Monday, September 29, 2014
In my early childhood years, I was never an early adopter of fashion. I played with fashion dolls and wore my cousin's high heels, but in retrospect, that was more of an indication that my sexuality was skewed more to being a homosexual.
Fashion didn't become relevant until I was probably 18. I started buying Vogue and began to read it religiously and consuming everything it offered. Style.com didn't exist in my reality back then and the only coverage I got of the runway was in magazines. Then, the all-too addicting YouTube came out and accessibility to runway videos became more palpable.
I'm 27 now. I've surrendered my teenage angsty skater look for urban minimalism (or, at least I try to embody this look) with a dash of arbitrary prints. My roster of magazines now include: Dansk, LOVE, Fudge, Fantastic Man, AnOther, i-D, et al to show case my discerning taste. I've mastered the art of mixing high and low (by high-low I mean COS and vintage) and that fashion really isn't about the clothes; it's about how you wear the clothes, your attitude. Most importantly: it's a business.
Business of Fashion and i-D have collaborated to create a documentary-like trailer titled Fashion At Work. A series of 15-minute videos of one-on-one interviews with fashion's key players. The trailer includes a plethora of influential people in fashion from various aspects of the business. There's Style.com critic Tim Blanks probably reacting to Heidi Slimane dropping the Yves in Yves Saint Laurent. Blogger Susanna Lau of Style Bubble is shooting model Binx Walton. Suzy Menkes is just being as modest as ever. Then there's Alexa Chung, multifaceted fashion person with a sexy raspy man voice pondering who exactly are the fashion elite.
I want to know, who is in charge of the cerulean blue effect?
Friday, September 26, 2014
I'm going to declare it right now -- like Fergie -- I love working on my fitness. The exercises I enjoy most are cardio related like the bicycle with its two wheels and sturdy frame, relative to the iPhone 6 Plus, and running. In keeping my lithe frame at its apex, I kind of gave up on running because running shoes are expensive (food or shoes?), but I'm biking today, somewhere. Maybe I'll get lost north of Bloor like last time looking for an American department store.
Fitness clothes, man. Where did society go all wrong? They function for one purpose and one purpose only. IT'S FOR THE FUCKING GYM ONLY. They are not this lifestyle bullshit. There is no grey line between gym and lifestyle. If Europe can differentiate between work and life, I'm sure we North Americans can apply that to yoga pants.
Yoga pants: gym. Trousers: everything else. Done.
Fitness accoutrements, particularly the Goodlife gym bag they offer you for free for joining their service, are as ubiquitous as the gyms themselves. The bag doesn't discriminate against social classes, race, colour, gender or sexuality. Oprah scream: EVERYONE GETS ONE!
In the Financial District, there are men in suits carrying their Goodlife bag to the gym after their mundane 8-5 office job to perpetuate their bro-ness. The students in sweatpants, they have one and they probably have an organic chemistry textbook in there, maybe a few condoms too. Don't forget the basic bitches. They love Goodlife bags like they love Kate Spade purses. Ubiquity is fun and unique and it's a shared experience. Did that make sense? I'm not sure.
I'm going to say it, the bags are kind of ugly (this bag belongs to my roommate, I know you read this so.... sorry in advanced). Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I guess. It functions and that's fine. It can die happy because it has served its purpose in life. To have you sign up for a one-year contract post-New Years and to never attend again because yay corporations for shaming you on your lethargic state!
I'm not giving you alternative gym bag options.
It doubles as a backpack! That's an alternative, right?
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
All I can offer you right now is a screenshot grab because I'm in the midst of a self-taught education program with YouTube. I am learning Photoshop. I'm learning how to crop, copy and paste and add sepia tones. I already know that basic shit. I might as well enrol in the ADVANCED classes because I'm super precocious.
In exciting e-commerce news, Mr. Porter announced that they'll offering next-day shipping to Toronto. I'm well aware that the denizens of Toronto like to complain a whole fucking lot about absolutely the most unnecessary shit. Toronto, while you are allotted a certain amount of complaining time, direct that aggression to the TTC: the wait times, the sardines packed streetcars and subways that seem to non-chalantly bypass potential passengers, the fare hikes, et al.
Remedy the aforementioned aggression by ordering the Ami shearling-collar wool bomber jacket to have it delivered to you by tomorrow, but can't wear until it actually gets, yah know, cold. Notice how the jacket is styled with heather grey pants? HEATHER GREY PANTS!!
Speedy service at an exorbitant price. The price per wear, though, is a different story.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
I normally celebrate the first day of fall by ordering a Pumpkin Spice Latte, P.S.L. for short (obvs.), walk around in joggers and smelling that fresh, crisp air. That whole shit right there, I would never do any of it, minus the smelling of the fresh, crisp air because I need to live, duh.
Over the past few days, alright, weeks, I have been contemplating the perfect colour palette for my fall wardrobe. Should I concede to black? I know I can't don orange, but should I investigate further? Why was it so warm out earlier today that I could have worn shorts, but not really because I started work at 8AM and at that hour it was unsettlingly chilly.
When in doubt, look to the French because clean lines and neutral palettes is what they're championing. Caroline de Maigret, model, mother and muse, was sporting one of those effortless ensembles with a confounding colour combination. Did she just wake up one morning and decide she was going to wear heather grey and camel? Yes.
Pay attention to how the clothes fit, not too tight and not too loose, which really allows for perfect movement. The same kind of flow you would expect from a French women's hair. Layer with a tailored camel coat and black accessories and this uniform takes you from day to night.
Repeat the look everyday. Wash hair once a month.
This is going to be a little obsessive and I’ve already discussed more Lena Dunham than I have about spring ’15 collections currently strutting down the runway, but sometimes, one more post about Dunham won’t cause any harm.
I went to see Lena Dunham at Just For Laughs in Toronto on Saturday and I must tell you everything because you need to live vicariously through me. It goes like this:
The sea of women permeating the outside box office was in her 20’s, white and probably a feminist, like Dunham herself. There were men, probably the boyfriends, probably the gay best friend and one bro. Experiences are one of a kind and that evening amalgamated a homosexual feminist hipster and an advertising bro indifferent to equality to hear a voice of our generation speak.
The price to hear Dunham read an excerpt from her upcoming memoir titled, Not That Kind of Girl, was a little steep. Dunham being a headliner was charging $69, or something like that, but being a friend and roommate to an advertising bro has some perks: FREE TICKETS BITCHES!!
The seats were so high in the balcony area that I completely forgot where I was when the opener, of course, was making innocuous Jewish jokes and that every Californian neighbourhood is essentially a thriving Mexican neighbourhood.
Lena Dunham finally arrived from the right side of the stage sporting one of those trending outfits you’d see only shot by Tommy Ton during fashion week that included a dress and pair of pants. The electric dress that Dunham wore by Toronto designer Erin Kleinberg was so luminous that I forgot that I could barely see her mouth speak. We must not discount her platinum blonde hair because that was an extension of her luminous Batman signal.
To sum up her excerpt, Dunham read a chapter of when she was at camp with a plethora of hormonal raging girls and witnessed a young boy aggressively masturbating to what she felt was an attack on her. The neurosis was so blatantly obvious, but she was not in any form denying her neurotic tendencies.
The show proceeded to a Q&A with Jian Gomehsi asking Dunham about the memoir, nepotism, feminism and about her first time in Toronto. The memoir was created because she didn’t want it to be so cliché to write it at 40, the nepotism rumours can be put to rest because apparently it’s bullshit, feminism is where she controls what she can do with her body and Dunham thinks Sarah McLachlan is from Toronto. She is from Nova Scotia.
The final installment of the show ended with a Q&A from the audience. The questions came from women waving their hands so eagerly to have their questions answered directly from Dunham. The first question was not a question, more of a redundant statement of how much love she had for Dunham. I love Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but I’m not tweeting to @RealSMG every hour on the hour, but who’s counting. There were also questions ranging from the bounty that Jezebel wanted for the untouched photos from Vogue to the necessity for a male ally. She answered everything accordingly and ended at that.
I noticed from my peripheral view that my friend would occasionally peep at his phone probably wondering when the show would end. You don’t browse at your phone when Dunham is in your presence. She has important shit to say about ISIS, Republicans and ketchup chips. The question of the male ally got me thinking, do we need more bro’s being feminist? I previously mentioned that my friend is indifferent to feminism. During university, he was enrolled in a gender studies class only to be castrated by the professor for being male. I told him he had a radical feminist. My friend is white, male and in his 20’s and that constitutes as “power” in our society, right? So utilize your privilege and give feminism a chance, brah.
If Lena Dunham can't change him, maybe this recent speech by Emma Watson will compel him. I cried.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
How much data, is too much data? I know the answer to how much too little data is and that is a measly 500MB.
I recently switch phone providers after I felt Rogers was extorting me for what I was getting the bare minimum at a soaring cost. I spent an hour of my precious time at cancelation and they offered me nothing. Okay, they offered me something, but I deferred it. Did I feel entitled to some benefit after four years, sure. I paid my phone bill on time. It was that simple. I cancelled.
FUCKKK YOU ROGERS.
My new phone plan has voice mail. I have never had a phone with voicemail before and I felt like I was in the future where Miley Cyrus quit singing and solely focused on her Dirty Hippie jewelry. My first message was from my roommate telling me inappropriate things. I learned she doesn't speak Spanish.
While I am reaping the benefits of voicemail, Canada-wide calling and the arbitrary coupons here and there, my data is miniscule. If you're ordering the large combo, I am getting the kids meal. The exchange of currency-to-features is fair, I mean, I could definitely use more data, but I'm learning to budget accordingly. The aforementioned 500MB lasted me about 20 days and I am relying on wifi where available. I'm not an important person so I'm not expecting e-mails every hour. Although, I am a little withdrawn from not opening those American Apparel mass e-mails every day.
500MB of data is for pragmatic people, like me. The FOMO's are looking at 3GB plus who are committed to editing their life via social media.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
While the discourse surrounding sweatpants has a lazy, indolent and lethargic connotation, its partner in crime, the sweatshirt, tells a different story. You see, the sweatshirt, with a history of comfortable leisure is a piece you can dress up to your friend's adult circumcision party or dress down to pick up some pumpkin from the field at your local orchard.
Leave it to Acne Studios to create the quintessential minimalistic sweatshirt that is both luxurious and wearable. Yes, it is expensive for something casual, but it is also affordable for something designer. You know that dictum: buy better, buy less. This applies.
As the piece is relatively casual, I suggest a crisp white shirt, raw denim and oxfords to the aforementioned mutilation fete. If that kind of party isn't on your calendar in the near future, the pumpkin picking sure is. Wear it as is with plaid trousers and white leather sneakers and you'll be baking pumpkin pie come October.
Jenna Lyons, creative director of J. Crew, mother and has cognitive dissonance in regards to sweatpants.
I want answers.
Here at Pacific Row, the mention of uncivilized sweatpants is akin to the mentioning of "he who shall not be named" and that is a unfathomable statement. While we don't talk about the aforementioned epithet, it sometimes needs to be discussed.
Leandra Medine, Man Repeller blogger with an affinity for footwear, interviewed Lyons for a swift Q&A and, that sometimes, you need a mirror to put on lipstick. Leandra asks: "sweatpants or sweating?" Lyons responds to a stern, made my mind up eons ago, with a "neither."
I was confounded by how she responded because of the pleathora of these items on the J. Crew website. There are a total of 11 sweatpants, not including sweatshorts, with an average price of $100. If you are "neither", Lyons, remove the sweatpants from your roster because cognitive dissonance leads to sadness and things. Don't fret, there's an approach called dissonance reduction.
Essentially, burn them all!
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Say hello to Saeed Jones, editor of BuzzFeedLGBT, writer and the new cover star of Hello Mr.'s fourth issue I like to call: look at that hype nose ring! While gingham seems to be trending for NYFW, I am championing nose rings or even something more deviant, the septum piercing.
Um, isn't this a homosexual hipster magazine and therefore shouldn't his shirt be buttoned all the way to the collar. Okay, I didn't mean to pigeonhole the PBR subculture, but if I button my shirt all the way near my Adam's apple, then Jones should be too, right?
My qualm and I know there has only been four issues, but why does Mr. Jones, a person of colour, get the black and white treatment? The last three issues, predominantly graced with white men on the cover, were treated to colour and other things associated with colour, like FFEEEEEELLLIINGGGGGSSSS.
I'll have to pick up the issue at the local Easy Tiger Goods and survey the magazine, putting that sociology degree to practice.
Photo: Hello Mr.
Monday, September 8, 2014
All the great parties are happening in Bushwick and this is just an innocuous indication that gentrification is happening or just, simply, where all the weirdos like to hang. Looking at you Zosia Mamet.
There's nothing innocuous about gentrification. I had a man call me out for buying a $50 vintage ladder in Parkdale and for your information, I bartered it down to $45.
Alexander Wang, master of sportswear, who's s/s '15 collection was inspired by speed and swiftness, was photographed here with pasties wearer Miley Cyrus. Together, they read mean tweets about themselves while Ladyfag does her thing. Really, though, what are you two reading?
Saturday, September 6, 2014
It's Saturday morning and all I want to do at this very moment is skim through Style.com for fashion week updates and weep about how I can't see Imran Amed today of Business of Fashion. My schedule doesn't allow me to be in his presence so, ahem.
There's two options on how I could start my morning right now. 1. I could go down one floor to the kitchen and eat some eggs and home fries that my roommate just freshly made, or 2. I could stay in bed and watch Broad City's Hannibal Buress teach us how to cook eggs on my bed. Yum, phantom eggs.
Are we going to talk about how his character Lincoln feels objectified because all Ilana wants is sex?
No? Enjoy your fucking weekend.
He doesn't know how to cook eggs and you are not living life until you add the ARUGULA!
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
The convoluted weather of September douses us with sweltering afternoons and sweater weather nights and around that proverbial sartorial corner is: September issues. With more interests than ever, models are gracing the covers of fashion magazines like they did in the zeitgeist of Supermodel stardom of the 90's.
There's a charge of "Instagirls" on Vogue US, a plethora of veterans on Vogue Italia, Vogue Japan is celebrating icons, Daria Werbowy lands two solo covers at WSJ Journal and Interview and Kate Moss has four different covers for Another Magazine.
Why are you making me choose Another? Why?
There's this discourse about the celebration of female models and that's extraordinary, but in an industry dominated by women, where are the male models? London model Charlie Ayres Taylor lands the cover of 10 Magazine looking cozy as fuck, highest-paid male model Sean O'Pry only has one cover and is sharing it with Emily DiDonato on V Magazine and Calvin Klein model Matthew Terry blessed with society's standard of physical beauty also shares a cover with another model on V Magazine and is also on Dansk by his lonesome brooding self with three cover options with different models.
Where is Clement Chabernaud, Jon Kortajarena or Armando Cabral?
I never pictured Terry to be modeling for the high fashion variety. He always seemed normal to me in those Calvin Klein ads, which are pretty commercial. Then he appeared on my favourite fashion magazine, Dansk, and I asked myself, is Matthew Terry high fashion? He's gracing the confidence issue and his testament to the cause is that Terry is, confident. He's sporting a contrasting collared shirt, slicked back hair and a brooding disposition only synonymous with a Gareth Pugh collection.
He's championing for male models everywhere with confidence.
Photo: Dansk Magazine
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
We are currently in a post-labour day mood and that means recovering from last night's debauchery. While some people have obligations to attend, I am at home on this fucking monsoon of a day painting wood. I'm prepping my mental state for fall and curating a mental closet because a physical collection of all the pieces I want will place me in debt.
Zara's new fall campaign has me aroused for a variety of reasons. Let me tell you, people. My trend-forecasting skills, beginning with shearling making a monumental return is on par with what I have been predicting since this summer. Burberry abused its shearling powers back in the fall of 2010 by shearling anything Christoper Bailey could get his hands on. All I need this season is a shearling coat, perhaps of the denim variety via Lykke Li's No Rest For The Wicked music video or the one I championed from the Louis W for A.P.C. collection.
Another historical, if not profound moment, in my eyes anyway, is that while yes, shearling is making a resurgence, there is a minority co-fronting their campaign. Fashion has always been a little white-washed and fast-fashion chain Zara is sending a positive message by using Japanese model Daisuke Ueda. His pedigree includes: walking Hermes s/s 15, perpetual face for Uniqlo, graced the cover of Manifesto and many more, respectively.
While the Asian community is barely visible in mainstream media, especially television and movies, this ad is enough to want me walking into Zara looking for a shearling coat to accompany these mom jeans I found at H&M.
I have this friend who likes to create a spectacle when an Asian person graces anything in the media. Duh! It's like seeing Big Foot in person.