Archive for March 2008
I rarely find anything to love about most films that attempt to depict the world of high fashion. However, there’s something about this scene that makes me giddy. Maybe it’s the music. Perhaps it’s the models. Whatever the case, this scene should be required viewing in the ANTM house and Barbizon Modeling Centers worldwide.
I usually don’t waste my time getting worked up over something as innocuous as a word like “classic.” However, the way some fashion critics use the word makes me want to slap them across the face with my Hermès pochette.
The worst misuse of the word has to be when neophytes refer to Audrey Hepburn’s 5os and 60s wardrobe as “classic.” Audrey Hepburn’s style during this era was a collaboration between the actress and Hubert de Givenchy. At that time, Givenchy was an iconoclast. He was the Ghesquière of his generation, producing radical silhouettes that changed the way the world viewed fashion.
There was nothing about Audrey Hepburn that was “classic.” In that respect, she was a rebel. Stanley Donen, the great film director, only fought with Hepburn once, over a pair of socks he wanted her to wear in Funny Face. Hepburn was so concerned about maintaining her cutting-edge look that she refused to wear white socks with her beatnik outfit during a dance number. Donen wanted the actress to wear the typical, white Bobby socks of the day because they would show up better on film. Eventually, Hepburn did what Donen told her to do.
Hepburn’s primary concern in this instance was to appear as Givenchy envisioned her: She was the epitome of chic as translated by the era’s greatest designer. While her look may have become a classic, at the time she was the muse of the avant garde movement.
It just goes to show you that many people who comment on fashion shouldn’t be commenting on fashion. There’s nothing inherently wrong with the word “classic,” but in the context that it’s used by some twatchops, it’s enough to make me wish I could grow some fangs and start spitting venom. Or maybe I’ll just stick to blogging. Fangs are so last year.
For years, Harper’s Bazaar was my favorite fashion magazine. There was something very snobby about Bazaar that put the title in a league of its own. The editors were always very careful to maintain an aura of sophistication. They didn’t bother to explain their point of view because they didn’t need to explain their point of view; they were the experts, period. Who was going to second-guess Diana Vreeland, anyway?
Glenda Bailey’s Harper’s Bazaar continues in that tradition. However, I’m not sure if that tradition is going to make Bazaar into a household name that’s recognized by a new generation of readers.
Bailey returned Bazaar to its roots after the brief tenure of Kate Betts. Betts was unceremoniously dumped after she attempted to revamp the magazine in order to court that new generation of readers. A few of Betts’ decisions were poorly received (she changed the magazine’s masthead, for instance), but rather visionary in retrospect (she actually hated Paris Hilton when hating Paris Hilton wasn’t cool). Betts wanted to give Bazaar an online presence that would make it as visible as style.com. She wasn’t given the chance.
Glenda Bailey took over Bazaar in 2001, and the fate of the magazine’s online presence was sealed. At that time Bailey was a bit of a technophobe. An associate of mine told me that she didn’t even like to use e-mail. She also didn’t like the changes that Betts made, and she quickly adopted a back-to-basics strategy to attract readers back Bazaar.
I thought that decision was shortsighted. I remember when prefering Bazaar over Vogue was a badge of honor. It spoke to your ability to appreciate art for art’s sake. Betts may have tried too hard to make Bazaar relevant to a younger demographic, but Bailey has committed a far worse crime: She’s allowed the magazine to languish. It’s not Vogue’s chief competitor anymore. It’s no Vanity Fair, either. It tries hard not to be InStyle — thank Zob — but it does fawn over celebrities far too often. I just don’t know what Bazaar wants to be nowadays.
Nevertheless, in the words of Tyra Banks, Bazaar could use a “high fashion ass-whoopin’!” It needs an editor who can take it back to the days when it was iconic. There’s a scene in Rear Window where Grace Kelly is leafing through a copy of the magazine. The magnitude of her star power didn’t manage to outshine the brilliance of the magazine; at that time in history, they were on par with each other. Now that’s saying something about the way this magazine used to be perceived!
I look forward to the day when carrying a copy of Bazaar to read on your lunchbreak is more fashionable than carrying some hideous, overpriced Louis Vuitton bag. Hopefully, that day is going to come soon. However, it probably won’t happen until someone shows Glenda Bailey the door.
Just a moment ago, I was wondering what on earth I was going to blog about today. I’m in one of those moods where nothing seems to inspire my usual cleverness. Then I stumbled across this gem!
That’s Jade from America’s Next Top Model. When I first saw the picture I said “Wow! That tranny spent a bundle on her rack!” Then I read the caption. What a freebie!
It just goes to show you: Zob works in mysterious ways.
On last night’s episode of ANTM, Tyra taught the contestants one of her top-secret, top-model tips: Modeling through the pain.
Tyra suggested that a model should try to look as if she is in pain whenever she can’t come up with another pose. She went on to drill the models, shouting out several painful conditions (such as menstrual cramps) and watching while the contestants struck their poses.
It was a lot of fun, but it could have been more fun if the show’s writers had come up with some more creative conditions. Here are a few suggestions I’ve come up with. Try them at home, in front of the mirror — if you can stand the glamour!
-Sucking chest wound.
-Massive head trauma.
-Severe gas pain.
-Alien larvae in abdomen.
Or try to model through these ANTM favorites:
-Vagus nerve disorder.
-Beer in weave.
-Getting eliminated before Jade.
Oh, I could go on for days!
Antifashion is a rebellion against the crass commercialism that turns art into business. It is not hostile towards beauty or style. You can renounce the foolishness of the trends while still being chic. You can observe what the brainwashed masses are doing, and do exactly the opposite — the stylish opposite.
For instance, dogs have been a trendy fashion accessory for the past few years. As a result, the cost of both purebred dogs and their mutt cousins has increased substantially. Muddled-up crossbreeds are being given trendy new names so that they can be sold at a price that exceeds their pedigree.
However, Puggles and Shorkies are not Birkins and Kellys — if you know what I mean. Breeding a purebred dog of exceptional value is an art form, just as crafting a fine leather handbag is an art form. Breeding mutts, on the other hand, is as simple as getting two dogs to hump.
For that reason, dogs in general have been tainted. Their current fashionable status has made them less-desirable to someone like me who thrives on bucking the trends. I’m a cat person now. They’re less vulgar than dogs, anyhow. I’m the kind of woman who wears designer labels on the inside of her clothes, and I’m also the kind of woman who leaves her pets at home. Moreover, I don’t believe my cute little kitty-cats appreciate a photo-op as much as I do. The paparazzi would hate them. Look at all the retouching I had to do to little Buttercup’s snapshot!
I remember when the celebrity fragrance trade first hit its stride in the 80s with fabulous concoctions like Debbie Gibson’s Electric Youth. It smelled like maraschino cherries that had been soaked in cheap hairspray. Come to think of it, that’s exactly how most of the 80s smelled.
Since then our sensibilities have been assaulted by dozens of celebrity scents. The worst of the lot has to be Curious by Britney Spears. I admit that I haven’t smelled it. Frankly, it scares me to think of how Britney stinks. I imagine getting a whiff of Britney is a lot like a visit to the fairground, where the pleasing odor of fried mini donuts and corn dogs is mingled with the stench of ripe armpits and the vomit-soaked trash can next to the Tilt-a-Whirl.
It makes me wonder: Is there another celebrity out there who would make a worse figurehead for a new fragrance? It’s an idea I’d like to explore. If anyone has a suggestion, please let me know.