Pictured: Adwoa Aboah
Some days are just bad. Monday through Sunday is like a boy band. One day always has great hair. One day’s always super low-key. And one day has to take every group picture with his arms folded and back turned just enough so you can see how thick his eyebrows are…because he’s knitting them, bro. But you’ll never know which day of the week it is until it’s happening to you.
The upset isn’t immediate either. It’s a build up of every small, routine and otherwise easily executable task that goes so wrong. But why? WHY? Is this the butterfly effect of going to sleep on the opposite side of the bed? Were the curses from all those undistributed chain letters over the years real? Is that bitch Mars in retrograde again?!
Eventually it starts to take a toll physically. There’s a burning in my belly and I think, that’s it, I’m getting an ulcer. I can feel it already. But I remember that I haven’t eaten because this day is horrible. So I eat, pray I don’t find hair in the food, and love the fact that it’s almost over.
A couple more things will have to go wrong before the clock strikes twelve. I wait for Mars to do its worst, embrace the remaining calamity, and have Morgan Freeman narrate the last stand because at the end of a bad day I know only one of us is making it to tomorrow.
John Galliano makes his debut at MMM with its spring 2015 couture collection.
I love Maison Martin Margiela’s work. So out of principle and loyalty, it is my inclination (and sworn duty) to reject anyone else’s creations for the house. But, in fairness, I also loved and preferred John Galliano’s work for Dior to his successor, Raf Simons. That considered, I had to look at John Galliano’s debut Maison Martin Margiela haute couture spring 2015 collection “Artisanal”, presented Monday, the 12th, at least 4 times to shake off the skepticism and imposed expectations.
Just, don’t go outside. The east coast is on the edge of another ‘Polar Vortex’ so don’t go outside unless it’s an emergency (i.e Armageddon or The Rapture or a 98% off Celine sample sale). Went out for a slice of pizza Wednesday night, came back with a baby-sized sled. If you have to go to work, call out and tell them that you died. By the time you would’ve gotten to work it would’ve been true anyway. Grab one of the blankets from The Row’s fall 2014 collection and bunker down. There’s enough Seamless and binge-watch-able Netflix series to keep us till March.
It’s January 6th, do you know where your New Year’s resolution is?
Most of us start out a new year on the same mountain top, planting the same victory flag, with the same towel cape blowing in the wind. The New Year reignites our sense of purpose and self-confidence to carry out that purpose. So even if you don’t believe in resolutions, you probably believe in change. If you were a cheesy-fries-munching desk jockey in 2014, you can be a kale-juicing marathon runner in 2015. The goal is to keep that desire for success burning hotter than the pain in your joints, and through the rest of the year. But, let’s be honest, the best part of any “New Year, New Me” plan is the new purchases to go along with it.
You’re probably already familiar with the viral trend “Starter Packs“. The ultimate, albeit concise, collection of things anyone needs to be a (fill in the blank), which is exactly what we need to guide the reigns of our purses when we’re stocking up on the must-haves for starting a new workout trend or career choice. Here are the starter packs for a few of the most popular trends and resolutions of 2015.
So Chri’mas is here and you’re not feeling festive this year. I.e You’re hating on everything. Sure, you’re a lot less cynical than you were back in the days when you had Coldplay on repeat, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still silent rage against the red and green as a nod to your Festivus-worshipping former self. So put on some 2 Chainz, grab your tightest black turtleneck and up the bitchy in your resting face. There’s too much to grumble about under your breath this season to let any festive detail go unscrutinized. And for when you’re sharing it all over text with your equally irked bestie, here are 5 emojis you don’t have, but will probably need.
According to new reports, New York Fashion Week is officially moving, which doesn’t come as much of a surprise since there’s been a cold war going on between residents who use (or used to use) the converted Damrosch Park before or between it crawling with giraffe legged models and peacocking fashion professhs.
However, since the dispute officially went from cold war to legal war, the Supreme Court of the State of New York recently ruled in favor of the park advocates, citing Damrosch technically belongs to the state, not Lincoln, so its uses have to be approved by the Parks Department. And since they don’t approve of NYFW encroaching on their turf, designers have to roll their clothing racks elsewhere.
That elsewhere is Hudson Yard on the lower west side, except it won’t be ready until 2017/2018. Nothing was said on whether Lincoln Center is legally approved to host the semiannual event for 2 more years or if NYFW is going to be scattered all over the island, like pre-Bryant Park when designers’s shows were produced independently and loose fixtures conked editors in the head.
I’m checking my phone and the little email notification icon pops up. I spot the all caps and exclamation points and my heart immediately fills with fear. It’s another holiday party season, but my reaction is always the same:
The minute I get an invitation I panic. I think outfit. But how? I own nothing. I have nothing. I’m practically naked right now. And that’s the way it’s gonna be if I don’t kill a bison and bring my mother the hide to chew and tan and sew together because this might as well be the dawn of mankind and clothes as I know it since finding something to wear will be that much struggle. I’ll need the whole 2 week lead up just to figure this shit out.
A week later when reality slowly starts to set in and my opinion of my style and closet have evolved a little, I call my best friend on speaker and start rummaging through every rod, bag, and bin. There will inevitably be a couple key pieces missing that I didn’t notice ’til now and I go full on Old Testament God flooding the bed, chairs and floor with clothes in a panic for 2.5 minutes. But I figure they must be in storage and make a mental note to rescue them before the party. (I don’t.) I’m less Samantha Jones and more Craig Jones so I “never got two things that match.”
If statement outerwear, fur, printed pants, and pajamas go out of style, what the Ostwald Helgason are street style stars going to wear to shows?
According the apparel analysis company Editd, those are the dying trends of 2014, which were “calculated by analyzing how each has been priced, then discounted or promoted in the past year, along with what new arrivals have made their way onto the market.”
But burying those dying trends feels counterintuitive since there is no other kind of outerwear in fashion except one that makes a statement (and impatiently waits for a compliment). And I was personally looking forward to rocking spring 2015’s upcoming 70s trend with a pair of printed pants.
Of course, one line graphed analysis doesn’t automatically kill a trend. In fact, the business of fashion and retail authoritarians seem to end up at odds with what’s visibly happening on the creative end of the industry a lot. Like how Pantone triumphed Radiant Orchid the color of the 2014, but blue and gray ruled the runways.
It may just boil down to the fact that design and editorial tend to create and consume in the same fish bowl, while companies like Editd and Pantone are composing data with samples from the whole pond. But, I’d rather reduce it to a right brain versus left brain conflict. We can each sacrifice our pick with the biggest frontal lobe and cutest Celine bag to roll up their already frayed jeans and settle this on Shanzelize in Paris with fisticuffs.
True, I didn’t buy any of the dying styles this year. So maybe numbers don’t lie, but they do fluctuate. And since so do the tastes of street style stars, next fashion week their new looks will pen a whole other round of obits for trends laid to rest. Fortunately, regardless of whose hands they die by, my closet believes in reincarnation.
The 2014 holiday season officially kicks off this week with Thanksgiving. We’re all looking forward to fisting as much food into our faces as is acceptable before it starts warranting silent judgement and secret side eyes — read public shaming if your host family is not so subtle. But eating only actually accounts for what…like one hour out of the whole evening? So before, and probably after, feasting, our mouths will be making conversation.
If your tongue has to dance for your Tday dinner, you can deal with it a couple different ways. You can completely check out and turn into the talking head. Limit 1-3 word responses to any and all inquires, interjecting the occasional “how?” or “why?” Or if you’re up for the gobble day gabbin, you could go with one captivating story (though this works best at a dinner with no familial relation). But, the aforementioned methods will only get you so far.
There will always be at least one, or several, people who will want to know where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing, and why you haven’t been more successful at doing it. If that’s what you’re anticipating, I can offer you something even better than pity — Drake.
I’ve been obsessively thinking about winter lately. It’s partly to keep current with fashion and partly to brace myself for the inevitable — that arctic blast of cold that makes you squint your eyes and clench your butt muscles out of fear as soon as you step outside. I don’t know for a fact that this winter will be just as bad as last year’s “Polar Vortex”, but the previous years have been harsh too.
The kind of harsh that forces you back indoors and begs you to meditate on life (i.e hate on girls on Instagram from Florida and LA who consider a fur vest outerwear). With that much at-home leisure time and faux soul searching to do, you need a spirit guide. Or more specifically, a spirit animal.