I miss the dominance of the GAP. You know about 6 or 7 years ago when they kind of had the keys to the kingdom? Everybody shopped there. People actually paid attention to the new GAP ads. What I really miss about them though was that they were Garanimals for grown folks. They’d have the entire set: t-shirt, sweater, jacket, scarf, skirt, pants, hat, gloves. In two, maybe three, color palettes. And you could pick what you needed and jam out a good looking outfit in 10 minutes. Jacket tailored to go with the pants. Sweater cut to go with the t-shirt. No worries about proportions or color matching. People looked so nice.
Not everybody needs grownup Garanimals. But some people do. A lot of people do. I’ve had far too many moments lately of walking past someone in public and thinking “Sweet Jesus, what are you wearing on your feet?” Yes, there are exceptions. Rules are made to be broken. Tilda Swinton, Nicki Minaj, Lady Gaga, HBC. They are breaking all sorts of rules. I ain’t mad at them. But, most people don’t have that kind of eye. And, frankly, I don’t have the time to be schooling everyone I see. Lessons like – if you have a full posterior*, pleated and tapered crop pants with, lord-help-me, ankle booties? No. And I mean this most emphatically. No. Don’t make me come over there.
Anyone can learn. It’s about those things like proportion, knowing your body, working with color, adding the unexpected, harmony and dissonance. But not everyone has the time or inclination to explore the mysteries. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with just looking presentable. Classic is classic for a reason. The GAP was able to make people look just slightly more interesting that flat out boring. It was a gift. I miss it.
* True story. My eyes are still quivering in the back of my head and afraid to come out.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
The other jingle all the way
You know, I feel for the OWS and the Tea Party both in a certain way. The truth is that we’re all kind of feeling like we’re getting screwed. It’s just that nobody really knows who’s holding the screwdriver. I mean, everybody has a guess. But nobody really knows. And so everybody makes a guess and demonizes the person that they feel is responsible.
I may be old school, but my guess is one person or persons responsible is whoever is profiting from the out-of-control consumer culture. That’s one con that everybody seems to have bought in to. And none of us is better for it. And I have a pretty simple, non-legislative, easy to operate plan. Start really thinking about shit before you buy it. How does this benefit me? What exactly am I paying for?
Like a purse. You know what the difference between a $50 purse is and a $950 purse is? The $950 purse will hold your crap. The $50 purse will also hold your crap. And the $900 you saved. Yeah, I know. $900 is heavy. But you can do it. Yes, I absolutely agree that the $900 purse will still be holding up 20 years from now. But you don’t know if you’ll be alive 20 years from now, much less whether you’ll still like that damn purse. Trust me, that $50 purse will work just fine. And if you’re still around in a year, buy another purse. Go nuts. Spend another 50 bucks. Or don’t. Maybe by then you’ll have decided that you’ll see how a $30 purse will do. Or you’ll make your own purse or buy one at a resale shop. There’s a world of possibilities out there that don’t cost NINE HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS. But by then you’ll have experienced the joys of compound interest on that $900. And the even greater joy of having told the person who tried to sell you that over-priced bag to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. Sticking it to the man? Priceless.
Okay, this kind of decision making process won’t always opt for the cheaper thing. Fresh baked bread is more expensive than a Twinkie. No doubt. Healthier too. So you may have to pony up sometimes. But you know what? I’ve been drinking jug wine from Gallo lately. Pretty damn tasty, my friends. Tastes even better when I’m jingling the coins I saved in my pocket and I’m doing my evil leprechaun dance.
I may be old school, but my guess is one person or persons responsible is whoever is profiting from the out-of-control consumer culture. That’s one con that everybody seems to have bought in to. And none of us is better for it. And I have a pretty simple, non-legislative, easy to operate plan. Start really thinking about shit before you buy it. How does this benefit me? What exactly am I paying for?
Like a purse. You know what the difference between a $50 purse is and a $950 purse is? The $950 purse will hold your crap. The $50 purse will also hold your crap. And the $900 you saved. Yeah, I know. $900 is heavy. But you can do it. Yes, I absolutely agree that the $900 purse will still be holding up 20 years from now. But you don’t know if you’ll be alive 20 years from now, much less whether you’ll still like that damn purse. Trust me, that $50 purse will work just fine. And if you’re still around in a year, buy another purse. Go nuts. Spend another 50 bucks. Or don’t. Maybe by then you’ll have decided that you’ll see how a $30 purse will do. Or you’ll make your own purse or buy one at a resale shop. There’s a world of possibilities out there that don’t cost NINE HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS. But by then you’ll have experienced the joys of compound interest on that $900. And the even greater joy of having told the person who tried to sell you that over-priced bag to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. Sticking it to the man? Priceless.
Okay, this kind of decision making process won’t always opt for the cheaper thing. Fresh baked bread is more expensive than a Twinkie. No doubt. Healthier too. So you may have to pony up sometimes. But you know what? I’ve been drinking jug wine from Gallo lately. Pretty damn tasty, my friends. Tastes even better when I’m jingling the coins I saved in my pocket and I’m doing my evil leprechaun dance.
I hear that twang a comin'
I should be embarrassed. I mean really. It’s the purest form of chicanery. But, dammit, it works.
If I need people to like me (yes, I’m that manipulative, judge away), lately I’ve been busting out the Texas drawl. You know, those moments when you just need that extra drop of goodwill out of somebody, so you just slide ‘em a little sugar. Or darlin’. Darlin’ works too. Hon will do it in a pinch. You just hit your short vowels little longer. Slide some of your long vowels around the side door. And drop those endin’ gees at will.
Generally speaking it doesn’t matter where the person is from. Alpine, Texas or Secaucus, New Jersey. If it’s somebody from around here, they’ll think you’re one of “us”, and of course you’re just a good ol’ gal at heart. And if they’re a Yankee, it doesn’t matter if they also think you’re dumb as a box of rocks to go with it. They’ll only mean it in the nicest way possible. Hell, it worked for W for at least 5 years. Course they may have caught on since it doesn’t seem to be doing Rick Perry any favors (good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise. Stay smart, America).
Most of the time it takes something less than a Sherlock Holmes level of sleuthing to catch my roots showing (“I deduce from the way that you pronounce “cement” that you’ve spent at least part of your childhood in coastal Texas. South of Houston if I’m not very much mistaken.”). And usually I have the good grace not to slop sugar on people just to get on their good side. But lately, I don’t know. I’ve been just hauling it out just to see if I can maybe get around somebody with it. Just for the heck of it really. I should be ashamed. And I am. I am. And if I was an honest sort, I’d keep my ersatz Western charms to myself and my intimates (who are very much on to me and ignore my bull crap). But it’s kind of like having a high IQ or blonde hair and big boobs. Just seems like a shame to let it go to waste.
If I need people to like me (yes, I’m that manipulative, judge away), lately I’ve been busting out the Texas drawl. You know, those moments when you just need that extra drop of goodwill out of somebody, so you just slide ‘em a little sugar. Or darlin’. Darlin’ works too. Hon will do it in a pinch. You just hit your short vowels little longer. Slide some of your long vowels around the side door. And drop those endin’ gees at will.
Generally speaking it doesn’t matter where the person is from. Alpine, Texas or Secaucus, New Jersey. If it’s somebody from around here, they’ll think you’re one of “us”, and of course you’re just a good ol’ gal at heart. And if they’re a Yankee, it doesn’t matter if they also think you’re dumb as a box of rocks to go with it. They’ll only mean it in the nicest way possible. Hell, it worked for W for at least 5 years. Course they may have caught on since it doesn’t seem to be doing Rick Perry any favors (good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise. Stay smart, America).
Most of the time it takes something less than a Sherlock Holmes level of sleuthing to catch my roots showing (“I deduce from the way that you pronounce “cement” that you’ve spent at least part of your childhood in coastal Texas. South of Houston if I’m not very much mistaken.”). And usually I have the good grace not to slop sugar on people just to get on their good side. But lately, I don’t know. I’ve been just hauling it out just to see if I can maybe get around somebody with it. Just for the heck of it really. I should be ashamed. And I am. I am. And if I was an honest sort, I’d keep my ersatz Western charms to myself and my intimates (who are very much on to me and ignore my bull crap). But it’s kind of like having a high IQ or blonde hair and big boobs. Just seems like a shame to let it go to waste.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
A Lady in the Street
http://advancedstyle.blogspot.com/2011/11/glamorous-advanced-style-ladieswomen.html
Saw this on the Advanced Style blog. AS is one of my favorite pick-me-ups. I love that the women in the pictures are vibrant and expressing themselves with fashion and, most important, getting out there and mixing it up in their 70s, 80, 90s, and on into the century mark. It gives me a kick in the pants to at least try, ya know?
I went to the part of the review that Ari mentions about calling him out on using the word “ladies” to describe the women he photographs. Geez Louise. Some women really look for things to get their knickers in a twist about. Who uses the word ladies anymore? Me. I also say women, chicks, girls, gals, broads, babes, bitches, hoochies, squirrels (last one I picked up from someone else – and she’s right. Call your girls your squirrel friends and you’ll laugh every time). It’s all about context. There’s a big difference between somebody jabbing a finger in my face and saying “Listen, lady!” and a smiling person walking up and saying, “Hey, lady!” The same way there’s a difference between someone muttering “bitch” under their breath and someone laughing as they say “Wassup, bitch?”
What’s the difference between lady and woman? Woman is biological. It’s a particular configuration of body parts and chemical reactions. Not insignificant, of course, but not particular either. Lady is conduct. It is behavior. Specifically, good behavior. A lady is polite, a lady dresses appropriately, a lady considers the comfort of others. It doesn’t convey moral character. There are good ladies and bad ladies. But we all know what is expected of a lady. On Friday night I was ushering at A Christmas Carol, and 2 little girls ran past me. A little excitement on a night at the big people’s theater is expected, no? But not terribly safe when it leads to running. All I had to say, in my firm, adult voice, was “Ladies.” Heads go up. Shoulders go back. Running stops. At 6, they knew exactly what was expected. That’s the thing. You know.
And I get the idea of it being retrograde and a relic of an era when a woman could be put in her place by the threat of not being a true lady. Oh, my. The tyranny of being a “good little girl” and a “lady”. But the only way to deal with the past is to pick up the things you want and leave the rest behind. There are wonderful things about being a lady. Madeleine Albright is a lady. And one tough broad too.* All in context. I have contexts too. Sometimes I’m a bitch. Sometimes I’m one of the girls. And yes, even I can be a lady. I drink my beer with a pinky firmly out.
* If you've never heard her talk about sending messages to heads of state using her broaches, go look it up. Well, played, Madame Albright. Well played.
Saw this on the Advanced Style blog. AS is one of my favorite pick-me-ups. I love that the women in the pictures are vibrant and expressing themselves with fashion and, most important, getting out there and mixing it up in their 70s, 80, 90s, and on into the century mark. It gives me a kick in the pants to at least try, ya know?
I went to the part of the review that Ari mentions about calling him out on using the word “ladies” to describe the women he photographs. Geez Louise. Some women really look for things to get their knickers in a twist about. Who uses the word ladies anymore? Me. I also say women, chicks, girls, gals, broads, babes, bitches, hoochies, squirrels (last one I picked up from someone else – and she’s right. Call your girls your squirrel friends and you’ll laugh every time). It’s all about context. There’s a big difference between somebody jabbing a finger in my face and saying “Listen, lady!” and a smiling person walking up and saying, “Hey, lady!” The same way there’s a difference between someone muttering “bitch” under their breath and someone laughing as they say “Wassup, bitch?”
What’s the difference between lady and woman? Woman is biological. It’s a particular configuration of body parts and chemical reactions. Not insignificant, of course, but not particular either. Lady is conduct. It is behavior. Specifically, good behavior. A lady is polite, a lady dresses appropriately, a lady considers the comfort of others. It doesn’t convey moral character. There are good ladies and bad ladies. But we all know what is expected of a lady. On Friday night I was ushering at A Christmas Carol, and 2 little girls ran past me. A little excitement on a night at the big people’s theater is expected, no? But not terribly safe when it leads to running. All I had to say, in my firm, adult voice, was “Ladies.” Heads go up. Shoulders go back. Running stops. At 6, they knew exactly what was expected. That’s the thing. You know.
And I get the idea of it being retrograde and a relic of an era when a woman could be put in her place by the threat of not being a true lady. Oh, my. The tyranny of being a “good little girl” and a “lady”. But the only way to deal with the past is to pick up the things you want and leave the rest behind. There are wonderful things about being a lady. Madeleine Albright is a lady. And one tough broad too.* All in context. I have contexts too. Sometimes I’m a bitch. Sometimes I’m one of the girls. And yes, even I can be a lady. I drink my beer with a pinky firmly out.
* If you've never heard her talk about sending messages to heads of state using her broaches, go look it up. Well, played, Madame Albright. Well played.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Sparky and Me
So, I bought the Kindle Fire. I’ve named him. I may have petted him. I haven’t whispered “I love you yet.” But really, that’s where this relationship is going.
I resisted the tablet thing for awhile. I mean, I have a laptop and a phone. The iPad and its competitors looked fun, sure. But frankly, maybe too much fun. Ya know what I’m saying? You see those people just staring at their digital device. Poking at those angry birds, or scrolling through their 3 or 4 hundred closes friends on Facebook. Looking a little . . . disconnected, in a weird way. I mean, it connects you in the cyber way. But it really puts you inside a bubble in the real world. I’m not making judgments. Connected is connected. But I live inside my head too much already. I don’t need something that turns me even more socially challenged.
But I’d see the people on the train or at the airport – reading books. Oh, books. Oh, books. Especially the big giant books that I love, but don’t have the upper body strength or spare wheelbarrow to carry. I mean, The Passage is almost 800 pages in hardback. I don’t mind committing the time. It’s the risk of back injury that I’m concerned about.
So, the Kindle Fire comes out in color. I can load my knitting patterns on it from Ravelry (High Tech Gadget, meet my Low Tech Hobby). I could check my email if I was so inclined. Music and movies can be had. And books, oh, books. I downloaded Pride and Prejudice, The Secret Garden and The Wasteland all for free. I have them with me right now. It’s kind of a giddy feeling.
I’m still saying no to those Angry Birds, though.
I resisted the tablet thing for awhile. I mean, I have a laptop and a phone. The iPad and its competitors looked fun, sure. But frankly, maybe too much fun. Ya know what I’m saying? You see those people just staring at their digital device. Poking at those angry birds, or scrolling through their 3 or 4 hundred closes friends on Facebook. Looking a little . . . disconnected, in a weird way. I mean, it connects you in the cyber way. But it really puts you inside a bubble in the real world. I’m not making judgments. Connected is connected. But I live inside my head too much already. I don’t need something that turns me even more socially challenged.
But I’d see the people on the train or at the airport – reading books. Oh, books. Oh, books. Especially the big giant books that I love, but don’t have the upper body strength or spare wheelbarrow to carry. I mean, The Passage is almost 800 pages in hardback. I don’t mind committing the time. It’s the risk of back injury that I’m concerned about.
So, the Kindle Fire comes out in color. I can load my knitting patterns on it from Ravelry (High Tech Gadget, meet my Low Tech Hobby). I could check my email if I was so inclined. Music and movies can be had. And books, oh, books. I downloaded Pride and Prejudice, The Secret Garden and The Wasteland all for free. I have them with me right now. It’s kind of a giddy feeling.
I’m still saying no to those Angry Birds, though.
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