Auntie Fashion

Tase T. Lentil

Since every city on the planet has a Fashion Week (except Moose Jaw – and I’m working on that), I’ve decided that it would be appropriate to name the third week in August Antifashion Week.

Antifashion Week will be celebrated by billions of people worldwide as they eschew the designs of the Evil AntiZob a.k.a. Marc Jacobs.  Although individuals are encouraged to express themselves in a manner which defines their own sense of style during Antifashion Week, participating in group activities is also recommended.

Why not build a beachside bonfire with your friends and fuel the flames with fake Louis Vuitton bags and copies of InStyle?  Or instead of going “from daytime to evening” with your makeup, why don’t you show up at work on Monday morning gussied up like a Las Vegas cocktail waitress on New Year’s Eve?  Perhaps you could plan to spend the weekend at the National Lentil Festival – quite possibly the most unglamorous civic pride event I’ve ever heard about.

Whatever you do, just try to have a good time.  With the 2009 fashion shows looming on the horizon, it could be a lot of fun to forget about the stupidity of the fashion world for a while.  Sure, there are going to be some great shows out there, but there are also going to be plenty of Rachel Bilsons and Steven Cojocarus and Adrian Mainellas and Rachel Zoes and Kimora Lees to deal with.  Antifashion Week is the calm before the storm.  Enjoy it while it lasts.

Louis Vuitton

Here’s a doozy from Marc Jacobs’ 2009 Resort collection for Louis Vuitton.  Anticipating the demands of his brainwashed clientele, Jacobs probably said to himself “This outfit was inspired by one of those failed Project Runway challenges where Nina Garcia looks as if she’s eaten a bad clam from the moment the model walks onto the stage, because nothing says resort season to me like the taste of a bad clam.”

The rest of the collection doesn’t get any better.  There are giant pockets on hips, plenty of geometric detailing drawing attention to the crotch, a sweater with twin kangaroo-style pouches in the pooch area, and lots of sleeves that make the shoulder area look lumpy and malformed.

If there’s a working designer who hates women more than Marc Jacobs, I don’t know who it is.

Skinny Women

There’s a very interesting article today on style.com.  It seems that the CFDA held a discussion on Tuesday night called “The Beauty of Health: How the Fashion Industry Can Make a Difference.”  The forum was intended to address the issue of skinny models.  It’s interesting to see that Anna Wintour attended the event.  A friend of Zob (and my spiritual advisor), Greg Polkosnik, used to work for Teen Vogue, and he always has a few juicy stories to tell about the magazine.

Like myself, Greg is a gym rat.  He’s been a fitness trainer since 1986.  While he was writing horoscopes for Teen Vogue, he used to include tidbits like “Burn off some nervous energy on the treadmill,” and “Check out the boys in the weight room.”  It was innocuous stuff, yet he claims that it was solid astrological advice, grounded in the placements of the planets.

He continued to offer comments like that to his readers until one day when he was told to stop because ”teenage girls don’t go to the gym.”  His editor at the time was working for editor-in-chief Amy Astley, who reported directly to Anna Wintour.

While Greg doesn’t claim the instructions came down that particular chain of command, he doesn’t dispute the fact that the dictum was foolish.  “I’ve been a fitness professional for half of my life,” he told me.  “Teenage girls go to the gym.”

He might be overstating his case, though.  Perhaps the kind of girls who read Teen Vogue don’t go to the gym.  While they’re busy aspiring to own Marc Jacobs bags, they could be starving themselves like model Coco Rocha, who spoke at the CFDA discussion.  “I was so obsessed with food that I would flip out if I ate an apple,” Rocha told the audience.  The worst part is that Rocha was a dancer before she was a model; she was the kind of person who needed to fuel her body with food in order to succeed in her discipline.  But being told “We don’t want you to be anorexic. We just want you to look it,” probably played a few tricks with her head.  Who can blame her if she starved herself?

I won’t ever say that Wintour is to blame.  I really do like the woman, and I can be guilty of defending her no matter what she does because I know that she’s a businesswoman above all: She wants her empire to succeed.  Still, with such disturbing messages coming from her underlings, what am I supposed to say about her?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a piece of Saskatoon berry pie to eat.

The Evil AntiZob

Some people believe that I have an unhealthy obsession with Marc Jacobs, including my therapist.  He’s been trying to get me to confront my fear of the designer for a couple of months now.  We sit around his office watching Louis Vuitton shows online while debating the inherent evil of the collection.  I tell him that that wearing the clothes steals your soul.  He tells me that I’m being irrational.  I tell him that he should try to walk a mile in my Louboutins.  He asks me if they make a nice slingback in a men’s size thirteen.  I ask him if he’s kidding.  He tells me to call him “Joyce” in his Michael Caine-like accent.  I ask him why there’s a blonde wig sticking out of his desk drawer.  He tells me that our time is up.

Anyhow, he also suggested that I try to take baby steps in order to deal with my so-called issues.  And I’m proud to say that I did!  Yesterday I bought something from the Perry Ellis collection.  Sure, Marc Jacobs hasn’t been involved with the brand since he virtually ruined the company in 1992 with his self-indulgence and lack of artistry, but that doesn’t matter.  What matters is that I put on something that had a Perry Ellis label sewn into it and nothing bad happened to me.

Perhaps the spirit of Zob is still watching over me.  I’ve noticed that my hair has been especially lustrous lately — maybe I haven’t lost my powers after all!  A couple of weeks back I also mentioned that I’m not as disturbed by the designer’s ugly mug as I used to be.  Have I just grown accustomed to his face, or immune to his hideousness?

This is an intriguing development, and it’s something I’m going to need to investigate.

Calvin Klein Resort

I’m not usually one to complain about body image and fashion.  Some people are thin and some people are fat.  Some people are fit and some people aren’t.  Big deal.

I’m not usually one to complain when designers choose thin models because — as they claim — clothing hangs better on them.  In most cases it’s true.  When you’re trying to show off a particular garment, there is a particular body type that will show off that garment without distraction.

However, I was distracted by the way the clothes fit the models at the Calvin Klein Resort 2009 runway show.  Francisco Costa’s collection emphasized bony hips and breasts that appeared to be underdeveloped.  Sure, I’ve seen the same models a hundred times over without complaining about their bodies, but that’s because they haven’t been presented in this fashion — not recently, anyway.

I believe that Costa finally dropped the ball.  After impressing me season after season since he took over design duties at Calvin Klein, he made me sort of hate him with this collection.  How do you put clothes on a model that make her look bad?

The answer to that question is this: Cut and drape the fabric so that it makes her look like a newly-pubescent girl who got into her mother’s closet.

I have a feeling that many of the garments from this collection are going to look great on women with more ample figures.  I should also mention that I’ve never looked at a Costa show and said to myself “Now there’s a man who hates women!” (like I do when I look at the creative output of a certain designer whose name is Marc Jacobs).  But I will say that this schtick has been done before at Calvin Klein, and it isn’t any less-revolting the second time around.

Women buy Calvin Klein Resort; girls don’t.  So what’s the point of presenting the collection in a manner that makes a fifteen-year-old model like Karlie Kloss look like she’s on the edge of eleventeen?  Yikes!

Marc Jacobs’ Interview Cover

Why, why, why is Interview magazine comparing Marc Jacobs to Andy Warhol?  That’s like comparing Cojo to Hamish Bowles.  It ain’t right.

Nevertheless, I do have to admit that I’m getting used to staring at his ugly mug; what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.  I am sort of surprised that the designer’s recently-discovered affection for clean living hasn’t begun to show up on his face.  Auntie Fashion spends a lot of time at the gym, too, and you can see it in her countenance.  There’s a certain vitality that goes hand-in-hand with a healthy lifestyle and a good night’s sleep.  Someone should tell the Evil AntiZob about it.  Yikes!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get my Taschen Duchamp book out of the basement.  Since my affection for Andy Warhol has been spoiled like a glass of milk left out in the sun, I need a new idol to worship.

Julia Dunstall

What is it about Canadian models?  I was cruising through the Chanel Cruise collection on style.com this morning when I noticed at least five fabulous Canadian girls in the lineup.

It made me realize that I made a wise choice to call this country my home after the Marc Jacobs incident.  Once I had accepted my new found mortality, I knew I needed to drink from the same fountain of gorgeousness that Linda Evangelista had been reared on — and the rest is history.

But now that I’ve been here a while I’m starting to see the influence that my presence has bestowed upon this vast nation.  The people are getting better looking with each passing generation.  Gunn, Alberta-native Julia Dunstall, for instance, would have been a youngster when I first moved to Canada, and look at her now!  Just breathing the same air that I have respired makes people better looking.  It’s uncanny!

For that reason, I’m a convinced that Moose Jaw Fashion Week 2012 is going to be a success beyond my wildest dreams.  Only I’m going to have to make an effort to get to Canada’s Glamour Capital in the near future.  How can I expect to make Moose Jaw the epicenter of the fashion world when I haven’t even set foot in the city?

In the meantime, I would like to advertise for a Moose Jaw correspondent for my blog.  I need someone to be my liaison while I plan the most prestigious fashion event of the 21st century.  Any interested Moose Jaw natives can contact me via the comments section below.  Only the insanely glamorous need apply.

Tyra

Today is a rotten day.  Not only is it the birthday of the Evil AntiZob, but it’s also my first day in therapy.

I didn’t want to see a therapist, but my friend Greg (whom you read about a couple of days ago) urged me to go.  He thought that I needed to confront some of my issues regarding Marc Jacobs and the special brand of evil the designer promotes.  I agreed to go, but only because Greg promised me that he would bring over a bottle of Veuve Clicquot to drink during ATNM tonight.

My therapist turned out to be quite a dapper man.  He sort of reminds me of Michael Caine in that movie he did with Angie Dickinson (the name escapes me).  However, he seemed to very eager to focus on the manner in which the spirit of Zob deserted my body.

It’s all just a blur to me, so he suggested that I try hypnotherapy in order to remember something about that fateful day in 1992.  A few minutes later I was reclining on a chaise, falling into a trance as his gentle voice coaxed me backwards through time, traveling closer and closer to the moment when I saw immortality snatched away from me.

And then I hit a roadblock – a great big roadblock.  Tyra was standing there, urging me not go back.  The strangest thing was that she was wearing Marc Jacobs for Perry Ellis.  I awoke from my trance, not sure what to make of the vision.  With my appointment almost over, my therapist recommended that I take some time to reflect upon what I had just seen.

I tried to get the vision out of my head, but I couldn’t do it.  Instead, I Googled Tyra’s bio.  What I discovered shocked me more than Mollie Sue’s elimination or Saleisha’s win: Tyra modelled for Marc Jacobs at Perry Ellis!

I’ve always associated Tyra with everything that is good in the universe.  Now I’m second-guessing her role in the Zobpocalypse.  Is she an evil minion of the AntiZob, or is she an avenging angel, infiltrating his camp?  Was she hiding something from me, or trying to protect me from the hideous truth.  It’s something I’m going to have to investigate.

In the meantime, I’m going to book another session with my therapist.  I don’t know why I’m so attracted to him.  He wasn’t all that handsome, but I’m a sucker for a guy who is dressed to kill. . .

I wasn’t really sure what to make of this book when I first discovered it.  While I was inhabited by the spirit of Zob, I didn’t need to look to the stars for the answers to life’s mysteries.  But once her spirit deserted my body, I became profoundly aware of my own mortality and I needed some spiritual guidance.  So I did what any woman would do: I turned to the astrology column of Cosmopolitan.

I didn’t find the answers there, but I found a pleasant diversion.  Not long after that, I discovered the complete works of Jackie Stallone and began studying the zodiac enthusiastically.  However, it wasn’t until I met the author of Cosmically Chic that I knew the role astrology would play in the Zobpocalypse.

I was sure that I needed to meet Greg Polkosnik when I first realized that he managed to have a book about contemporary fashion published without mentioning Marc Jacobs once.  It was as if he had some special power against the Evil AntiZob.

I’ll admit that I was surprised by his appearance.  Greg is a strapping, athletic man (unlike your typical fashionista who eschews the gym, preferring the transformative powers of cosmetic surgery, prescription drugs and spray-on tans to an active lifestyle and healthy living).

Aside from his wholesome good-looks, Greg is also uncannily aware of the evil that pervades the fashion world.  I soon had him casting charts for me as I grew more and more eager to understand who was working for Zob, and who was working against Zob.  The truth, it seems, is written in the stars.

Nowadays, the two of us are inseparable.  He has become my friend and my spiritual advisor.  You can expect to read more about him in future posts.  As an oracle who can decipher the language of the immortal, he will stand valiantly by my side as I await the return of Zob.

Fashion Wire Daily’s Godfrey Deeny is everything you expect a fashion critic to be.  He sometimes reminds me of George Sanders as Addison DeWitt in All About Eve.  I don’t know if there’s anyone else in the business who enjoys spitting venom as much as Deeny.

 That doesn’t mean that he isn’t great at his job.  His runway reviews are always competent.  A recent column about Marc Jacobs’ latest show read “Jacobs was out to prove a point, maybe a little too much so.”  After the previous season’s debacle, where Jacobs was accused of being a derivative, self-absorbed jerk, Deeny couldn’t have made his own point any clearer.

Yet this milieu isn’t where Deeny is at his best; the man loves the camera.  When I watch Fashion File and Fashion Television, I grin from ear-t0-ear when Deeny is asked to comment on runway shows.  Frankly, the man is a bitch.

It’s nice to see someone as fearless as Deeny talking about fashion.  Sure, his honesty/lack of tact will probably get him banned from a few events in the future, but he’ll probably end up as a judge on a reality show one day.  Maybe that’s what he wants, anyway.  He certainly isn’t in the business to make friends.