From Bazaar’s “A Fashionable
Life: Rachel Zoe,” November, comes this odious quote from the stylist’s sister:
“My daughter, Sophie, is already a fashionista. She got her inspiration from Rachel and is now wearing little shrugs and wedge shoes at 6.”
Is a 6-year-old fashionista supposed to be a good thing? We’re thinking not.
Still, imagine the fun to be had when Zoe introduces her niece to client Nicole Richie—and the two realize they wear the same size.
From Allure’s “The Simple
Life,” November, comes a passage that’s made us question everything we thought 
we knew about American history:
Ever since Benjamin Franklin said “Time is money” and White Castle came up with fast food in 1921, Americans have embraced efficiency.
Although we studied history in college, we’re
perfectly willing to admit that we don’
t know everything about the subject, and
we’re always happy to learn new things. But we had absolutely 
zero idea that Benjamin Franklin and White Castle
co-existed. You’d think that, in four
years of study, we might once have heard about such a thing. And maybe it’s because we studied history
and not business, but we’re
flabbergasted to learn that Franklin’s comment
inspired the establishment of a fast-food restaurant. And who even knew Ben Franklin was still alive in 1921? Thanks, Allure, for shedding some
light on a heretofore unknown—but undeniably important—segment of our nation’s
heritage.
Okay, Elle, we get it. Dating in New York is a Sisyphean endeavor.
Alexandra Jacobs’ article
in November’s issue, “How to Marry a Millionaire (or At Least a Successful
Screenwriter),” depicts laidback Los Angeles
as a single woman’s Shangri-La
and a wealthy husband as every woman’s goal. As if that premise
alone isn’t suspect enough, the piece heads into highly dubious
territory in order to prove its assertion that the West Coast is the place to land a man.
For instance:
The evidence mounts at the Hollywood Wilshire YMCA, where a frizzy-haired, pale-skinned chick is shooting hoops with platoons of eligible men…
Let’s enumerate the wildly erroneous assumptions made in just this one sentence:
One: Ohmygod! A woman playing basketball with men! She must be engaging in an athletic activity solely to capture a man’s attention and not because she actually enjoys the sport.
Two: L.A. must be packed with men desperate for affection if they’ll deign to engage in a totally impersonal activity with a—gasp!—“frizzy-haired, pale-skinned” woman.
Three: Women with frizz and non-fake-orange skin are inherently unappealing.
Four: Men playing basketball in public are obviously single.
And the next sentence:
I almost fall off my Precor when a dark, good-looking character actor stops to ask my sign.
Wait. He asked her sign? And that’s a good thing? Did Jacobs’ Precor magically transport her to 1973?
(It’s still L.A., okay?)
Ohhhh, it all makes sense now, because everyone in L.A. is, like, totally into astrology and patchouli and, like, you know, the planet and avocado-colored kitchen appliances and fringed vests and stuff.
Then I watch as a guy strikes up a conversation with a woman engrossed in a sweat-drenched magazine—not the vapid glossy Angeleno, but The Atlantic Monthly!
Shocking! Who knew The Atlantic Monthly is even sold on the West Coast? And who could have guessed that men are at all interested in women who display even the most basic signs of literacy?
We suddenly understand why dating in New York is so difficult for Alexandra Jacobs. But after reading this essay, we’re convinced her troubles having nothing to do with her locale.
Every time we dare to think we’re a
Type-A personality, along comes someone like Lindsay Lohan to take the wind
from our sails.
Here’s what she told InStyle’s Suzanne Zuckerman in “Lindsay Lohan…Lets Us In,” November, about her life plan:
“I want to get married before I’m 30,” she says. “And have my house. And make the kind of record I want. And I’d like to win an Oscar before then.”
We’re not sure how the “all night heavy partying” contributes to these goals, but we suddenly feel so ashamed that we don’t want an Academy Award or even a record deal. Call us underachievers, but our dream is quite simple: we long for the day that Lindsay no longer commands magazine covers, or at least appears on them with far less frequency. (In the last several months alone, she’s been on Allure, W, Elle, Bazaar, and Cosmopolitan.) Is a little moderation too much too ask?
We’re no experts in marketing, but for us, the only thing evoked by
Jane’s ad campaign has been a persistent urge to vomit.
We’ve been following Copyranter’s continuing series on the ads, which highlight the alleged inherent duality of their average reader. To quote him, “dichotomous does not, like, equal interesting.” Sadly, the dolts behind the campaign failed to recognize this. Or that pointing out potential readers’ hypocrises may not, in fact, be the most effective way to encourage them to spend money.
Our least favorite Jane ad?
She’s marched for women’s rights. She’s cried her way out of a speeding ticket.
Because, you know, Jane is all about equal rights. Except when being equal is totally inconvenient. Sheesh—are we supposed to see ourselves in the specious logic behind the ad’s sentiment?
Count us out of that demographic, Jane.
From Glamour’s “Hey, it’s OK,” November:
Hey, it’s OK…
…to wish they’d given up on the Bond movies three 007s ago.
Oh, good. Thanks for validating our tempestuous emotions on this important topic, Glamour. We knew we couldn’t be the only one lying awake at night, fraught with despair, wondering if any actor ever—ever!—could reclaim the glory that Sean Connery brought to the role.
Whoa. Marie Claire’s gone snarky. Take a look at this blurb, one of many, from their “Culture” section, November:
What we won’t be covering this month: Sting’s Songs from the Labyrinth; Employee of the
Month, starring Jessica Simpson…
So, let’s get this straight. Marie Claire won’t deign to cover Marie Antoinette, The Santa Clause 3, Rod Stewart, or Evanescence, but they’ll put the star of The Grudge 2 on the cover?
We’re not complaining about their selective coverage. (And, really, aren’t our minds already made up about The Santa Clause 3? Reviews won’t matter.) We’re just saying that they ought to be consistent. We couldn’t possibly stomach reading another drop of ink about Jessica Simpson and her “acting” career, but Marie Claire isn’t exactly increasing its cultural cred by giving the cover to the star of one of the year’s worst-reviewed movies. Apparently, bad movies don’t belong in their “Culture” section, but they’re happy to promote bad movies elsewhere in the magazine.
We’ve been hoodwinked. The culprit? Elle’s “The Elements of Style,” October, and stylist Rachel Zoe.
…seven very different women demonstrate the most important part of dressing to impress: individuality. [emphasis ours]
Excellent, we thought. We anticipated a spread free of the ubiquitous
leggings and shrunken blazers. Which, mercifully enough, it is.
We weren’t too thrilled by the feature—how excited can we get over Mark Ruffalo’s wife and the soon-to-be-ex Mrs. Prince, anyway? But our sort-of enjoyment evaporated when we read the paragraph describing Zoe:
Thus, in addition to being photographed for Elle, Zoe also helped outfit the other six stylephiles.
So personal style involves using the most well-known of celebrity stylists. Was it wrong of us to expect that an article about individuality would require something as radical as, oh, women picking out their own clothes? It’s just not that difficult, ladies. We’ve managed to choose our own wardrobe every single day since kindergarten.
We have nothing against Rachel Zoe (well, other than the whole Nicole-Richie-as-style-icon phenomenon) or even stylists in general. We do have something against passing off a stylist’s work as personal style and thereby promoting conformity. Elle’s article is the grown-up version of shopping at Hot Topic: everyone who shops there pretends to be edgy and anti-mainstream, but they’re still buying faux-vintage tees at the mall like everyone else.
From Jane’s “Life: Work,”
October:
Break into the music biz
Take advice from ladies who rocked SXSW, video directors and stylists. Because, you know, groupies don’t get paid.
Because, you know, aside from the whole money thing, groupie is a totally valid career choice.
Recent Comments