Oct 12, 2009
rep yr city
It was a total success of a non-holiday (my job hates Italian-Americans and does not choose to recognize their tremendous contributions to New York and Society by letting me stay at home and watch Wendy Williams and The View and paint my nails and take a nap and maybe go out to dinner). An inspiring turn at Bobby's Dept. Store (in furnishings and clothings). Nice weather. Nice neighbors (one of whom thinks we have a future in BCAT). A Baltika at Volna with a view of the sea. A cheerful sweep for the Yank-els (and an introduction to that glamorous Twins coach imaged below). In short: many blessings, birdmen, benefactions, bounties, bonuses, Brooklyns.
Oct 11, 2009
Oct 10, 2009
Oct 9, 2009
today is the day
There is so much to talk about when we talk about FEMINISM. And blogs (yes, Jezebel) have gotten us talking more. Thank goodness. I hate hate it when people accuse me of overreacting. Oh I do! And I'll never put the kibosh on someone's testimony; we should always feel free to complain about the Patriarchy (about anything), if the spirit moves. And it's shocking (sick, really) the way so many men and women dismiss the very real imbalances, inequity in culture (in the way of gender and sexuality and class and race and...).
However, lately, in the past 48 hours, I've been more generous with misogynists. Por ejemplo, I read this bunk, bloggy list of "Actresses Past Their Due Date," which has gotten the populous riled up. The post-in-question is dumb and mean and terrible, a symptom of the worst sort of woman-hate (and age-ism and size-ism) implicit in our contemporary Media and Entertainment Industrial Complex. But it's odd. This guy is quite the apologist, going out of his way to compliment Anne Hathaway, use the word "lovely" (?!), while he denigrates other women. He, at once, calls Drew Barrymore "chubby" and scolds Helen Hunt for spreading that tricky anorexia disease. Um? Does he even want to write this? Is this a case of two voices--reluctant, down-on-his-luck freelancer and wicked, tow-the-party-line editor? Who knows. Whatever the origin of this piece, I found myself, as I read it and a fraction of the comments, less angry than I might have expected to be. I wondered: is this sort of petty/bitchy misogyny (propagated by boys and girls [self certainly included]) just a cry for help? Yes. Indeed.
Fourth Wave-ers (a lot of folks) tend to dislike Naomi Wolf, and I don't know why. She makes a lot of sense to me (and I'm sympathetic because people always accuse her of being too generalizing and groundless and I am both of those things so much of the time but it just does not mean either of us are wrong, when we don't traffick in "concrete evidence" and [ooooof] science). Her platform on sex+The Youth, the content of a book called Promiscuities, is particularly stirring. In it, she regards my generation (and some a bit younger) wholly, regardless of gender, as suffering under the burden of loosened sexual mores (via interviews with college students). Sure. I think about this a lot--this bleak expanse of young men and women eschewing intimacy and comfort and self-care and self-respect, because, to be casual and "promiscuous" is the current norm. In theory, the sexual revolution is "the new" Oppressor, or it's become another vehicle for the same old problems, demands. I think some readers find her claims to be backward, an argument that we (especially women) do not enjoy sex, do not choose freely and happily to have sex. I don't think this is the case....I think Wolf's stance is no threat to healthy, liberated sex and our belief in its existence....both are real, you know? I have desires, valid and fantastic ones (of course). But I (and plenty of other men and women I know) have had sex I did not really want to have with people I don't particularly like. And what's that about? It appears to be an automated response to pressure, to some unknown other's idea of our what's and how's. And I've been a victim. But I've also been a co-victim, one of a pair that's fumbling and harming and not being so honest or healthy or happy. It is hard to be a woman. It is hard to be a man. And this is not too randomly tangential, I assure you.
As much as I think both sexes struggle with social-sexual pressures that can result in non-fulfillment, I think that both sexes become weary of, are damaged by the ceaseless onslaught of images of "beautiful women" (another thing Naomi writes about, maybe less judiciously). Models and actresses and the fuss that is always always made over them lead some to feel down-and-out, as, in this world of Photoshop, beings never capable of attaining such "perfection" (such a cruel thing to sell). And they lead some to feel down-and-out, as beings never capable of attaining such "perfect" girlfriends? We are all somehow, somewhere seeking phantom approval, taking hits from a phantom abuser, a corporate infrastructure utterly dependent on our feelings of worthlessness or hunger. So we get angry, judge harshly and hypocritically, say cruel things that we might never say to or about actual acquaintances. And money. Beauty and money are so conflated that I must believe some of the bile directed toward these ten ladies is a reaction to their exorbitant incomes and resulting agency in the World. I guess I just mean, in some cases (certainly not all, not half), we might have come as far as we can down the path of whistle-blowing. Women might need to show men how misogyny negatively affects us both...how we are both capable of it...is this naive? Probably. I will never stand for arguments against Feminist reactions that entail dismissals, claims that our politics don't belong everywhere. That's fucking naive--politics are everywhere, as are emotions--SERIOUSNESS. But I am increasingly interested in dialogues (as opposed to diatribes). I don't want my politics to be yet another wedge driven between mens and womens. We ought to be friends. Instead of lambasting this Spike.com (dear G-d) blogger, we might ask him: how did this work make you feel? How did your last girlfriend make you feel? Your mother? What's it all about Alfie?
However, lately, in the past 48 hours, I've been more generous with misogynists. Por ejemplo, I read this bunk, bloggy list of "Actresses Past Their Due Date," which has gotten the populous riled up. The post-in-question is dumb and mean and terrible, a symptom of the worst sort of woman-hate (and age-ism and size-ism) implicit in our contemporary Media and Entertainment Industrial Complex. But it's odd. This guy is quite the apologist, going out of his way to compliment Anne Hathaway, use the word "lovely" (?!), while he denigrates other women. He, at once, calls Drew Barrymore "chubby" and scolds Helen Hunt for spreading that tricky anorexia disease. Um? Does he even want to write this? Is this a case of two voices--reluctant, down-on-his-luck freelancer and wicked, tow-the-party-line editor? Who knows. Whatever the origin of this piece, I found myself, as I read it and a fraction of the comments, less angry than I might have expected to be. I wondered: is this sort of petty/bitchy misogyny (propagated by boys and girls [self certainly included]) just a cry for help? Yes. Indeed.
Fourth Wave-ers (a lot of folks) tend to dislike Naomi Wolf, and I don't know why. She makes a lot of sense to me (and I'm sympathetic because people always accuse her of being too generalizing and groundless and I am both of those things so much of the time but it just does not mean either of us are wrong, when we don't traffick in "concrete evidence" and [ooooof] science). Her platform on sex+The Youth, the content of a book called Promiscuities, is particularly stirring. In it, she regards my generation (and some a bit younger) wholly, regardless of gender, as suffering under the burden of loosened sexual mores (via interviews with college students). Sure. I think about this a lot--this bleak expanse of young men and women eschewing intimacy and comfort and self-care and self-respect, because, to be casual and "promiscuous" is the current norm. In theory, the sexual revolution is "the new" Oppressor, or it's become another vehicle for the same old problems, demands. I think some readers find her claims to be backward, an argument that we (especially women) do not enjoy sex, do not choose freely and happily to have sex. I don't think this is the case....I think Wolf's stance is no threat to healthy, liberated sex and our belief in its existence....both are real, you know? I have desires, valid and fantastic ones (of course). But I (and plenty of other men and women I know) have had sex I did not really want to have with people I don't particularly like. And what's that about? It appears to be an automated response to pressure, to some unknown other's idea of our what's and how's. And I've been a victim. But I've also been a co-victim, one of a pair that's fumbling and harming and not being so honest or healthy or happy. It is hard to be a woman. It is hard to be a man. And this is not too randomly tangential, I assure you.
As much as I think both sexes struggle with social-sexual pressures that can result in non-fulfillment, I think that both sexes become weary of, are damaged by the ceaseless onslaught of images of "beautiful women" (another thing Naomi writes about, maybe less judiciously). Models and actresses and the fuss that is always always made over them lead some to feel down-and-out, as, in this world of Photoshop, beings never capable of attaining such "perfection" (such a cruel thing to sell). And they lead some to feel down-and-out, as beings never capable of attaining such "perfect" girlfriends? We are all somehow, somewhere seeking phantom approval, taking hits from a phantom abuser, a corporate infrastructure utterly dependent on our feelings of worthlessness or hunger. So we get angry, judge harshly and hypocritically, say cruel things that we might never say to or about actual acquaintances. And money. Beauty and money are so conflated that I must believe some of the bile directed toward these ten ladies is a reaction to their exorbitant incomes and resulting agency in the World. I guess I just mean, in some cases (certainly not all, not half), we might have come as far as we can down the path of whistle-blowing. Women might need to show men how misogyny negatively affects us both...how we are both capable of it...is this naive? Probably. I will never stand for arguments against Feminist reactions that entail dismissals, claims that our politics don't belong everywhere. That's fucking naive--politics are everywhere, as are emotions--SERIOUSNESS. But I am increasingly interested in dialogues (as opposed to diatribes). I don't want my politics to be yet another wedge driven between mens and womens. We ought to be friends. Instead of lambasting this Spike.com (dear G-d) blogger, we might ask him: how did this work make you feel? How did your last girlfriend make you feel? Your mother? What's it all about Alfie?
Oct 8, 2009
who says
I definitely understand why there was such a negative reaction to the collaborative(?) Spain-Hollywood-Parisss Ungaro collection this week. It was "crafted" in a matter of three weeks by an established, hardworking, young designer, Estrella Archs, under the bizarro creative control of Lindzz Lohan, a testy, workless, drugged actress, all bones and poles and borrowed jewelry and hair extensions. Fay-shun Folks were miffed that a serious member of their elite workforce was made to (or made to appear to be made to) garner approval from a flailing chick a decade+ her junior with no professional experience beyond a daffy legging line and a few trainwreck ego-a-ego sessions with Kaiser Karl featured in Interview Magazine or Purple Magazine or whatever (or both?)...the crowds came to jeer. I'm not sure the fact of the garments mattered at all; in order to ensure their jobs, their world, all of the professional professionals must needs despise the publicity ploy that was La Lohan's hire. And good. Fine. It's just read this....
Umm.....you "have to choose"????!! I don't like that, not a bit. A diversity of pursuits, projects, media is ideal, and not problematic in the least (and didn't we do away with those "a manly painter paints" biases in the 70s?). Fame is the trouble--FAME PARADING AS ABILITY, such a fallacy. Fame sells. It has the "ability" to sell, but fame does not guarantee a thoughtful or fine record or collection of clothes (it doesn't make this impossible either). We need to inspect the slovenly business practice of handing opportunities to the "already opportuned," whether they be actors or actors' children (ugh). But if anything, artists/makers should be encouraged to make more and more of the new and unfamiliar and other-than-typical and challenging. I write and sing and take pictures (and I would totes do a movie or television role or QVC spot if given the chance). I don't think this is disingenuous or flaky. I think it's natural, natural to not see demarcations and rules everywhere, to not feel forbidden from treading fresh ground (or old ground...whatever ground).
One note: did Lindzz even glance at Ungaro collections of the past? Nothing in this collection is even Ungaro referential. A creative director of an old house that functions sans-founder is firstthing given a key to an archive (a rich, rare archive), whomever they hire next really ought to use that key (...obv coke-y jokey).
Oct 7, 2009
You Look So Fine
I'm not much for eyewear. I practically live in my contacts, to the point where I will only take them out at night when I'm alone or around my closest friends (conjunctivitis is on my list of possible things I could contract during one night stands). I consider a $25 sunglasses purchase from Target a luxury, as it takes me about 15 minutes to scratch them. Still, the new Oliver Peoples campaign featuring my spirit guide Shirley Manson (with Elijah Wood) makes me wonder where I might have an extra $400 to spare this spring...
Cute
A glance at the new White House art collection (gleaned from the old Nat'l Gallery collection)--the first few canvases look like cousins of Michele's smart, Americana garments. The pertinent Ruscha and telegraph-as-ready-made are inspired. The Catlin "Plains Indian" canvases (which will be replacing George's dippy Remingtons) even more so....now how about "blurring the line between art and [executive power]" and pardoning Leonard Peltier...?
"To be pleased means to say yes."
I made that much-noted Adorno phrase a touchstone in 2005. Later, I realized (thanks sis) it hardly meant what I'd imagined. In my mind, not being a great pinko (or art historian), it was a neat piece of music about affirmation and enjoyment/fun. In the author's, I think it might have been a warning against the lazy openness big consumption breeds. I can't very well go about pointing fingers at the lazy and bourgeois (because HOLA). So, for the zillionith time, I'll flip-ly appropriate the text for myself, shape it to my pleasure. Adorno was a "no guy;" he worked through a v. significant "no era." Occasionally, I succumb to "the no's"--blogs, for instance, are so often sticky "no territories." But it's not in my nature and I'm vowing to cease and...embrace. Nobody needs my negativity heaped on top of their own (or the rest of the Internet's) prodigious sum. When it comes to discoursing other folks' creative endeavors (and I'm not talking about Justin Bobby) best to avoid the stuff I don't admire. There's a lot that pleases me, a lot I say "YES" to. Here goes:
Alexander McQueen is absolutely important. Each season in Paris, people make so much noise about Karl Lagerfeld (and I'll refrain from getting into why I don't join in the noise-making...damn). But A.M. really has the goods as far as I'm concerned. These textiles! It appears no one (but for lovebug, Dries) uses difficult, think-y prints enough. I usually hate (gulp) Space and the unceasing, willynilly co-opting of Ghesquiere's brilliant early-aughts Space-Age shapes, but here it all works and it looks new (and also Elizabethan) and it's not fussy or forbidding so much as fine and full of stories. And everyone's really been listening to my advice about corsets and/or bare breasts...
Oct 6, 2009
Oct 5, 2009
Oct 3, 2009
Oct 2, 2009
Best Things For Friday
--The BEST televiseddocumentary.
--A low-fi compilation of Grimm's fairytales, all mashed, mostly untitled.
--This quite sweet archival Richard Prince review.
--A low-fi compilation of Grimm's fairytales, all mashed, mostly untitled.
--This quite sweet archival Richard Prince review.
Reading (aloud)
I get plain sleepy when I read, speaking out the words has always helped, and, of course, it's the best way to savor language. Last weekend, in Riverdale for the Days of Awe, and not a bit sleepy (and not engaging with electronics), I took up some of Nana's guestroom bookshelf and intoned it in a hushed kind of way. I'd forgotten how much I like the spook and watchmen interchange that opens Hamlet--
Enter Ghost
MARCELLUS
Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!
BERNARDO
In the same figure, like the king that's dead.
MARCELLUS
Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.
BERNARDO
Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio.
HORATIO
Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.
BERNARDO
It would be spoke to.
MARCELLUS
Question it, Horatio.
HORATIO
What art thou that usurp'st this time of night,
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee, speak!
MARCELLUS
It is offended.
BERNARDO
See, it stalks away!
HORATIO
Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!
Exit Ghost
MARCELLUS
'Tis gone, and will not answer.
BERNARDO
How now, Horatio! you tremble and look pale:
Is not this something more than fantasy?
What think you on't?
HORATIO
Before my God, I might not this believe
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.
MARCELLUS
Is it not like the king?
HORATIO
As thou art to thyself:
Such was the very armour he had on
When he the ambitious Norway combated;
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle,
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.
'Tis strange.
MARCELLUS
Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.
HORATIO
In what particular thought to work I know not;
But in the gross and scope of my opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
MARCELLUS
Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows,
Why this same strict and most observant watch
So nightly toils the subject of the land,
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon,
And foreign mart for implements of war;
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
Does not divide the Sunday from the week;
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day:
Who is't that can inform me?
HORATIO
That can I; at least, the whisper goes so.
Our last king, whose image even but now appear'd to us,
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet--
For so this side of our known world esteem'd him--
Did slay this Fortinbras; who by a seal'd compact,
Well ratified by law and heraldry,
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands
Which he stood seized of, to the conqueror:
Against the which, a moiety competent
Was gaged by our king; which had return'd
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant,
And carriage of the article design'd,
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
Of unimproved mettle hot and full,
Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there
Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,
For food and diet, to some enterprise
That hath a stomach in't; which is no other--
As it doth well appear unto our state--
But to recover of us, by strong hand
And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands
So by his father lost: and this, I take it,
Is the main motive of our preparations,
The source of this our watch and the chief head
Of this post-haste and romage in the land.
BERNARDO
I think it be no other but e'en so:
Well may it sort that this portentous figure
Comes armed through our watch; so like the king
That was and is the question of these wars.
HORATIO
A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets:
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
Disasters in the sun; and the moist star
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse:
And even the like precurse of fierce events,
As harbingers preceding still the fates
And prologue to the omen coming on,
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climatures and countrymen.--
But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!
Re-enter Ghost
I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion!
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
Speak to me:
If there be any good thing to be done,
That may to thee do ease and grace to me,
Speak to me:
Cock crows
If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, O, speak!
Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,
Speak of it: stay, and speak! Stop it, Marcellus.
MARCELLUS
Shall I strike at it with my partisan?
HORATIO
Do, if it will not stand.
BERNARDO
'Tis here!
HORATIO
'Tis here!
MARCELLUS
'Tis gone!
Exit Ghost
We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the show of violence;
For it is, as the air, invulnerable,
And our vain blows malicious mockery.
BERNARDO
It was about to speak, when the cock crew.
Enter Ghost
MARCELLUS
Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!
BERNARDO
In the same figure, like the king that's dead.
MARCELLUS
Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.
BERNARDO
Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio.
HORATIO
Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.
BERNARDO
It would be spoke to.
MARCELLUS
Question it, Horatio.
HORATIO
What art thou that usurp'st this time of night,
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee, speak!
MARCELLUS
It is offended.
BERNARDO
See, it stalks away!
HORATIO
Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!
Exit Ghost
MARCELLUS
'Tis gone, and will not answer.
BERNARDO
How now, Horatio! you tremble and look pale:
Is not this something more than fantasy?
What think you on't?
HORATIO
Before my God, I might not this believe
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.
MARCELLUS
Is it not like the king?
HORATIO
As thou art to thyself:
Such was the very armour he had on
When he the ambitious Norway combated;
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle,
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.
'Tis strange.
MARCELLUS
Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.
HORATIO
In what particular thought to work I know not;
But in the gross and scope of my opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
MARCELLUS
Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows,
Why this same strict and most observant watch
So nightly toils the subject of the land,
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon,
And foreign mart for implements of war;
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
Does not divide the Sunday from the week;
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day:
Who is't that can inform me?
HORATIO
That can I; at least, the whisper goes so.
Our last king, whose image even but now appear'd to us,
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet--
For so this side of our known world esteem'd him--
Did slay this Fortinbras; who by a seal'd compact,
Well ratified by law and heraldry,
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands
Which he stood seized of, to the conqueror:
Against the which, a moiety competent
Was gaged by our king; which had return'd
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant,
And carriage of the article design'd,
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
Of unimproved mettle hot and full,
Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there
Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,
For food and diet, to some enterprise
That hath a stomach in't; which is no other--
As it doth well appear unto our state--
But to recover of us, by strong hand
And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands
So by his father lost: and this, I take it,
Is the main motive of our preparations,
The source of this our watch and the chief head
Of this post-haste and romage in the land.
BERNARDO
I think it be no other but e'en so:
Well may it sort that this portentous figure
Comes armed through our watch; so like the king
That was and is the question of these wars.
HORATIO
A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets:
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
Disasters in the sun; and the moist star
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse:
And even the like precurse of fierce events,
As harbingers preceding still the fates
And prologue to the omen coming on,
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climatures and countrymen.--
But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!
Re-enter Ghost
I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion!
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
Speak to me:
If there be any good thing to be done,
That may to thee do ease and grace to me,
Speak to me:
Cock crows
If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, O, speak!
Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,
Speak of it: stay, and speak! Stop it, Marcellus.
MARCELLUS
Shall I strike at it with my partisan?
HORATIO
Do, if it will not stand.
BERNARDO
'Tis here!
HORATIO
'Tis here!
MARCELLUS
'Tis gone!
Exit Ghost
We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the show of violence;
For it is, as the air, invulnerable,
And our vain blows malicious mockery.
BERNARDO
It was about to speak, when the cock crew.
Oct 1, 2009
Love in This Club
Stupid me only started watching that Ken Burns Nat'l Parks number last night...and now the 30s have totally surpassed the soldierboy 40s on the historical hotness meter. How about this C.C.C.?!
In the Money
I don't know where I'm coming from or where I'm going right here. But I saw this teenager I'd never heard of on a best-dressed list (things I should never read) today. Her name is Jane Aldridge. She lives in Dallas, and she has a blog.
I don't know who Jane's parents are, but (though she talks up sales and ebay) I know they are very generous. It's overwhelming. I think she looks great, but what comes of always having been a sophisticate? I mean, I always fancied myself one, thought like one, but sartorially, I was absolutely a high school student and then absolutely a college student (and I'm still recovering). In school, I did not look like everyone else, but I definitely looked my age. I wore a mix of thrift/vintage, mall clothes, and treats, special (cherished) gifts from my forebears, both masculine-feminine 70s hand-me-downs and designer wish list wishes sweetly granted. I, like most, am an odd mixture of appreciative and creative and jealous and down-trodden. Mine is some variation on the commonest American experience--aspirational and still hungry.
And my point-of-view is pliable. The years at St. Mary's and P.A. brought out bits of sport and prep, the habit of my surroundings. The transfer to a big Memphis City School my junior year drew out the video-girl in me. On my first day, I wore vintage Levi's, a cable knit sweater, and no make-up; on my second, skin-tight stretch denim, door-knockers, and plenty of lip gloss. Brandeis (oy) led me to Juicy sweats and pink pink pink, some J.A.P. sensibilities (that weren't too divergent from my recent public school education). And my NY drop-out days made me tougher and 80s-er. These were accents beside/over the big constant: my stylish ma and pa, who laid an urbane, politically engaged foundation, via garments and films and music and housewares and paintings--ART (a definite generosity). Babble...I think I'm trying to say that I still tread with uncertainty. I still fuck up. I lead, and then follow. I have yet to look my best.
The "Fay-shun World" seems to think a strong, unrelenting, unassailable p.o.v., a perch in the clouds is ultimately stylish. It is the way the editorial community has reacted to this girl, as a "mature dresser," "fearless and self-knowing, distinctive, never wrong." I think that's dull and inappropriate for The Youth. Goths, punks, metalheads, d-boys--these high school uniform-wearers are not so smug, not necessarily "self-knowing." I mean, I LOVE A UNIFORM. But a balance of rule-boundness and flexibility (and humanity) is best, I think. And lots of people do this in their own way. And, honestly, Jane Aldridge does this. She's not one for high-low, but she does old-new and tough-pretty, Texas-Japan. I suppose what makes me uncomfortable is not some unvaried-ness of ideas/structures, but the 'separate peace' of so much cash and luxury, the unvaried-ness of cost and quality. This child breaths thinner air than we do. Her brand of stylishness is necessarily rare. It is a mechanism (whether intentional or no) for distancing, for drawing lines of demarcation. This is normal, natural. it happens in all strata. The jock wears a suit to school on Fridays, a letter jacket off-campus to assert his social status. But that is bound to high school. Only other teens feel the effects. Jane Aldridge, on the other hand, is a fashion-plate of old and big class difficulties, ones that affect us all, those twice and thrice her age. There is just always an implied inaccessibility in high fay-shun things and people. And she is being lauded PROFESSIONALLY, as an (oooooof) icon. A few fancy things in the mix (I can't knock that)...only ever fancy things (it gives one the willies).
I could be wrong. I'm running on empty. Like I said, I'm jealous. She looks older than me. I'm mad (in the positive sense) about luxury and fineness and flash (saw one of those this morning and OH MY). But I'm madder about democracy. Jane's way of dressing is a bit too...Aristo--unsettlingly unAmerican and unfriendly. You know? I'm conflicted and foggy. There is an insider-outsider note that I'm not hitting. I might just find her ease with and "carrying off" of grown-up wares scary. Teens have such ease when they're stylish, the ease of freshness and confidence in freshness, but what happens when that teen is dressed as her mother rather than her friends? And I strongly dislike shoe fetishing. What do y'all think?
Addendum: Pillow and I talked about this last night...she had been knowing about it for a few months and reminded me of the elephant I forgot to mention: BEBES ON THE INTERNET. duh.
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