NYCweboy

Merry Christmas, Darling

In the end, the snow was not so bad; a Sunday, the day after Christmas is pretty much a day no one wanted to be traveling anyway, and digging out on Monday just means extending the days off another day.

And so I did, mostly.

I usually write a bit on Christmas Eve before we start our festivities; this year I was (literally) too busy playing dress up dolls with my friend Jennifer (I can reveal, now, that I bought her yet another Barbie for her collection). It helps us to practice for our preferred fantasy careers as fashion stylists. Seriously... I was doing that when I was 12.

So Christmas Eve was lovely, a traditional Swedish festival, candles and cold supper followed by presents and pleasant conversation. Christmas Day I did an early morning at work and then Mom and I saw The Tempest (review to follow... but don't bother) and had a fabulous Chinese lunch in Hartsdale (which I think continues my development as an honorary Jewish man, at least by marriage).

The day after Christmas? More work - and not the best day - but I did get home before the storm was in full swing, and the Most Adorable Nephew in the Universe's Birthday had to be postponed, at least for family celebrations. And here we are.

It's all so good... it's hard to explain why the especially wistful tune - best known as Karen Carpenter's, yet another example of her pristine voice doing it's best on the saddest lyrics - followed me across the holiday. I've only recently come to fully appreciate it - for a long time, it was the whitest of white bread, up there with Perry Como and Bing Crosby. Under the precise guidance of my friend J in B, I've come to see the jazz and the melancholy in Karen Carpenter, and now it seems like a modern day "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas."

I can dream, and in my dream... well, Christmas never ends. Holidays are joyful. I hope yours were. And now, back to the writing.

(Photo of my Barbie in a pink satin bolero in front of our tree, by Jennifer. Price on Request.)

Cheap, Chic... Not Chintzy And Cheating

I have been meaning, for months, to mention that my dear friend Jennifer has launched a blog of her own, Dinner With Friends. It is the blog she was surely meant to write, and for anyone looking to read about fashion and style and life in the city - with a definite point of view - I think she's doing a marvelous job of conveying it, while being absolutely herself (which, naturally, I find fabulous).

Too much of fashion blogging, we've both felt, is too generic, too focused on the "shop" and the "buy", and not enough on the style and the enjoyment of nice things. And by nice, I do not mean expensive... Jennifer is - even at her level - a woman on a budget and (relatively) modest means. She didn't always buy Lanvin, and even now, it's a luxury, not a given.

Jennifer's bible (actually, I think it may indeed be a religion), naturally, is Vogue, with Harper's Bazaar a close second - we both find W a little too pretentious and arty to be useful (to say nothing of its relentless Upper East Side insiderisms - and it's too big) - and we've liked nothing better than to spend hours taking apart the magazine's latest issue, and evaluate the fashion, the trends, the art of the photos and the practical questions of what to wear... which I freely admit, are more theoretical for me. For Jennifer, "what to wear" is a serious issue, and Vogue is not helpful if she can't find answers in it.

Which brings me to a post she wrote which developed partly out of a conversation we had about the recent efforts of Vogue to face up to the recession and what it means to a Vogue reader. With its relentless focus on high end style, Vogue struggles when the subject of budget is raised, or having to admit that "Skirt, $950, Christian Dior" is "skirt, unaffordable" for much of the readership. The usual compact between reader, magazine and designer is that high fashion, for many is a blueprint, and the actual article of clothing may be acquired elsewhere, for less. That's why Dior and Lanvin and such are featured in fashion spreads... while the multiple page ads in the magazine are for Macy*s and Banana Republic. Compromises must be made.

3... in the family, that's a magic number

Three years. Today.

When I started blogging, I was living in Boston, not sure what I wanted to write... but convinced that I had to try.

A lot has changed, yet again - I'm no longer in Boston, or writing every day, perhaps not writing exactly all I'd like or as often as I'd like... but I'm learning, fitfully, to live with what I can accept, and accept what I can live with.

What went through my mind, today, was all the support and encouragement I've had from friends and family, and how, when I started, I was surrounded by friends who either didn't blog, or who occasionally blogged, as I did, alone and perhaps kind of quietly. Now, my blogger friend has her own paid gig, my best friend posts his pictures online, and my fashion friend made her own leap into blogging just this past month. I am pleased, and proud, to know all of them... and to believe in what they do, too.

This has not been an easy year - not personally, or professionally, or blogging. I went from a heady feeling of sudden promise - all because so many politically minded lefties found themselves fighting for Hillary Clinton - to a precipitous drop in readers, attention... and my own interest. The up and down nature of blogging, more than anything, caught me off guard. I am not big on self promotion - it violates my WASPy, inbred sense of decorum and good taste - and I can't write controversy for controversy's sake ("Roman Polanski is a fucknut who deserves to be thrown in prison!"... eh, not so much). And because of my inner reserve, and my reliance on closely held anonymity... I know I have to accept a certain sort of limitation of audience.

What I've learned, this year and in all the time blogging so far, is a life lesson in writing what I love. Writing for me takes a certain alchemy: in the right mood, with the right topic, and the right amount of time... I can turn out amazing stuff. Take away any of those elements... and I get a bit stuck.

For all the heartaches and reversals... there's never a moment - never, not one... literally, no seriously, literally - when I think "not writing" is the solution. Not doing this blog, just giving up... that's not an option. And what I've realized is that... I have to put this blog up there on my list of priorities. It's not an afterthought. It's the thing that gives meaning to who I am and all of the rest of what I do.

Sixteen hundred and fifty posts, More than 110,000 page views. More than 1600 comments. I can live with that, feel good about it. I've made a promise to myself that in the next few weeks I will reinvigorate my blog, all the elements that go into it, and recommit myself to my personal mission of doing this with passion (and as J and j know... energy, enthusiasm and purpose). I also promise, finally, to do the thing I promise every year... I am sifting through those 1650 posts... and finding ones that I am proudest to call Best of NYC weboy. If it kills me... and it just might.

And confidential to Tom Watson... I love you, man. Let's figure out how to reinvigorate NewCritics. :)

xoxo webo

It's A Lipstick Jungle Out There, Baby

Aside from The September Issue, I haven't been doing a lot of fashion writing... which is partly a reflection of how life has changed for me generally, and how not about the fashion and shopping world I can be these days.

That reality came home to me tonight when I joined Jennifer, spur of the moment and mostly by accident, and wound up in the middle of Fashion's Night Out.... when I played my role as The Gay (a/k/a that friend to straight women who helps with fashion, makeup and other lifestyle shopping).

Conceived as an "event night to spur shopping around the city," Fashion's Night Out was meant to lend some glitz and glamour to shopping that's been kind of missing, kick off New York Fashion Week, and hopefully reinvigorate the fall selling season, which is showing no more signs of a recovery than anything else this year (which is to say... you can find people shopping, just not many of them).

Jennifer and I were mainly concerned with solving her current dilemma - the arrival of Chanel's new Noir line of lipstick, three variations of the new vogue for black lipstick with red, brown and purple undertones. And Jennifer, feeling frustrated that she couldn't find one she liked, wanted to get a second opinion... and for the moment, mine would have to do.

It was quite fun, and I have to admit, they are three hard to wear shades - I'm not sure anyone can carry off the brown, the red looks muddy, and we tried the purple and the result was... well, intense. After some discussion - if you're ever in New York and go to Saks, girls, ask for Simone at Chanel - we tried adding some glossy lip laquer on top, and that seemed to work (Official recipe: Hysteria lipstick, Dragon lip lacquer, and Vamp pencil for a good line). But Jennifer balked at multiple products and such a complicated routine... and I can't say I blamed her, though it wore well and looked fierce.

Looking fierce, really, was the order of the evening; lots of people traipsed around the stores as if it were a night at the club, and in many ways it was. The music was loud, free booze samples were available for the (very) patient, and people meandered everywhere... but there wasn't much real shopping that we saw, and pretty much every salesperson we saw, and knew, called the night basically a bust. "If we were selling hot dogs and funnel cake, we'd be doing well" one high end accessories seller said to us.

As a people watching event, the night was fun enough, kind of absurd, kind of surreal, never dull. Barneys, especially on the main level, was quite vivid. But it was also tiring, and in the end I felt for the workers more than the supposed customers: there's so much that's just not working right now in retail (and I mean the double entendre of employment, too), and a sense of desperation to the night that no one could shake.

Jennifer and I wondered if this will be repeated - if it is, I think we'll try harder to chase down Anna Wintour - and I have my doubts; Fashion Week doesn't need it, the retailers won't probably want it, and the fashion types who showed up can easily be convinced to come to other, more productive events (ones where store and label executives don't stand around, nervously fidgeting and looking uncomfortable).

Mostly I was reminded tonight, often pleasantly, of a life I used to lead, and have largely left behind. I miss it, sort of... but a little of this sort of energy goes a long, long, way. I'd rather save the fancy outfit - and the three step lipstick application - for a fun night with good friends, and probably something low key, if I had my drothers. It's a lipstick jungle out there in fashionland... and baby, we're all just brightly colored animals, if you know what I mean.

Where Credit Is Due

"Necessary" and "Evil" have always pretty much summed up my thinking on credit cards.

The passage on Tuesday of some mild regulations for the credit industry may be hailed as a breakthrough - all the dark muttering that banks wanted to stay unregulated strikes me as more sabre rattling than true - but the real credit card "reform" we have to go through as a nation is about us, the consumers. And because of that, I think the bill becomes the excuse that will drive a huge decrease in credit cards and credit card use.

And it won't be pretty.

Passing the bill - which seems to be mostly "you need to tell people before you rob them!" type rules - sort of guarantees that any talk of recovery is premature. Our economy has been fueled, for close to 30 years, by excessive consumption (cue "The Story of Stuff"), and that consumption, in turn, was made possible through easy credit. Tightening rules on credit cards, which in turn will reduce the availability of easy credit at absurd rates, basically guarantees that we can't shop our way out of recession (although my friend Jennifer is willing to shoulder that burden for many of us). :)

As you might guess, I haven't really been a fan, or extremely partisan when it comes to the credit card bill. Although I think some "rules of the road" would be helpful, I also think this is one area where government regulation looks more like meddling than medicine - force feeding specific interest rates, or specific approaches to billing, don't necessarily reflect a good understanding of how credit works, but more a kind of popularity contest to attract voters (we forced them to make your credit card candy tastier!).

Thursday Morning Tulips

 

jennifer in ny

YSL

Yves Saint Laurent was the only fellow couturier that Gabrielle Chanel “approved” of.  She hated Dior for putting women in clothes that set them back 100 years-the tight jackets and corsets, the spike heels.  The freedoms of movement and independence for a new day that Dior took away.  She hated all the other male designers who came before or were her contemporaries and she tolerated Elsa Schiaparelli.  But in Monsieur Saint-Laurent she recognized a kindred soul (even though she wouldn’t have admitted it) in dressing women in clothing that was beautiful and elegant but gave them independence and power.  His work could have almost been a continuation if hers. 

YSL reached his apex at a time when women were beginning to become truly important and successful in the world of business giving us elegant and exciting clothes to wear each day.    And pants were instrumental to that success.  

The fashion lexicon that YSL gave us has seeped into the rich language of our clothes in a similar to Shakespeare’s language still present in our language today-sometimes it’s so subtle you don’t even realize it.  Certainly the obvious references of chic and severe pants suits and the safari looks but also all the interesting sleeves we have today, the jewel colors, the way women can be successful in business but wear gorgeous over the top clothes, really tall boots, using street fashion to inspire the couture. 

Poetry Weekend: The Sun Also Rises

Sunrise on the water

The fingers of one pink hand

Lace

With the fingers of another other blue hand

And the sun rises in the sky

----------

Beautiful Blue

The late summer sun shines upon the bay

Creating a water so intensely blue

It belies the softness of the light

The light and the breeze envelops me in its glory

---------

Driving to the Ferry

As night turns into day

Orange fire mixes

with the sparkle of silver

As Manhattan blends into Staten Island

The sparkle of silver changes

into the softness of grey

--------

Clouds

Soft swirls of grey and pink

Makes me think

Of an apartment in Chelsea

Circa 1983

More Clouds

Smoky grey layers of clouds

Like the ruffles on a Ralph Lauren skirt

--------

A nighttime series

A bright diamond day

Descends

Into the mysterious sapphire night

A Sapphire night

Set with

A round Diamond moon

- Jennifer

Irreplacable... and Different: Chanel vs. Lanvin

A few months ago I went to fascinating lecture at FIT on Jeanne Lanvin given by, Dean L. Merceron an FIT graduate who had quite simply fallen in love with her. The book he wrote and spoke about that evening was beautiful ands worships at the altar of Jeanne Lanvin. I’m slowly reading it but since it’s so big and heavy I can’t carry it around with me to/from work and I keep it open on my dining room table (until either my cleaning lady or guests come in) which helps when I can snatch a few minutes to read another page. Turning the pages is a great joy because each turn shows me new pictures which are breathtaking.

Before the lecture I knew the basics of Jeanne Lanvin’s story though not with much depth. The evening at FIT and the book changed my perception of 1920’s fashion-giving me a better understanding of it and forcing me to accept that not every chic young socialite looked like the sleek long flapper in pearls and fringes that we see when we see 20’s fashion today (and which I resisted accepting for years). If I were a flapper I would not have been influence byLanvin's soft, fluttery, wide pieces (which pull very heavily from the 18^th century). The irony of this is how much I adore the 18^th century and today’s Lanvin - the Lanvin of Alber Elbaz - and collect as many pieces as I can. I have no real interest in finding the originals, the pieces that Jeanne herself designed.

You see, I am firmly in the Coco Chanel camp. She was the original flapper-she lived the life and created much of it. She was beautiful and chic, young and ultra hip. Her pieces were the long slim look we think of when we think of the 20’s. The other truth the lecture gave me was that Chanel and Lanvin were not contemporaries. Lanvin was older than Chanel and their design houses only overlapped in the beginning of Chanel’s career and towards the end of Lanvin’s. And there should be no real comparison between the 2 women except that they were successful in business and single at a time when most women weren’t either. Although the years between the two World Wars were a time of freedom and encouragement for women I don’t believe that lasted long enough for women to have a permanent successful business history thanks to the backlash after WWII. Today things are different, but then, the fact that the most sought after successful designers of couture in Paris were women was extraordinary and it remains one of the most important times for women in the history of the fashion industry and business history. And enter the old attitudes…