There's fashion journalism and then there's fashion journalism. Cathy Horyn, Robin Givhan and Suzy Menkes fall into the latter camp. Amy Odell et al fall into the former. The problem with fashion becoming a "popular mass culture" thing, with the advent of shows such as America's Top Model, Project Runway, etc, means that fashion "journalists" such as Amy Odell have a job. This isn't fashion journalism- it's writing about celebrity culture (see: The Hills) disguised as fashion journalism. What disappoints me is that she writes for New York magazine, albeit in the online arm of it- New York magazine is where Tom Wolfe started writing a lot of "New Journalism"- quality writing. And of course, Mr. Wolfe can wear a white suit and still look incredibly chic and not look like a waiter.
We've known for a long time that the New York fashion blog has been the equivalent of a half-finished meal of McDonald's given to a homeless man who Scott Schuman then photographs.
What I mean is, there's no surprise with Ms. Odell's latest travesty of an article, with comments from Eccentric and Grumpy Old Woman Ann Slowey, who is convinced that my niece Tavi has a secret team of elves writing her posts. I kid you not- Tavi, of style rookie fame, has a secret team of elves writing her posts! She's got a whole room of them- if you stand outside it you can hear the click-clack of typewriters, and Tavi yelling "GET TO WORK CATHY HORYN! GET TO WORK WOODY ALLEN! THOSE JOKES DON'T WRITE THEMSELVES! GET TO WORK NABOKOV! I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE DEAD!".
To quote Ms. Slowey, "You look at her video, and the writing doesn’t sync up with the way she talks about fashion."
Why? Because Tavi has the magical writing elves in a room, clacking out her posts! Those magical writing elves, busily writing everything out! I hope they get paid enough, hm?
That solves that question. A video, which is a few minutes long, proves that Tavi has these magical elves writing for her! Ann Slowey said so! And she's a magazine editor- she even knows what a magazine editor does: "...How does that help me distill the collections? What am I supposed to be buying? That’s what an editor’s job at a magazine is."
According to Ann Slowey, Magazine Editor, an editor- nevermind Tavi is a writer, not an editor- is supposed to "distill the collections" and tell people what they should buy. Nevermind publishing interesting photographers and fantastic writing (a la New Yorker re writing, and even Vogue had an interesting article about Comme des Garcons- in the 80s). No, the editor of a magazine has to distill collections for the idiot consumer who can't do this themselves. They're too stupid! And then the editor has to tell them what to buy. The reader, who just spent money on your magazine is too stupid to make their own choices!
And on this subject, I'll quote Roger Ebert, the great film critic: "Advise the readers well. This does not involve informing them, "You'll love this!" If I approached some guy in a restaurant and told him what he would love, I might get a breadbasket in the face. No, we must tell the readers what we ourselves love or hate. If we work for employers who think we should "like more movies like ordinary people like," we should make a donation in his name to the Anti-Cruelty Society."
Hmm. You mean that the reader of your magazine isn't stupid?! Whatever next. Maybe if you started taking this viewpoint, people would start reading writing in magazines again- especially fashion magazines, and not simply skip to pictures of the pretty models (to post them on their tumblr.)
Odell writes "It would be easy for people like us to feel a little insulted by magazines hiring 13-year-olds to do the job of a serious fashion critic, a person with years of experience who has probably toiled for newspapers to print their words or even care about what they have to say"
There's several problems here- Odell isn't a serious fashion critic, for example. Cathy Horyn, despite her love of bacon is. Odell writes a celebrity fashion blog, with emphasis of the "celebrity". Horyn writes sometimes scathing reviews, but always insightful- always placing things in context, always considering that the clothes are more than simply pretty frocks. Tavi's doing a fine job as a serious fashion critic, comparing dresses at Calvin Klein to being stained with tears. Just because she's thirteen years old- as Odell never fails to point out, doesn't invalidate what she writes.
Throughout the piece it's both said and implied that Tavi gives fashion advice. It's perhaps to grasp for some people that Tavi is in fact not doing what the fashion industry's been doing for years- telling people what to wear. This is obviously a very difficult concept for Ms. Slowley. I suspect she hasn't read Tavi's blog. Even the title implies that Tavi is giving fashion advice- "Editors Like Tavi But Don't Take Her Fashion Advice Seriously". Nevermind that Tavi doesn't give fashion advice- her blog is not kind of "ASK AUNT OHIO!" enterprise.
Yet as my niece Belle was saying to me earlier- this is typical New York Fashion Blog- the sort of publication that sees fit to devote an entire article to the relationship of my daughter (Jane) and her boyfriend (Amit). Because that's as important as Lacroix going bankrupt, of course.
This post isn't simply about the post about Tavi, or even about "The Cut". It's about the decline of fashion journalism. Long actual fashion critics such as Tavi and Horyn. Long live bacon muffins. But nevermind the "bollocks" (as the kids say)- the faux fashion journalists who attempt to pass themselves off as something more. They're demode.
Showing posts with label idiot wind. Show all posts
Showing posts with label idiot wind. Show all posts
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Love Letter to Roald Dahl (or: Fireside Stories with Karl)
This is a story I somtimes tell my Nieces, when we are all gathered around the fireplace in Vermont.
Once upon a time (in a land far, far away), there lived a group of people called the "Quiggles". The Quiggles would change what they wore every 6 months, and some of them even changed what their pets wore- one Quiggle changed their zebra's stripes every 6 months so by the end of 5 years, the zebra looked like a crossword puzzle with thinly fading lines from last season and "bold new lines" (I'm quoting a newspaper here) from this season. The Quiggles were very protective of their kingdom, and were incredibly hostile to outsiders ("Squiggles") who dared to enter their lands. The Quiggles would say "look! There goes a Squiggle! Look at how he's wearing a scarf from last season! Look at how that jacket seems like it came from a thrift store!" and they'd go "haw haw haw" among themselves, bathing in their own superiority. Because after all, they were Quiggles, were they not? Their culture was so advanced as to have a mechanism where the clothes change every 6 months- they called these "shows", and several cities had a whole week of these shows. Once the shows had been seen, the Quiggles would immediately toss all of last season's clothes into a trashbin and walk naked to the nearest boutique. The Quiggles had gods, like all cultures- the gods would bestow clothes upon the Quiggles every 6 months, as a reward for the great sacrifices the Quiggles made- fasting for long periods of time to fit into artifacts our archaeologists call "dresses", writing vast, fawning pieces about the gods, putting pictures of the god's creations in what they called "magazines"- a kind of altar to the gods. If you go into a museum you'll find some of these "magazines", where you can see the demi-gods- something the Quiggles called "models", posed in positions which presumably mean something; perhaps some sort of hieroglyphics. A "magazine" called "Vogue" had a particular fascination with "models" jumping. We don't know what the jumping means yet. Like the Egyptians, the Quiggles not only wrote in hieroglyphics, but had a Cleopatra like-figure, ruling over them all. Her name can roughly be translated to "Ana", or "Anna".
Anyway, one day in Quiggle Land, the Quiggles found a "magazine" in which there was a non-Quiggle on the cover.
"That....that is a Squiggle" said one unimpressed onlooker, who resumed combing his hair once uttering his only-statement-for-the-day.
"How could a Squiggle be on the cover of one of our precious magazines?" said another bitter Quiggle, her thighs looking like black sausages entrapped in the leggings which was the Quiggle fashion at the time.
"And look at her! She's only....why, she's only a child Squiggle."
"Outrageous!" cried a vast man in a suit which made him look like an umbrella.
"How dare she?! This magazine is an adult magazine" said another onlooker, who wore a bib because it was fashionable.
"Oh, I don't know- I just don't know. This magazine used to be adult and now it has a Squiggle on it! Not only a Squiggle, but a child Squiggle!"
-And on they went, telling anyone who could bear to listen to them that their magazine was a thoroughly adult magazine.
"What, is it like- Playboy or something?" said Woody Horyn, who stumbled onto the scene after raiding the muffin bakery.
"NO!" the entire crowd of Quiggles roared- "it is a adult magazine with adult themes like uh..."
"Well?" said Woody Horyn. The crowd turned away rather sheepishly.
"It says here", a lone voice piped up from the crowd", that this Squiggle-child has a "blog."
Now, a blog is rather similar to a treehouse if none of you know. You can find them in all good diary's.
"Ludicrous! Her Squiggle-parents must write this for her!"
"Ridiculous!"
"Squiggle-children" said a particular loathsome voice in a particularly loathsome manner. "Squiggle-children are foul and filthy!"
"They are! They are!" chorused the Quiggle-crowd, at which point I noticed the voice was coming from a woman dressed in gloves.
"Squiggle-chidren are smalling of dogs' drrrroopppings!"
"Eww!" cried the crowd, "Ewww! Ewww! Eww!"
"Ve must have only QUIGGLES on the cover of magazines!" shouted the lady in gloves.
"Only Quiggles! Only Quiggles!" cheered the crowd.
"None of zis- zis children"
"No children! No children" echoed the crowd, and I imagine it must've felt a bit like a children's television show at this point.
"Magazines are ze business of adddults! Zis....zis business is far too important to leave to ze children!"
"Magazines matter! Magazines matter!" at which point I imagine the on-looker would think they'd've stumbled upon a Conde Nast meeting.
"I do not care if vis child...vis SQUIGGLE child is creative! Fashion is very important! It is elitist! Telling you to wear umbrellas on your head is an Important Thing! What vill happen if we let children into it?"
"They will ruin it!" the crowd roared.
"Yes! They vill ruin it and burn it and stink the place out!"
"Ruin-it, burn-it, stink-the-place-out" chanted the crowd.
"You know, this Squiggle-child is actually more interesting than what most of you write", murmured Woody Horyn.
"BUT IS SHE AN ADULT?" the lady in gloves spat, projecting spit which would later land on Mars prompting David Bowie to write his hit song"Is There Life on Mars?"
"Does it matter that if she's an adult or not?"
"Of course it does!" said the woman we saw earlier, who was in the leggings which were far too tight for her- and she still is.
"Why?" questioned Woody Horyn.
"Because...because...because....she's a nobody! She's not a Quiggle! She hasn't done a pole-dance on MTV like that great role model, Miley Cyrus!"
"Well, you know..." said Woody Horyn, and he began to sing:
Once upon a time (in a land far, far away), there lived a group of people called the "Quiggles". The Quiggles would change what they wore every 6 months, and some of them even changed what their pets wore- one Quiggle changed their zebra's stripes every 6 months so by the end of 5 years, the zebra looked like a crossword puzzle with thinly fading lines from last season and "bold new lines" (I'm quoting a newspaper here) from this season. The Quiggles were very protective of their kingdom, and were incredibly hostile to outsiders ("Squiggles") who dared to enter their lands. The Quiggles would say "look! There goes a Squiggle! Look at how he's wearing a scarf from last season! Look at how that jacket seems like it came from a thrift store!" and they'd go "haw haw haw" among themselves, bathing in their own superiority. Because after all, they were Quiggles, were they not? Their culture was so advanced as to have a mechanism where the clothes change every 6 months- they called these "shows", and several cities had a whole week of these shows. Once the shows had been seen, the Quiggles would immediately toss all of last season's clothes into a trashbin and walk naked to the nearest boutique. The Quiggles had gods, like all cultures- the gods would bestow clothes upon the Quiggles every 6 months, as a reward for the great sacrifices the Quiggles made- fasting for long periods of time to fit into artifacts our archaeologists call "dresses", writing vast, fawning pieces about the gods, putting pictures of the god's creations in what they called "magazines"- a kind of altar to the gods. If you go into a museum you'll find some of these "magazines", where you can see the demi-gods- something the Quiggles called "models", posed in positions which presumably mean something; perhaps some sort of hieroglyphics. A "magazine" called "Vogue" had a particular fascination with "models" jumping. We don't know what the jumping means yet. Like the Egyptians, the Quiggles not only wrote in hieroglyphics, but had a Cleopatra like-figure, ruling over them all. Her name can roughly be translated to "Ana", or "Anna".
Anyway, one day in Quiggle Land, the Quiggles found a "magazine" in which there was a non-Quiggle on the cover.
"That....that is a Squiggle" said one unimpressed onlooker, who resumed combing his hair once uttering his only-statement-for-the-day.
"How could a Squiggle be on the cover of one of our precious magazines?" said another bitter Quiggle, her thighs looking like black sausages entrapped in the leggings which was the Quiggle fashion at the time.
"And look at her! She's only....why, she's only a child Squiggle."
"Outrageous!" cried a vast man in a suit which made him look like an umbrella.
"How dare she?! This magazine is an adult magazine" said another onlooker, who wore a bib because it was fashionable.
"Oh, I don't know- I just don't know. This magazine used to be adult and now it has a Squiggle on it! Not only a Squiggle, but a child Squiggle!"
-And on they went, telling anyone who could bear to listen to them that their magazine was a thoroughly adult magazine.
"What, is it like- Playboy or something?" said Woody Horyn, who stumbled onto the scene after raiding the muffin bakery.
"NO!" the entire crowd of Quiggles roared- "it is a adult magazine with adult themes like uh..."
"Well?" said Woody Horyn. The crowd turned away rather sheepishly.
"It says here", a lone voice piped up from the crowd", that this Squiggle-child has a "blog."
Now, a blog is rather similar to a treehouse if none of you know. You can find them in all good diary's.
"Ludicrous! Her Squiggle-parents must write this for her!"
"Ridiculous!"
"Squiggle-children" said a particular loathsome voice in a particularly loathsome manner. "Squiggle-children are foul and filthy!"
"They are! They are!" chorused the Quiggle-crowd, at which point I noticed the voice was coming from a woman dressed in gloves.
"Squiggle-chidren are smalling of dogs' drrrroopppings!"
"Eww!" cried the crowd, "Ewww! Ewww! Eww!"
"Ve must have only QUIGGLES on the cover of magazines!" shouted the lady in gloves.
"Only Quiggles! Only Quiggles!" cheered the crowd.
"None of zis- zis children"
"No children! No children" echoed the crowd, and I imagine it must've felt a bit like a children's television show at this point.
"Magazines are ze business of adddults! Zis....zis business is far too important to leave to ze children!"
"Magazines matter! Magazines matter!" at which point I imagine the on-looker would think they'd've stumbled upon a Conde Nast meeting.
"I do not care if vis child...vis SQUIGGLE child is creative! Fashion is very important! It is elitist! Telling you to wear umbrellas on your head is an Important Thing! What vill happen if we let children into it?"
"They will ruin it!" the crowd roared.
"Yes! They vill ruin it and burn it and stink the place out!"
"Ruin-it, burn-it, stink-the-place-out" chanted the crowd.
"You know, this Squiggle-child is actually more interesting than what most of you write", murmured Woody Horyn.
"BUT IS SHE AN ADULT?" the lady in gloves spat, projecting spit which would later land on Mars prompting David Bowie to write his hit song"Is There Life on Mars?"
"Does it matter that if she's an adult or not?"
"Of course it does!" said the woman we saw earlier, who was in the leggings which were far too tight for her- and she still is.
"Why?" questioned Woody Horyn.
"Because...because...because....she's a nobody! She's not a Quiggle! She hasn't done a pole-dance on MTV like that great role model, Miley Cyrus!"
"Well, you know..." said Woody Horyn, and he began to sing:
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Idiot Wind; Just in from Bebe
One day I was on facebook, or rather an assistant of mine was as I dictated to him. This woman, Susan Peterson- who happens to be a higher up at Bebe, started talking to me. The following is the transcript.
Susan
come do a line for bebe stores
7:06pmKarl
eventually!
7:06pmSusan
is that soon?
they would flip out
7:07pmKarl
well, they haven't asked me yet
7:07pmSusan
I am..let's do it
what would it take?
who should i call?
7:08pmKarl
hmm!
7:10pmKarl
I don't know-- the H&M thing wasn't too long ago
7:11pmSusan
so what..this would be major
7:12pmSusan
fun too
7:12pmKarl
you know, send me a proposal. do you have my vermont address?
7:12pmSusan
give it to me
i will have legal write something up
what will get u excited?
7:13pmKarl
maybe a collaboration with an artist of some kind
7:13pmSusan
love it
7:16pmSusan
barbara hulanicki from biba has been working with us
7:17pmKarl
oh, I remember biba
7:19pmKarl
mm, send me a proposal to the Chanel HQ
29-31 rue Cambon
7:19pmSusan
ok u got it
7:20pmKarl
wonderful
7:20pmSusan
soon then x
7:20pmKarl
good day!
(Eventually, this woman worked out that I am "fake Karl", after I sent her my email address. It only took her 2 days! Note her use of "major"; as in "that would be major". Vicky does the same. Also note the way she talks to me; as if I am some casual BRO FROM DA HOOD, as you Americans say. I am not a Bro from Da Hood; and when you speak to me I expect you to write "you" rather than "u".)
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