362. Some quick thoughts on IFB’s Evolving Influence conference, such as the disturbingly narrow gap between lived life and performed life, as well as very calculated and mercenary definitions of ‘artist.’
September 10th, 2010 § 39 Comments
Hi, I’m back from the IFB conference and Amy Odell‘s impassioned speech on the importance of being fast as a blogger (if you wait two minutes, you’re too late) must have gotten to my head (which conflicts perfectly with another panelist’s advice to not blog about the same thing that every other blogger is going to blog about.) Just kidding. Gala Darling suggested that bloggers are both artists and businessmen and business women. Someone else said not to write long theses on serious subjects. All the panelists did the best they could, but I did have to leave midway through three talks (I won’t say who!) to get a soda, water, and energy drink because the level of discourse began to feel as hopeless as listening to a toddler trying to explain the global economy.
I noticed:
+ The conference was so professional and beautifully organized! Jeanine from The Coveted and her busy bee helpers were tremendous and on their A+++++ game.
+Wendy Brandes is hot! More on that later.
+ Every panelist spoke on the importance of being original and how no blogger will ever get anywhere if he or she simply copies what’s already out there. This made me feel a little gloomy for the conference participants (how handily I exclude myself!) because the sad truth is that people attend these conferences to learn from someone else. Maybe that isn’t quite the same as ripping off someone else’s mojo, but it’s hardly using originality and cleverness to figure out one’s own specific and idiosyncratic path to success. I thought of writing conferences I’ve attended in the past and even the creative writing classes I’ve taught at Iowa. I’ve always suspected (and sometimes confirmed) that the students who end up being the most successful and go the furthest with their talent (or maybe it’s the other way around–they had the most talent to begin with) are the ones who ignore my advice and do their own shit. Which is basically what most of the panelists were saying anyway, but in a roundabout and sometimes elliptical way because who wants to pay money to hear someone say: Hi, do your own shit and if you happen to already be talented, you should be fine. Bye.
+ Are fashion bloggers contributing and encouraging the normalization of heteronormative, pre-second wave feminism, socially conservative relationships between men and women? I think EVERY single successful personal style blog has 1) a two-person team consisting of a female personal style blogger and her steady, long-term boyfriend or husband, who was already a photographer or willingly became one over the course of time 2) who is also willing to bring the camera everywhere in order to help capture and stage photos for said personal style blogger who performs some aspect of her personal style over the course of hundreds of photos so that the final product looks totally effortless, spontaneous, and gives reader the illusion that they are actually peering in this style blogger’s life even though we are only seeing a planned and performed aspect of this blogger’s public life which masquerades as private life, which then entices and tillitates readership who are increasingly voracious to experience more of this blogger’s authentic private life.
+ The crazy thing is that celebrities have been doing this for ages. For example, when Britney burst into the scene, we were all transfixed because we had this young lady who was performing a totally sexually uninhibited character in all of her videos which we took to be her public persona, while in interviews, she performed an entirely different character–a virginal, innocent, down-to-earth Southern girl who would rather stay home and bake with her mom than go out and be wild. The contradiction is intriguing, even though both her public and her private self are performed within a fairly safe distance from the real Britney (although we also saw that space disappear and the window to her mental health became increasingly transparent.)
+ The only difference is that a blogger’s public persona (and the corresponding public persona masquerading as private persona) is usually entirely developed and conceived by the blogger herself/himself, as opposed to an entire publicity team madly brainstorming to come up with the perfect pop star to sell to the American public–e.g. Britney Spears, the professed virgin who never does anything wild except for when she has a snake hanging down from both her arms and is tonguing Madonna after passing her off to Xtina for sloppy seconds.
I think after writing this blog post, I may have inadvertently stuck my finger up the butt of all today’s panelists’ advice (except maybe Ms. Odell.) Large chunks of logorrhea-addled text, and hardly any visual accompaniment or cleanliness of form, and nothing in here that helps the monetizing crusade. Thank goodness. A more frivial, (which is my own Palinesque neologism for when something is both frivolous and trivial,) write-up of today’s conference in the coming days (including plenty of booty shots of my kitten pockets thanks to the Mandate of Heaven onesie I romped around all day in.)
Oh right, I forgot to touch on the disturbing definitions of ‘artist’ brought up in today’s panel. May I suggest to anyone who wants to call herself an artist (Beyonce, you are almost excused): please read Kafka’s “The Hunger Artist,” first? Because I’m starting to feel the horrific weight of life crushing my fingers into broken pods of pain every time I hear someone refer to herself or himself as “an artist.” Let your work precede you. Don’t be the self-laudatory prologue to your own boring novel, dudes.
My favorite panelists:
Phil Oh from StreetPeeper
Susie Bubble was real classy and well-spoken.
Mattias from Bloglovin‘ had the most astute analysis of how and why blogger’s have become influential. Graphs are always helpful and remind me of my favorite sociology teachers from university.
Love, Jenny
361. IFB Evolving Influence, Chictopia, Fashion Week, debauched Stoic, I mean Epicurean
September 8th, 2010 § 3 Comments
I have so many backlogged photos and blog entries to share with you, but no time at all. In the past few weeks, my cousin and aunt came to visit (my auntie all the way from Shanghai!) and we ate Korean barbecue, home-cooked Chinese food every morning, afternoon, and night (except the nights we were eating Korean barbecue,) and home-made fish tacos and chive pancakes. I got to have all sorts of cheeses and truffle-drizzled dishes and Vietnamese bloody marys loaded with ginger, lemongrass, and other chopped up root spices with my toad friends (toad as a liberal slant rhyme for totes, which is short for totally awesome) Eric, Christina, and Elana. I sipped Patron and Moet on the rooftop of a Hilton to celebrate my friend Harry’s birthday, and ate little sliders while the guest of honor napped on one of the Roman beds. Oh! And I got to hang out with my favorite family friends: Jing & Cici.
(Jing & I in red & pink. Only one of us looks lovely in this photo…)
I hope Jing doesn’t mind that I stole this photo from her facebook album. I’ve known Jing since she was maybe three and I was maybe seven. And now I’m definitely twenty six.
Tomorrow, I’m attending the IFB Evolving Influence conference & I have no idea what to wear. I’m not really an outfit planner, but I am a last-minute stresser. Is a fashion blogger conference like any other conference? Should I dress professionally? Can I wear a midriff baring bustier top if I feel like it?
There’s so much more to look forward to beyond tomorrow’s IFB conference. I’m excited for the Renegade Blogger meet up that Rebecca so kindly organized, and I’m super excited to meet Jasmine, Jen, and Starr at various points throughout the week(end.) I’m attending the Chictopia conference on Sunday as well, even though it conflicts with the Brooklyn Book Festival, and I’m sort of planning on ducking out on a few panels to try and see if I can’t say hi to John Ashbery with my mom in tow.
Speaking of my mom, she took this photo of me the morning after my Hilton rooftop soiree. She’ll be helping me pick out an outfit for tomorrow. If you see me at any Fashion Week events, please say hi! I’m more weird than shy, (I think) and most likely more than half my outfit will consist of shoes and accessories I pilfer from my mom’s closet tonight.
Love, Jenny
360. Belated Labor Day solidarity (Oh yeah, and my teenage dreams came true last night)
September 8th, 2010 § 3 Comments
Although I know International Workers’ Day is far more significant to the progressive labor movement, and Labor Day has long since been debased into having little meaning other than serving as an annoying cut-off date for fashion conservatives as the last appropriate occasion to wear white, as well as one last opportunity for a summer barbecue (which I shouldn’t demean because summer barbecues really are the shizzle,) I do want to take a moment on this blog (one day late, of course) to remember the relationship between labor and fashion.
I think it would be strange to run a fashion blog that doesn’t acknowledge the labor that goes into making clothes–both beautiful and butt-ugly clothes (I won’t name specific brands, but I know we’ve all had a moment of, “This piece of garbage costs $120, and they still couldn’t pay their workers more than $2 a day?” or “Awesome, my ten dollar jeans ripped down my ass after wearing it three times.) I know this isn’t news to anyone with even an inkling of knowledge about where most of our clothes come from, but a lot of this labor is shameful — whether its jeans made in prison sweatshops right here in the United States, or the omnipresent “Made in Indonesia/Bulgaria/China/insert whatever developping nation where cheap labor can be exploited for textile and clothing production” for an article of clothing that seems suspiciously cheap and most likely, poorly made.
I spent a good chunk of my Labor day weekend indulging in some Roman hedonism and play (more on that later or maybe never,) and the rest of it was spent with my parents’ very painful Shiatsu back massager and rereading Sweatshop Warriors: Immigrant Women Workers Take on the Global Factory by Mariam Ching Yoon Louie, and Nickle and Dimed by Barbara Ehrenreich. Both books are not perfect books, and there was something particularly disturbing about the public’s embrace of Ehrenreich’s expose on how it’s basically impossible to afford shelter, food, and basic living needs on a minimum wage job in America, because it seemed like another instance of the American public having a collective, ‘Wow, I had no idea!’ moment, even though low-income folks and people of color have been saying for AGES that they can’t get by on minimum wage. Why does it have to take an educated, wealthy, white female author to pose as a minimum wage worker before people will listen? Black Like Me, anyone?
But that said, Ehrenreich’s book itself is a good one, and she approaches her unusual situation of artificially slumming it for a few months for the purposes of research and engagement with grace and sensitivity and complexity. Louie’s book is a really necessary and good book and makes a lot of really important points often missed by the liberal activist message–namely, the importance of local and community organizing.
And as for how I spent part of my Labor Day… I was anxiously making my teenage dreams come true!
I used to sneak out of school to make periodic trips to the East Village and the Lower East Side, often by myself, dressed in my big, platform combat boots (that were from Delias and I secretly hoped noone would out me for it) and usually an old dress of my mom’s that I rescued from the trash. I liked to go into Screaming Mimi’s and Other Music and walk up and down St. Marks hoping that some punk kids would notice me (or whoever I thought was a punk at a time,) and one time I was sifting through used CD’s at Kim’s Video and I found a copy of Outkast’s Stankonia. I was pissed when I got home because I had accidentally gotten the EDITED version (Tipper Gore, you fool,) and so for a year, I knew the words to every song on Stankonia except for the profanities.
Last night, I saw Big Boi at the Brooklyn Bowl. I got there way early and staked out a spot for myself up by the stage. I was so nervous and trembly and anxious for Big Boi to start his set that I ended up peeing eight times in two hours, and each time I came back from the bathroom, I was terrified that I wouldn’t be able to push my way back to the front. Big Boi was amazing. The best part of the night was when his son rushed out to the stage to dance for us while Yelawolf flipped his side mullet to the other side of his head during ‘You Ain’t No DJ.’ If you’re wondering what this has to do with fashion, I will show you with a series of photos:
Bullshit that Andre 3000′s guest track isn’t on the record. (Photo and omitted song can be found on Punchbowlblog)
Andre3000 at the launch of Bixby, his freaking awesome clothing line.
Right, participate in democracy, but more importantly: wear PLAID SUSPENDERS ON GINGHAM WITH A CLASS-A BOWTIE IN YOUR MOUTH.
Love, Jenny
359. Love post: I-Ella, Mandate, & You
September 3rd, 2010 § 5 Comments
A few days ago, I met with the super adorable & super good-at-her-job Laura from I-Ella, which is this rad new website (I’m talking rad on the level of a hypothetical love child between Claudia Kishi + Luna Lovegood) where you can shop the closets of celebrities, as well as sell, buy, and swap your own already loved, designer clothing. The best part is that a portion of each transaction will go to benefit charitable non-profits and social ventures.
Now, I’m no celebrity, not by a thousand meter long shot, but Laura was sweet enough to invite me to be part of the grand launch of I-Ella next week during New York Fashion Week. Some of the things I will be listing with I-Ella include my green Swedish Hasbeens jodhpur ankle boots, a cashmere Built by Wendy sweater with heart buttons, lace-up Frye boots, and a really beautiful Alexandra Grecco onesie that I’m sure most of you have seen on the beautiful Hannah Metz and the less magnificent me (the one I’m selling is made of a berry cotton fabric.)
And of course, there will be even more impressive closets on sale than mine. Membership to I-Ella is totally free, boys and girls, and you can sign up here.
I also had a little bit of time that same day to stop by Fort Mandate and crush on (Big Pun stylez) all of their beautiful playsuits and two pieces and dresses. Carissa, the mastermind behind Mandate of Heaven is a genius, I think. I wish I had remembered to bring my camera so I could have shown you the inside of her studio/workspace/showroom. It’s all mint green walls and playsuits hanging from the ceilings and flower crowns all along the walls and stacks of vintage trunks and satin shoes and adorable kitties. Her partner Ariel is the nicest too. He made me a cocktail and played lots of Nirvana, and the whole time I couldn’t help but think of Kurt Cobain’s dresses (thanks to Meggy’s post!) and wonder why Courtney Love sent her daughter so many unhappy tweets on her daughter’s birthday. I wore my Mandate bustier top with the loveliest ruffle trim (it’s the top to these bloomers!) and sweated my way through Bushwick & the occasional DAMN YOUR FATHER KNEW HOW TO PRODUCE A FINE LOOKING CHILD (and me forgetting that street etiquette is to ignore, ignore, ignore, and instead directly responded with: Um, I’m on the phone with my dad right now actually, do you want to tell him yourself?) to get to Fort Mandate. It was so worth it.
Thanks for taking my customer photo, Mandate!
I ended up buying a pair of mint green shorts with mushroom pockets from the Opiate collection, their line of organic playsuits that are all hand made or produced in a fair-trade labor environment (no sweatshops=HOLLA!).
My mom took these photos for me before I left on an epic three hour bus-subway-subway-ride to the West Village to meet my friends Karan & Anna for some Baba ghanoush at La Moustache.
Next time, I’ll get her to take a booty shot of the mushroom pockets on the back of the shorts. I’ve had insomnia for several months now, and I could probably carry a small pea in the bags underneath my eyes. (See photo for proof.) In third grade, someone told me about my bags, and I was like, “How could you fit a bag underneath your eye? And where does it attach?”
Despite carrying bags from insomnia, and having nightmares that unfold into more nightmares every night, I’m really happy. I’m getting a sore throat and tomorrow a hurricanes a-coming, and I’m happy. Something really amazing happened today, and I’m happy. I ran around the house screaming and high fiving the walls because everyone was gone from the house, except for my brother and he doesn’t care if I run around in my underwear, screaming and high-fiving furniture.
Lastly but most importantly: your comments and your support and your readership of FFW makes me happy. Maybe we can organize a virtual puppy-pile hugging party so I can tell you how much I appreciate you (and how much I like puppy-piling.)
With love,
Jenny
358. Dior, dior, dior, dior, who cares who cares who cares, fashion is dumb + anyone who spends any amount of time thinking about it is a brainwashed idiot
September 2nd, 2010 § Leave a Comment
Hi everyone! I just wanted to post the longer, original version of my Guardian blog post. Thanks to Minh-ha for alerting me that my Guardian post on Dior was included in the Business of Fashion Daily Digest. It was also picked up by The Atlantic’s blog, (The Atlantic Wire,) even though it seems like the consensus in the comments section is anything that happens in the fashion world is a ‘non-issue.’ Awesome. It’s not as if clothing and appearance have EVER had anything to do with the history and contemporary practice of racism, sexism, or classism.
I know my manner of writing is sometimes unnecessarily prolix and long-winded and lapses into rant and tangents. I don’t plan on changing my way of writing for anyone, and at the same time, I don’t expect everyone to want to read my writing, or to want to read so many blog posts on Dior, but I wanted to post the longer version of my Guardian article more for myself, so I can remember all the ideas I was fumbling with at the time when I was trying to write a follow-up to my original post on the Shanghai Dreamers campaign.
Some of the ideas ultimately cut from the final article include the time John Galliano used Masai fertility symbols as heels, and the time Marc Jacobs designed a bag for LV that looked exactly like the bags that Ghanaian refugees carried out of Nigeria, and also the bag that Chinese migrant workers use to lug their stuff.
So here it is in it’s glutted, unabridged, orotund glory:
What haute couture fashion can and can’t tell us about China (and the rest of the world.)
by Jenny Zhang
Given the history of Orientalism in Western sartorial practice, is it any surprise that Christian Dior’s latest ad campaign, “Shanghai Dreamers,” shot by Chinese artist, Quentin Shih, features a series of photos where a strikingly-styled white model clad in Dior couture towers over rows of digitally reproduced Chinese women and men dressed in Cultural Revolution drag? And no, your eyes have not deceived you—the Chinese people in the background literally all look the same.
The photos are a stark reminder that shameless Orientalism is still accepted in fashion. Edward Said writes in his seminal book, Orientalism, “The Orient has helped to define Europe (or the West) as its contrasting image, idea, personality, experience… The Orient is an integral part of European material civilization and culture.” (By the way, the Oxford English Dictionary truly ought to list this photo under the entry for ‘Orientalism,’ but I know the chances are as slim as the United States including itself for once in its annual Human Rights Report.) What better way to affirm the modernity, individuality, and exceptionalism of the West than with the very material of Dior clothing on a white model contrasted against a backdrop of undifferentiated Chinese people in dated clothing?
Dior, true to form, since unveiling the campaign last month, has not acknowledged anything problematic about the display of these images on the windows of their Shanghai storefront. After all, this is the same Dior whose head designer, John Galliano, sent shoes with carved Masai fertility symbols as heels down the Spring 2009 runway. Galliano declared the collection, “tribal chic,” one of those fashion buzz terms employed in articles that refer to the “African influence” on fashion as if Africa were a single country or tribe or culture. Fashion’s cavalier nonchalance and the mainstream media’s lack of response to fashion’s racial provocations might lead one to think that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with white models on a European runway quite literally stepping on the backs of an African tribe’s religious symbol.
Of course, fashion has always blithely forged ahead with little concern for blatant cultural appropriation (see: the past twenty years of Galliano’s fashion career) or cultural appropriateness (see: images of colonial and imperialist splendor in the return of plantation chic and harem chic.) But can and should they continue to get away with it?
Just last week, China’s economy surpassed that of Japan’s to become the second largest in the world. Business Week reported LVMH (Moet Hennessey Louis Vuitton) SA, the company that owns Dior and LV among others as the world’s largest maker of luxury goods, saw a 53% rise in returns in 2010 so far, with a leading 21% sales gain in the Asian markets.
In considering Asian consumers, it would be wise to have less fashion moments like the Shanghai Dreamers ad campaign, or the plastic red and white plaid bags Marc Jacobs designed for LV in 2007, since that exact bag has long been carried by Chinese migrant workers, as well as Ghanaian refugees from Nigeria seeking asylum. But then again, fashion designers are not in the habit of actually learning about the places they take inspiration from.
Take Karl Lagerfield’s admission last December, “I haven’t left the hotel since I arrived in Shanghai, not that there is much of it left over,” before debuting a short video he directed, in which a fictionalized Coco Chanel visits the Shanghai of her dreams. It is precisely nothing more than a dream, because in what other reality could 1960’s Chinese labor camp workers possibly be played by Danish supermodel Freja Beha and Lagerfield’s French muse Baptiste Giabiconi? In one scene, Lara Stone as Coco Chanel enlightens the two actors in yellowface that “the Chinese invented quilting,” followed by one of the Chinese laborers lamenting, “I much prefer to have blue jeans.” The message couldn’t be clearer—the Chinese are ignorant of their own history, desire to imitate the West, and need a cultured European to educate them.
My reading of the Chanel film might seem hyperbolic until you take stock of the similarities between images in fashion portraying China and Chinese people as inscrutable, ignorant, backwards, jejune, and robotic, and the rhetoric currently employed by pundits who are predicting the Chinese do not know how to handle their growth and will inevitability crash and burn if they don’t change course (aka follow Western conventions.) The West is both transfixed and utterly horrified by China’s rapid development, and the fashion world, as much as it would like to see itself as the final frontier for nonconformity, is no different.
Whatever you think of China’s human rights record, economic policies, politics, culture, or social conditions, old-school racism just can’t fly. The mainstream media needs to put pressure on Dior to apologize for their embarrassing Shanghai Dreamers ad campaign. But they have been silent, with the exception of Art Info, who focused most of their critique on the photographer, Quentin Shih. Shih, a native Chinese artist, born in 1975, has gone on the record to say that the ad campaign was entirely his idea and that he meant no offense.
I believe his intentions completely, and had these photographs been presented in the context of an art gallery with other contemporary Chinese artists, the cheekiness and the humor of the replicated bodies would have come through. The blame is not to be shouldered by Shih, who is an artist and entitled to the contradictory, messy, ideologically unbound expansiveness that we crave in art. Rather, the blame is to be squarely placed on Dior and Galliano who should know better than to commission these photographs for their Shanghai storefront, who should have sent Chinese models for Shih to shoot, and who should understand that the modern Chinese Dior customer will not recognize herself or himself in these photographs.
The blame is also to be placed on the media and the fashion world for so openly accepting racism in fashion, whether it be genteel or overt. If fantasy is part of the appeal of fashion, then wouldn’t it be worthwhile for Dior, Chanel, and other couture houses to figure out how Chinese people fantasize and see themselves? Surely, the vision does not include wearing a Mao suit, carrying a migrant’s work bag, and dressing exactly like everyone else.
.
And because I mean no disrespect to the work of Quentin Shih & feel terrible that there was possibly more backlash against him than against the house of Dior, & to add further happy complication to the question of authorship, intent, messages in art, and the art in messages, I’d like to include this kick-ass photo from an editorial he shot, “Stranger in the Glass Box,” as part of his first collaboration with Dior.
(Photo from Trendland.net)
With love,
Jenny
357. first day on the job
September 1st, 2010 § 6 Comments
Marc by MJ dress
Today is my first day on the new job, and I’ve been looking forward to it all week — this morning I’ve been eating curry and drinking a latte and filling out the last of the paperwork that I’m supposed to bring into the office. And, of course, changing in and out of outfits. I was wearing a 40s silk blouse and black pencil skirt combo, inspired by Francesca’s gorgeous blouse collection, but somehow it just didn’t feel right. Eventually I changed into this Marc by Marc Jacobs dress that I bought in 2006. At the time, it was the most expensive dress I’d ever bought, and still is (with the exception of my wedding dress, which really wasn’t all that more pricey than this one). But it’s held up well, and most of the time putting it on makes me feel like a winner.
As you can see, our apartment is still in disarray. We don’t have all of our furniture in yet, including the two Ikea bookshelves we ordered in an attempt to keep our library in check. (The entire right half of the living room is filled with boxes of books.)
FFW seems to be going through a stage of transition, as well. Jenny’s going to France soon, and I’ve been working on my own blog, which deals more personally with issues of writing, as well as thoughts on living well with mental illness. We have more readers now than ever, and comments that make us oh-so-happy. We’ll just have to figure out where to go next with it all.
Thanks for being rad.
xo,
mw








