392. De l’Ordre et de l’Aventure
January 27th, 2011 § 20 Comments

Walking around town in my faux-fur coat and feeling the tiniest affinity with the 70 and over population of French women who have small bodies and wear real fur coats around town (not so much in my town, but so so much when I was in Nice and visiting my friend Laura in her seaside town of La Ciotat.) Today, I had a long conversation with a little boy on his scooter. I told him I was from New York and he was like, “He he he he, hamburgers and les gens très gros?” and I was like, “ha ha ha yes super fat people who eat hamburgers every meal!” just because my french isn’t good enough to do anything more complicated than agree with whomever I’m talking to, and because I didn’t want to feel like I was at the lycée teaching my French élèves again.
When I was a senior at Stanford, I had a class in the English building that ended just as the sun was setting, and I would take my bike up to The Oval and sort of just stand there for twenty minutes until it was time to bike down Palm Drive to get to my job as a waitress as a vegan cafe in Palo Alto that was run by an aging hippie who lived in a commune and didn’t know how to manage a business (it closed after a year,) which was why he asked the staff to “donate” their tips, which I did, except one time I put twenty dollars of a fifty dollar tip in my shoe (it was like a party of 40 in this tiny little cafe and I was the only server) and I was best friends with the cook and the assistant manager, both Chinese women, whom I sat with every evening while they counted the day’s earnings, and they would always tell me that someone as beautiful as me should always be in love, which made me feel the greatest, even though my life at the time wasn’t, and I was sad to come back to the cafe after I graduated and had spent a month in Shanghai to find out that the assistant manager quit and the cook had gone back to Taiwan because her husband had stomach cancer. Before all that, there was a time when I was standing around with my bike at the Oval, and a little boy on a pogo stick bounced past me and said, “Nice bike! But what’s that bouncy thing?” The bouncy thing was my bike lock and my bike was twenty dollars and pink and I left it at the Palo Alto Caltrain station one summer and never went back for it. I have another story about a little girl in a vibrating horse costume who came up to me to hug her vibrating body against my leg and to give me a shard of glass that I’ll tell you another time.
Today, I also chatted with an elderly woman who was wearing a very thin nightgown despite the nipply weather (nipple weather) and she wanted to know if I was a tourist or a magazine writer and I told her both because again, my french was too stupid and I was too lazy to explain what I was doing. When I was in Nice for a day, I ended up stranded at a bus stop for twenty minutes, and an elderly man sat down to tell me about the time he went to Indochine, and the time he rode a tank through Shanghai and fell in love with all the women and then came back to France alone and was disappointed by the selection of Chinese food. I also met a nice middle aged couple in matching duffle coats and very distinguished hats and we talked about New York and how lovely it is to spend the holidays at home.
I have so many photos, dating all the way back to October, that I feel funny about sharing for some reason. Even these photos I took a few weeks ago seem unfit to be shown.
In case it is interesting to you, I’m wearing argyle tights from Uniqlo, and a cropped sweater and faux leather shorts from Topshop. The faux fur coat is from Zara and the boots are Rachel Comey. Sorry, these pictures are so dark and blurry.
Today is payday. A week of 90 centimes ramen noodles, and now it’s time for this:
Hey Americans, notice how this pastry is like a slider but with sweet cream inside instead of ground beef? Kidding. But seriously, this thing is wild.
With love,
Jenny
391. FFW HEART-TO-HEART: Why mainstream fashion editorials deaden our insides, or, how the new issue of WORN seduced and charmed our hardened fashion hearts
January 25th, 2011 § 12 Comments
In our second installment of FFW Heart-to-Heart, Meggy & I review the new issue of WORN magazine (available here,) talk about our disinterest in fashion glossies, our zine-making and zine-loving pasts, and of course, our superfine moms. You can find our first FFW Heart-to-Heart on overdressing here!
M: So, before we begin, we’d like to mention that WORN got in touch with us, asking if we’d like to review their magazine. And, being interested in non-mainstream fashion, we happily accepted. Thus, this review. As a touchpoint, I’d like to add that this really reads as a labor of love for everyone involved — and the pieces, whether they’re about stewardess fashion or finding the right sort of vintage glasses, are suffused with a sort of delight that I find charming, especially as a former zine kid.
J: There was something really homey and pleasurable about sitting down with WORN. The articles were unpretentious and genuine — although when I say unpretentious I don’t mean lacking in intellectual rigor (and vigor!) The article on stewardess fashion in the 60′s and 70′s was hella fascinating, as was the article on the scatological implications of Guerlain using trace amounts of an anus-bordering cat gland in their “Jicky” perfume.
M: I also found the stewardess article to be the most fascinating piece here — maybe in light of my mother’s own teenaged wish to become a stewardess. (And even now, one of the Chinese airlines — I think it’s China Air? — is still well-known for their unusually attractive stewardesses.)
J: Snap, our mothers’ pasts are each other’s dopplegangers because my mother was encouraged to try out for a stewardess position in the 70′s (according to my mom, it was considered the best job a woman could get in terms of prestige and financial stability,) but she lost out to her best friend, because apparently her best friend had a ‘sturdier’ beauty.
M: I wonder what that means!
J: I think it means a woman who is beautiful but could also do some damage in a farm, whereas my mom probably looked like the kind of woman who would break out in hives if asked to pull weeds out of the ground (sorry, mom.)
M: I really enjoyed the representation of women of color in the stewardess piece.
J: I agree! On the whole, I really appreciated the diversity of images and voices in this issue of WORN. Even though I was never a zine kid, I was a zine fan-girl, and like you said, reading WORN reminded me of sitting down with a stack of zines because all the articles and the authors feel so relatable.
You know, the thing that I thought was the most interesting about the article on the evolution of uniforms for stewardesses (“Flights of Fancy,”) was the bit about Boeing deciding to hire women as flight attendants in the 1930′s because “people considered air travel risky; having a female on board would demonstrate its safety. After all, if a young woman wasn’t afraid, how dangerous could it be?” And I have to say that, when I used to travel as a child, whenever there was turbulence, I would look at the flight attendants serving coffee in the aisles, and I would think: They aren’t scared, so everything’s okay.
M: I also thought that was interesting. Also: the idea of stewardesses-as-nurses, which is not played up as much (or at all?) these days. (And, yes, there are other articles in this issue, but this one felt the most substantial to me.)
There was something else that I wanted to ask your opinion about, which was — I find the role of fashion editorials in “alternative” style magazines interesting; for example, how non-mainstream fashion magazines try to subvert that. There’s one editorial in this issue. What did you think about it?
J: I thought it was sort of bold that the editorial didn’t credit the clothing. And I appreciated the Letter From the Editors, which addresses the very issue you bring up. The editors write, “We’re not a shopping guide or a catalogue, we’re a mood board. We’re an idea bank and a what-if-you-try-this-list. We want to give you the one thing we could all have readily at hand: inspiration.” And I really appreciate that as a mission statement for how to approach fashion editorials.
M: Right. Especially since my reaction to fashion editorials in glossies tends to be a mix of boredom and annoyance.
J: On a purely personal and aesthetic level, I have to admit, the editorial didn’t really inspire me a whole lot. I could feel the creepy shadow of past Vogue editorials — the ones where some model is standing in a field and there are wild animals present or vaguely ‘tribal’ elements lurking about’ — hovering like a spectre over this particular editorial. What do you think of it, Meggy?
M: I wasn’t a fan of the editorial. Just now, during our conversation, I was trying to imagine what my ideal editorial would look like, and I was even having trouble coming up with ideas — there’s the issue of what models you end up picking, what clothes, what environment. I think my ideal editorial would have a motley crew of my friends as models in my living room, wearing vintage clothing in imaginative combinations — but I think I’m less interested in editorial-as-magic, or editorial-as-transportation, than most people are.
J: Samesies all the way. I guess there comes a point when pretty images are just that — pretty images. And that seems to be least persuasive and the least interesting aspect of fashion for me. The personal stories, the human backstory to why clothes and pretty bric-a-brac are meaningful and valuable is always vastly more interesting, which is why I’m intrigued by your idea of getting a bunch of friends to dress up in vintage in your living room!
I think WORN hits its sweet spot when the articles are personal, like the first long article about the nostalgic value we attach to our clothing and learning to let go rather than hoard. I also liked the articles that delved into the historical-social narratives of clothing, like the stewardess article we fawned over, and the article about how perfume was once FERAL and actually frightened and upset people because of how ‘animalistic’ it smelled.
M: Yes. I also have to laugh a little because I think what interests us most about WORN is what we try to represent in FFW.
J: We’re narcissists!
M: Well, we’re fashion bloggers, which is the same thing.
J: How do you think WORN magazine fits into the fashion milieu? And what do we think of fashion magazines, anyway?
M: Oh, gosh. If we get into talking about fashion magazines, I might never stop, and this Heart-to-Heart will be ten pages long. In brief: I’m not a fan of 99% of fashion magazines. And the things that interest me about WORN, the things that I like to read about and think about, are the sorts of things that aren’t being addressed in most fashion magazines. So much of fashion magazines, I find (and this is a big buzzword in the fashion world in general, as I’ve learned from my tiny role in it), is the idea of “aspiration.” And the idea of what “aspiration” means, for most fashion magazines, is $1200 Mulberry Alexas.
J: And leaves most readers feeling panicky and deadened inside afterward.
M: I do, at least. (Without even addressing the issue of models, which is a whole other kettle of rotting fish.) Which is why I don’t read glossies anymore.
J: I think what WORN really nails is “reflection,” something that big glossies almost never do well, and that’s the sort of fashion writing I want to read.
M: Hear, hear.
(Image from WORN journal)
Oh hai. Just hanging in my French kitchen, next to some rubber gloves and food stains, checking out the cute spread, “Hide and Feature,” on bloggers, including two of our very favorite bloggers: Hannah from Hannah & Landon and Eline from A Fluffy Blog!
xo,
Meggy & Jenny
390. My fingers are stuck full of words, so here are some pictures for you
January 23rd, 2011 § 3 Comments
Jenny and I have recently been talking a lot about writing, and what we try to achieve with our writing, as well as our fears and hopes and dreams for our writing careers. Both of us are in our late 20s (still young, yet), and while things are happening for us (Jenny has many publications coming out, which is a brilliant boon for the reading community), there is also a lot of anxiety about things like choosing/thinking about agents, building a body of work, and finding homes for our homeless stories.
If you read The Novelist’s Hubris, my other blog, you already know the following bit of exciting news: I found out a few weeks ago that I received a large writing grant to help fund the completion of my novel-in-progress. And while I consider myself fairly diligent already with my writing schedule, I’ve been extra-sure to wake up at 4, 5, 6 AM to get in some writing before work.
To cite David Foster Wallace again, here is part of an interview with him, and I cling to these sentiments when I am floundering at 7:30 AM with the sunrise:
I had a teacher I liked who used to say good fiction’s job was to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. I guess a big part of serious fiction’s purpose is to give the reader, who like all of us is sort of marooned in her own skull, to give her imaginative access to other selves. Since an ineluctable part of being a human self is suffering, part of what we humans come to art for is an experience of suffering, necessarily a vicarious experience, more like a sort of “generalization” of suffering. Does this make sense? We all suffer alone in the real world; true empathy’s impossible. But if a piece of fiction can allow us imaginatively to identify with a character’s pain, we might then also more easily conceive of others identifying with our own. This is nourishing, redemptive; we become less alone inside.
Hence: I’m conserving my words in places that are not related to work. I’ve been using my Contax T2 more than usual as a way to get another look at the world; I hope you enjoy these snapshots of my life. In the final photograph, I’m wearing a vintage frock from La Rosa (in the Haight), as well as a pair of plum Tabio tights. My hair is also quite short these days.
Jenny and I will be posting a new Heart-to-Heart soon. Be on the lookout! & I hope you’re having a beautiful weekend.
xo,
mw
389. I wrote a post on Jezebel in response to Amy Chua’s “Why Chinese Women are Superior” & Now I’m Trembling
January 13th, 2011 § 19 Comments
Hi my darlings. I’ve been laden with fever and my best gal Anna asked me to write a response on Jezebel to that infamous and ubiquitous Wall Street Journal article, “Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior” by Amy Chua. I realize it’s not really a fashion related subject, but Meggy and I have never really had much hesitation or hang-up about making this blog as expansive as we we like. So if you are interested, you are welcome to check out my response on Jezebel: “Tiger Mothers” Aren’t the Whole Story. And in the spirit of love and trying not to let my knees knock against each other too much over the possibility that I have now full-on overshared about my life and the lives of my loved ones on the internet, here’s a photo of me and my mom and my dad in Crystal Beach right after I found some shells that I wanted to wear Little Mermaid style, and I decided that the greatest day of my life was happening to me right then and there, and I would never forget the ocean water on my itchy face and the feeling of sand in the summertime and eating pancakes for the first time in my life with my parents, whose sides I desperately wanted to remain by.
PS: Hell yeah, I’m wearing a bedazzled orange creamsicle button-up crop top with floral shorts and my dad’s aviators.
Love, Jenny
388. Quickly, some Dusen Dusen before I show you how many hot pots I hotly potted inside my planted stomach
January 6th, 2011 § 18 Comments
Quickly: a handpainted cape from Dusen Dusen, and this double owl ring that I’ve been wearing the past three months and accidentally left behind in New York, a polka dot dress I wear whenever I feel gross, the Madewell sweater I spilled hot mulled wine on one moderately frisky evening and never bothered to clean, my mom’s amazing loafers from Prada that make me feel like the guai xiao hai my family wants me to be, and sadly forgetting to scan the Spring Lookbook for Dusen Dusen that Ellen sent me, so for now, all I can say is: SHARK PRINTS and A.C. SLATER WOULD WEAR THESE BACKPACKS, so wiki wiki to the hizzy.
I have a spicy as ya momma food post in the works, and it’s paining me to write it because it makes me think of New York and how much I miss it. The last days of 2010 and the first days of 2011 were days for eating five meals a day, parties centered around a seven-course meal that starts at midnight with raspberry infused strawberries and an accordion interlude après the seafood starters and ends at five with grilled canard & tiramisu, making fun of Black Swan, crying in secret under broad daylight wearing broken sunglasses in a middle of a field and feeling as self involved as a magnet, going to bed before midnight three nights in a row, which is the first time in maybe twenty years that I’ve done such a thing, and waking up at five in the morning with a thumping heart because I keep living the same life with different people when I want to be living different lives with the same five people, and also I want to go to bed proud of myself (at least once in a while,) but instead I feel this woozy, loser shame, this mounting fear of being a fraud, that David Foster Wallace addressed in his address to Kenyon College graduates about worship:
If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally grieve you. On one level, we all know this stuff already. It’s been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, epigrams, parables; the skeleton of every great story. The whole trick is keeping the truth up front in daily consciousness.
Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to numb you to your own fear. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. But the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they’re evil or sinful, it’s that they’re unconscious. They are default settings.
…The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day.
After his suicide, everyone zeroed in on how his Kenyon College speech mentioned suicide (by firearms) and how DFW possibly was foreshadowing his own death, which makes me fall down all over again, because here was someone trying to talk about love and compassion and having heart, things that intellectuals and the literati are not supposed to talk about, or at the very least, rarely praised for, and all anyone can do is the sort of close reading that DFW was increasingly rejecting in favor of interpretation that allowed for the fullness of heart he so desperately needed to see in the world, and me too.
Love, Jenny






