Glossed Over

Lucky Admits Defeat, Lets Readers Write the Captions

We’re concerned about the mental welfare of the staff of Lucky, and not just because of that strange belt they stuck on poor Rachel Bilson on the March cover. No, apparently the entire masthead is suffering from a rare but serious illness known as “caption dementia,” which is not quite the same as thinking the editors are demented after reading their captions. (Besides, for us the sensation is usually more akin to rage.)

Kim France has the details in the “Editor’s Letter.”

It is always unusually fun for us to put together our March issue, one of the most fashion-packed of the year. But it is also our unique torture because loads of fashion means loads of text!

“Loads of text,” relatively speaking, of course. This issue does have more words than the Anthropologie catalog!

And for those of us involved in the writing and editing of this text, that leads to something known to us as caption dementia, and—while it has not yet appeared in any of the diagnostic manuals—the condition is very, very real indeed.

Oh, we’re convinced.

It sets in after one has struggled with a new way to describe that 16th peep-toe slingback in the shoe guide without repeating any other adjectives already in the shoe guide or employing any of the words I’ve banned (“yummy” or “delicious” for anything that’s not food, for example).

But “sturdying” (page 200) is okay as a descriptor.

She goes on to chronicle how dedicated the Lucky staffers are. They wake up in the middle of the night, dreaming about captions. They go out in public and practice writing captions about the women who walk by. Basically, they suffer an awful lot for their “art.”

And now they want the rest of us to suffer!

So anyway, we’ve got a challenge for you: Take a stroll in our vampy, clean-lined, retro-ish-but-smartly-updated shoes. We’re giving away a $1,000 gift certificate to Barneys New York Co-op to the soul who can bring the freshest language to four pages of our shoe guide.

Ooh! Contest-y!

Lucky’s website has the complete details. There’s also a full list of the words banned from the magazine, most of which we actually agree with. Perhaps we lack imagination, but we can’t imagine using “kooky”  to describe a pair of shoes that anyone would want to buy— and what is the point of Lucky if not to entice women to spend? Here’s the list:

adorable

bling

fashionista

fave

fierce

flair

funky

groovy

indulgence

kooky

run, don't walk

shopaholic

the final word in

whimsical

food references used to describe a nonfood item (as in "a delicious shade of pink")

Entrants must fill in captions on four pages of the shoe guide, and the deadline for submissions is March 3. We’re already dreaming about adding -y  to nouns and -ish to adjectives!

Lucky's Taste Too "Rich" For Us

We’re becoming the very thing we hate.  Sure, we detest it when Lucky refers to something as “statement-y,” but at least we don’t talk like that, right?  Wrong!  This weekend, we actually used the term “suit-y.”  Aloud.  To another person.  For no discernible reason when other perfectly legitimate words would have worked.  We know, we know.  Either it’s an occupational hazard or we’re subconsciously assimilating.

Anyway, for a long time, we weren’t particularly bothered by Lucky’s frequent use of the word “rich” because, you know, it’s an actual word.  It popped up a few times in each issue, but it wasn’t nearly as egregious as “flea market-y” or straining to be precious like “MySpace-ish.”  But a few of you wrote to us about it, because it bothered you.  And the more we thought about it, the more we began to wonder.  Maybe “rich” wasn’t as innocent a descriptor as we assumed.  What if “rich” was a value judgment?  And, really, why should it matter if our clothes look pricey (even—or especially—if they weren’t)?  Style isn’t dependent on looking like you’ve spent a fortune on your wardrobe, or at least that’s what we tell ourselves every time we line up for the dressing room at H&M.  Still, we decided the word had the potential to be rather insidious—especially when attached to items we couldn’t afford.

So we were eager to check out the text in the July issue.  Once we managed to stop mentally adding “with a knife” to every Vanessa Minnillo quote (“…but the truth is, I always get a second opinion before I take a big risk.”  A big risk...with a knife! Oh, we amuse ourselves so much!), we counted how many times the word “rich” pops up in product descriptions.  Is there a correlation between the use of “rich” and the price of the items?

From “Style Spy,” page 54:

These pared-down sandals and clutch have a hard-edged-but-rich look that really works.

Perhaps rich isn’t much of an exaggeration—the chain-mail clutch is $198 and the shoes $375.

And then, from “The Season’s Best Looks for Under $100” on page 123:

Finish it all off with a rich, insanely plush bag.

Well, we don’t know about “insanely plush,” but it is only $48.  It wouldn’t pass as one, but it is blatantly inspired by Chanel’s quilted leather bags, leather woven through the chain strap and all.

And the third mention, from “Night and Day” on page 128:

The perfect rich-and-glowy, sexy-yet-flattering blouse: It adds a ladylike glamour to rock-star accessories and skinny, shiny trousers.

We assume that “rich-and-glowy” here means shiny, because this whole outfit reflects enough light to attract bugs.  And the price tag?  $210.

So our data remains inconclusive as to what “rich” really means to Lucky.  In all three of those instances, “sumptuous” or “high-quality” could have been substituted, but instead, they used a word commonly associated with material wealth.  But in reading every single description in Lucky, we did find one word whose meaning—and relation to cash flow—was clear.  The item in question?  A $498 pair of Louis Vuitton sneakers.

A classic shape—in the most upscale satin-and-patent combo imaginable.

We were thinking more along the lines of outrageously pricey, but upscale?  At least we know what that means—it’s code for “unjustifiably expensive with a fancy label attached.”

What do you think?

InStyle Invents the Worst Word in Human History

We’ve previously lamented the recent penchant for adding a –y to transform a noun into an adjective, but as it turns out, we hadn’t seen anything yet.  This month, InStyle used a Sandra Bullock profile as an opportunity to create what is, by far, the worst amalgamation we have ever seen.  And we read every word of Lucky every month, but at least their made-up words don’t evoke mental images of anything other than an angry Noah Webster.  See for yourself:

From March’s “What Sandra Knows” by Phoebe Eaton:

But today, even in jeans and a ponytail and boots dusty from a nearby construction site, Bullock is still so…sexpotty.

Sexpotty?  Sexpotty? Did no editor see a problem with a word that manages to convey a squirm-inducing combination of sex and a first-grader asking the teacher for a hall pass?  And, sure, we realize some people enjoy the, uh, sexpotty, but we’re absolutely certain that’s not what Eaton is talking about here.  We’d like to think we aren’t likely to encounter a more appalling imaginary word any time soon—but then, we haven’t even cracked open the March issue of Lucky yet.

Previously: Sandra Bullock faced off with another magazine writer.  Think There Are No Stupid Questions?  Think Again, Glamour

Jane Reveals Starlet's Beauty Secret, Own Penchant for Cloying Language

From Jane’s “Primp,” December/January:

Laid-back makeup artist Fabiola created three looks to sexify your winter rut.  Her A-list clients (like Mischa Barton) will prob’ly want ’em, too—just a twinsie warning.

A “twinsie” warning?  Oh, right, because it’s the makeup that keeps us all from looking just like Mischa Barton.

Lucky Progress Report: Now Even More Incomprehensible!

To: Lucky

From: Glossed Over

Re: Your progress with the English language

Last month, we discussed your penchant for making up words (which is completely unnecessary, as you’re inventing constructions when words that mean the exact same thing already exist).  Now that you’ve had an issue to consider our suggestions, we wanted to follow up on your progress using commonly accepted American English terms.

First, while the cover didn’t include any freshly invented words, it didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

Grey’s Anatomy’s Katherine Heigl spills her fashion secrets

We understand there was absolutely no way to avoid that double apostrophe.  Obviously, there were serious considerations preventing you from saying something less awkward like, oh, “Katherine Heigl of Grey’s Anatomy,” and thereby sidestepping that quandary.   We can’t think of what those might be, but we’re sure you had your reasons.

Unfortunately, our dismay didn’t end there.  Below, in alphabetical order, is the list of dubious words sprinkled throughout the January issue.

‘50s-ish

aromatherapeutically

chainlet

drapey

fashiony

foresty

Frenchy-chic

gleamy

lipsticky

MySpace-ish

partyworthy (We freely admit to nitpicking here.  “Party-worthy” would be our preference.)

rain-foresty

suitish

un-makeupy

vintagey

zhoozh

We’d especially like to discuss the final entry on the list.  What is this word and what could it possibly mean?  How many editors looked at this and decided it was perfectly comprehensible to the average person who doesn’t actually work at Lucky?  Let’s take a look at the context:

We keep this in the beauty department at all times for last-minute volumizing: Flip your hair over, spritz a few times, and zhoozh with your fingers.

That doesn’t exactly clarify this strange word apparently invented in the heat of a hair-volume emergency.  Is zhoozhing like scrunching?  Is it distributing the product through your hair?  What else could you do with your fingers in this instance? 

We’re stumped.  Perhaps the staff should consider including a Lucky-specific glossary in each issue. Or perhaps it would be easier if we simply give up trying to read the small amount of text in each issue.  From now on, we’ll just stick to the pictures.

Memo to Lucky: Stop Existifying Words

To: Lucky staffers

From: Glossed Over

Re: Your, um, creative use of the English language

Lately, a number of you have been failing to use resources writers should be familiar with—we’re thinking of dictionaries, thesauruses, and co-workers—when seeking words to describe the multitude of products you come across every day.  We understand that coming up with a fresh description for each of the dozens of pairs of shoes you encounter must be challenging.

Still, that’s no excuse for flat-out making up words. 

Although you must surely already know this (you did all graduate from high school, yes?), we’d like to take this opportunity to remind staff members that adding –y or –ish to a noun does not make it an adjective.  Also, the origins of the –ify construction are highly specious, and should not be used to make up new words when perfectly acceptable terms that mean the exact same thing already exist. 

In the December issue alone, we found the following violations:

cargo-ish

just-statementy-enough

corset-y

vintagey

glowifier

youthifying

cottagey

loungey

flea market-y 

We must request that you stop this practice immediately, lest your readers develop stress-related aneurysms from trying to parse these too-imaginative constructions.  Worse, these ungodly verbal creations may catch on with the general populace, resulting in “youthifying” skin creams and “loungier” pajamas overtaking the market. (Not to mention the horrible prospect of “flea market-y” being bandied about freely in conversation—we don’t even know what that means.) If finding appropriate descriptors is too difficult for the staff, we suggest Lucky use the J. Crew catalog as a model and consider a shift to a text-free, all-pictures version.

Your cooperation is appreciated.   

All New and Completely Unnecessary

In our relentless quest to devour every magazine on the newsstand, we rarely pause to consider the authors who write the words we so love (or, more often, not love).  Are they truly fulfilled by finding the perfect adjective for that pair of strappy Christian Louboutins?  Do they hate writing relationship articles when they haven’t had even a single date in eighteen months? And is André Leon Talley really as insufferable in person as he comes across in print? 

Aside from the ALT question—come on, he wrote in Vogue about how no Oreos had passed his lips for a year—we really don’t know.

Ever pioneering, Jane has taken steps to remedy this disconnect between the magazine’s staff and its readers via the Internet by launching a blog.  (Never mind that Jane, along with pretty much every other publication, is only now realizing the usefulness of this technology.)  We were hoping the blog would provide an insider’s look at the magazine: who secretly despises Brandon, who’s been stealing Annemarie’s lunch, which two staffers have been making out in the copy room.

Instead we learned these scintillating factoids: Nathan’s apartment building has rats, Tammy the intern thinks New Jersey is inherently amusing, and Catherine watches some truly terrible television.  Also, the staff bowling team sucks, and New York is apparently overrun with three-legged dogs (though we’ve seen no evidence of this ourselves). 

There’s long been a debate over the comparative merits of print and online journalism.  With this blog, Jane definitively tips the battle in favor of the former.  We’d declare an outright victory for the paper version, but we’re still peeved by the use of “maintenance” as a verb on page 76 of April’s issue. 

We’re picky and pedantic, we realize, but at least we know our parts of speech.  Also, our apartment is rodent-free.

Spreading More Than the Fashion Gospel

From Vogue’s “Mood Indigo,” February:

But she’s clearly deeply in love.  [Isla Fisher] recently converted to convert to Judaism…

We never knew it was necessary to convert once before converting to Judaism.  But then, we aren’t exactly Talmudic scholars.  Fortunately, everyone at Vogue is well-versed in the most arcane details of Jewish theology, so they can toss out obscure facts even in fluffy articles about celebrities shopping for the perfect pair of jeans. 

And since buying denim when neither money nor body shape is an issue is unthinkably dull, we suppose we should just be content to have found something—anything—of interest in this feature.

"Chicks" Wouldn't Have Been Our First Choice Either

In Jane’s January issue, Annemarie Conte interviews a series of female “neoactivists”—all of whom fall neatly into Jane’s target demographic—subverting some corporate hierarchy.  One runs an independent clothing consortium; another seeks alternatives to big-business grocery stores; a small group produces and markets biodiesel. 

We were initially excited to see an article focusing on unique, offbeat ways women are working to create positive social change.  We even thought the article might be a high-minded piece of inspirational journalism.  (We’re dreamers.) 

Then we took a second glance at the article’s title.  The story is called

You Ladies Are Gonna Change the World!

Exclamation point theirs.

“Ladies”?  As in ladies of the night, Lady Speed Stick, and a “woman receiving the homage or devotion of a knight or lover”?

When is the last time the word “ladies” was used to refer to a group of progressive, independent women like those featured in the article?  It’s such a skeeve-inducing term,  its use ought to be relegated to feminine-hygiene products and strip clubs.  We’d prefer “women”—a far more neutral term—changing the world, thank you very much. 

And we won’t even comment on the use of “gonna.” 

When Words Fail, Make Up New Ones

We imagine Glamour must be a utopian workplace for cancer survivors. They get first crack at the morning tray of bagels, they don’t have to make coffee when they finish the pot, and they don’t even need to use real words in their articles.

At least that’s what we concluded after reading the current “Cancer Diary,” wherein Erin Zammett, mostly avoiding stereotypical bridal hysteria, waxes about her wedding and then befouls the English language with made-up words.

For instance, there’s this description of the bridesmaids’ gowns:

I’d picked out very sexy, boob-y Vera Wang bridesmaid dresses.

“Boob-y”? Using the ample context clues provided, we’re pretty sure this is not a reference to the tropical seabird. We’d try “low-cut,” perhaps “revealing.”

Then, Erin recounts guests’ reactions to the wedding:

They also told us they were surprised at how un-cancery and purely fun the wedding was.

We initially thought this meant that cancer was not mentioned at the event, but she invited her oncologist and toasted him and his wife (who designed Erin’s gown) at the rehearsal dinner. So we’re left wondering: what does this mean? Did the ring bearer not have a tumor? Did the reception fail to metastatize? Maybe the best man’s speech didn’t involve her latest white blood cell counts.

Finally, on the honeymoon (which we hope was also “un-cancery”), a Glamour reader recognizes Erin:

It was pretty cool to be spotted. (I felt like a cancer-lebrity!)

Cancer-lebrity! Being known for having cancer can’t possibly be a good thing. We’d rather be anonymous and cancer-free, thank you.

Also, we’d rather Glamour wasn’t in the habit of making up words when appropriate ones already exist, but that’s probably just wish-y thinking. We don’t want to be un-realistic-y.

Copyeditor Takes Nap (Again)

glossed

Glamour's "100% Guilt-Free Page" gives us some overly idealistic life advice, including this gem:

Hey, it’s OK...if you could care less about thread count.

We know they must mean "if you couldn’t care less." But hey, it’s okay to make mistakes on the job.  Right?

We Love Our Dictionary

We blame Cosmopolitan.  Their pages have always been sex-drenched, packed with references to  pectoral muscles and thong underwear.  So it wasn’t too jarring when, a few years ago, we spied the word (if you want to call it that) “sexify” in their pages.

What, you’ve never heard that?

Sexify (v.): to make sexy. Painting your nails fire-engine red will sexify even the most buttoned-up ensemble.

This odd equation of noun + -ify = verb caught on, and then there was a veritable onslaught of newfangled words in all our favorite magazines:  Glossify.  Bodify. Shineify.  We admit we’re sticklers about language, but we could live with this.  Obnoxious as it is, at least these made-up words were expressing concepts that usually required a full phrase. Painting your nails fire-engine red will add sex appeal to even the most buttoned-up ensemble.

But Glamour’s August 2005 issue crossed a line we hadn’t even drawn yet.  In a feature on denim, they stated that a pair of jeans had a “slimmifying” effect.

Let us repeat that for you.  SLIMMIFYING.

They took an adjective, slim, and made it into a verb, slimmify.  Then they turned that verb back into an adjective.  That’s quite complicated, especially when they could have just said “slimming.”  Um, Glamour staffers?  There’s no need to make up words when a perfectly good one ALREADY EXISTS.   

Maybe we should just be grateful they didn’t say “skinnifying.”