American Gothic

Blazer - Elizabeth and James

T-shirt - Murder City Devils

Jeans - Habitual

Necklace - Fenton

Boots - Fiorentini & Baker

The Full Sally Singer Interview

Remember that Commonwealth Club forum I went to last June where Sally Singer, Features Editor at Vogue, was interviewed on stage for a whole hour about fashion and the directions things seemed to be taking in our new economy? It was a marvelous evening and I'm so fortunate to have been able to be there.

Little did I know that the whole night was being video taped via a tripod a the back of the room. Click here and watch the whole thing for free! Seriously! There's not a lot of action on stage, so I think it could work just as well as a podcast or a radio program. So open up the window, press play, and do something else on your computer or around your home while you listen to the interview as it unfolds.

(Special thanks to Bryanboy for pointing out the existence of this video last week)

No One Ever Said Love Was Easy

Were I to have just one thing for spring, it would beyond a shadow of a doubt be this blouse from Miu Miu. With so much to adore: the sleeves, collar, colors, oversized sequins and the fact that it is littered with kitty cats, what's not to love? (Click the photo for a larger, more detailed image).
This blouse retails for about $1,900, which is probably the one thing I don't love about it. Sigh. Nothing is ever easy.

Bed of Roses

It's a Bon Jovi slow jam! It's a Christian Slater rom-com! It's what happens when I wear a lot of pink! Stop - you're all right.

Sweater - Theory

Blouse - vintage Escada

Skirt - thrifted

Necklace and earrings - my godmother

Shoes - Missoni

Spring Preview with SF Indie Fashion

I hinted earlier that something exciting was afoot, and now I can finally share with you all the awesome collaboration that recently took place. I put together a photoshoot for SF Indie Fashion showcasing trends for the coming spring, all of which can be seen here. I also penned the accompanying copy.

Major big thanks to the awesome photographer JT Paradox, the lovely Holden, who modeled, and of course Lorraine Sanders of SF Indie Fashion.

Photo via JT Paradox

I Feel the Need, the Need for Tweed!

My friend Ric alerted me to these extra special bicycle helmets from Bobbin Bicycles. Everyone needs a Sherlock-type headpiece for their cycling jaunts, yes?
Personally, I think this derby-esque number is my favorite. More versatile, methinks.

I have no idea how safe they are, but by gum, they sure beat the pants off regulation skid lids, yes? You can see a whole array of distinct helmet options here. And you know what these would be just perfect for? Why, your local neighborhood Tweed Ride of course!

Though once upon a time I went on a Valentines Day bike parade in my wild misspent well spent Portland youth...

... I've never been on an actual Tweed Ride, but they look fantastic, don't you think?

Photos of the San Francisco Tweed Ride courtesy of this guy's Flickr page.

An Edwardian Evening (Kind Of)

Last weekend here in San Francisco was the famous Edwardian World's Faire, and if before I even finish this sentence you are making grand assumptions about what this event might be all because of the way "fair" is spelled, I want to climb through the internet and shake your hand because you would be RIGHT. This was my first time at this event, and I was under the assumption that it was a celebration of all the wonders of the Edwardian age - an assumption that turned out to be incredibly simplistic.

The Edwardian period, which began with Queen Victoria's death in 1901 and her son, Edward, taking the throne, lasted until a few years after his death in 1910. Edward loved travel, adventure, fashion, and the arts - all things that his mother usually did not partake in. It ushered in a new, exciting time for the power elite in Europe. For women in particular, the suffrage movement grew in both size and influence, and fashion for women was rapidly changing, as a full, rigid corset began to fall out of favor around this time as well. The official end of the Edwardian period cannot be fully agreed upon; some say it came with the sinking of the Titanic in 1912, a signal that decadence had a terrible price, but others argue that it lasted until World War I began in 1914, or even at it's end in 1918.
I figured that at an Edwardian Ball, one dressed up in the costume of the time period, strolled around, and perhaps sipped a glass of absinthe, all the while admiring everyone else's costumes, and the pains taken in making them look as historically accurate as possible. I was wrong on almost all of those accounts, and I'll get to why in a minute, but I will say this: the absinthe flowed freely.
The Regency Ballroom, an elegant expanse of marble and brass, was marvelously decked out. On the main floor, there was a small display of scientific oddities. Lots of taxidermy, creatures in formaldehyde filled jars, and a fairly good sized menagerie of two-headed animals. This two-headed cat skeleton was one of my favorite displays. There were also performances of various popular dances of the time, including a can can show and the Viennese waltz.
Now here's the part where I have to brag a little bit: my entire outfit was pieced together from items that I already owned. The only thing that I bought new was a poofy floor length black satin skirt, and it cost one whole dollar - I grabbed it off the clearance rack at a thrift store near my work. The "Votes for Women" pin I made from an old ribbon from a horse show. I affixed a white circular sticker over the part where the picture of a horse usually is. I was sure there would be a lot of other revelers sporting suffrage-style pins and sashes, but I was wrong. I saw but one other suffrage-themed accessory the entire night.
Here's Amy on what we nicknamed the fainting couch. It was a great little rose-colored velveteen island where we sat and watch the crowd of hundreds go by. It was also a prime vantage point from where we could observe an on-going game of indoor croquet played out on fake grass. Along this terrain, between the wire wickets, were small black and white paper mache sculptures of warped little creatures that would look quite at home in a Tim Burton film.
I didn't take a lot of pictures. Most of the time it was just too dark, and you all know my deep aversion to using a flash when it isn't completely necessary. But honestly, there is a much bigger reason as to why I have so few pictures.

I came to the Edwardian Ball with the expectation that it would be, you know, Edwardian. Top hats, elaborate mustaches, demure bustles, powdered bosoms. I saw all these things in spades, but in reality, it was every bit as common to see bright pink fishnets, cerulean and lavender wigs, non-functional whirlygig contraptions, and a massive amount of goggles adorning the heads of a large portion of the attendees. The steampunk kids were creeping about in full force.I will say here and now that I really don't care for steampunk, something that takes the aesthetics of the Victorian (not Edwardian) period and mixes in Jules Verne and H.G. Wells-type science fiction elements, creating an alternate world where the past and future mesh, with a focus on anachronistic inventions, goggle-wearing, time travel, and scientific impossibilities. (For a more detailed explaination of steampunk fashion, see this lady's blog, which is also where the above image is sourced from). While I can appreciate the imaginative inspiration behind their get-ups, I am having a hard time understanding why such a large portion of the Edwardian Ball was focused on it.

I look at it like this: I like Star Wars. And where does Star Wars exist? In the outer reaches of space. The general world of Star Wars is a bit of a technological kerfluffle - the time period is "long, long ago" and yet in this world, inventions abound that we won't see on planet Earth for probably hundreds of years, if ever. So when NASA or some other organization hosts a convention or an evening of aeronautical appreciation, do I show up to such a function dressed as Princess Lea and talk hyperspace? In a sea of actual scientists and veterans of the astrophysics field, do I marvel at the Han Solo look-alike as he demonstrates a light saber that doesn't actually work, or coo at the gentleman who spent six weeks sewing his Wookie costume out of imported yak hair? The answer is clearly no, and I'll tell you why. This is the very reason Star Wars conventions exist, so that everyone can have a place to party and let their freak flag fly, and totally be in their element. I don't exactly want to play the role of party crasher by bringing an entirely ficticious element into a world of facts.

At something that is advertised as an Edwardian Ball, I want to be there to appreciate the ideas, people, and acheivements of the time, not to be bombarded with a sci-fi geek contingent in goggles and garters whose fake inventions don't actually do much except blow steam. Am I being unfair? Is this a case of the pot calling the kettle nerdy? It's entirely possible that I was in over my head, and had unrealistic expectations going into what was my very first - but, despite the goggles and tweed set, not my last -Edwardian Ball.

Missoni on a Movie Poster

I've written previously about the proliferation of immediately recognizable higher-end luxury goods appearing on posters for films targeted at women. Why the influx of such items on marketing material for a film? This I cannot answer.
The garments in this poster are not as obvious as Renee Zellweger sitting on a Louis Vuitton steamer trunk or Sandra Bullock in a pair of Louboutins, but it still jumped out at me enough to mention it here on Cuffington. Here's Jennifer Lopez in what is no doubt a romantic comedy (haven't all these films been romantic comedies?) draped in what I'd bet my last dollar to be Missoni, or perhaps M Missoni.

Unlike the three previous films that I wrote about, whose use of luxury goods on their promotional posters was clearly used as an indicator of the characters' economic status, I think this Missoni got thrown on moreso because it's beautiful and flattering. Although it's still my belief that nothing in advertising is incidental or left to chance, it's not as if she's wearing logo-a-go-go Gucci sunglasses or interlocking 'c' Chanel earrings. A little more subtle, but nonetheless present.

A Whiter Shade of Pale

This whole week has been gray and dreary. I fought it for days, but today I surrender.

Cardigan - James Perse

Shirt - Fashion's Night Out

Jeans - Acne

Shoes - Converse

Pinky Swear

Blouse - Sonia by Sonia Rykiel

Trousers - Marc Jacobs

Shoes - Christian Louboutin

Twee to Be You and Me

During my junior year of college, I took a weekend road trip to visit my friend Marisa at her small, wacky, liberal arts-minded Pacific Northwest private college. It was even more small, wacky, and liberal than the Pacific Northwest college I was attending, which definitely took some doing. Marisa gave me a whirly tour before our night of partying commenced, and one of the few things I took note of was a pamphlet that displayed the schedule of their low-wattage campus radio station. Like mine, there was a hip hop show, a punk show, a Christian power pop show, but something in the Thursday evening line up caught my eye: a show titled "Kittens, Kittens, Kittens."

The short description of the show followed thusly: "Music that is cuter than a basket full of kittens. Twee music for girls, and boys who wear sweaters."

Ah, twee. What is it, exactly? It's kind of a you-know-know-it-when-you-see-it sort of thing. Urban Dictionary defines twee as "Something that is sweet, almost to the point of being sickeningly so. As a derogetory descriptive, it means something that is affectedly dainty or quaint, or is way too sentimental. In American English is refers to a simple type of sweet pop music but in British English it is used much more widely for things that are nausiatingly cute or precious."

Don't confuse twee with hipster, and defintiely not emo. Twee never really gets that sad. At worst it's more of a mild form of bummed out, an "oh dang" sort of sentiment. A small sampling of twee pop groups include Shonen Knife, All Girl Summer Fun Band, and The Vaselines.

This of course is all leading up to something fashion related. Yeah, I know it took me a while, but we've finally arrived! Last month my friends JT and Dyanna spoke of a now-defunct fashion blog that I had never heard of, but sent me hurling back to a time when listening to The Sofites and the Moldy Peaches while sipping tea in a fair isle cardigan was business as usual. Ladies and gentlemen, belles and sebastians, meet Twee Fashion.




The anonymous author of Twee Fashion, who goes by the name Pet Sounds, says that when it comes down to it "all you really need is a scarf and a sweater." And if you've knitted them yourself while listening to Beat Happening with a kitten in your lap, it's even better.

I think this post features the word "kittens" more often than any previous post in the history of Cuffington. KITTENS!

Bags to Stash Your Capri Suns In

Who else has done this: on a sunny summer day, throw a Capri Sun or two into the freezer, and wait about fifteen minutes. Then, when it's good and slushy and not quite all the way frozen, you pull it out, slice the top open with a pair of scissors, and eat the insides with a spoon. Cool, sweet, citrusy. Although I haven't done this since I was thirteen, I can't think of a more superb way to segue into warmer weather.
On days like today,when the winter weather is particularly gray and gloomy, I think of splashy colorful things that some day will be all around us. Like these lovely Fouland Tootsie bags from Prada.

I'd slide them over my shoulder, slip on some wood wedges, and waltz around in Little Edie's bathing suit...

...spooning half-frozen Capri Suns down my throat. Summer truly can't come quickly enough.

White Nails + Mass Exhaustion

Back in my banal laugh of sartorial existence known as high school, my number one goal was to blend in and disappear. Wearing something deliberately off kilter was never on my radar. I spoke more of that here, but suffice it to say that looking like you were trying too hard was the biggest crime one could commit. Worse even than wearing jodhpurs from Mervyn's while cheating on your algebra test.
Back in those days, my style could be described as pastel tops and khaki pants, accessorizing with the occasional stack of AP Biology flash cards. But once in a great while there would be a girl at school whose style could be described as Do I Look Like I Give A Fuck? These chicks wore heavy black eyeliner and old concert t-shirts from the Salvation Army. Girls whose style was moreso inspired by Courtney Love than Courtney Cox. Usually their nails were navy blue, but occassionally you could see them sitting in the back of class painting their fingertips with White Out. Thus, white nails. Yesterday, I got it in my head that winter white nails would be the best thing I could possibly do, so I went to Sephora for a fix.

I have to admit that as soon as I put the nail polish on, I hated it. But it's growing on me. It's kind of like a little surprise every time I look at my hands. I jump a little bit because it's so unexpected. This is coming from a girl who wore nothing but clear nail polish until the age of twenty-three.

In other news, at this very moment I am totally exhausted! I was up with the birds this morning for what turned out to be a marvelous collaboration with this guy and this lady. I can't say much more at this point but you'll see the final results in the coming weeks. But I will say this: helping out others, and in this particular case, using your talents in helping your friends fulfill their dreams, is just about the best thing you can do. Thanks, guys. And thank you all for reading. Salut!

This Charming Man

Dress - Issa

Blazer - Elizabeth and James

Earrings - H&M

Boots - Proenza Schouler

A Man in Full

In theater, there's an old rule of playwriting: if you bring a gun on stage, it must be used. As to why this 'rule' exists, I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps it is the thought that as a story begins, the audience enters into a sort of contract with the author, and many unspoken winks and guarantees feed into their expectations. Does an audience want to feel validated by supposed foreshadowing in picking out the spoilers before they actually happen? A Single Man, Tom's Ford's directoral debut based on the Christopher Isherwood novella, is my favorite film of 2009. Some thoughts, including many of those aforementioned spoilers, are below.

It's a languid day in late fall, Los Angeles, 1962. Colin Firth is George Falconer, a college professor who we learn has recently lost his partner of over a decade in a car accident. This is a man who must grieve behind closed doors. Early on, in a powerful scene, the family of his beloved informs George, via a phone call, that he is forbidden from attending the funeral. Thus begins a journey of emotional paradoxes. George lived and loved greatly, but for all intents and purposes he did so in the closet, and now he must be bereaved in the closet. He goes to work, the bank, the liquor store. George wants human connections but has retreated so far inside himself that he isn't sure if it's even worth it. He smokes pink cigarettes with a street hustler named Carlos, dines with his boozy neighbor (Julianne Moore) and embarks on a sexually charged mentor-like relationship with one of his students.

Some say the ending, the ironic way in which George dies, is too heavy handed. To me, the only part of A Single Man that could have used a lighter touch was the choice to turn up the color saturation levels during moments when George was making real human connections. It was distracting, and after a while felt a bit gimmicky. Firth is masterful in this role, and I didn't particularily need cinamatographic elbows in my side to clue me in as George's emotions waxed and waned.

A Single Man is the story of a day. A contradictory day that is lush, bleak, academic, carnal, and awash in a paintbox of exploding colors and emotions. As George says, "If there's going to be a world with no sentiment, that's not a world I want to live in."

High Plains Drifter

Tunic and belt - Marc Jacobs

Trousers - Theory

Shoes - Christian Louboutin

Movie Sign!

Don't forget, lads and lasses: Style Cinema is tomorrow night! For some background and an intro to tomorrow night's films, click here.

Coming Attractions

I'm all about being prepared.

Cherry Bomb

Dress - Marc Jacobs

Sweater - Theory

Belt - Salvatore Ferragamo

Stockings - DKNY

Shoes - Christian Louboutin

No and No

I wore my beloved Dita-Marc Jacobs-NYU Skin Cancer Institute t-shirt last weekend.
About a year or two ago Marc got a bunch of celebrities to pose nekkid and be on t-shirts. All the proceeds from these t-shirts go toward the NYC Langone Medical Center, which works towards finding a cure for skin cancer. Although I've worn this shirt in public many times, this was the weekend when everyone decided to ask me questions about it.

"Oh," said the sales guy at The Container Store, "She just died recently, right?"

"What?" I said. "No. No, she's alive and well."

"Oh. Then...who am I thinking of?"

"Um. Brittany Murphy?"

"No. No, that's not it."

"Um...I don't really know who you mean."

"OH!! I know. Bettie Page."

About an hour later I was in [store name redacted], when a kind sales lady with frostings of gray around her temples approached me.

"Nice shirt."

"Thanks."

"Tell me...is it true....that she's really a man?"

"Holyfuckingshit, NO. Dita is all lady."

"Oh. Alright."

So, lessons learned: Dita is neither dead nor trans. Not that asking if someone is "really" a specific gender is the best way to talk about the trans community. Just so you know. And I'm now beginning to wonder if is it now my personal duty to put wayward rumours about my beloved Dita to rest. Well, if that is my lot in life (at least when I'm wearing that t-shirt), so be it.

If You Love Something, Let It Go

But when it comes back and stares you in the face, what do you do?
There was a time, 2004 it was, when Teen Vogue was one of my favorite magazines. Quick to read, the apparel within the pages were at affordable price points, and compact enough to lay open across the tray table on an airplane without bumping fellow passengers. There was a stretch of time - years, in fact - when I bought it every month and devoured it whole, usually in a single afternoon. Teen Vogue is light fare, but it has just enough meat on its bones to satisfy. I wished that such a publication had existed when I was in high school. When it came to teen magazines in those days, you had to wade through a lot of fluffy personality quizzes and boy trouble do's and dont's to get to anything fashion related. Teen Vogue is all fashion, with very little filler, and it makes no apologies for it.

Then one day I decided that I was too old for such a thing. As I began to recognize the cover girls less and less, and feel distanced from articles about sprucing up your high school uniform, it became more and more apparent to me that Teen Vogue was targeting an audience that I was just not meant to be a part of, and quite frankly, never was. I mean, I was 23 when I started reading. That ship had sailed long ago. I was staring down my late twenties when I decided not to buy Teen Vogue anymore. Who was I kidding, trying to be hip with the young kids? So I continued to slap down cash for my favorite glossies as usual, but the little square of blank space on my table that Teen Vogue once occupied was now forever vacant. I was a grown-ass woman of the world, and hanging up my hunger for Teen Vogue was like stuffing all my Barbies into a trunk and shoving it under my bed for the last time.

Well. As evident in the photo above, I recently went back to my old tricks. It was Friday afternoon, the sun was shining, and Teen Vogue was calling my name from its place on the magazine racks. At first I resisted, but then stopped and asked myself why. Why say no to something harmless that brings me joy? I tried to recall the reason why I had evicted Teen Vogue from my life, but could not for the life of me even remember. I think people make rules for themselves and deprive themselves of things in order to have control over the world around them. Not reading Teen Vogue didn't make me a more mature person, and it certainly didn't make my life any better, as far as I could tell. Who was I to say that I was better off without it? So, back into the fold I charged. I'm sorry, Teen Vogue. It's great to be back.

Style Cinema Returns!

Our next adventurous evening of Style Cinema is right around the corner! On Thursday, January 14th, Annie and I will once again host a night of movies with aesthetics that are definitely worth celebrating. Last time we screened Marie Antoinette, and this time around things are taking a slightly different turn. It's a double feature, with two short but delicious documentaries on the menu.

Unzipped is not only one of my favorite documentaries about the fashion biz, but one of my favorite documentaries, period. Filmed in 1994, it follows designer Isaac Mizrahi as he prepares his collection to be shown. He is under a lot of pressure to have it be amazing, as his past show received less than stellar reviews. The filmmakers take a warts-and-all approach to documenting Isaac's life, showing moments of great delight, total exhaustion, backstage chaos, creative frustration, but above all, passion. Hilarious and quoteable as Isaac is, one cannot help but admire his incredible hunger to do what he loves.

There are too many cameos in Unzipped to even begin to list, from models to industry legends and fellow designers. Somewhat accidentally, Unzipped also captures a very specific moment in time in terms of industry aesthetics; the age of the Supers had just peaked, and although there is wall-to-wall Linda/Christy/Cindy/Naomi and then some (Carla Bruni for one), Kate Moss struts down the runway right along with them, signaling a dramatic departure from what a top model was expected to be.

I mentioned earlier the deep sense of passion that runs through Unzipped. This feeling is immediately evident in Marc Jacobs & Louis Vuitton as well. Loic Prigent's documentary follows Marc as he simultaneously prepares his S/S 2007 collections for both Louis Vuitton and his own line. It is truly fascinating to watch these two knock-out collections take shape, from conception and inspiration, to the muslin-draped dummies, model fittings, and the migraine-inducing hours that Marc and his incredibly talented staff endure to bring it all together.

Long ago I read an interview with Bill Watterson, creator of the beloved but long out of print comic strip Calvin & Hobbes. He was asked how cartoonists come up with ideas for their strips and stories. Not unlike a designer, there is always something that must be created from scratch, day after day, season to season. Watterson's answer to that was, well, most of the time you just sit at your desk and stare at the piece of white paper until an idea wanders into your brain. Watch for the scene in Marc Jacobs & Louis Vuitton where Marc and his staff sit at a table and literally form a bag from playing with the material in front of them, a bag that eventually swings from Freja's shoulder as she stomps it out on the runway a few weeks later. Many moments in this film are decidely unglamorous, and for that I love it because it's real.

Please join us at the Velo Rouge Cafe (798 Arguello at McAllister) on Thursday evening, January 14th at 6:30PM, for Style Cinema. The cafe offers food (I heartily recommend their pizza), wine, beer, and regular cafe drinks, featuring Blue Bottle Coffee. Alice & Isa will also be on-hand with a few select products from their collection for you to shop. There is no cover whatsoever, but we advise showing up a little early for seating as we set up the projector, as our night of Marie Antoinette ended up being a full house. See you Thursday!

(And hey, if you want to always stay on top of all things Style Cinema, may I suggest visiting us on Twitter and Facebook as well)

Bag Lady

My friend Jana and I have been tight bros since the first day of high school. We haven't lived in the same town in about eleven years, but ours is the sort of friendship that has never lost its luster, and endured through thousands of miles, hours of phone calls, and years of summer visits and packages arriving quite unexpectedly in the dead of winter. Today, a padded envelope from Jana crash-landed on my doorstep, which I promptly tore into.

Amidst a letter and a few small trinkets lay an oilcloth zippered travel bag. Alright, cute. But then I turned it over.

There are those who know you well. And then there are those who have always known you better. Hold them close to your heart, my friends, and don't resist the urge to let them know it.

Seven Nation Army

Dress - Rag & Bone

Jacket - Elizabeth and James

Stockings - Hue

Necklace - Fenton

Shoes - Christian Louboutin

Let's Get Down to the Task at Hand

I saw this look on Gilt Groupe yesterday. The pants, a take on the loose fitting, high waisted peg-leg cuffed look we've seen our fair share of as of late, are from See by Chloe. What my eyes immediately dove for, however, were the sandals.

While I love a safari-inspired trouser, can we just talk about these sandals for a moment?

A promise of spring, all in the form of a shoe. So many things going on at once, and it all works so well. Some healthy licks of wood, soft black, buttery yellow, a juicy shade of green in a material that seems to be embossed ostrich, and a totally daring heel that does not hold back. Who makes these sandals is a mystery to me, as the styling credits on Gilt Groupe did not include footwear. I'm sure I'll learn eventually, as if awaking from a dream of early spring.

I'll Be Your Mirror

About a month ago I was hanging out with my Grandpa at his house. He lives in San Francisco, but almost on the opposite end of town as me. We were sitting at the kitchen table, and apropos to nothing, he turned to me and said, "Hey, do you want a big gold mirror?"

I didn't blink or take a breath. All that came out of my mouth was an emphatic YES.

How my Grandpa knew I had been looking for YEARS for a huge gold antique mirror to hang above my bed, I know not. But all of a sudden we were down in the basement, when he took it down from a hook on a wall and handed it over.
I asked Grandpa where it came from and how long he had it, and he was like, Psshhh - hell if I remember!

I couldn't thank him enough. It really is too perfect.

Grandpa knows what's up.