A Eulogy: Communication, Inner-Thought, Meaning in General

Or: When are people no longer people?


Yes, yes; the internet—the first great democratic medium, the complete facilitation of communication, the abundance of pornography—is a tool. Like so many tools, however, our masturbatory use of it trumps and thusly forgets the ground on which it was built; we are gathered here today to mourn the loss of human interaction and inner-monologue, the death of meaning in general. The cause of this rapidly growing gap in communication that has so far divorced humanity from itself that people decide to publish inner-thoughts as banal, superfluous, and possibly common such as “Wait. Does anyone actually think Vincent Gallo is sexy? And if so, why?” is the influx of self-creation social networks and judgment pathways. An artificially created universe of pictures and self-representation expands like the Sahara over the internet—the simulacra-producing drought? Facebook, Myspace, Twitter, dating websites. Each service asks its participant to sum up his or herself in bands, interests, movies, and a short auto-biography; which comes first, though? The tastes or the self-image?

If you don’t get your music taste just right on a dating website, your dream-date might pass you over in favor of the person who strategically hides his shameful Country Music admiration long enough for the obvious character flaw to morph into a “charming” or “adorable” quirk. The immediacy of the new social environment introduced by these types of media is also crippling to any real human interaction. After meeting someone in real life, you might search for their persona on Facebook to further “know” them and possibly add them to your repertoire of “friends”—but wait! What if the have mutual friends with your ex? Oh this is all so embarrassing and awkward! But again, wait! He might just be “Facebook-friends” with him, maybe it doesn’t mean everything.

And that’s the thing, really; it doesn’t mean anything.

Social networking websites create a fantasy-space for people to divorce themselves from who they truly are (though having stable split personas is difficult—I wonder if the users actually know themselves), and thus ironically prevent themselves from any meaningful communication that the internet facilitates so well. People, instead of being people, have morphed into grotesque internet-projections of themselves through which, with the advent of twitter, one can, in real time, create a relatively complete vision of his or herself at any given moment, at any given place (case in point: I don’t even know the person whose twitter I quoted, but I still know what he looks like and where he is when he chooses to say so), complete with those thoughts that we all undoubtedly think, but have the sense to keep to ourselves.

In protest, I deleted all the old internet-representations of myself that had been untouched for some time and had a real conversation with a living person on the street.

But his attention was divided.

He was “facebooking” on his iPhone.

Dear Associated Press,

Thanks for telling it like it is:

"AP - Fargo residents came together at churches Sunday and prayed they would be spared the Red River's wrath as water burst a levee and swamped a school, providing a powerful omen for the type of disaster that could strike at any time."

Best,

S

(headline taken from Yahoo! News)

Don't Girls Just Wanna Have Fun?

For Marc Jacobs, his show was "about the good old days in New York when getting dressed up was such a joy."

For Tommaso Aquilano and Roberto Rimondi of Gianfranco Ferré, it was a confused veneration for their house, a strange memorial for Ferré who passed away last summer.

For Frida Giannini, it was her latest obsession that she chose to pursue in her ever-charming, if not repetitive manner.

For all three, it was the 80's. But let us recall the 80's for a second; we remember the big shoulders, the outrageous colors, the spandex, the over-the-shoulder flash-dance and matching leggings, the fierce Pat Benetar and Cyndi Lauper makeup, and oh god the teased hair. The big shoulders. The huge shoulders.

While I don't believe all three aforementioned designers mean to venerate that period (Ferré), I do notice problems with both Jacobs and Ferré, while am pleasantly surprised at Gucci. For Ferré, it would have been a feat, humorous and completely remarkable; to add a tasteful austerity to the 80's, but really all we get is a confused veneration for the Architect of Fashion that dribbles over into the 80's:

The over-the Shoulder:

The bodysuit with large, pointed shoulders:

Another Big-Shouldered look:

I'd also like to point out the strange mix of materials on the last model. The jacket is velvet, over a silk skirt and suede shoes. Too many materials, too many ideas. The jumpsuit is actually quite strong as a look, but doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the collection. Incoherence and 80's? Time-warp indeed.

Next up Jacobs. Mr. Jacobs might have had a little too much fun in getting dressed up this season; the shapes were exaggerated, the colors were extreme, and none of it truly flattering:

Shiny fabrics with big shoulders:

Huge shoulders (a cross from a dandy's zoot suit and a hoodie. Yuck):

Whoa. While we can see that velvet is obviously going to be huge and apparently youthful next season, we can also see that these clothes really just point to a time period. The separates that make up the collection have no coherence; all exist in a vacuum of cocaine, greed, and two pounds of makeup per model.

And as for Gucci, well, it was nice. For all the Frida Giannini-bashing Sarah Mower does on Style.com (a "populist" designer, her target market being the clubbing teen looking for a sparklier spin on her current outfit. And my favorite quote, the conclusion to the article, actually [making it stick in the reader's mind and Mower sounds truly, madly bitchy]: "Still, Giannini's insistence on hammering it home in all those exhaustive options is one of the things about her commercial style of showing that makes a crowd of critics mentally drum its fingers with impatience."), I can't help but applaud Giannini for carefully and appropriately addressing the 80's.

She had her big shoulders, her Cyndi Lauper makeup, her one-shoulder, and some nice suits that had tastefully padded shoulders:

Oh. Hey David Bowie. Nice to see you.

Ms. Mower can say all she wants about how boring Giannini is. Perhaps I shouldn't even be comparing her to the Ferré and Jacobs houses, but she definitely got this collection right (and should receive credit because it is due). She tastefully updated the 80's while, if you want to remove the makeup, making wearable, interesting separates. Let's not forget about the spectacle of the show; each outfit worked well, the makeup and accessories were flawless and consistent, and the floor was shiny enough to snort cocaine off of.

80's, meet Taste; Taste, this is the 80's. They've never gotten along so well!

Something Wicked this Way Walks

These past few fashion weeks seem to have provided yet another dull color palette indicative of the current economic state. In a word, drab; it seemed to permeate the shows in a way that, well, was boring, unfortunately. Designers, under duress from fallen sales and a further spiraling economy, seemed to create safe, boring garments one after the other

We get it. The economy is bad; you still have to show a collection. You might as well do it well, okay?

There were exceptions, of course. Warriors in wool, leather, and makeup marched down the runway in combat against the economic influence; these models screamed "we're not backing down!"

Though, it was certainly peculiar how every designer who succeeded in marching forward into the future sending out warrior against the economy was almost directly inspired by Ghesquière's Balenciaga; I'm talking about Jil Sander and Rodarte.

As always, Jil Sander with Raf's brilliant focus on both the house's history, and the future of shape, cut, proportion and (thank god!) color, saves day with his thoughtful garments:

Now compare with Balenciaga Fall 2008:

See the resemblance (hint: the little black dress is made of soft crepe wool and is embellished with the same type of curvilinear shapes)? I'm not saying that this influence is a bad thing--don't they say that imitation is the greatest form of flattery?--these designers obviously can recognize a good idea when they see it, and then run. Here, Raf took the rigid structure typical of Balenciaga and expanded it, producing more whimsical shapes in what seems to be a luscious crepe wool.

Rodarte, on the other hand, took from Balenciaga's general bad-assery:

A warrior ready for the apocalypse if I've ever seen one (That fiery-red hair! ...not to mention the thigh-high bad-ass boots).

Compare to Balenciaga Fall 2008 and Spring 2007 (one of the best collections I've ever seen, period):

Fall 2008:

And Spring 2007:

Similar silhouettes, different fabric playbook. All amazing.

What is most important to note about these two designers is that they both are unconcerned with digging their heels into the ground in order to stay afloat (a bad idea, even metaphorically); they are looking to the future, molding the past into the beautiful clothes of tomorrow.

I'd like to point out that they hold the market on these niche clothes (Rodarte more so) because everyone else is playing it so safe; smart and sexy? A wicked combination.

A Call to Rainbow Arms; Or

Turns Out My Cultural Predictions (Wishes?) Could Come True...

So apparently on February 15th at Union Square Regal Cinemas a gay couple was beaten with glass bottles and slashed with a box cutter.

Great.

Michael Musto of the Village Voice published their letter in this article detailing the extent of negligence on the part of the movie theater (read, when complaining, the manager literally rolled his eyes and walked away).

Thanks.

I've been yelled at on a subway platform for minutes in Brooklyn, I've been called out from cars throughout the USA. Most recently, I've been kicked out of a cab for kissing the man I was with in Paris, but Union Square, New York City--in a movie theater--is somewhere where I would never think to not be myself. This... is astounding.

This response to Musto's article in the comments section below his article, is the most logical and at the same time least appropriate thing anyone could think of. But then again, what else can one do?

"This is why we have EVERY RIGHT (regardless of 'law') to carry weapons for self-defense. We cannot rely on ANYONE to defend us in a country where our family's rights are up for popular vote.GAYS, GUNS, and SELF-DEFENSE
http://gaytaxprotest.blogspot.com/2009/01/gays-and-self-defe"

The only logical reaction to being threatened is to take action, true. What happens when appealing to a higher power has no affect? You get beaten, apparently. If anything, this incident has proved yet again that we are expected to "deal" with our (sometimes violent) oppression.

How is it that I can get kicked out of a cab for kissing (an affectionate peck mind you) my lover and I just have to "deal with it?" I've had to "deal with" terms like "faggot" being hurled at me since middle school. I'm done with dealing; I want to carry a samurai sword.

I only hope that when the rage (second to last paragraph) really does come down, we all are familiar with pleading self-defense (remember, there's usually a retreat clause stipulating that once you've wounded the other party you have to make an effort to leave the scene).

Happy self-defense (revenge)!

Why the Sartorialist Needs to Get Out More

I took this picture during my visit Saint Denis (there's a stunning church where the royalty of Paris are buried), just north of the periphery of Paris.


I only wish I had gotten a better picture of her.

Gay is Not the New Black for the Same Reason that Depression is Not the New Freckles

While both might be hereditary, both are not directly physically manifested. A little joke comes to mind:

What's the difference between being black and gay?

You don't have to tell your mother that you're black.

It's both pithy and depressing. While both are historically and presently marginalized groups, neither seems to embrace their shared heritage; people who are black because, traditionally they are homophobic from the tight-knit, shared values of the Black Church, and people who are gay simply don’t have proper exposure to their own history. The very real phenomenon of the "Black Church" is a place, as detailed by Al Sharpton in "The Black List" (a documentary consisting of interviews of famous black Americans), where in a time where one might simply be a maid or a glorified servant (pre and civil-rights era) the church was where one could actually hold a title: "You were a deacon, or a father," he explains. Unfortunately for people who are gay, the Black Church, into which the entire black community is statistically entwined, has passed down a heritage all but accepting.

This is strange considering the rest of the documentary in which comedian Keenan Ivory Wayans explains how when people asked him if he thought he was marginalizing his own race by directing the 1988 movie "I'm Gonna Git You Sucka," he replied simply, "This is a comedy. This is like Airplane. I grew up watching The Three Stooges and I never thought to myself, wow, white people are crazy." Other interviewees eloquently expressed the same sentiment of "Human first, black after" The contemporary playwright Suzan-Lori Parks explains peoples' apparent perception of her to be "I wake up in the morning and think to myself 'I am a black woman.' But I don't. I wake up and think maybe my dog has to go to the bathroom or about my husband. I'm a person first and black second." We all are.

Duh.

Since I haven't been watching many movies lately, the only other fresh in my mind was Milk. Thus I had to directly compare the two "communities."

What I realized is that not only does a direct genetic pathway make it easier for a "community" to exist, but a publicly acknowledged heritage of suffering helps too. I didn't know who Harvey Milk was until a year ago (This is pertinent because I only had access to an LGBT education through a private university). I am twenty years old; I knew who Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, and Harriet Tubman were when I was six. I knew about the Holocaust, I knew Slavery; I even knew about Rwandan Genocide before I knew where Stonewall was. Jewish, Black, even WASP culture is passed down through a blood-line, or at least through the family; LGBT history is on lockdown, deemed inappropriate to teach in schools. We don't have a black church. We don't have a Synagogue. We don't even have public school. American people who are gay must wait until twenty-one to frequent a gay bar in most states (though I'll be damned if that equates to a "culture"). Sure there are youth centers, but not many adolescents who are heterosexual frequent gay-youth centers; there is no standardized awareness of LGBT issues; I even venture to speculate that there is a higher number of homosexuality-deniers than Holocaust-Deniers (example: Iran).

Recently, a previous editor for Poz magazine and currently the darling-DJ of the New York Gay scene wrote an article which expanded the scope of a different article from the New York Times detailing Stonewall-era harassment and police-raids throughout New York. For those of you who don't know, or have not seen the stock footage from the opening credits of Milk, policemen often raided known gay bars and establishments to write down names of patrons to then publish in papers and arrest on "indecency charges." Though "indecency charges" seem to have gone away, the sentiment still remains the same; the cops don't want us enjoying ourselves (Note; enjoying ourselves means getting just as drunk as people who are heterosexual, talking, laughing, criticizing, and sleeping with each other. Just like ALL people).

I see several elements lining up to create what I can only hope is a massive amount of rage necessary for the gay community to actually unite for once (despite its heritage being covered in cobwebs in the corner of a library, despite being continually marginalized by all groups of society wanting their own change, despite internalizing this antiquated shame that permeates all levels of society) and perhaps obtain equal rights. Aren't you still angry about Proposition 8?

Who knows? Mr. Milk might even get his own national holiday.

Post Script: The careful reader may have noticed that I used the “to-be” verb when describing people who are gay or people who are black. This is because, just like Mr. Wayans and Mrs. Parks would want, people who are gay are not just gay; they are people first, and gay later.

Sacré Coeur: A study

Simply as an aesthetic phenomenon, Sacré Coeur is my favorite place in Paris. This is why:


1. The best view of Paris:




Amazing architecture and detailing:






3. A quite remarkable mosaic in the apse. Seriously, though. Remarkable.

Also slightly hilarious: on the left you will see American Indians, Pilgrims, Japanese women in Kimonos, and the Virgin Mary, whereas on the right you will see Joan of Arc, various Cahtolic officials who offer a scale model of Sacre Coeur to Jesus followed by various other cultural stereotypes that for various reasons (ahem, typology) are now Catholic! Seriously, though. Beautiful.

4. Sacré Coeur is situated in Monmarte, the most stereotypically French of all quarters and therefore the most wonderful:


A la prochaine,

S

Gareth Pugh is so the New Dior Homme

Not only is was the Gareth Pugh show today the most creative and interesting so far this season, it also showed more taste, judgment, and an alignment with a tradition than Kris Van Assche ever has for Dior Homme. Granted, this was easily the best Dior Homme collection Van Assche has given us to date, but he's had about four opportunities since he took over for Hedi Slimane and all have been objectively duds (literally panned across the board). Things he did right this time:

1. He reached into the house's history to bring back some signature concepts such as the suit, interesting cut, and lush knits.

The above look is actually the best of the show; the skin-tight pinstripe pants show he's thinking about the House's past while the jacket is superb--classic yet interesting. The hair, the makeup, the clothes all cohere to one vision that at once venerates Dior Homme, but also inserts Van Assche's sense of taste (read, the color black, hightop sneakers) into the mix.

Another good look featuring a luscious knit.


2. He didn't make too many objectively ugly things (see the end of "The Best of Mens '08" for the greatest dissapointment to date).

3. He added coherence to the show by creating and readressing themes:

This cowl shirt is one of my favorite elements from the show. I would definitely buy one. He readdresses and reinterprets this element throughout the show.

...But here's where we start to get a little out of focus:

I'm all for addressing the 80's--big shoulders, big hair, big everything--there's a lot of design potential in these trends, but Van Assche just sort of threw them out there and let them sit (something I'd say he's now famous for). This big t-shirt could be okay if he adjusted the outfit and proportion of the jacket. This model just looks like he just got out of bed to get the morning paper. Also, I initially loved the jacket until I realized that there was stretch on the bottom and the sleeves. Not very haute at all.

Oh. And for future reference, hair and makeup are important.


And then he showed some questionable looks that just seemed to take up space, rather than add to a collection (poor coherence). We'd rather have less looks and a better show. Okay Kris?


As for Gareth Pugh. Well. That was just a grand pleasure. It was as if John Galliano, Hedi Slimane, and Rick Owens came together to create this spectacle of what everyone was trying to express (read, every gaunt, dark collection, especially Prada) and concentrated those sentiments into his collection. It was incredible.

The collection has just enough play to be "Couture," while one could also see how Pugh would translate it into stores. The looks were classic and twisted, apocolyptic and modern, black and full of life.

This look could have been from a Slimane-Dior Homme show (minus the Pugh-head piece):



...Actually, all of them could have passed for Hedi-era Dior. Each look has the same cut and proportion of an old Dior Homme model, with the same penchant for loud materials and a relatively slouchy set of knits. But Pugh stamps his signature with a penchant for sci-fi horror fun.

Truly a pleasure.

(Van Assche will get there... eventually. If he isn't sacked first)

Edit in light of commenter's apt criticism:

It seems that the old Dior Homme niche (the one that matters) has been filled by Gareth Pugh; unfortunately, this makes current, Kris Van Assche Dior Homme extremely irrelevant as he can't put a coherent collection together (or even original, tasteful garments).

We (Apparently) Don't Need No Education.

In a piece written by Stanley Fish, esteemed literary critic and professor, he explains that the Humanities (ie all Arts, everything pleasurable to me) will disappear because of a lack of financial viability of jobs You're going to study Art History? In this Economy? That's it. No more college fund until you're ready to be responsible and go to Med School and general lack of interest because of these ingrained attitudes.

Well goddamnit. The last of my pleasures, gone. Once again at the hands of Capitalism. Not only my pleasure, though; what about all of professorship? What will happen when the only three viable jobs are Doctor, Lawyer, or Businessperson--and consequently the dying off of non-trade academia as we know it? Fish cites "Industrialist Richard Teller Crane [who] was...pointed in his 1911 dismissal of what humanists call the “life of the mind.” No one who has “a taste for literature has the right to be happy” because “the only men entitled to happiness . . . are those who are useful” to explain the overarching utilitarian ideals. While I would argue that, no, not only am I not useless, but my peers who have interests in Painting, Sculpture, Music, Acting, and Dance are also not useless but they mostly fuel the economy.

Think about it. No artists, no museums. No Musicians, no music business. No actors, no Hollywood. No dancers, no ballet on one hand, but on the other, no Beyonce in "All the Single Ladies."

Though Crane cited Literature, specifically, didn't he? Well. This might actually hold some weight. Not only is it impossible to distinguish between literature with a capital "L" and "books" these days because a flooded market, but, in America at least, who reads anyway (you, obviously, faithful reader)? There is such a puritanical, vehement hatred for intellectualism in America that most public officials must appeal to the "common man"--the nice way to say "lowest common denominator." Apparently book-learnin is out of the question for most of America, and consequently so is the vast area of Academia which devotes itself to the very study of it. So again, with its unfathomable oversights and greedy attitudes towards money (I'm looking at you, private Universities), Capitalism kills; because learning is a commodity, it has to be downsized just like all others.

But then again, I hugely doubt that Stanley Fish is talking about any system outside America (ie, where the cost of education is still manageable, or actually affordable--sometimes free; in France, taxpayers fund your college experience almost entirely). And since America is on its way out as super-power-world-police, maybe we're due for a Glorious Cultural Revolution (It probably helps a lot that we finally have an intellectual president, rather than a jump-the-gun, trigger-happy one). This wouldn't be the first time an immensely powerful historical event would have sparked both an artistic boom, but also a renewed interest in the country's history (a humanity).

While the Humanities as they exist now are certainly due for a change, I hardly expect that change to be a death--and if it is, the phoenix will certainly rise from the ashes anew, reinvented with a different academia, an affordable, self-directed one.

Oh, how this Hope is contagious!