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!

La Mode et La Mort.

I know I said I would ruminate on various aspects of this seasons collections like how Marni, in a sad attempt to become ultra-relevant rather than stick to its own unique construction and ideas, regurgitated literally every trend from last season, or how Comme Des Garcons (and even Prada--what a dud! Oh and Margiela... and Vivienne Westwood [all my favorites have betrayed me! Dont talk to be about Balenciaga; I'm still in mourning]) might have strayed away from "clothes" per se, and instead sent... things down the runway.

I am not going to do those things. They speak for themselves and, let's face it, are a lot less relevant than what is ACTUALLY happening in the world; while art is a great form of escapism, I just cannot ethically justify turning away from the world's current state (it needs help, and I am Super-Man--or a Saint. Whichever).

That said, I would like to name the best collections from Fall 2009:

1. Junya Watanabe--Again, with fabric, he is one of the most impressive sculptors I have ever seen. Also I would have never thought that I could be convinced that Denim on the runway was a good idea. So impressive.

2. Marc Jacobs--For all the Marc Jacobs-bashing I do on this blog, I was infinitely impressed with this collection. The "house of mirrors," the construction and reflective-and-shiny-but-surprisingly-not-gaudy nature of the clothes were amazing and weighty eye-candy (also, anyone who can re-invent the stiletto is impressive).

3. Jil Sander--See below, this collection was amazing.

4. Gianfranco Ferre--This might have been a more pleasant surprise than the Jacobs. I had never really cared to look at a Ferre collection before and our chance-encounter proved quite fruitful; this collection displayed such a flair for a rigidly constructed garment, interesting silhouettes, attention-commanding fabrics, and great shoes.

5. John Galliano--The heavy-attitudes felt by the fashion world in the face of recession necessitated a joke; fashion people need to be able to laugh again (in the face of massive layoffs). Galliano showed one of the most interesting and hilarious spectacles of fashion I've ever seen: a tour of Europe through hat-culture (not to mention the clothes, which were also great).

Check these collections out; it's nice to window-shop (get it? Window, as in internet? Ha!).

Adventures in Retail: RE-Recession

Today at the luxury boutique I work at (we're talking $1000+--and I mean +--evening bags that you'll wear three times in your life), these people came in for a repair. Then we got to talking while this man's wife was looking at a sale bag.

[Upon his wife (in a Burberry pattern hat AND scarf with a huge mink coat) coming up to him with a clutch] Man in Gucci embossed loafers: Hm. I just won a thousand dollars.
Female co-worker: Oh? Did you win the lottery?
Man: No. I told my friend where we were going and that no woman could walk out of the store without buying a purse. When he saw how expensive they were he said I was crazy and bet me a thousand dollars that we would walk out empty-handed. And now she's buying a purse. [editor's note: Yeah. Never mind the 90% of the population who can't afford, much less justify a $2400 SALE clutch.]
Co-worker: Oh. Ha. Yeah. Funny.
Man: Did you know that 95% of people who win the lottery spend it all within 5 years?
Me: I find it hard to believe that you could spend even 30 million in 5 years that recklessly.
Man: No. It's true. People with little money who suddenly come into it just don't know how to keep it.
Us: ...k...
Man: Yeah. And I don't know what this "recession" business is about. We're here just for 4 days but already the restaurants are all packed. People are spending. I don't know what everyone's griping about.
Me: ... umm. Where did you go?
Man: We just went to David Burke [Editor's note: David Burke and Donnatella is a restaurant on the Upper East Side that features a twenty-one dollar PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY], We had to wait for a table. And then we saw "The Heights" and it was packed [Editor's note: :In the Heights" is a popular musical that plays to sold-out audiences... pretty much habitually].
Us: ...Oh. Okay.
Man: Seriously. Where is this recession? It's not even real.

If I ever hear a person who can afford to spend $2400 on a clutch for his wife explain to me that there is no such thing as the economy, I swear. I am going to kill him/her.

And I'm choosing to disregard that he bet a thousand dollars on whether his wife would spend his money.

...So about Raskolnikov's Extraordinary Man Theory...

In Which it is Proved that I'm Way Too Idealistic for my Own Good.

In an article written by Op-Ed Columnist Charles Blow, he discusses indirectly how my approaches and critiques of the black community voting overwhelmingly for Proposition 8, are misguided and do not appeal to the black voters themselves (many whom, blow argues, are single black women who frequent church and are apparently potentially jealous of men marrying each other because they might have been spurned in the past). He plugs it as a health issue.

This is a solid argument that is absolutely logical and probably hits closer to home (Blow argues that if sexual politics were slightly less taboo, black teenagers--who are most likely to have unprotected premarital sex--would be educated and make better sexual health decisions, lowering the prevalence in HIV amongst the black community). Solid.

I wonder, though. Doesn't pandering to a community's fear of death and disease based on it's apparently misguided notions of sexual health and acceptance marginalize the group even more than they are currently? In my Article "Dr. King's Dystopia..." (see below), I thought it was logical to appeal to the black community's sense of history, to their collective humanity and empathy in hopes that they could recognize the similarity in the Civil Rights Movement and the Gay Rights Movement. Appealing to a fear of death and disease is just another form of PR for politics in that we ignore the root of the issue in order to get to a quick goal (hint, this doesn't work. For evidence, see the scapegoating of non-Aryans in post-WWI Germany, and most recently playing on the sensitive fears of the US citizens to send troops into Iraq--a couple significant events that stuck out in my mind that fit the bill; there are doubtlessly multitudes more).

As a minority, I feel a little put off about Mr. Blow (a black man) essentially selling his community out.

Though is he buying the greater good?

Would YOU Kill for that Plasma-Screen TV? Black Friday Indeed.

This article detailing the misadventures of a seasonal employee and his DEATH by TRAMPLING is a great example of American consumerism going just a tad too far. It is also an example of how ridiculous the blame game gets here. The article, through several of its sources and interviewees paints Wal-Mart to be the problem, that it should let its workers unionize, that it should have been more prepared to deal with the mob-like crowds.

Really? It's Wal-Mart's fault that people are willing to trample a seasonal employee to death in order to be the first to get great deals on poor-quality goods? If ever anyone needed evidence of American capitalism ironically killing its own citizens, this is literally it. How can it be true that the instinct to shop is greater than the instinct to help another human being who is dying?

The police should search his body for footprints, match them up to people and then put each and every one of those people on trial for murder.

Dr. King's Dystopia, or: Dear President Obama,

The moment the CNN said "Obama projected President Elect," we were in disbelief. We changed the channel to MSNBC, then to FOX news. When FOX said the same thing, we knew it was true. Then we heard the joyful cries in the street.

"Obama! Obama! Obama!"

We went outside to join them. We screamed, I yelled, I was lost in a mass of happiness, hope, and relief. Of course this would happen in New York City. "This is so GOOD," I repeated loudly, laughing almost maniacally with excitement, faith restored anew in my fellow man, faith restored in democracy. "I have hope. I actually have hope," I repeated, astonished.

It sound mellow-dramatic, but it's true. I was terrified that McCain had a chance (Hey, it happened for Republicans two elections in a row).

We went out on the street where the homeless shelter was awash with happiness, we gave them high fives as we passed and rejoiced, shouting "Obama! We did it!"

We walked uptown and had victory shots of Jack Daniels, the most American thing we could think of at the time. We walked north still, where in every bar with a television no one spoke, the patrons quelled by McCain's concession speech. No one spoke, all eyes were glued to the television. It was as if some disaster has struck and we were all in disbelief. It was, in fact, quite the opposite: hope was restored.

As we got to Union Square, the crowd was immense; a gigantic American flag flowed over the rejoicing bodies. People not knowing how to express their relief, their elation, climbed the lamps and were subsequently arrested. But I don't even think they cared. They had their hope; even the face of arrest, they claimed victory. As people banged on pots and pans, a man brought a bass and played a tune and we all danced to the hymn of the re-instated Democracy, our reiterated faith in each other and our people.

"Finally, I won't have to use drugs as escapism!" I yelled half-seriously--I really didn't feel like I would need to get high ever again.

Others chanted "Yes we can!" or "Si Se Puede" or "This is what Democracy looks like!"

Then a friend of mine came up to me, looking distraught and enveloped me in his arms, giving me a hug so genuine that it felt like I was a child again. "I am so sorry about Proposition 8," he said, "It's so fucked up. I'm so sorry."

"No." I said, "It didn't pass yet, did it?" He was drunk and didn't really know how to respond, but he was noticeably upset.

My friend in Indiana texted me "Have you seen the numbers on Prop 8?"

"No. It didn't pass, right?"

"They're still counting ballots, but it's %51 for it."

My heart sank. My hope was gone "Why do they hate us?" was my only--albeit short-sighted and immature--thought. I couldn't understand. I felt myself losing my drive to be with all these people who I knew could fully enjoy being citizens under their elected official--the Obama that I helped elect, too. I had to leave. I said goodbye to the mob, to the joy, to the hope.

I went home and got high.


In two days time I would read the exit polls, the "crushing defeat for the pro-marriage community" headlines. I would find out that, in record numbers, black voters came out to support Obama, and ironically enough, in record numbers, black voters came out to vote yes on Proposition 8. Sixty-one percent of black voters in California who voted Obama also voted for the ban, versus forty-nine percent of white voters for Obama.

True, this was one of the most expensive issues on the ballot for California in years, and true that a record number of voters came out for this election regardless, but I can't help feeling like it is almost directly Obama's fault that Proposition 8 passed in California.I don't blame him; I don't hate the sinner, I hate the sin.

By enticing the black voters in record numbers in California and also explicitly not supporting gay marriage, he okay-ed their attitudes. He opened the floodgate of anti-gay votes that led to the ban. Like I said, though, I don't blame him.

When Mr. Obama talks about gay marriage, he does so awkwardly, without his characteristic charisma and eloquence. He relies on his faith as a Christian to define marriage to be between a man and a woman. Compared with the rest of his interviews, however, a reader or viewer can just tell how awful he feels about not being able to say that he supports gay marriage; through his clenched, Christian teeth he says to us: "Look, I'd love to give you marriage, but I can only do that if I'm elected. And I know I won't be if I support gay marriage." Okay. We get it. We wanted to elect you, too. I don't blame Obama the person; I'm glad he's here. It is just the most discouraging thing in the world to fight for this man to become President of the United States, to be "part of" this phenomenon, and then be explicitly excluded from it.

"Yeah! We all did it! But homosexual citizens' feelings really just aren't as valid as normal, Christian heterosexual citizens," Was the message there.

I honestly just don't understand where history went. What happened to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr's dream where "one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL.'" That " I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character." What happened to Huey Long, the founder of the Black Panthers liberation movement defending homosexuals explaining that "Homosexuals are not given freedom and liberty by anyone in the society. Maybe they might be the most oppressed people in the society." And that "The terms 'faggot' and 'punk' should be deleted from our vocabulary."

Is the Christian black community truly so far from its Civil-rights Era roots of freedom? How does God's Bible trump "Truths that are self-evident?"

I had a dream that "Separate But Equal" was over after Brown vs. Board of Education (a monumental decision that started to destroy "Separate But Equal" on the basis of it being unconstitutional (Hint: it still is)) would hold up.

Now, I have to cling to a dream that one day, everyone will be judged on their character, and not on whom they love. I have to cling to the hope that emptied from before I found out about the decision that isolated me from the happy mass of people that could rejoice in their victory AND their love.

I cling to Dr. King's Dream because, lest it be forgotten, someone has to.

Yes.

Obama Won.

Also, I love Daryl K.

The Beginning, or End, of Hope. You Decide Tomorrow.

As much as Matthew Arnold, my patron-saint of Art criticism, would abhor this blog's involvement in politics(See "The Function of Criticism at the Present Time"), I feel it is my duty as cognizant human being who claims a high taste, which I argue pervades over almost all spheres (taste, not MY taste), to endorse LOGIC.

Or Obama. Same thing really.

Barack Obama is objectively the only decision in this election. This is true. No minced words.

(Never mind that he genuinely wants to improve the quality of life for ALL of American citizens (not just the ones that can afford $150,000 wardrobes, stylists, aestheticians, and to fly her children around the country and charge it to the taxpayers), through alternative energies, standardized health care for all, and finally holding the embezzlers on wall-street responsible for their gross oversights and greed)

This is true simply because Palin has proved herself incapable of filling the office of president.

Oh yes, you read correctly. I wrote that Palin is running for president. This is because by voting for McCain, you are voting for her almost directly. John McCain is SEVENTY TWO years old. While some may argue that this gives him perspective over more than half a century, doctors and people who have a slight knowledge of Biology would tell you that he IS GOING TO DIE. I give him two years maximum.

He survived melanoma, an aggressive skin cancer quite lethal (lethal enough for me to have 3 large scars on my back and chest simply so I could avoid the threat in the future). A lot of people don't survive it. He did. Good for him.

He survived Vietnam. He even survived torture.

He won't release his health records. He can't remember how many properties he owns (around seven?), he can't remember who he's debating ("THAT ONE!" and "Senator Governor" are two of his favorite pet-names for Obama). Because of these factors, we can only conclude that his health is notably waning, and that he has already begun the terrifying descent into senility.

But what about the old adage "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger"?

Have you ever seen a cancer patient after chemotherapy? Have you ever spoken to a paraplegic about his desire for a speedy death--through a computer, no less? Actually, the very nature of disease and virus is that you become weaker from it so that it may gain property on the evolutionary playing-field (I don't really recall too many Plague or Cholera patients who claim to be stronger because of their experience, even the ones who do survive). Don't even get me started on the possibility of McCain having Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (note, this is bad for a president who potentially has to be in environments reminiscent of the original war-environment).

McCain may be a maverick (actually, he's conservative, kind of anti-maverick by definition), but he is not immortal. He has suffered the wear and tear of existence--Cancer, Vietnam, living almost 3/4 of a century--just passing the average life expectancy in America. That's 69.3 years FYI--and like any physical body, it must die; we all must. But McCain is closer than, oh, say a forty-seven year-old Obama.

In this manner, especially combined with her audaciously public power-driven politics (She thinks the amount of power that the vice-president was given during the Disaster Years (Bush's 8-year term) is not only appropriate, but exciting. Never mind that the Vice President, as outlined in the constitution, presides over the Senate and casts a deciding vote. If they need it. ) she will become the next president. So when McCain inevitably dies a year or two after the election, we will have President Palin the hockey mom, the pit bull in lip stick.

Are you afraid yet?

Oh, you betcha!

The democratic election is a function of a democratic society wherein each member has a voice to say what is best for the country as a whole. NOT just the Christians. NOT just your family. NOT just YOU.

Honestly, I don't know how to end this. I feel like if McCain is actually elected, literally all hope will be lost for America. If we can't learn from 8 consecutive years of undeniable mistakes, we won't ever learn.

Post Script: I can't even begin to talk about the general disgust I feel towards the republican party's desperate tactics to win the election, so read about them HERE .

That Season Between Winter and Summer...?

It is peculiar to me that the color palette for Spring '09 is that of a boring, austere suburban house-interior: soft beiges, browns, creams, or just black. Certainly not Spring-y by any objective opinion. But why? "It's not a time to be ostentatious with clothes," said Tomas Maier backstage at Bottega Veneta. Yes, it's true. The world-economy, save China, might be in a state of mortal peril right now, but that doesn't give an excuse for Art to restrain itself. This season we really saw which designers were Craftspeople, and which were Artists.

The Craftspeople separated into two schools wherein one tried to hard to make classic clothes and made boring garments ugly, and those who made nice, pretty clothes that took no risks, but one couldn't really criticize them consequently.

Ironically enough, Bottega Veneta was the best example of the first school, starting off the show with an ugly leather dress, belted. With an unflattering bust line and more unflattering shoulder-straps:
Leather is not a dainty fabric. So to make a dress that is supposed to be "elegant, understated, and luxurious" as is the motto of Botega Veneta, you have to edit. The size of those straps with the open bust line create a look that is neither elegant nor understated; it's as if she's growing from a pot of soil. The only thing luxurious about this dress is its probable price.

The looks that followed showed more errors in judgment including a leather top and skirt in orange and bright yellow that made the model look more like a pumpkin than anything else, and then a series of strange body suits in matted fabrics reminiscent of Marc Jacob's Fall/Winter '08 show--the one that he admitted outright "lacked inspiration." These body suits are unflattering in pretty much every way: fit, proportion, color, fabric. In short, this collection was a miss.


Overall, these Craftspeople worked within the boundaries of their respective self-restraint, but some fared better than others; Gucci did a great job of both taking a color-risk, and making safe, ultra-wearable garments--also, because of this seasons color palette, these clothes will be re-wearable. Gianni showed, in purple, teal, red, and blue, many looks--from suits to sheath-dresses, and even a hint o safari--that were tasteful, though not quite relevant. It was nice, however, to see her depart from her Russia-obsession. This collection will certainly do well economically:



Other successful craftspeople were Versace, Etro, and Armani (none pictured)--They'll do fine.

I do, however, worry about Nina Ricci; sometimes when we're put under any type of performance-pressures, we revert to rehashing previously successful ideas in an attempt to romanticize the past and make it relevant again instead of taking a risk and attempting originality--an author may write the same novel again and again (Stephen King), or a student may re-write, recycle, or simply plagiarize a previous paper. Unfortunately for designer Oliver Theyskens, the Renaissance is long gone (not that prostitution was ever really a flattering look to begin with...):

Though, I must admit, I had high hopes from the first look--a see through dainty dress with an appropriate tail with simple lines and clean presentation:

Then there was a metamorphosis back through time, from top to bottom specifically. The following look simply doesn't work; a white leather rocker jacket with exaggerated shoulders and a flowing silk dress simply cannot go together. The exaggerated shoulders really throw the entire look off by stealing attention from the fishtail of the dress which is equally wide; we have a look caught between classic and contemporary, old and new--it's like watching an aging rocker-mom at a high-society ball. Painful.


...And now on to the Renaissance:

While this look works better than the previous one because of the color and fabric change of the jacket, again the exaggerated shoulders destroy the effect of the fishtail.

And now, a blending of the shoulders and the dress, or: The Renaissance

It's the creature from the Champagne Lagoon... in the Renaissance; Run away!

It seems to me that so many designers went crazy with constraint to what would be sellable that we get several blatant missteps in taste and judgment. I really hope that Fashion got this slave-to-the-economy business out of its system because, just as tired and boring doesn't sell for prostitutes, it can't bode well for Fashion either.


The Artists that responded to this year's pressures with vigilance and creativity were Raf Simons for Jil Sander, Ralph Lauren, and Rick Owens. Raf Simons and Ralph Lauren are simply masters of the basic, beautiful garment, thus one might wonder if their designs are simply more relevant today than they were last year. Rick Owens was a different story, and we'll get to that later. Either way, they are at the height of their powers:

Raf Simons' show evolved beautifully from the first look: a sculpted fringe dress with a black jacket. Same color palette, different materials, and very creative ideas:

The looks that followed consisted of jackets that played on traditional proportion, and more fringe, beautifully sculpted:
I'd like to add here that this jacket is almost the same proportion as the Bottega pictured, but in a clean, white fabric, not double-breasted with a less dramatic neckline and lapels. It works. You could take away the pants and it would still work.

And this is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. It is also intensely pleasing to see Raf's ideas swirl, intertwine, and produce such wonderful things in such a sensible, beautiful way; the solids and fringes, the color palette, the shaping--one can easily see how this dress evolved from the first look.

Ralph Lauren started his collection off with a traveler, a girl who is certainly going places in her button-up and gold pants. She carries a messenger bag, wears two belts--one that suggests a certain exoticism and the other basic--and is quite ready:


The looks that followed were in a muted palette of beige, black, white and brown, but a quiet excitement still translated: suits in bright white, models wearing turbans suggesting travels and a flair for Orientalism, and some gorgeous evening wear:


This linen dress is gorgeous.

Rick Owens' collection, intentional or not, was a clever quip on the current economic downturn. He reportedly called his girls "Priestesses of Longing," but I wonder if these girls weren't part of some post-apocalyptic cult. Either way, the desolate clothes and post-apocalyptic feel of the show and clothes made me chuckle--at least someone has a sense of humor about the imminent world-depression.

In addition to being funny, though, he showed some very interesting looks: Simple, sparse dresses cut out at the waist, Some fabulous structured skirts reminiscent of Comme Des Garcons creation, and some very ambitious skin-work.


And from these successes, we can see the trends for this season: Classic basics in beige, black, brown, white, and grey and suits, suits suits (and other separates). Though I can't say that I'm excited to see what people are wearing next summer, (can you really imagine everyone in black and grey for summer?) I must say I am interested to see where consumers' buying patterns and what sells.

We shall certainly see.

To come:

-Marni; bulimia on the runway
-The best collections
-When are clothes no longer clothes?