Love, hate and fashion bloggers
You may or may not recall that my bestie and I decided to take a six-month shopping hiatus earlier this year.
That’s us in San Francsico a few weeks ago (more on that later). Isn’t she gorge?
Anyway: Yes. We’d planned to go through the remaining winter, all of spring and the first six weeks of summer in our old duds. It was tough. But we made it an entire four months before I got the call I never expected to get. “That’s it, I’m done,” she said without so much as her usual, “Hey, it’s me,” introduction. She was in line at Nordstrom Rack purchasing a pair of jeans and a new shirt and probably some other stuff, too.
People who know us would never have thought she would cave first. While I’m hardwired for the easy transmission of impulses, Rachel is a solid combo of steel wool, iron, platinum and Teflon. She sets her mind to something and by God, she’s not just going to do it, she’s going to be the World Champion at doing it. If anyone was going to make it to the end of this challenge in hole-y underwear and pilled sweaters, it was going to be Rachel. For sure, I was the underdog. So there was a great deal of vindication in the staying power of my will power. And let me just say here, that it feels especially good to win when everyone has bet against you. I might have done a little end zone dance at my desk right then, shortly before I went online and ordered some new shoes.
But the question is, how did I manage to make it so long without heeding the siren call of more new shit? The answer lies in two words: Fashion bloggers.
At the time of our pact, I began to fill my Google Reader with a variety of fashion blogs so I could get inspiration for re-mixing what I already had in my closet. And the fashion blogs served me well in this purpose. I was able to get so many ideas from women who seemed far more creative and sartorially brave than I am. At the beginning, I loved these women. Well, not loved, exactly. I liked them. Or rather, I liked what they were doing, and I respected their individuality.
But over time, I stopped believing my lying eyes. I began to notice that the individuality was less…individual than I had previously thought. And this is when I started to not like these bloggers so much, and began a process of Google Reader Deletion, beginning with high-falutin’ Atlantic-Pacific (no, I’m not linking,) and her ridiculous hair bows. But I digress.
Where was I? Oh, yes! I was talking about lack of individuality. Take, for instance, these shoes:
Actually, this particular blogger, Beth Jones, is one of the few that I can still stand, and that’s because she largely maintains a unique style. Her clothes are quite often thrifted, one-of-a-kind pieces she mixes in all kinds of wack-a-doodle awesomeness. Regrettably, she recently stepped into the how-to video market and this may very well be a deal breaker for me. Nevertheless, the woman marches mostly to the beat of her own ribbon-decorated tambourine instead of being a shill…which she sometimes is (watch those shoes up there and keep reading), but a girl’s got to make a living.
So: The shoes. They’re cute, right (what you can see of them)? Well, about the same time that Beth posted the above outfit with shoes she received gratis from Nine West, these bloggers wore:
These self-proclaimed movers and shakers really do have the most fabulous pouty lives…
Are you seeing a pattern? Remember: These women all received their shoes from—or “partnered with”—Nine West. Here. Take one more look:
And it’s not just the shoes these women are selling. Have you heard? Every girl loves a sequined skirt. Behold:
Did you not get the memo? No? Well, here:
The sequined skirt looks especially good if you stand on your tippy-toes…
…or when worn in a herd. The I’m-a-ten-year-old-girl pigeon-toed stance is also as popular as these penny loafers the bloggers are selling:
These are two different fashion bloggers who got the exact same pair of free shoes from Tory Burch. I couldn’t bear to upload any more of them but believe me when I say, this loafer has taken the fashion bloggers by storm. They want you and me to buy! These! Loafers! They are the It Thing right now (along with sequined skirts).
You have to admit, this is low-cost marketing brilliance on the part of the fashion houses. They send out free stuff to fashion hobbyist women who blanket the web with their images wearing the free stuff, and then viewers got out and buy said stuff. Check this out:
Everything she’s wearing—except the sunglasses and belt—she got for free. And good for her. Good for all of these women, for taking something they love and turning it into a business. But as a consumer, I start to feel a little bit played, you know? Especially when it comes to this:
As you can probably tell by the pink, this woman is promoting a breast cancer awareness campaign. This particular campaign is sponsored by a company that makes $198 blue jeans, and this month, if you buy a pair of their $198 blue jeans, the company will donate $5 to breast cancer research. That’s right, they will generously donate 2.5% of the cost of one pair of blue jeans. Just look at some of the many conscientious bloggers who have “joined forces” with the blue jean company for this wonderful cause! They have donned their free $198 blue jeans and called themselves activists while urging you to be an activist, too, by buying the totally awesome blue jeans! It’s that easy!
It’s sort of like when George W. Bush told Americans to go shopping after 9-11. Ah, American activism at it’s finest.
I wonder if these bloggers know that black women are more likely to get breast cancer before age 40, and are more likely to die of breast cancer at any age? I wonder how many black women are the audience for these raise awareness blog posts…
I hate to break it to this (otherwise darling) blogger (who looks fantastic in the expensive pants) but NO. You are not proactive because you slip into an exorbitantly priced pair of free-to-you jeans, and then encourage your readers to buy them under the guise of making a difference. A truly proactive fashion blogger might encourage her readers with such disposable income—mostly middle- to upper-middle class white women—to write checks to a local charity that provides breast cancer screening and education to poor and under-served women. A proactive fashion blogger would walk the walk in her fancy pants, and not just try to sell a product as a means to an end.
And finally, with respect to these fashion bloggers who are probably very nice people (or not), there is that whole look-at-me-I’m-so-darling-and-beautiful-and-don’t-you-want-to-take-my-picture-too vibe that becomes tremendously off-putting when you get a Reader full of the smirks. I know saying this makes me a complete hypocrite, as I dared be narcissistic enough to take a photo a day for one year. But leaping around for other bloggers to snap “spontaneous” pictures of you is…well, it’s just different. It’s sort of like seeing The Wizard behind the curtain.
Who’s up for a little competition?
One of the blogs I follow in my Google Reader is Life in Style, the ModCloth blog. If you don’t know ModCloth, I’d recommend checking it out. They have tons of affordable darling clothes, shoes and accessories—many from independent designers—in a broad spectrum of styles. I would even say it’s the one place to shop online that has something for everyone. And I like the blog because it features interviews with interesting entrepreneurial women, outfit combinations that inspire remixing of my boring old clothes, recipes that inspire remixing of my boring old meal routine, and do-it-yourself projects. Not that I ever attempt any of these do-it-yourself tasks, but I like imagining myself competently completing any number of them while being in awe of the women who actually see them through. (Clearly, these women do not have children or the desire to collapse on the couch in front of Sister Wives while munching on a bag of cherry Twizzlers leftover from a weekend trip to San Francisco.)
All of that being said, I’ve had a very difficult week with the perpetually-updated Life in Style because this is what they call “Mews Week” (they love their puns over there at ModCloth, which is another sore spot for me, but I try to look past the grown-women-being-cutesy thing). Since Monday, Life in Style has featured all things cat, which, as many of you know, is about as fun for me as all things sewage. Looking at pictures of cats every time a new post appears in my reader, is like having to eat a crate of raisins with an endless glass of milk, followed by tapioca pudding for dessert, all while wearing culottes, a midriff bearing shirt and a bow in my hair.
That is to say: Kill. Me. Now.
But while ModCloth has been indulging in Mews Week and bombarding me ten times a day with cat photos, I’ve been doing my very best to eradicate the planet of felines.
So far, I’ve single-handedly (that pun is dedicated to the ModCloth admins *wink*) cleared my immediate neighborhood of the offending varmints. Next up: Talmadge, Kensington and Normal Heights.
A friend of mine recently suggested I make this a contest. He said I should call it the Beat Off Off.
So. Let the Beat Off Off 2011 commence. Who’s with me?
Oh, God—er—I mean, Joy
Yes, these are hangers. And no, this is not a post about women’s rights or abortions or what will happen when the right wingers squash Roe vs. Wade like the poisonous creepy crawly they think it is. I’m not starting off my re-entry into blogging by smashing you over the head just yet. I simply want to talk about these hangers. Did you look at them?
These are no bendable back alley instruments. These hangers are sturdy. These hangers are sublime. They are velvetish and sexy and will do nearly-unspeakable things to your space-challenged, 1952-era closet. And by unspeakable things, I do not mean they will let your cherished Laundry by Shelli Segal dress accidentally slip into the hamper and make it’s way to the Fancy Dress Graveyard via the washing machine.
Reader, these lovers are to the elementary-school-volunteering, lunch-packing, middle-aged mother, what The Rabbit Habit is to the mini-skirt clad, club-hopping co-ed, whose boyfriend doesn’t know how to spell clitoris, let alone know where such a gadget might be located. Which is fairly insightful commentary on the sex lives of both groups of women, linking them in a way that transcends age.
Okay, so I exaggerate a tad. Even if the rumbling sound of the UPS delivery truck makes your breath catch, you’ll still want to keep a few good sex toys on hand because, let’s be real: There is no substitute for orgasm. But Joy Mangano hangers will change your life. Trust me. You’ll want to have a cigarette after you’ve swapped out your current mélange for these beauties.
So far, it feels like rehab
I stood naked in front of my closet on the morning of February 1st carefully surveying, from left to right and back again, what I was going to wear. Overwhelmed and under-inspired, I let slip from my lips the same exact words of exasperation that my best friend’s five-year-old daughter had recently muttered: I have nothing to wear. I probably pouted like her child, too.
Those words held an extra sting that morning because my bestie and I made a pact over drinks a short time after her daughter’s declaration, a mere ten days before I found myself with not one outfit to suit my mood. Our joint decision was one that shouldn’t have been made in haste but absolutely was. We decided—while we sipped cocktails and spoke of the inevitable monotony of (even a good) marriage—that we shop to fill some unnamed hole, some vacancy in our lives.
Neither of us is lacking for things. Each of us has a lot of stuff. And we came to the conclusion that neither of us really needs more things or stuff. And so we shook hands and set our eyes on a shopping moratorium of six months. I was going to aim a little lower with a four week hiatus; after all, I graduated from San Diego State University and it’s a top ten party school. Why make unreasonable demands on myself? But Rachel is a Blue Devil. She’s the valedictorian of valedictorians. She’s magna cum something. Her basketball team wins everything. She’s determined and single-minded and she’s made of steel. Her DNA is made of nothing but Carbon and Iron.
So. With the exception of certain sundries, hair product and concealer, I will be purchasing no new wardrobe items of any kind until after August 1st. I have removed most fashion blogs from my Google reader (not all of them—I need to figure out how to refresh what I’ve got) and I unsubscribed from my fashion email lists. Ideeli: gone. Just Fabulous: deleted. ModCloth, All Saints and Nike Women: adieu, mon cheris.
For some, this may be a big fat pfffffffffffft. But for me? Not shopping for one half-year is akin to a boozer going cold turkey by pouring her Stoli down the drain. It’s like Rush Limbaugh dumping his Oxycontin in the toilet. It’s more difficult than breaking up with Facebook. It’s more painful than quitting Angry Birds so you can have sex with your hot but overlooked husband over there, silently blinking at you from his side of the bed. (Not that that’s ever happened in this house. No, Siree. No monotonous marriage here. Just lots of really hot and frequent twisty sex in dangerous places.)
Anyway. I’m one week in and I’m already lamenting my commitment. Especially now that I’ve started yoga because…seriously, people.
I have nothing to wear.
Why Fight It?: How to grow old with flair and no apologies
“I’m not depending on fashion because what I do is very individual and this is mine and I enjoy it. That’s all. Nobody else has to like it as long as I look in the mirror and—Ah!— this is me, you know?“—Ilona Royce Smithkin, 90 years old
Without making an itemized list of my various physical and psychic ailments, I’d like to offer this thought on aging: It’s sucky. And just to get in the proper frame of mind for writing about how much I’m not enjoying it, I decided to employ the writer’s version of method acting and listen to some smooth jazz for a bit. That’s right. The words you’re reading have been strung together with country-club-foyer music as inspiration.
“Why smooth jazz?” you ask.
Because smooth jazz is like the McRib and Kathie Lee Gifford: It reminds me that there are things more dreadful and way less stylish than the inability to read a menu in dim light, standing-induced jolting knee pain and the eventual and permanent retiring of all high heels. Be still my heart.
Now, some things can be tackled. Like, when your daughter insists on repeatedly counting your forehead wrinkles, you can create bangs. Or when the Almond Roca and bourbon you consumed during the holidays permanently affix themselves to what was once your waistline, you can use an elastic hair band to button your pants (big shout-out to my once-pregnant friend for that tip).
But “That’s the Way of the World” by Earth, Wind and Fire re-mastered as a piano-and-trumpet convergence by someone named Kim Pensyl? That’s a travesty that can’t be fixed with a nylon zip tie. Becoming irrelevant is small potatoes compared with that, and it is this knowledge that keeps me positive in a fake-it-’til-you-make-it kind of way.
In my efforts to shrug off my disdain for aging and come to terms with the inevitable, I started searching the Internet for inspiration. Obviously, I’m not the first woman to go down this path, and there isn’t very much originality in dreading—or worse, complaining about—the aging process. I knew there was something out there that would stir my aspirations. I simply had to find it.
And find it I did. After suffering the usual plethora of mommy blogs (blech and double blech), I turned to my favorite fashion blogs, most of which are aimed at 20-somethings. But it was through these ladies and a complex labyrinth of links that I struck gold—or rather, Bakelite—when I stumbled across Advanced Style.
Hosted by Ari Seth Cohen, a young street photographer in New York City, Advanced Style is devoted almost entirely to the stylish older woman (though Cohen includes some very dapper men, from time-to-time).
And by “older” I mean “senior.” Cohen has a tab at the top of his home page called “I’m proud to be __ years old,” and all of the stylish women featured on that page proudly claim more than 80 years each. Not only that, but they also make being old look way more fun than any of this “prime of our lives” bullpuckey.
Cohen’s site is filled with wonderful photographs of vibrant, relevant women of very diverse and yet similarly concrete individuality. Most recently, he’s teamed up with a videographer named Lina Plioplyte of Teenage Peanut, to make videos of these women, shorts that are both inspirational and indescribably moving.
One of my favorite stylistas is the oft-featured and wildly bohemian 90-year-old Ilona, who has an insatiable thirst for color and no time to fret about age. She has short, bright-orange hair, the clippings of which she used to make a set of fabulously long false eyelashes that she’s worn like a trademark for 40 years.
“I’m in very good relationship with them, just like with my body. I talk to it. I say, ‘Now listen: I’m very nice to you, be nice to me,’” she says in her video.
We should all be so kind when we talk to our bodies.
Jean and Valerie of Idiosyncratic Fashionistas were recently launched to international fame after Cohen featured them on his site. During their interview, Jean extends an arm stacked with red and black Bakelite bracelets and squeezes—between fingers also adorned with Bakelite rings—Valerie’s homemade stress ball necklace. Their motto is “Growing old with verve.”
And then there’s Debra Rapoport, an expert thrifter with a pink streak splashed through her asymmetrical white hair. She takes us shopping in her video and tries on a black leather dress that zips down to there and up to here. She throws an orange boa over the top (“Nothin’ like an orange boa! You know how I love orange! Orange is neutral”) and the ensemble instantly underscores her magnetic personality. With all this, plus a body to die for, Rapoport is gorgeous, sexy, smart and wonderfully au courant. I want to be her when I grow up. Scratch that. I want to be her right now.
Perhaps the most refreshing thing about Advanced Style—The Best Website Ever Invented—is what you will not find: Women puffed up by collagen injections or boob jobs; women attempting to deny age; women wearing labels for status; women following rules (you should see the number of 60-somethings wearing skirts above the knee). You will not find Kathie Lee Gifford here. You will not find smooth jazz.
But, someday, if I’m lucky and if I stop my whining and really take to heart the message the ladies of Advanced Style are sending, you may find me.
(As published on January 19, 2011 in San Diego CityBeat.)
What–exactly WHAT?!?–have I been doing?
Oh, this poor little languishing blog. Every time I think I might have some time to write, be it something Momentously Important to the Survival of Humanity or the teensiest of posts, I am yanked in another direction. And (sheesh this is boring, stop me now!) the worst thing about not sitting down to write—besides not sitting down to write—is that not doing so breeds a stupefying lack of inspiration and even more refined methods of avoiding putting my ass in this chair. The less frequently I type, the more terrifying the blank screen and blinking cursor.
It is true, however, that there is a lot going on in Belferland, a lot that isn’t diaper changes and feedings, but is almost equally as interesting. Silly me: I was under the impression that having a child in grade school would free up some time, but it turns out the exact opposite is true. And just when there are additional demands on my time, I’ve been trying to juggle…some other stuff I can’t really go into now. Anyway, in the midst of doing a bunch of distracting, borderline-procrastinatory stuff, I up and launched a new blog. Because…you know…the upkeep of this one is going so swimmingly. Besides, when the work piles up on my plate, I tend to prioritize pedicures and baking.
So if you have a sec, go check out my latest venture, the Sartorialini. She is open for comments.
Proving that one person *can* make a difference
Check out what I found in my inbox last night:
Dear Aaryn-
I read your blog post today. You are absolutely right in pointing out our grammatical mistake with the English language, it was not intentional. That was an error on our part and we have changed the text to read “coach.com anyway.”
We strive to give our base a good experience when exploring our site and discovering new styles.Please feel free to call me at [redacted] or at jennifer@polyvore.com.
Did I actually call Polyvore a bimbo??? I take it back. Polyvore is no bimbo. Polyvore writes in cursive, sends thank you notes, and knows her dessert fork from her salad fork.
See my latest CityBeat column (also below this post) for context. It wasn’t up for 12-hours before the Polyvorites were all over it. And might I just say, kudos to Jennifer and Polyvore for that. Gigantic, enormous, bigger-than-the-Oxford-English-Dictionary kudos to them. Of course, I’d be even happier about the correction had she included a pair of shoes as a gesture of apology. Wouldn’t that really have been the right thing to do? Then I’d be calling her a mensch in addition to sending big wet cyber-kisses.
What She Wore
I love fashion. It’s not a secret. But I’m not very good at putting things together in a creative or original way. I actually suck at it. Quite magnificently. When I go shopping, which I don’t care for at all, I tend to buy the same thing over and over and over again. I don’t mean to do it, I just gravitate to what’s safe: I have thing for jeans—though a reasonable argument can be made for never having too many pairs of jeans—which pile up higher than my stack of unread New Yorkers. And frequently heard comments from my husband include the back-tracking winner, “Oh, you bought another sleeveless, solid-color jersey t-shirt with ruching. It’s super cute!”
Thankfully, I’ve found a few websites to help me think “outside the box,” a phrase I dislike almost as much as “ah-ha! moment” and more than dressing room lighting, which is saying something.
Anyway, last Friday, I found and fell in love with a new-to-me website and subsequently gave over hours of valuable writing time to perusing What I Wore. The hostess, Jessica Schroeder is darling and very, very good at what she does; I would urge any woman who is looking for ideas to visit her site. I want to be her when I grow up, except that she’s probably 15 years younger than I am. There is no turning back the clock, but I can covet and borrow, which is the whole point of her website.
By Friday afternoon, I was inspired enough to dig out the only scarf I own. If I do say so myself, I think I looked just a little bit more fashionable this weekend as I cheered on the US men’s soccer team from my couch. Look at me, breaking out of my normal norms and trying some thing dangerous and new:
Okay, so maybe I look a little silly with a scarf tied in my hair. But I tried it! And the influence stretched beyond me.
He puts rabid soccer fans to shame.
Alright, if Sam and I can’t successfully translate Jessica’s ideas, then perhaps we should look closer to home for someone who can…
When:
June 13, 2010
What:
Dress: Target
Yoga Top: Target
Leg Warmers: Hannah Andersson
Socks: The Children’s Place (one purple, one pink)
Shoes: Target
Flower in hair: A stranger’s garden (she only took one!)
Where:
Breakfast at Brian’s and the Hillcrest Farmer’s Market
Why:
Because she can’t not. It’s in her DNA, which obviously is not mine. I have much to learn. The question is, can it be taught?
The Hunt
Do you go through this or am I the only one?
It’s all about the equipment
My esteemed editor at CityBeat, Dave Rolland, ran his first 5k today. He announced his results on his Facebook page:
“My time was 26:12 (8:26 minutes per mile). I came in 171st overall (out of 1,217). I was 15th in my age/gender group (out of 39). And I think I was the only dude running in cargo shorts.”
I am very proud of Dave but have to question his choice of attire. Cargo shorts? Fine for hiking the Uintas or just shopping around at R.E.I, but not exactly built for aerodynamics. I’m certain if he’d worn the proper clothing, he could have shaved minutes from his time.
Something like this could have seen him place in the top three overall.
Maybe next time, Dave. Maybe next time.