This is not a complaint, but merely an observation. And I know there must be blogs out there that get inundated with PR spam, hundreds of emails a day, day in and day out, a neverending avalanche of PR craptitude festering all over the internet like a diseased wound.
But really:
If it's your job to get a company onto websites, does it not then behoove you to do your best to get what you're sending onto that site? And so
it might be in your interest to read those sites, and at least attempt to tailor your company's content to the content of that site. And finally,
make sure what you're saying isn't total shite.
To whit - the copy for this series of Hollister cast-offs claims that "[unnamed company] takes men's classic style and gives it a fresh new angle. Now, when you think of men's classic style you probably think of something like this or this or this. What you probably aren't expecting is this:
Wouldn't a casual click through my blog have told this person that [unnamed company] and I are not a good fit?
Despite my general dislike of its cover choices, I continue to subscribe to GQ. They have very good staff writers, such as Alan Richman. The editors seem to care about what they are doing, and care about putting out a magazine people want to both read and flip through. They have a few too many barely-out-of-their teens girls prancing around, but I suppose that too is a demographic you can't ignore.
While I didn't have to buy the November issue it's the one issue this year I would recommend, and not because it happens to be the biggest. There are at least six reasons to get it, but the most compelling is this excellently curated editorial featuring the increasingly "Don't miss the movie if he's in it" Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
In Uniqlo, definitely my favourite mall brand.
In Club Monaco, a label started in Canada.
Gordon-Levitt was recently on SNL and absolutely killed the opening with a rendition of Make Them Laugh, possibly my favourite musical number from definitely my favourite musical, Singin' in the Rain.
I do think the issue makes one glaring misstep - naming the practically anonymous Leighton Meester the Obsession of the Year. The ten men in my office didn't know who she was, and they range in age from 24 to 60. Even when I explained her character on TV they still couldn't place a face to her name, and showing them her picture only produced responses of, Who? I'm not saying Leighton is unattractive, and I know that her co-star, Blake Lively, has become overexposed...in more ways than one. But I would think that the "Obsession of the Year" should be known by at least one person in a random sampling of ten North American men. Just saying.
The perfectly lovely but not really obsession-label worthy Leighton Meester.
I should have posted this sooner. I am currently growing a moustache for Movember, a thoroughly noble cause with the stated goal of raising awareness about prostate cancer. Most people who've noticed the stache have known about Movember, so I'd say it's working.
Week 4 of growth - dry lips are from overcoming a cold.
If you'd like to donate to my efforts, you can do so here. (Thanks Mom!) All proceeds go towards prostate cancer research. Equally important to me is raising awareness - know the facts.
"Chick flick." I can just see the first time someone used that to refer to a movie. Oh man...I have the perfect term for this movie my wife/girlfriend/friend/sister/cousin wants me to see. What a nomenclature genius!
I'll admit it - I'm one of those guys. I know all about bra sizes, and feminine hygiene products, and the difference between an A-line and a pencil skirt. And so you might, if you're male, be thinking, oh sure, this guy cried during Remember the Titans (true) and sang along during Titanic (totally false; that movie was utter shite.) Of course he doesn't like the term "chick flick". He's probably too busy knitting a tea cozy for his book club to realize that men are under attack by these trying, romantic weepathons.
First of all, can we agree that most movies targeted at men are kind of crap? Look at Avatar. No really, look at it. What the hell is this steaming animated pile? Are those pixels fighting landscape paintings?
I recently watched Funny People, a film so desperate to appeal to bros it threw in an Eminem cameo where he threatens Ray Romano. Consider the following exchange, listed on IMDB as a "Memorable Quote":
Mark:
Did you know that Leo played a part on Yo, Teach?
Ira Wright:
Yes I did.
Mark:
So you saw it?
Uh...right. Now compare that to this scene from When Harry Met Sally, possibly the ur-chick flick.
Judd Apatow dreams of writing dialogue this tight.
The use of chick flick as a pejorative, the very idea that women need to be coddled and hand-held through vacuous romantic comedies, is especially galling when one considers just how crappy the male counterparts--dick flicks, bro films, anything starring Wesley Snipes--are. Here are the five worst examples.
Bill Simmons, who has never met a pop culture reference he didn't like, worships this movie with something bordering on holy reverence. I love Bill Simmons and agree with 95% of everything he says, but the 5% I don't involves reality TV and The Shawshank Redemption. It is held near or at the top of the Best Movies for Men of All Time; it took the runaway train called Forrest Gump to stop it from winning Best Picture at the 1995 Oscars.
And it's terrible. Based on a lesser Stephen King short story it manages to hit every single prison cliche there is - rapists,crooked warden, innocent man, prisoner who doesn't want to leave, rapists, stool pigeons, confessions that can free the hero, abusive guards, rapists. Somehow this, coupled with a wildly implausible prison escape where Tim Robbins actually crawls through a storm drain during a storm, has made it one of the most highly regarded movies of all time. Kudos to Desson Howe of the Washington Post for this barb:
But it's clear from the start that Robbins, despite the hardships, is
emotionally protected by his own innocence. He charms everyone and,
eventually, parlays his business skills into a useful commodity. By the
end, these grim authoritarians and jailbirds are eating out of his
hand. In fact, Robbins' effect on everyone is so cheesily messianic,
they should have called this "Forrest Gump Goes to Jail."
Oh god Ben Stiller. Stiller has three movies coming out in 2010, and ELEVEN more in development. He is easily the worst part of any movie he's in. Remember Robert Downey Jr. in Tropic Thunder? Remember how amazing he was?
Remember when they made the movie all about him and the last 20 minutes were hilarious? No? Oh right, that's because they made it all about Stiller acting. And acting. And acting.
Jet Li and Aaliyah in the least convincing movie romance ever filmed. Jet "Kick you in the head" Li wearing a backwards baseball hat. Jet Li dancing. Jet Li...selling his honour.
Russell Crowe tries on at least five different accents in attempting to sound Roman (although strangely he never reaches for Italian.) Joaquin Phoenix is an emperor named after a toilet. And those stand as the high points of the movie.
Other highlights:
Crowe's character is named Maximus.
Even though the Emperor wants Maximus dead, he apparently can't kill him. Even though he's a gladiator.
Metacritic says Saving Private Ryan has universal acclaim, which is astounding for two-plus hour war movie where almost nothing of note happens. Seriously - can you remember a single thing about it other than the clusterfuck at the beginning and the slow motion Nazi stabbing at the end? In between we're treated to hours of Tom Hanks looking worried in French countryside.Tom Hanks looking stern. Tom Hanks looking morose. Tom Hanks looking, and looking, and looking.
As media thinks of new and interesting ways to say that they're dying motivated people soldier on, often combining print, web, and video into vibrant new forms (See: Russell Davies' The internet isn't killing anything).
Distill is a print magazine that summarizes the best of the season's publications, simultaneously bringing attention to and perhaps rendering a little obsolete those original editorials. Now, with the help of Craft London, they've released their latest issue exclusively as an iPhone app.
Distill Magazine: $4.99
I haven't used the app myself, but Creative Applications has a nice review. It will be interesting to see whether more print magazines follow suit, or find a combination between print and mobile readers. Certainly the iPhone app store is in desperate need of more interesting reading options, the majority of that space being obsessed with offering different ways to peruse Jane Austen novels. Style publications are a particularly good match for the iPhone being as image heavy as they are.
A few months ago when I returned from an all-too-short visit to Europe I did something rash - I deleted the entire archive of my blog.
Oh no!
I realized recently that in that act of blogging scorched-earth policy I managed to not only get rid of over a year's worth of writing, I also unceremoniously discarded a lot of hard work and generosity by other people. This simply will not do. So, in an attempt to rectify that oversight, I've compiled here all of my former conversations/podcasts. This is also fitting since on Monday I'll be posting my interview with the creators of Put This On, which I mentioned here.
(I've listened to a few of these again and all I can say is aaaaaaawkward.)
Conversation 1 - Lulu, then with Chictopia, was nice enough to be my first victim.
Conversation 2 - Lauren, of the now sealed and defunct fops and dandies. About 10x better in terms of "production," but 1000x more awkward in terms of the interview.
Conversation 3 -The lovely and talented enc of Observation Mode, who stopped blogging for awhile. Thankfully she didn't delete her archives.
Conversation 4 -This is Winona. She has written a book. BUY THE BOOK. Unfortunately most of this interview is me talking...and talking...and talking....(Interesting note - this was recorded before Obama was elected.)
There would have been others except the two times I've spoken to Steve I forgot to hit record. I did speak to Susie, but it seems I never made it into a "podcast." But here is the entire hour, unedited, without intros. Make of it what you will. (Hover over the image below for the play button.)
It's impossible to consider the last ten years in men's fashion and not think of the two T(h)oms: Mr. Ford and Mr. Brown. While Ford is known more as the man who turned around Gucci's fortunes through a renewal of female glamour, his namesake label can be seen clearly as an extension of his own personal style. He is, sexual orientation notwithstanding, the quintessential American male, a strange situation considering his very European sensibilities.
Chances are I'll never be able to afford anything with Tom Ford's name on it, but I have to admire both his branding ability and panache. Here is a man who exudes self-confidence and control. I may not want to look like Tom Ford, but I'd like to look as composed as he does.
When word came out that Ford was directing a movie, my inner little shit scoffed openly. Here we go - another fashion designer who thinks he's an artist because he does the odd sketch and knows the difference between Helvetica and Arial. And I continued to scoff until I saw the trailer (via kottke.org).
Maybe it's because I just watched the entire second season of Mad Men in the space of three days, and am thus punch drunk on plastic-framed glasses and slim-fitting suits, but this looks like a real corker. Tom Ford - Director. Yet another thing to be jealous about. (And kudos for not splashing his name all over the trailer.)
For my money Pulp's Common People belongs in any discussion of the 90's best songs, and acts as a perfect summary of my formative decade. Unfortunately I was completely oblivious to it in 1996, and also completely oblivious to the stylistic superiority of its lead singer, Jarvis Cocker.
More than his choice of clothes, or thick-framed glasses, it is Cocker's swagger and attitude that define his style and make him such an inspiration.
Lately he has positively owned with a tweed jacket on corduroy pants, more commonly the outfit of English professors made splendid through careful tailoring. It doesn't hurt that Cocker is reed thin.
And here he is in that same look, getting tossed around a mathematically diabolical office.
Of course, you could say this guy got there first.
I was going to post a lengthy and, let's be frank, boring review, because I wanted to do the book's immense significance justice with lots of post-structuralist hoodoo. But then I realized that would be very wank.
So instead I am going to post a series of responses to parts of the book, or rather post a series of reflections upon the book's subject matter. Which is, let's be frank, starting to sound even more wank.
Sentence one, chapter one:
My mom took me shopping for my first pair of jeans when I was twelve years old.
And suddenly there you are, taken back to that day YOU went shopping with your mom or aunt or older brother/sister, that day you went to get the item of clothing that was going to change your life.
I envisioned folding my crisp indigo jeans and gingerly placing them in my purple dresser, next to my compass and crime-fighting notebook, while whispering things like, "We've done it again, Old Blue," and "I can't wait for the adventures tomorrow will bring!"
A few things about this sentence:
It's at the end of the first paragraph and already she has me laughing out loud in a public place. Old Blue? Adventures? Are you kidding me here?
It's structurally perfect. Perfect. If I sat here for ten years trying to think of a better way to convey the transformative power we bestow on clothing I wouldn't add one iota of awesome to it. Perfect.
It demonstrated that although the book is entirely about women and their wardrobes, its themes are universal. Which is to say, I get this girl.I know all about this moment. I know all about crime-fighting, and magnifying glasses, and finding clues, and the outfit you need to do all of that.
The twelve year-old me wanted one thing and one thing only - a pair of Nike Air Stabs.
First of all, these shoes would let me run a 22 second 200 metre. At least. And with that would come...well, everything really. A better haircut, better clothes, less pudge, and the esteem of all my peers. Possibly, just possibly, girls.
But I didn't get these shoes, not least because in 1988 they cost $125, which is, basic math, around 5000 of today's dollars. What the hell was up with that Nike? Why don't you just reach into my bag and take my pencil case too?
I don't know how I haven't heard this mentioned anywhere other than a tech blog. Put This On is a just started web series about "dressing like a grownup." The production value is high, but much more important than that is the spirit of the video - completely open, friendly, and, well, awesome. (Is awesome a spirit? I don't care. I'm giddy.) If you care about men's style at all, and since you're reading this site I'll assume you do, then please post about this series. Can't wait to see the next episodes.
