I am the only person in the whole world who doesn’t care about Lanvin for H&M. What an isolating feeling.
I am out of step with my culture.
I am still tormented by longing for consumer goods, but I can’t give a shit about this Fashion Moment. Am I broken?
With three of them, I’m actually getting confused.
Today my friend X took me to the mall and we decided to visit the new Bloomingdales. We entered in the cosmetics department, unaware of the horror that awaited us.
Some bitch at the Benefit counter approached me and started telling me about their new eyebrow waxing service. I tried to ignore her and looked at the make up while she gave X a brochure or something. As I started to walk away, the bitch says brightly: “Can I just show you something?” I turned to her and said “Sure.”
Without any warning, she whips out a tube of something and starts rubbing it all over my face. I was too stunned to react. I couldn’t even believe it was happening. She babbled about the product while rubbing it in, and I kept my eyes tightly shut , dreading a blob of it on my contact lens.
When she finished, I blurted out, “How do you know this won’t make my skin break out?” meaning, How do you even know if I just had a facial peel, if I’m wearing a pound of foundation, if I’m on my way to a dinner party and can’t wash my face, if I have severe allergies, or if I’m carrying a kitchen knife to stab you with?
She smirked and replied: “It’s oil free and hypoallergenic. It’s silicone based.” I felt my face and indeed it felt slippery like the silicone glossing serum I don’t like to put on my hair.
I staggered off and told X how furious I was. I wondered if it was worth asking for the manager an causing a scene. We walked a few feet to the Dior counter, where a nice young black-clad gay guy asked how we were doing. I remarked that I was traumatized by the Benefit bitch.
He nodded and confided, “That’s their philosophy over at Benefit. Believe me, I’ve worked for them.” With that, he persuaded X to let him do her lipstick by saying, “PLEASE, I’m so bored and it will make me happy!”
The Dior guy did an expert job of lining and filling in X’s lips, explaining each product and why there was nothing like it. He did her eyes too, using 5 different products. While he worked, he told us about his unhappy childhood in a small-minded Christian community. He asked about my favorite poet, revealing that his favorite is Sylvia Plath.
“OH!” I said, recalling that the second most popular source of literary tattoos is Sylvia Plath, “So do you have any of her stuff tattooed?” He proudly yanked up his long sleeve to reveal a whole long poem about death on his upper arm, the words alternating in red and black ink. He kept right on moaning about his childhood, oblivious of how easily I had just pigeonholed him.
Finally, he was done with X, who looked great. He lined up around 8 products and asked her which ones she wanted to buy. When she said she wanted to think about it for a while, you could see his entire demeanor change. He coldly advised us to have a good day. When we left the store, we were careful to avoid the cosmetics department.
What next at the make up counter? A gang rape?
(That’s how Solestruck describes this new creation by style butcher Jeffrey Campbell.)
I like how this view features chipped toenail polish!
But the very best thing of all is the strict directive: “Limit 3 per customer.“
Sometimes I forget that people aren’t always what they seem to be online. Even more often, I forget that people don’t always look how they look online. We all get lucky in some photos and less lucky in others. A few genetic freaks of nature look amazing from every angle, in every light. But not most of us.
Here’s a really unflattering picture of me, taken last November after I tripped over a curb and broke my hip. Ordinarily I’d rather die than post it, but I need it to illustrate my point. (On the bright side, you can see my O.J. Simpson Trading Cards in the background.)
At Sea of Shoes, for example, you will never see a photo of Sea’s behind. And she’s announced many times that she looks for “volume” in clothes. She knows how to conceal her weaker areas and play up the stronger ones.
This photo confirms that Sea has to work hard to get those glowing portraits she posts! It’s the magic of a $2,000 Nikon and the right lighting.
People remind me over and over that someone’s online persona may be nothing like their real self. When I told my sister about one of my dearest cyber-friends, she exclaimed, “How do you know that anything they say is true?!” Her cynicism upset me. I just assume I can discern a genuine personality from a manufactured one.
Recently I read this essay by Zadie Smith on “The Social Network” and Facebook, and it blew my mind. I can’t recommend it highly enough! The notion that we may be learning to limit our actual selves by the way we shape our own “brands” online is really thought provoking. It disturbs me.
My own online presence is a little disturbing to me. People know too much about me. I’m open about my whole life. I may regret it, but I can’t think why, since I’ll never run for president or seek a corporate job. But I can at least say that I’m not presenting a fake or even well-edited version of who I am. I think I’m exactly what I seem like. But maybe a tiny bit less of a cunt.
Today I mentioned something about Beth Ditto to my husband and he interjected: “Who’s Beth Ditto?”
This triggered a pointless and irritating argument about What Most People Know and What Most People Don’t Know. I felt defensive, like he was implying I knew too much trivia from spending time on the internet. I do in fact know too much trivia from being online. But I felt strongly that Beth Ditto is a certified pop culture figure at this point, and it’s not my fault I know about her.
I couldn’t wait to prove that everybody knows who Beth Ditto is. I asked my sophisticated teenager who knows nearly everything about everything. Except Beth Ditto. I asked the hip looking tattooed girl who had just cut my kid’s hair. She never heard of Beth Ditto.
I wouldn’t give up. We kept arguing about what makes someone well known or what makes them a pop culture figure. We agreed that Kanye West and Kim Kardashian are two people one HAS to know about, despite all efforts to not know. Then we went to a school meeting where the speaker mentioned some guy from American Idol and all the parents laughed knowingly, except for me and my husband, who never heard of him. I whispered in his ear: “Beth Ditto.”
What do you think about cultural literacy in 2010? Is it more important to know what a hashtag is, or who Blondie is? Is it good or bad to know about Lara Stone‘s wedding dress? Are you disappointed when you meet someone who seems cool but never heard of your favorite movie? Should everyone be able to know what “Proustian” means even if they haven’t read any Proust?
And what about Beth Ditto??
My friend Heidi is an artist who makes jewelry and lives in New Orleans. (She wrote about the BP oil catastrophe, here.) When she heard about my leaky roof and similar worries, she made this necklace specifically to help out. It is up for auction at her website here.
My first thought upon seeing it was: SHIT! I WANT THAT! Her photos show this piece in spectacular detail.
Heidi is the best! If you know someone who would love this necklace, please send them the link.
I am working on a special Sister Wolf Memento Thing to send to all who have contributed to the SW Relief Fund. xoxo I am trying to develop other ideas like T-shirts and I welcome all fund-raising ideas from everybody. Thanks & blessings.
Everyone probably knows about this but me. However just in case I’m not alone in my ignorance, there is a Virtual Shoe Museum where you can marvel at weird shoes all day long!
Check out William (Boy) Habraken‘s collection of tribal and ethnographical shoes…the largest in the world.
The Virtual Shoe Museum has a user-friendly data-base that lets you search by material (fur, feathers, plastic, wool, etc) designer, style, etc. Go have some fun!
A reader asked me to explain why I don’t like Tavi, and while thinking this over I wondered: Is it okay to not like her? By “okay” I mean, politically acceptable, if not politically correct.
I just don’t like her! Sue me!
Trying to examine the dislike is akin to examining why I don’t like cream cheese. It’s an immediate reaction, a matter of taste. Does it have to go deeper, I’m wondering? Is it so weird to not like a precocious little teenager that it calls for analysis?
I once took issue with her over the notion that she should identify herself as being on the autistic spectrum. That didn’t go over very well. I don’t even agree with myself at this point. People are free to self-identify or not, as gay, autistic, bi-polar, what have you. I’m past giving a shit. Sorry! to everyone who took offense.
Here’s an idea:
I will use this photo to illustrate my opinion, Taviwise. She is a kid who finds herself ironic. Her discussions of her schoolday strike me as full of self-irony disguised as faux innocence. Her stance of “Who me? I’m just a kid!” is contradicted by hiring a very effective publicist to put her in front of our eyes on an almost daily basis. She approaches these people to be part of their projects. She’s a brand seeking brand recognition.
In this photo, she was asked to model the Ralph Lauren breast cancer awareness shirt, and she chose to style it with the famous ribbon hat, nudge nudge, that bothered some fashion editor. She’s too young to reference herself, but she’s doing it anyway. It’s irritating.
I don’t even get why grown ups are supposed to want a kid telling them about fashion or anything else. If your all-time favorite TV show is “Daria,” and your all-time favorite magazine is “Sassy,” you need to stay in school and gain some perspective! Or get a show on Nikelodeon!
Remember when she turned down an invitation to be on Oprah, “because that’s just not a crowd whose eyes I want on me?” Oprah is just too pedestrian. Screw Oprah. Oprah wouldn’t get it like Rad Hourani or the Rodarte girls.
Is this a good enough explanation or am I just a big mean horrible old wrinkly meanie?
Olek is a Polish-born artist who has chosen to “crochet everything that enters her space.” A strange decision perhaps for a graduate of a cultural studies degree, but even stranger are her motives, “in order to do two things at once: watch movies and make art.”
Olek’s artists’ statement: “A loop after a loop. Hour after hour my madness becomes crochet. Life and art are inseparable. (via)
I LOVE obsessive artists! Olek’s work must be amazing to see in person. I love how she has taken a craft associated with prim old ladies and made it crazy and vaguely sinister.
I love people with grand obsessions. As long as they’re not aimed at me, of course. Werner Herzog movies, stories of psychotic jealousy, people who devote their lives in pursuit of some maniacal passion, it’s all good. I like artists whose work verges on OCD.
I shared my fascination with the brilliant, obsessive Liza Lou here. And there are some high resolution images of Olek’s work over here.
