Antifashion Week
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 Resort 2009
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.
Baby Steps
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.
Why, why, why?
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.
Superheroes?
I have to admit that I took one look at my invitation to the superhero-themed Metropolitan Museum of Art Costume Institute Gala, then I crumpled it up and threw it into the trash. Sure, it would have been nice to attend such a star-studded event, but I couldn’t go. I’m no superhero. I used to be, but I’m not anymore.
However, I did send my several of my operatives, including the heroic Tom Ford/Drofmot and his trusty sidekick Richard Buckley (who probably wore a mask and some tights). They were there to keep an eye on the Evil AntiZob, who attended with his partner in malevolence, Sophia Coppola. I’ll be expecting a briefing shortly. Who knows what sort of evil my allies may have witnessed?
Speaking of evil, Anna Wintour looked anything but evil in her gorgeous Chanel Haute Couture gown. In fact, it may have been the most appropriate dress on the red carpet for a superhero-themed event. Her character can be called Platinum, and her powers can include selling ad pages and elegantly deflecting criticism.
Kudos also go to Amber Valletta, Naomi Watts, Christina Ricci and Lynda Carter for getting into the spirit of the event.
Now, back to the criticism. I do understand how the Costume Gala works. The event is sponsored. The tables are sponsored. The clothes are sponsored. Everything is basically a big exercise in PR to draw attention to the Met, underwritten by the generosity of select donors. Meanwhile, many of the celebrities who attend lend credence to the event by donating their presence; their star power is their currency. Still, I wonder who actually donates money to the Met.
That gives me an idea. Wouldn’t it be great if someone like Tom Cruise (who attended last night’s event) donated a dollar amount equivalent to the free outfit he got from Giorgio Armani? Wouldn’t it be great if he did the same thing at every event he attended every time he got a free outfit? Even if he had to return the clothes afterward, it wouldn’t even put a dent in his bank account.
Maybe he does donate a ton of money each time he attends a party like this — I have no idea where his money goes. I’m a little leery of celebrities in free clothes, though. As I’ve already mentioned, I understand the concept of endorsement. I just don’t trust people to take the high road when it’s right in front of them. It takes a real superhero to go the extra mile.
Seriously . . .
I have to admit that I don’t really pay attention to what Marc Jacobs is doing. Ever since the Evil AntiZob first directed his evil gaze toward me, I’ve been afraid of him. I know people who feel the same way about other things. Some get anxious when a bird flies too close to their head. Others may shriek in horror when a spider appears out of nowhere. I have my own phobias. For instance, I tense up when I hear the name of the so-called designer, causing a little line between my eyebrows to deepen. I know that if it keeps happening, I’m going to develop a permanent crease there. Oh, the horror!
Anyhow, I was checking out the competition on WordPress, and I came across the most hideous thing I’ve seen in ages. It seems that the Evil AntiZob has designed this monstrously ugly shoe. I guess he figured it would be clever to create a shoe with the heel in the wrong place. However, to me it looks like something that the freaky girl who crawled out of the well in The Ring would wear as she was contorting her way out of the TV set and slithering across the floor towards you. In other words, this shoe would be the last thing you would see before you died a horrible death.
I can’t think of a more frightening way to go.
Is Tyra in Cahoots with the Evil AntiZob?
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. . .
Friends of Zob: Part Two
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.
The Return of Zob?
When I was a young girl, segregated from the ugliness of the world in my own private Shangri-La, the high priestesses of Zob would tell me the most enchanting bedtime stories. One of those tales was about a handsome, heroic man named Drofmot. According to legend, Drofmot was the protector of Zob and the guardian of all things gorgeous. I asked the priestesses why I hadn’t met Drofmot yet, since I was the chosen being who had been possessed by the spirit of Zob. They told me that Drofmot had not been born yet.
Later in my life, when I began to comprehend the eternal nature of beauty and the timelessness of Zob, I started to realize I that I might not ever meet Drofmot. Everywhere I went I looked for my handsome hero, yet I knew that the Evil AntiZob was conspiring to keep us apart.
On that fateful day when the spirit of Zob was forced to flee my body, I had to come to terms with my newfound mortality. I also had to accept the fact that I would never see Zob reunited with her protector. I resigned myself to a life of humble mediocrity, like the rest of you plebes.
Anyhow – to make a long story short – I read something today that me realize that Drofmot and I were nearly together again at the end. I don’t know how I didn’t see it; I must have been blinded by the hideousness of the Evil AntiZob. The spirit of Drofmot has taken a mortal form known to the world as Tom Ford!
Now Tom Ford wants to adopt a baby. Deep in his soul he must know that the spirit of Zob has possessed another mortal form. Rather than risking another tragic encounter between Zob and the AntiZob, Drofmot has chosen to rear the latest incarnation of Zob himself. As long as they are together, the AntiZob will be powerless.
It is the news I have waited my whole life to hear. The end of the Marc Jacobs era is near, and the reign of ugliness is almost over.
The protector of gorgeousness
Sarah Mower: The Review
I don’t know if there’s anyone else in the fashion press whom I respect more than Sarah Mower at style.com. While everyone around her walks on eggshells, she enters the room throwing eggs. No one else gets to the point quite like her.
At this past weekend’s Louis Vuitton craptacular, the Evil AntiZob continued to cheapen the former luxury brand with a collection designed to make reed-thin models look like they were wearing fat suits. The designer managed to explain his departure from his Spring ‘08 collection as a return to “sculptural” forms. He must have been referencing the work of Henry Moore.
Even Mower couldn’t resist ending her review with a delicately worded backhanded slap. After delivering some very faint praise, she defined the collection as “lumpy going.”
Succinctness, thy name is Sarah Mower.
