also being simple silhouettes rendered in easy fabrics you could practically sleep in, you get to have your likes and eat them too. Lmk how they taste. —Leandra

Mansur Gavriel

I was so thirsty when I got to Mansur Gavriel, which is why it felt like kismet when a kind waiter handed me an enormous pineapple juice beverage housed inside an actual pineapple, but I had an aha! moment when I realized it was also a distillation of what Mansur Gavriel is so good at doing—seamlessly marrying the “it” factor with something that actually serves its customer in a tangibly functional way, whether that’s making a warm sweater in the perfect oversized silhouette that just so happens to be bedecked with cumulus clouds or nipping the ankles of a pair of khakis in such a way that they become statement as well as staple. —Harling

Tory Burch

Clothes you wanna wear—at this point, it’s all I ask for, and Tory Burch delivered within her Brooklyn Museum environs where scones and quiche were served pre-show and scalloped linen monogrammed napkins met guests at their seats; maybe I was well fed, and had been charmed by the gesture, but those big navy pants paired with the napkin bib shirt and striped cardigan; or the salmon pink ankle length dress styled over matching silk pants that dragged gracefully against the floor made me feel even more like I get myself. Same trick, different hat, still me. —Leandra

Day Two
Suzanne Rae

In the rustic Flamboyán theater on the LES, I sat in a folding chair and was met by a real song and dance from two performers dressed in Suzanne Rae, backed by a big digital screen playing original video spliced with news footage and while the performers belted and shimmied, models came out wearing 20 different looks from the camps of sleepleisure, collegiate harkenings, fringe, and fun hats; the signature square toe d’orsay and Mary Jane shoes walked in vibrant primary colors and metallics— all in all it was joyful and upbeat and if you left without knowing your seat mate’s name and favorite dance move, you missed the point. —Elizabeth

Chromat

Chromat felt like that club I could never get into, but last night I did—actually everyone was welcome, including the long-ass line wrapped around the block, full of leopard print body suits and crystal-dripped shoulder pads with a wingspan of three feet. The music thrummed in anticipation of the show’s 45-minute-late start and I felt compelled to DAHNCE but the models took over, storming down the runway in cobalt blue and flaming red swimwear, with a surprise serenade from Rico Nasty. I love it here! —Amalie

Ralph Lauren

Ralph Lauren threw a cocktail party on Wall Street last night that made me feel like I was in Paris and it was the 1920s and chilled champagne was shimmering like diamonds on socialite ears and everyone came dressed in black and white per the dress code requirement and Lauren Santo Domingo went so far as to generously offer that I was emanating a Lee Radziwill vibe and the show—a panoply of black-tie suits and gowns and sweaters with bears on them—added one more layer of glamour to the suspended time lapse in which I sat at a table eating Polo Club nuts and smoky potato chips and standing up to clap with the rest of the room at the end of the collection presentation as an unspoken but earnest thank you to Ralph for bringing us here, on this night, to remember the good old days; I don’t want to escape the present, but sometimes it’s nice to leave for just a minute. —Leandra

Area

The crowd at Spring Studios boasts so many hair colors, which I can see from the vantage point of a lateral fourth-row seat, where it has become even clearer that I am no longer the youth; so it goes, they say, with living, but from this vantage point I get to watch with stars in my eyes, attempting to understand the panoply of crystals and sequins and this one handbag t-shirt (I don’t know how else to describe it) that I saw someone wearing while we waited to check in (it had leather handles flapping out of the crew neck on both sides), and all this perfectly sets up what Area is going to show me: an enchanting cocktail of fantasy and escapism (birdcage skirts, crystal beards, literal armor that is beautiful, but clearly protective) stirred judiciously by the straw from which the culture drinks, dropping in tears of pragmatism (white eyelet button downs, an army green puff sleeve anorak vest) as if a translation, or proposition, the invitation to buy in—and let me tell you I’m in because while I may not be the youth anymore, I’m also not blind, and this, Area, is awesome. —Leandra

Christian Siriano

Christian Siriano designs for the red carpet, and his show made me feel like I was riding one, from the throng of people waiting outside the venue, no doubt hoping to catch a glimpse of a celebrity, to the grand interior once I stepped inside, made even more luxurious by the faint brush of Alicia Silverstone’s thigh against my elbow as she squeezed past en route to her seat, which I couldn’t find even when I craned my neck, but I imagine was well-situated to witness what unfolded next: an ocean of mermaid-esque ensembles in various iterations of rainbow and seafoam, worn by a cast of models that exemplified a refreshing consideration of size-inclusivity. —Harling

Kate Spade

Whoa, sorry to be filing this after the sun is beginning to set, but you know what they say in the heat of the digital age—it is better late than never, or worse, early, and let me tell you, I might be late but creative director Nicola Glass delivered right on time this morning at the Elizabeth Street garden in Nolita where 35 models, a combination of those by trade and those by proxy (real people! In the world! Who give personality to the clothes they wear!) showed a collection of loose pants and tunic tops, pastel crochet knee-length covers, and ribbed knit numbers; there were some khaki jumpsuits and these rly cute Dr. Scholls-style slippers, which made the fact that everyone was holding some form of greenery make so much sense, as if to say: people in green houses should totally throw parties. —Leandra

Ulla Johnson

In this episode of “What I Would Wear to a Mediterranean Beach, but Touch Neither Surf nor Sand Lest It Ruin My Shell-Adorned Hemline, I’ll Just Have an Orange Wine and Salty Olives Thanks” is: Ulla Johnson Spring/Summer 2020. —Amalie

Baja East

Scott Studenberg of Baja East invited his audience to peek into his newfound California life at Milk Studios on 15th Street, in a room furnished with his own living room rugs. Studenberg explained the brand’s relaunch, following a three-season hiatus, to the 40-or-so-person audience with heartfelt honesty. The designer used Tarot Cards—which he recently learned how to read—as inspiration for some of the pieces, while other looks featured trippy psychedelic prints and all-white combinations (which Scott adores and was wearing himself). With an emotional thank you, he sat among the models, each clad in the sporty ribbed knits, fringes, sequins, and prints for which the brand has been known and loved. —Elizabeth

Christopher John Rogers

In CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund finalist Christopher John Rogers’s NYFW runway debut, the idea that humans contain multitudes was on full display: iridescent tent dresses, metallic teal suits, ruffled collars (if you’re feeling it, put it on!) were all accompanied by no-holds-barred vogueing courtesy of models who clearly relished the opportunity to express themselves in clothing that said more than words ever could. —Harling

Khaite

You know that feeling when you’re just like, in between? Weather, moods, ideas—whatever! You want to have your cake, but eat it too, because you’re not sure if you’re hungry but value optionality; I don’t know if I’m packing too many metaphors into what is supposed to be a single sentence but Khaite designs for that in-between and it’s a great exercise in compromise—what do you wear when you want to be on a beach, but you’re in a city? Maybe a wrap skirt that could be a sarong and button down shirt hooked only at the chest, or it’s Saturday night, right? And you’re not sure if you want to go capital-O Out or lowercase hang, so you wear a tulle Top (capital T, of course) and jeans—best yet, you’re in a flashy beach mood, so wear the skirt and the top, add rhinestone or pearl epaulettes, and off you go. —Leandra

Adam Lippes

“Extreme Glamping” is the phrase that came to mind at Adam Lippes’s presentation, set in a brick-walled room in a Downtown NYC skyscraper, in which one wall was lined with models wearing tent silhouettes, floor-sweeping dresses with matching or coordinating bucket hats, sequins, cozy knits, and raw denim touches, slivers of morning light shining between their bodies. Gowns were embroidered in sequin-encrusted nature scenes and pockets were a detail for nearly every dress or skirt worn, presumably meant for storing a Thermos? —Elizabeth

Day One
Tomo Koizumi

I will never be sure how the Tomo Koizumi beauty team managed to get model Ariel Nicholson’s long hair to gel into a sharp point for their one-woman show, but they did, and it stayed that way, all while she frolicked in larger-than-life Koizumi creations, which were made even *more* alive this year than last (which had been Koizumi’s fashion week debut), with wilder construction by way of incredible fabric appendages that moved like jellyfish legs as Nicholson danced from one look into the next. —Amalie

Hellessy

Hellessy is like Dylan’s Candy Bar for going-out tops, as evidenced from today’s rundown of delectable décolletage poofs, one-shouldered delights, torsos draped in silk, and billowing sleeves—each paired with unexpected bottoms like light-wash denim and hot pink velvet leggings, an homage to the universal truth that a good going-out top is as versatile as a Tootsie pop is interminable. —Harling

Shrimps

Shrimps designer Hannah Weiland recently admitted her distaste for digital prints and preference for patterns with a “painterly” feel, a sentiment on full display in her latest collection, which engenders the charming effect of looking simultaneously of the moment (thanks to pearly mini bags and horseshoe-emblazoned faux fur coats) and reminiscent of a different time—or rather, times plural (see: cloche hats, saloon-inspired skirts, parasols, etc.). —Harling

Mara Hoffman

For sustainability-driven Hoffman’s Spring/Summer 2020 collection, the idea of “what a woman might have worn on vacation in Greece in the 80s” was on the brain, which makes the familiar smocking, color-blocking, and voluminous silhouettes feel warmly at home anywhere, not just among white-washed walls and hee-hawing donkeys. —Amalie

Rodarte

My mom got married in 1985 at a venue that provided photo-taking opportunities not unlike those presented in Rodarte’s Spring/Summer 2020 lookbook, boasting the faces of a cast of familiar, famous characters dressed to the 11s in an array of sequins and brocade and iridescent materials layered upon ruffles and big sleeves and mermaid tails and tulle; some pants are interrupted by knee-high, sparkling boots, but to resuscitate my initial point: If only—my mom wishes (I called her, she told me)—she had worn Rodarte. —Leandra

Feature Photo via Getty Images, Photos via Vogue Runway.

The post One Sentence Recap Day 3 Dispatch: Collina Strada, Tibi, Mansur Gavriel and More appeared first on Man Repeller.

One Sentence Recaps Are Back for NYFW’s Spring/Summer 2020 Season, and We’re Updating Daily

One-sentence reviews are BACK, which in fashion week terms is essentially the equivalent of a box arriving on your doorstep full of confetti and potential outfit ideas. The promise of new identities to be explored and new ideas to be transcribed. The promise of thoughtful debate and internal examination. It’s all there, on runway platforms and ballpoint pen tips: infinite question marks waiting to be turned into exclamation points. So scroll down for our preliminary takes—in other words, brief stabs at the heart of what makes NYFW tick—and chime in with your own thoughts in the comments below.

Day Two

Area

The crowd at Spring Studios boasts so many hair colors, which I can see from the vantage point of a lateral fourth-row seat, where it has become even clearer that I am no longer the youth; so it goes, they say, with living, but from this vantage point I get to watch with stars in my eyes, attempting to understand the panoply of crystals and sequins and this one handbag t-shirt (I don’t know how else to describe it) that I saw someone wearing while we waited to check in (it had leather handles flapping out of the crew neck on both sides), and all this perfectly sets up what Area is going to show me: an enchanting cocktail of fantasy and escapism (birdcage skirts, crystal beards, literal armor that is beautiful, but clearly protective) stirred judiciously by the straw from which the culture drinks, dropping in tears of pragmatism (white eyelet button downs, an army green puff sleeve anorak vest) as if a translation, or proposition, the invitation to buy in—and let me tell you I’m in because while I may not be the youth anymore, I’m also not blind, and this, Area, is awesome. —Leandra

Christian Siriano

Christian Siriano designs for the red carpet, and his show made me feel like I was riding one, from the throng of people waiting outside the venue, no doubt hoping to catch a glimpse of a celebrity, to the grand interior once I stepped inside, made even more luxurious by the faint brush of Alicia Silverstone’s thigh against my elbow as she squeezed past en route to her seat, which I couldn’t find even when I craned my neck, but I imagine was well-situated to witness what unfolded next: an ocean of mermaid-esque ensembles in various iterations of rainbow and seafoam, worn by a cast of models that exemplified a refreshing consideration of size-inclusivity. —Harling

Kate Spade

Whoa, sorry to be filing this after the sun is beginning to set, but you know what they say in the heat of the digital age—it is better late than never, or worse, early, and let me tell you, I might be late but creative director Nicola Glass delivered right on time this morning at the Elizabeth Street garden in Nolita where 35 models, a combination of those by trade and those by proxy (real people! In the world! Who give personality to the clothes they wear!) showed a collection of loose pants and tunic tops, pastel crochet knee-length covers, and ribbed knit numbers; there were some khaki jumpsuits and these rly cute Dr. Scholls-style slippers, which made the fact that everyone was holding some form of greenery make so much sense, as if to say: people in green houses should totally throw parties. —Leandra

Ulla Johnson

In this episode of “What I Would Wear to a Mediterranean Beach, but Touch Neither Surf nor Sand Lest It Ruin My Shell-Adorned Hemline, I’ll Just Have an Orange Wine and Salty Olives Thanks” is: Ulla Johnson Spring/Summer 2020. —Amalie

Baja East

Scott Studenberg of Baja East invited his audience to peek into his newfound California life at Milk Studios on 15th Street, in a room furnished with his own living room rugs. Studenberg explained the brand’s relaunch, following a three-season hiatus, to the 40-or-so-person audience with heartfelt honesty. The designer used Tarot Cards—which he recently learned how to read—as inspiration for some of the pieces, while other looks featured trippy psychedelic prints and all-white combinations (which Scott adores and was wearing himself). With an emotional thank you, he sat among the models, each clad in the sporty ribbed knits, fringes, sequins, and prints for which the brand has been known and loved. —Elizabeth

Christopher John Rogers

In CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund finalist Christopher John Rogers’s NYFW runway debut, the idea that humans contain multitudes was on full display: iridescent tent dresses, metallic teal suits, ruffled collars (if you’re feeling it, put it on!) were all accompanied by no-holds-barred vogueing courtesy of models who clearly relished the opportunity to express themselves in clothing that said more than words ever could. —Harling

Khaite

You know that feeling when you’re just like, in between? Weather, moods, ideas—whatever! You want to have your cake, but eat it too, because you’re not sure if you’re hungry but value optionality; I don’t know if I’m packing too many metaphors into what is supposed to be a single sentence but Khaite designs for that in-between and it’s a great exercise in compromise—what do you wear when you want to be on a beach, but you’re in a city? Maybe a wrap skirt that could be a sarong and button down shirt hooked only at the chest, or it’s Saturday night, right? And you’re not sure if you want to go capital-O Out or lowercase hang, so you wear a tulle Top (capital T, of course) and jeans—best yet, you’re in a flashy beach mood, so wear the skirt and the top, add rhinestone or pearl epaulettes, and off you go. —Leandra

Adam Lippes

“Extreme Glamping” is the phrase that came to mind at Adam Lippes’s presentation, set in a brick-walled room in a Downtown NYC skyscraper, in which one wall was lined with models wearing tent silhouettes, floor-sweeping dresses with matching or coordinating bucket hats, sequins, cozy knits, and raw denim touches, slivers of morning light shining between their bodies. Gowns were embroidered in sequin-encrusted nature scenes and pockets were a detail for nearly every dress or skirt worn, presumably meant for storing a Thermos? —Elizabeth

Day One
Tomo Koizumi

I will never be sure how the Tomo Koizumi beauty team managed to get model Ariel Nicholson’s long hair to gel into a sharp point for their one-woman show, but they did, and it stayed that way, all while she frolicked in larger-than-life Koizumi creations, which were made even *more* alive this year than last (which had been Koizumi’s fashion week debut), with wilder construction by way of incredible fabric appendages that moved like jellyfish legs as Nicholson danced from one look into the next. —Amalie

Hellessy

Hellessy is like Dylan’s Candy Bar for going-out tops, as evidenced from today’s rundown of delectable décolletage poofs, one-shouldered delights, torsos draped in silk, and billowing sleeves—each paired with unexpected bottoms like light-wash denim and hot pink velvet leggings, an homage to the universal truth that a good going-out top is as versatile as a Tootsie pop is interminable. —Harling

Shrimps

Shrimps designer Hannah Weiland recently admitted her distaste for digital prints and preference for patterns with a “painterly” feel, a sentiment on full display in her latest collection, which engenders the charming effect of looking simultaneously of the moment (thanks to pearly mini bags and horseshoe-emblazoned faux fur coats) and reminiscent of a different time—or rather, times plural (see: cloche hats, saloon-inspired skirts, parasols, etc.). —Harling

Mara Hoffman

For sustainability-driven Hoffman’s Spring/Summer 2020 collection, the idea of “what a woman might have worn on vacation in Greece in the 80s” was on the brain, which makes the familiar smocking, color-blocking, and voluminous silhouettes feel warmly at home anywhere, not just among white-washed walls and hee-hawing donkeys. —Amalie

Rodarte

My mom got married in 1985 at a venue that provided photo-taking opportunities not unlike those presented in Rodarte’s Spring/Summer 2020 lookbook, boasting the faces of a cast of familiar, famous characters dressed to the 11s in an array of sequins and brocade and iridescent materials layered upon ruffles and big sleeves and mermaid tails and tulle; some pants are interrupted by knee-high, sparkling boots, but to resuscitate my initial point: If only—my mom wishes (I called her, she told me)—she had worn Rodarte. —Leandra

Feature Photo via Getty Images, Photos via Vogue Runway.

The post One Sentence Recaps Are Back for NYFW’s Spring/Summer 2020 Season, and We’re Updating Daily appeared first on Man Repeller.

One Sentence Recaps are Back for NYFW’s Spring/Summer 2020 Season, and We’re Updating Daily

One-sentence reviews are BACK, which in fashion week terms is essentially the equivalent of a box arriving on your doorstep full of confetti and potential outfit ideas. The promise of new identities to be explored and new ideas to be transcribed. The promise of thoughtful debate and internal examination. It’s all there, on runway platforms and ballpoint pen tips: infinite question marks waiting to be turned into exclamation points. So scroll down for our preliminary takes—in other words, brief stabs at the heart of what makes NYFW tick—and chime in with your own thoughts in the comments below.

Day One
Hellessy

Hellessy is like Dylan’s Candy Bar for going-out tops, as evidenced from today’s rundown of delectable décolletage poofs, one-shouldered delights, torsos draped in silk, and billowing sleeves—each paired with unexpected bottoms like light-wash denim and hot pink velvet leggings, an homage to the universal truth that a good going-out top is as versatile as a Tootsie pop is interminable. —Harling

Shrimps

Shrimps designer Hannah Weiland recently admitted her distaste for digital prints and preference for patterns with a “painterly” feel, a sentiment on full display in her latest collection, which engenders the charming effect of looking simultaneously of the moment (thanks to pearly mini bags and horseshoe-emblazoned faux fur coats) and reminiscent of a different time—or rather, times plural (see: cloche hats, saloon-inspired skirts, parasols, etc.). —Harling

Mara Hoffman

For sustainability-driven Hoffman’s Spring/Summer 2020 collection, the idea of “what a woman might have worn on vacation in Greece in the 80s” was on the brain, which makes the familiar smocking, color-blocking, and voluminous silhouettes feel warmly at home anywhere, not just among white-washed walls and hee-hawing donkeys. —Amalie

Rodarte

My mom got married in 1985 at a venue that provided photo-taking opportunities not unlike those presented in Rodarte’s Spring/Summer 2020 lookbook, boasting the faces of a cast of familiar, famous characters dressed to the 11s in an array of sequins and brocade and iridescent materials layered upon ruffles and big sleeves and mermaid tails and tulle; some pants are interrupted by knee-high, sparkling boots, but to resuscitate my initial point: If only—my mom wishes (I called her, she told me)—she had worn Rodarte. —Leandra

Photos via Vogue Runway.

The post One Sentence Recaps are Back for NYFW’s Spring/Summer 2020 Season, and We’re Updating Daily appeared first on Man Repeller.

Oh Shit. I Found Myself at the Cheetos Fashion Show

“Experience” (n.) is one of those words whose definition has morphed over recent years. Yes, technically, anything that happens is an experience, but in certain circles, it has become a descriptor for any old event, even though so many of these events so rarely clear the bar for “something remarkable happened here.” This is why I attended the Cheetos House of Flamin’ Haute fashion show and salon bar experience with medium-low expectations. I love Cheetos, so I knew I would have at least a nice time food-wise, but what I did not expect was an all-out bacchanalia of snack-spawned self-discovery.

Have you ever gone from experiencing ironic joy to tentative joy to purely unbridled joy in roughly 97 minutes? That transformation began the moment Crystal Anderson and I made our way up the orange carpet in Chelsea, flanked by perplexed people leaving their office buildings to begin their commutes home. Crystal, who read the entire invite email, which was essentially a work of flash fiction, knew more about what to expect—in fact, she’d already made an appointment at the brow bar. But I was going in completely unaware, like a babe in an extremely well-produced corporate woods. I anticipated Cheetos and figured there’d be experimental fashion of the early-season Project Runway variety. The self discovery, however, was not on my radar.

The cavernous and orange space (one can only assume the paint was specially mixed to match the Cheeto brand guidelines) was filled with beauty bars of different heights. Branded glam stations filled the space: Makeup stands for a paw-print cat-eye or glitter lip, nail stations for nail art ranging from subtle to basically stickers of bags of Cheetos, a hairstyling area, and the aforementioned brow bar.

I settled on the brow bar, as I am territorial about my hair and already had a very nice gel manicure going on. I let a very nice woman named Kelly tint my eyebrows read and cover them with tiny jewels. Crystal offered moral support and the rest of her champagne she wasn’t going to finish. As I ate my personal mixed bag of hot Cheetos, I suddenly felt a warmth overtake my whole being, not just my belly. I glanced in the mirror and saw for what felt like the first time, myself, but as the self- assured leonine creature I’d always wanted to be. It must be the rush of flavor crystals, I thought to myself as I turned back to face the arena full of snack-food revelers. But when Kelly finished, I realized the feeling wasn’t a fluke. I was Poison Ivy for the Euphoria generation. I felt sultry, I felt bold, I felt sensual. And I found this seat of my sexual power at a Cheetos Activation.

After about an hour of mingling and makeovers and ‘grammable moments, the DJ lowered the mix of 2000s hits to indicate that the runway show was starting. Drinks weren’t allowed in the venue, but Cheetos were, an act of brand alignment that felt quietly subversive. I marveled at the wonders that life can bring and said goodbye to Crystal who had somewhere else to go.

Then the show began: The first look was an elegant tulle creation set off beautifully by a leggy model strutting down the runway to Lizzo. As the strobe lights reflected off of my red eyebrow gems, I felt my confidence and newfound sensuality double with every fiery look sent down the runway. Models of all shapes, sizes, and races wore outfits that ranged from the very literal (a gown made of Cheeto bags!) to the Guy Fieri-esque (so many flame pants) to the legitimately very cute (one black woman had leopard print hair that I might have to copy, a bold look for a newly bold woman). It was hokey, it was delightful, and it was, it seems, a labor of love. I had a fucking blast.

As I made my way out after the show, I held my chest a little higher, gave my hips a little more swing. I turned back to catch one final glance at the space that had given me so much, and a bright neon sign that said “lookin like a snack” caught my eye. I arched one perfectly sparkly red eyebrow and made my way into the night.

Photos via Getty Images.

The post Oh Shit. I Found Myself at the Cheetos Fashion Show appeared first on Man Repeller.

It’s Not Blue. It’s Not Lapis. It’s Meryl, in Cerulean

This year’s Venice Film Festival has been a cornucopia of visual fruits. Timothée Chalamet genderbent backwards into my heart in Haider Ackermann, Zazie Beetz delivered the very best rendition of Valentino Haute Couture, and The Real Iman confirmed herself as royalty, robed in frill upon Valentino frill. But my personal crème chantilly on the hot cocoa of Venice was Meryl MF Streep, Queen Matriarch of Hollywood, slayer of A-list and C-list roles alike, first and last of her name.

Streep stepped onto the red carpet for the premiere of her new film The Laundromat swathed in a Givenchy FW19 floral-dappled cerulean silk-satin muumuu. (My mouth feels like mush after saying that aloud.) Meryl is known for her muted red carpet styles: beiges, blacks, menswear, and if she’s feeling adventurous, a little dash of sparkle or shine. So, to see her sporting a dress that shouted, while also looking supremely comfortable to wear, made me shed a single tear of joie. Apparently it made her feel the same way, as evidenced by the multiple images of her merry face and arms thrown up in an exceedingly ebullient way.

Despite being uncharacteristically vibrant, this look still felt peak Meryl, from the mock neck to the asymmetric hemline to the sky-high red-satin heels that blended seamlessly into the carpet to make it appear as though she was indeed a celestial being, as we’ve all long suspected. She has single-handedly convinced me that comfort-wear is the new event-wear. Muumuus or BUST.

I didn’t need another opportunity to quote Miranda Priestley, but alas, I will always take it. My hands are tied in that regard. And so it must be said: “That [dress] is not just blue, it’s not turquoise. It’s not lapis. It’s actually cerulean.”

And Meryl, my love, on you, what a hue it is.

Photos via Getty Images.

The post It’s Not Blue. It’s Not Lapis. It’s Meryl, in Cerulean appeared first on Man Repeller.

Goodbye, Summer Fridays: An Ode to New Beginnings

I’m at my dining room table. It’s 7:30 p.m., on the Monday night after Labor Day and the sun is gone. When I look to my left I see headlights zapping by as if deer galloping through grass, the same grass I was laying upon yesterday as my daughters were running around the silhouette of my limber, bronze limbs spread out to submit themselves to the earth that supported me like a warm, made-up bed on a cold winter night. I forgot to see the stars. I mean, I looked at them, but I didn’t see them.

My daughters brought me back to life.

There’s a navy blue vase full of Trader Joe’s carnations straight ahead of me. I bought it this morning, the first live thing I’ve acquired since June, when I started leaving the city every four days to take long weekends. The vase matches the color of the sky. Last month at 7:30 p.m. it wasn’t this dark.

I chose these carnations. Where did I learn they’re bad flowers? That they indicate terrible taste, a tacky courter coming to get you. They’re alive and they’re blooming and soon they will die, but before they do, they’ll begin decomposing. I’ll see merits of their lifespan scattered in an organized, almost artful display across the charcoal gray table just the beneath the vase, where they’ve lived for a week, maybe a little bit longer.

Those petals will live separated, like newborns out from their mothers’ wombs, adult children well-adjusted, having completed the cycle of learning from their parents—separated from their stems, telling of what has been a life lived honestly, and therefore spectacularly. Is there anything better?

Sometimes I wonder, would I rather die abruptly or with notice?

When there’s notice, do I decompose like a flower, watching my own life fall slowly but methodically from the root of my whole, still capable of insight, conscious, but from a birds-eye view, and therefore with the capacity to celebrate, to galvanize; to think damn those days were good, remember?

I do this all the time—look back and think that was nice. If that wasn’t nice, what was? But when I try to do it now, today, while I’m sitting at a dining-room table, staring at a navy blue vase and wondering how it is possible that the sky outside the window to my left is showing me a darkness I’d have never seen last month at this time, at this very hour, can I see it too?

The darkness, I mean. How long will it take until I can only see darkness again?

Summer was great. It was the best I’ve ever had. I did nothing but everything, and that’s all I wanted: to know that—without bells and whistles, not a single flight, or fight, or shiny new thing, while flip-flopping between the homes of my parents and my other parents, those chosen, but adopted, with the force and sum of an exploding heart through marriage, with brief interludes to play adult in my own rented nest—that I could feel this way. I don’t need much, just for my heart to explode. It takes is so little! A cackle, a meal, a new thought I didn’t see coming.

If this isn’t nice what is?

I recently decided to stop hating everything else. Summer used to represent a suspension of belief, a sort of role-playing or vacuum that somehow tricked me into believing that perhaps I was not me.

But who did I want to be? Who did I want to become? Why did summer do this? Was it the tan, the carefreeness? The present reminder that I need so little, and therefore, too, an absence of oppressive ambition? In summer, I am satisfied.

But an attitude’s not seasonal. Or it doesn’t have to be, and this is it—life. What more is there? What more, what less, what equal part is there? This is it. I am me. Are we not all the sum of our experiences, rolled up into chosen principles that we dispel both as fact and The Most Important? The things that make us think: I am me! What more is there?

God, I love my kids.

They demand such an intense focus. Being with them is like writing a book. When I emerge from the hole of focus — and it is a hole, but this hole looks a lot like a bright tunnel, decorated to reflect the parts of me that I can’t even measure—I am lightheaded and exhausted but fuck I feel good. Like I’ve just proven the odds wrong. But what are these odds? Who made them? How could they be “right”?

I’m ashamed that I’m not ashamed of this, but I can most viscerally see how I have changed through my clothes. And the speed with which I can get dressed. And the eagerness I feel to confront the box, my closet—a small but mighty amalgam of people I think I was, people I wanted to be, and the person I am. That portion, the latter third, is becoming more dense. Maybe that’s why it’s getting so easy. Why I feel more eager.

We’re always going to be wobbly. Maybe I say that for sympathy. I’m always going to be wobbly. I feel sure of that. If I’m not—if I’m too—strict, I worry I’ll become rigid. And when I think of myself, I see water. Water entering a maze, filling every crevice, refusing to leave any single stone unturned. I want to know, and feel, and experience the full range. It’s not all for me, but the choice of what is—that’s mine.

A lack of wobbliness worries me. And that worry turns me into a block of steel. Steel can get close to the maze, but never too deeply into it. And what a tragedy that would be! To get bigger and bigger, to do it so rapidly that no water could penetrate. It would dehydrate, it would die! And that would be the steel’s fault. But then again, I’m water. Just water. If there is too much of me, won’t I drown the maze?

The maze is life.

My people are steel. I need them. They need me just as much.

Is this what growing up feels like?

Graphics by Dasha Faires. 

The post Goodbye, Summer Fridays: An Ode to New Beginnings appeared first on Man Repeller.

You Look Moist: A Beauty Editor Who Loves Her Drugstore Face Wash

Welcome to You Look Moist , a regular column wherein Man Repeller asks cool people with glowing visages how they achieved their supreme hydration (amongst other things). Today’s installment features Tembe Denton-Hurst, the beauty editor at Nylon.

How would you describe your skin?

It depends on the day and season. Sometimes I love her, and other days she’s incredibly rude, even if I’ve done everything (in my mind) to make her happy. My skin loves Mexico, but hates New York summers; she acts out during the cold months, but also breaks out less. In a word, my skin is temperamental. It’s also very reactive to my environment, hormones, and moods. Sometimes I actually wonder if my skincare routine does anything at all.

How would you describe your skincare approach in general?

My approach is definitely more on the low-maintenance end of things—especially for a beauty editor. I largely avoid facials (my skin always freaks out after and never quite “bounces back”) and only wash my face once a day. I try to stick to five steps or fewer: cleanser (only at night), toner, serum, moisturizer, and sunscreen (only in the mornings). The more minimal my routine is, the more likely I am to actually do it.

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real hot girl shit

The Sears Portrait Studio Aesthetic Is Back, Baby

Yesterday afternoon, I opened Instagram to a deluge: there on my lil screen was portrait after portrait of simpering celebs draped in Rodarte’s new spring/summer 2020 collection. The images were full of taffeta, metallic tulle, pearl-encrusted evening gloves (I’m shouting now), loofah sleeves, big belts, fluffy ruffles, and featured more than one duo the collective internet had no choice but to breathlessly declare iconic. (Exhibit A and B.) The content cup runneth over. 

Each portrait was set against a faux greco-roman backdrop painted in dreamy blues and greens, very reminiscent of, yes, those 80s one-hour portrait studios. And so then it became official: They’re back, baby.

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We were just in LA and needed to find a One Hour Photo place quick. Sandwiched between little bodegas, my sister randomly found this place on Beverly Blvd in Korea Town called Tom’s One Hour Photo & Lab. It’s one of those rare mom-&-pop gems that has lasted thru trends coming and going and weirdly has come back around again without even realizing it. The owner, Tom, was SO adorable. He not only does film developing but (cheap) and nostalgic portrait sessions too. (He gave us digital files and we edited these but he’ll shoot on film if you ask him to.) Pick your favorite background! He made them all himself.

September Horoscopes: The Planets Say “Text Your Crush”

Wow, everyone, thank you so much for gathering here today. I stand before you having just indulged in a Leo season that was truly one for the ages. I hope you all had a dazzling and indulgent month. Honestly, I missed you and I’m so happy to be standing, once again, on the metaphoric oracle stone. (Did oracles have stones they stood on? I feel like I’ve heard that before… or am I thinking of oracle bones? In which case, just imagine me standing atop the skeletons of your enemies.) Anyway, I’m so happy to be standing here to bring you September’s tidings!

We have an exciting Virgo season ahead of us, with almost every sign getting a boost of energy and delight from spontaneous Uranus making eyes at Venus and Mars this month. I have so much to tell you I can’t even bear to carry on this flirtatious introduction. So, read on for the juice, the tea, and the hot-n-ready star goss.

Virgo

Are you buckled in, Virgirino? If you are not buckled in, I recommend that you get yourself to the nearest seat-belt purveyor and procure yourself a portable seat belt before we continue. After holding oracular congress and huffing mystical vapors, I have determined that this month is going to be one of the best of the year for you. Here’s the planetary scoop: As soon as September kicks off, you are in for an array of delights. In our first week of Virgo season, your ruling planet Mercury is in your sign making you extra quick and witty. Do you have a half-drafted text to your crush saved in your Notes app, wherein you make a sick Home Alone 2 reference, but you’re hesitating to send it because you’re like, idk if this will be a smash? If so, I have two words for you: send it. If it doesn’t work out, just tell them it was all my idea and that you’ve never even seen Home Alone 2. It’s that easy.

There are a whole bunch of other planets currently getting cozy in your first house, which is the house where your personality lives. Now, if my personality had a house, I think it would be an old Victorian in a ghost town that people walked by on haunted house tours. As each tour group came by my personality’s house, I would pull the blinds to reveal myself, frozen in a dramatic pose, starring in a tableau vivant of some kind! Do you think your personality would like to live next door to mine? Actually, never mind, we have to focus, Virgo! I need you to know that a lot of planets are currently conspiring to make this a month when people won’t be able to resist your charms. There are so many YESes floating around you right now, it’s like they opened up a YES factory down the street. So, just mosey on down there and pick you up some. Honestly, the whole month looks rosey, so you really don’t need my help. Have a fun birthday month, you lil’ bumblebee.

Libra

Dear, sweet Libra with the sparkling personality and excellent taste in interior decor, you know I don’t play favorites. As a Libra myself, it would be against my nature to make such an unfair choice. But, I will say that I have a particularly tender spot for my fellow Librans. So, please hear the following advisory and know that it is coming both from the cockles of my heart (which is actually an idiom taken from scientific texts written in Latin during the 17th century, so please take it seriously) and also from the absolute truth and wisdom of astrological interpretation: You’ve gotta slow down on the socializing. I know, we Librans generally hate to hear this, but you’ve got a bunch of fascinating planets brooding in your twelfth house of privacy.

This is an especially powerful period to spend some time alone and get reacquainted with your inner voice. I mean, when is the last time you hit yourself up on a Friday night and were just like, hey you, wanna just skip the party, pick up some pistachio ice cream, and do some sudoku instead? It’s probably been a while. Might I suggest deleting the Instagram app? Or temporarily deactivating your Facebook? People will be all like, wow how mysterious, I wonder where that complex and fascinating Libra went? And then, when it’s our birthday season next month…oof! You’ll be back with a cache of unposted selfies. If you take this planetary invitation to hang with yourself, you will be rewarded with unparalleled creativity, according to actual astral reports that I harvested by hand. This will be so good for you, trust me. (And if you want to start an alone time support group, hmu in the comments.)

Scorpio

My dearest Scorpling, it has been too long, has it not? You’ve been working so hard it was actually just exhausting to stare into my celestial reflecting pool and gaze upon all the recent hurdles you’ve encountered. I have weary-by-proxy syndrome about it—a concurrence most commonly encountered when you see a friend still fucking with that one dude who refuses to get a real shower curtain and is instead still simply using a plastic shower liner, as if that is a thing that adults do. But! I have great news for you, my beloved scorpion babies, this month is going to be a much needed spoonful of sugar in your tea.

In the first half of the month, your eleventh house of friendship will be illuminated by the new moon. This means that the people who you are getting to know right now are people that you will want to know for a very long time. That cutie in the embellished silk slip from the cocktail party might be a purveyor of the rare orchids you have been looking for all summer. That friend of a friend who you shared a Lyft with could possibly be a gifted theremin player who wants to help you make your futuristic space noise band dreams a reality. What I’m saying is that the planets are trying to coax you out of your den (technically scorpions live in burrows, but no matter!) in order to meet some people you really want to meet. Put on your outdoor shoes and let the world delight you. I am 84% sure this will work out well for you.

Sagittarius

Oh, Sag! You scamp, you move-maker, you robust corporeal life force! Late last month, you had Mercury, Venus, and Mars slide into your tenth house, which governs professional achievements, honors, and Employee of the Month plaques. If late-August was a girls night out, you could think of Mercury as that one friend who goes to get a drink and then returns with a group of circus performers in town from Spain who you simply must meet. Venus would be the friend who insisted everyone wear glitter, even though you’re all adults, and then leads the table in a drinking game where there is the possibility—nay—probability of everyone making out. Mars is the friend who got you all into the exclusive club in the first place by sheer force of will. What I’m saying is that you’re rolling into Scorpio season with a powerful crew at your heels.

This is the time to launch new ventures and pull the trigger on whatever schemes and capers you’ve been cooking up. Sag—to put it another way—this month is about money for you. You have to be diligent, of course, but you should also have an expectant attitude. All the things you are seeking are seeking you as well, and every step you take toward your goals is a step that those goals are taking toward you. Think of manifesting your dream life being similar to dancing a tango at a distance. You are perfectly in step with your dance partner, but the problem is that your dance partner is a town over and you both must tango toward one another until you are finally in the same room. It was difficult to arrive in that room with your dance partner (your dream life) but when you get there it will be like that steamy scene in Frida where Selma Hayek ruins my life by sensually tangoing another woman at a party while gripping a rose between her teeth. So get moving, Sag! September’s going to be great and I am so proud of you.

Capricorn

Have you ever thought about how people could legally smoke on airplanes until 1988?! And that, before the switch to jet engines, planes were run on pistons and turbulence that could literally just snap your neck! People were in those speeding metal abominations just huffing stale air and smoke, not knowing whether their fragile vertebrae would remain unsnapped for the duration of their journey. When I get on a plane these days, I douse myself in hand sanitizer, try not to think about the composition of the air I’m inhaling, and say to myself, things could be worse. Now, I’m sure you see where I’m going with this, but let me spell it out: Cap, it is time for you to hit the road, to seek your great beyond, to venture into distant pastures.

You have a gathering of planets in your ninth house of long journeys and they are conspiring to anoint your adventure. It might not be easy to burst out of your comfort zone and board that flight, but when you get into your coach seat, sandwiched between a colicky baby and someone with the audacity to begin eating an egg salad sandwich before take off, just know that the planets are supporting your courageous spirit and that you will find so many blessings and delights when you arrive in Greenland or wherever it is that calls to you.

The stars would also like me to tell you to spend some time thinking about the next big step in your career this month. This might include planning that career shift, angling for that promotion, or—I don’t know—making a mood board of lapel designs that project power and authority. Okay, love you, gtg, good luck with your lapels!

Aquarius

How’s tricks, kid? I would bank on a very positive answer thanks to all the auspicious planets in your chart this month. September is looking real good for you, but with great delight comes great responsibility. Now, being the most airy of all the air signs when it comes to far-out contemplations, Aquarians aren’t generally thought of as a sign that’s overly concerned with worldly matters. Generally, you are interested in money only inasmuch as it allows you to indulge your fascination with everything cutting edge and perhaps (probably) a little weird. For example, when I have a question about whether I should give up on dating humans and begin a romance with one of these newfangled advanced AI chat bots who seem like they would surely have more interesting things to say than the milquiest of milquetoast people I have allowed to buy me dinner, I turn to the Aquarians in my life.

However, with Venus, Mars, and Mercury all congregating in your eighth house of other people’s money, September might be a good time to do some financial planning. Now, I know reading that sentence probably made you feel so bored you’ve left me alone in the chamber of astrological reflection and aren’t even reading this right now—but, if you’re still with me, let me tell you that the financial planning you do now with this crown of stars in your eighth house could set you up for a season of abundance.

One last thing: When the new moon in Libra hits at the end of the month, a titillating opportunity to travel may enter your life, and the stars have told me to tell you to take it! Well, actually, what they said is: Aquarians better board the train because the next stop is party-friggin-central and the margs won’t drink themselves! Those naughty planets.

Pisces

Salutations, you gentle-hearted starfish. How are your feelings today? If we were in corporeal form together right now, I bet you would really consider that question and then express the peaks and valleys of your emotional landscape with sensitivity and care, right? I know you would. And on that note, can we take just a petty moment together here and talk about how often people respond to any inquiry about their feelings with “good”? I mean, that tells me literally nothing about your internal emotional weather and obviously I want to know or I wouldn’t have asked! I’m not yelling, you’re yelling!

I need to tell you that this month your sensitivities, while occasionally difficult to bear, are one of your greatest strengths and September’s planetary alignments will help to amplify this quality in a positive way. During the beginning of the month, Uranus, ruler of the unexpected, is making eyes at the new moon, which will set you up to be massively creative. Also, this sweet astrological confluence could spell an engagement or some other positive surprise in your romantic life. For example, if you have been contemplating commissioning a pair of plaster busts with your romantic partner depicting each other’s countenances, but you just weren’t sure if your romantic partner was ready, I hope you’re prepared to be pleasantly surprised by a brand new bust on the ol’ mantelpiece.

Also! Before I forget, the heavenly bodies wanted me to pass along a note that says, “Hey there lil’ angel, you’re doing so good! Just keep making stuff you care about and telling your truth, okay? Mommy loves you, xoxo.” So, if that means anything to you, great. If not, I am just the messenger doing my humble duty. It is going to be a beautiful month for you, you beautiful seaborn body of light.

Aries

I had a dream the other night that I was singing on a hillside á la The Sound of Music and I was really getting it, hitting all the high notes, going in on my twirling, but something still felt off. So, I stopped singing and called out to see if anyone would come harmonize with me, then right as I was about to give up hope that any living creature would come share in my delight, a mob of rams came storming down the alpine hillside and oh, how we rejoiced together! All of this is to say that I really need to integrate some bucolic cotton skirt and apron combos into my wardrobe because I looked great in this dream. Oh, and also that I believe I was having a premonition of your September horoscope.

You see, this month will be filled with the spirit of collaboration and drive for you (hence the mob of rams rushing down a hillside). I know you are probably like, ugh, Sar, I love you but I am so tired of being so ambitious and hardworking and excellent all the time. To which I reply—have I told you about Uranus? Uranus is the planet of surprises and it’s positioned in your financial house. With a lot of other kindly planets gathered in the work and collaboration centers of your chart, this indicates that you’re going to have a grand ol’ time doing this work and you will attract happy financial surprises as a result.

Keep your nose to the proverbial grindstone, and I will await you in an embroidered bodice, probably clutching a basket of honey and scones or whatever. See you in October, and tell your mom I love her for bringing you into the world!

Taurus

You really are the M&Ms in the trail mix, Taurus. You are the sensuous delight that we tolerate peanuts and raisins to get our hands on. It’s an honor that you have stopped by for some Virgo season prophesying. First thing’s first my dude, this month is going to be spectacular for you, especially as it pertains to matters of the heart. You’ve got a delightful crowd of planets in your fifth house of happiness and true love, all while Uranus, the planet of surprise, is shining its light on this romantic planetary soirée.

The odds are excellent that you could fall in love this month and that it will be a joyful surprise. In fact, I would like to offer my services as the screenwriter for the rom-com about your grand romance. Here’s a taste: You are a high-achieving business person with a pent-up urge to cut loose and enjoy the delights of life. The opening scene is in a tasteful minimalist bedroom and we see your alarm clock go off. But it is not just any alarm clock. It’s one of those fancy morning light alarm clocks that wakes you up with the simulation of dawn. Alas, you are wearing an eye mask so the alarm didn’t work. We cut to a coffee shop, and a handsome barista is cheerfully chatting to customers, ribbing regulars, and making the espresso machine sing. Your meet-cute happens when your cat begins making biscuits on your head and you realize you are late for your high-powered job that you hate. (You know how it goes.) You dash into the coffee shop all rushed and the barista is like, ohmygosh you’re the person I sat next to on the bus in Portland all those years ago who gave me a stick of gum. You fall in love and the barista gets you to loosen up a little, while you help your new lover open their very own coffee shop. Voilà!

This will also be a great month for your creativity, so if you are not into finding a sexy cuddle partner, then pour your love into a paper-mâché diorama project or whatever it is you crazy kids are doing these days! Have fun out there, scamp, and always remember the wise words of John Waters: “If you go home with somebody, and they don’t have books, don’t fuck ’em!”

Gemini

Is that a sun-kissed glow I see across your cheeks? The stars were auspiciously arranged last month for travel and adventure. Did you take advantage of those vibes? If not, don’t worry. A good bronzer is only a drugstore stop away and honestly leaving the comfort of one’s own home is massively overrated in my personal opinion. If you, like me, prefer to eat your meals in bed and wish that people would just let go of the bed-eating stigma already, I have great news for you! Unfortunately, I’m not starting an advocacy group for bed diners. Instead, I’ve been asked by the stars to tell you that Mercury, Venus, and Mars are all having a sleepover in your solar fourth house, which rules the domestic arena of your life.

Mercury, your ruling planet, is positioned to give you the energy to make your home an even more delightful place. Venus, the planet ruling love and beauty, is holding up paint swatches for you this month and really leaning towards a calamine pink for the bathroom. Mars is also in attendance, suggesting that your home may be buzzing with energy—perhaps family visitors?

If your family does come to town, Mercury will help you to clearly communicate your boundaries and intentions. This might be the visit where you finally get the courage to tell you mother to stop going through your drawers and re-folding everything you own while you’re out getting bagels. She knows full well that she is going to encounter a vibrator! And like, why does she just weirdly tuck it right back in its designated place after she has rolled all your socks Marie Kondo-style? What is up with that? Good luck, Gemini, I see domestic bliss and autonomy on your horizons.

Cancer

Hi! I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages! What have you been up to? I have been diligently attending to the planetary movements within your chart and, according to astrology, this month will be filled with travel for you. I know that for some, the idea of a travel-filled month is exciting. But, I was just talking to Gemini about how, for others, a month of travel can become a countdown of days left until one can once again don the same egregious terry-cloth leisure pants and slipper socks for days on end. Cancers often lean toward being homebodies, especially when that home has a pet, plant, or lover to tend to. But the stars would like me to inform you that any traveling you do in September will be a net-positive for you and the people you’re closest to.

Uranus, the planet of surprises, is in a position to encourage unexpected but delightful spontaneous adventures. This could be a classic road-trip scenario or something more exotic. This could be the month where a loved one decides to break the world record for longest continuous bike trip on one of those party bikes where you have, like, eight people peddling and everyone is drinking and wearing themed apparel, which speaks to the unity felt within such a festive mobile experience. And you might be saying to yourself: Sarah, I don’t know anyone who would ever participate in such an abominable waste of time and energy. To which I would reply, I see your point, but I don’t make the rules here, buddy. The stars are in charge of these things, and I am just their humble mouthpiece. Thank you and goodnight.

Leo

Did you have a good birthday? What did you do to celebrate? (Please meet me in the comments with detailed descriptions of your party theme as well as a rundown of your outfits—I presume you had multiple costume changes.) I hope you aren’t experiencing any post-birthday blues, but if you are, fret not! September will be a month of exciting developments, particularly in the world of finance. You have some excellent planetary alignments in your second house of earned income this month that will set the stage for big steps forward in your career. The catch? You have to ask for it.

Leos might be known for extroversion and enjoying the spotlight, but even the most outgoing among us can get a little shy when asking for what we’re worth. It’s time to let go of any limiting beliefs you might have around your finances and start receiving the abundance that has your name on it. What I’m angling for here is you asking for a raise! There will be no better month this year for this move. My personal strategy for compensation negotiations revolves around shock and awe. I recommend pulling some tuxedo pants out of the closet, shining up those loafers, and maybe (definitely) throwing down a smoke bomb upon exiting the negotiation. I hear people have other methods, but I’m not able to speak to the efficacy of anything other than high drama. However you choose to seek your fortune, I wish you the best of luck and assure you that the cosmos have your back.

Illustration by Audrey H. Weber. 

The post September Horoscopes: The Planets Say “Text Your Crush” appeared first on Man Repeller.

Office Dress Code Makeover #001: The Senior PR Associate Who Finds Cookie-Cutter Clothing Unsexy

Welcome to Office Dress Code Makeover, a new series that will evaluate the stringent office dress-code regulations of Man Repeller community members and then offer creative solutions to help them express their style instead of compromising it. All without a single finger wag from Cathy in HR!

Honey Debelle is a 27-year-old senior associate from Australia who has been living in New York for a year. She works at a strategic communications firm that specializes in crisis PR management.

The dress code is corporate casual in-office, but “very corporate” for client meetings. Men wear suits without ties, or “smart chinos.” Women mostly wear dresses and skirts, which, when worn with heels should not rise more than 2-inches above the knee. No jeans, T-shirts, tank tops, flip-flops, or sneakers. Backless shoes and bright colors are fair game.

The Challenge

Debelle describes her style as “somewhat masculine.” She prefers to stay away from whimsical patterns such as florals, but wishes she wore more color to work. She says she prefers to wear just one “statement piece” at a time.

“There’s a battle in my head between wanting to look sexy and work-appropriate,” Debelle says. She defines sexy as “looking like your own person, not cookie cutter.” She’d like to take more risks with her style choices so as to feel more comfortable meeting friends after work without a conservative client or manager thinking she’s dressed inappropriately.

Currently, she keeps it simple: “I often go to work straight from the gym and need outfits that are guaranteed to match and that won’t crinkle, so I usually wear all black, typically slacks and some sort of silky, high-neck shirt with heavy silver jewelry.”

The Solution

Originally, I planned to style her in a long-sleeve sequin blouse with a J.Crew men’s blazer to hit on the masculine edge of her otherwise feminine disposition and to pair that with a feminine skirt (pleated and mid-length) rendered in a traditional menswear fabric (wool microplaid). I added a pair of brightly colored shoes and some jewelry (necklace and bracelets) with a large enough bag to hold her gym clothes. Ultimately, she said she wouldn’t wear it, but was happy to flatter me with a photo.

The Solution… Redux

When we went back to the drawing board, I presented a pair of cow-print clogs and she was reticent to give them a try, but after explaining the logic behind pairing charcoal grey wool trousers (thick enough to pack for the gym without having to worry about crinkling) with a beige work shirt—an innocuous and masculine combination by all accounts that could be made more interesting by the inclusion of low-risk accessories that would harness the parts of her personal style she is eager to let out, she agreed to give them a try.

We added a pair of suspenders, a set of three colored beaded bracelets, and a pearl necklace. By that point, she conceded that she really liked how she felt and was confident she could and would want to wear it to work and a post-work social gathering alike.

The total look fell squarely within her budget (she’d spend up to $300 on individual garments for work), with the most expensive unit coming in at $283 for the pants. The shirt and suspenders, from the men’s department at Mango, came in at a respective $59.99 and $49.99. The clogs were something she’d enthusiastically wear outside of work all the time, so she raised the budget ceiling for those (they cost $428).

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But as for the cost of feeling like your most bomb-ass self at work? Priceless. Duh.

Have a friend, or a friend of a friend, or an “asking for a friend” you’d like to nominate for Office Dress Code Makeover? Slip into our DMs!

Photos  by Sabrina Santiago.

The post Office Dress Code Makeover #001: The Senior PR Associate Who Finds Cookie-Cutter Clothing Unsexy appeared first on Man Repeller.