It's Fashion Friday!: Animals Died So You Could Do WHAT?!

            I love fur outerwear. I’m not a vicious, animal-hating, evil, barbarian. I like to be warm. I am cold 99% of the time. I’m the person you see wearing a hooded sweatshirt inside when it’s 95 degrees out. And when the temperature drops below 20 degrees, I will have to have on about 5-6 layers of clothing to regulate to a normal temperature. Putting a fur layer in there cuts that in half. It’s practical. Down filled quilted garments are also warm, but it is somewhat easier to walk around in a fur vest than it is to walk around in a sleeping bag. Not all fur garments are created equal. And I certainly wouldn’t want to look like a drowned rat or a CGI wolf from the Twilight trilogy that happened to get caught in a Tsunami. I still want my fur “whatever-it-is” to be fashionable. There are lines, however, that shouldn’t be crossed, if… I don’t even know how to end this sentence.

Chanel. Blue mink helmet.

           GAH! EGADS! What the hell is that?! Exactly. Whatever you’re thinking. Yes. That’s it. BOOM. Joan of Arc just became a Smurf, took an acid trip, flew to the moon, watched the Gladiator movie, and had John Galliano mold her a helmet out of a blue foam yoga block! Actually, it’s Chanel and it’s mink. Poor, poor, mink. I know they’re mean little creatures, but this seems unjust posthumous treatment even for them. I think I saw somewhere these things cost about 3g’s. Karl, what were you thinking?

Fendi. Photo by Filippo Fior.
This is EASILY a $15,000 coat. 
I wish I were joking with that number.

            Next in the lineup, we have the amazing cracked out Technicolor Millipede that Joseph found in his Dream-coat after not having it dry-cleaned for a long, long time. Or is it a crustacean? Regardless of what kind of bug it most resembles, Fendi put it there. And, oh what a surprise, Karl Lagerfeld had a hand in this too. There were a few covetable pieces in this line, but after reviewing the still shots of the Fall 2013 looks I can only advise Mr. Lagerfeld of one thing. Buddy, really, YOU HAVE A GAS LEAK IN YOUR HOUSE.

Creative Recreation. $190 a pair at Barneys.

            I got this email from Barney’s about one of their newest favorites from Creative Recreation. These promotional emails are often comical. Having once been on the other side of the counter I realize that they probably bought pretty heavily into this “new favorite” and are now thinking, “Wow, we better get people to buy these.” My question would be, “Did the Smurfs become a significant marketing target sometime in the last year and I missed it?!” I can’t decide if these are worse in the blue or the white calf hair, probably the blue. The white looks a little less, uh, hairy. Can I think of a single male I have ever come in contact who would wear these? Yes – one – dirty feet thought he was going to get a fresh pair after he left his nasty dry foot gunk on the suede footbed of the pair he tried on sandal guy from my S Ferragamo days. That is not a whopping endorsement, Barneys. Good luck with those. 

          

Altuzarra.
Each one of these mittens
is larger than her ENTIRE ass.

Is it a Rorschach? Is it bird flock
excrement? Or just a weird
design? I don't know.

 Some designers are more interested in sustainable fur. So instead of killing animals that haven’t been treated well, they’re just using road kill in their designs. That’s not true, but tell me that THING doesn’t look like a boxing glove made out of a dead skunk. What is that? Can she drive a car with those on? She certainly cannot grip an ice cream cone. I doubt very much that she could button/zipper a coat or pick up a Birkin. Even Cruella De Vil was smart enough to wear sleek gloves so that she would have access to her cigarette holder. Altuzarra does have Cruella’s coat for you as well, if you’d prefer that to the skunk mittens. Supposedly, it was the most Instagrammed coat at Fashion Week (back in February). Isn’t it amazing that people would get so riled up about something that’s been done before, and by Disney, nonetheless? Maybe they were just happy to see something that wasn’t as ugly as Mick Jagger.  

It's Fashion Friday!: Monstrous Marketing Muck-ups

            Whenever I find myself in an airport, I can’t resist buying a magazine. It’s pretty much the only time I spend the money on print media. I find that looking at pictures on airplanes is an acceptable activity. Looking at pictures and sleeping. Now I own a laptop, so a whole new world has been opened. As you’re getting to know me I can hear you thinking, “Sarah, do something different? No way! She bought a magazine anyway!” It’s true. I did. And as much as I wanted to buy the copy of The Economist calling out to me with it’s headlining article about the crisis in Syria, my shallow side won out and I picked up the latest issue of Vogue with the sole intention of reading it to rip it apart. What is it I have against Vogue, you ask? I don’t know. Maybe I just never forgave them for eliminating their horoscope section.

This is not appealing unless you are a
purple martian looking for a new bathrobe.

            Lucky for Ms. Wintour and her bland publication, I didn’t even get to their content before I found myself completely overwhelmed with distaste directly resultant from marketing failures. Did I go to sleep and miss some sort of shift in reality? I was under the impression that print advertisements, especially fashion print marketing, were to entice and encourage you to desire and purchase product. An effective marketing spread makes me not only want the clothing, shoes, and jewelry that the model is wearing, but also the life, looks, and location of the model. I want to BE the model. I want to be standing by that pool, drinking the martini, wearing the diamonds, having the perfectly tailored chiffon empire-waisted gown gently floating in the breeze as my pool boy waits for further instructions.  Right?

            Well, I opened up the August 2012 issue of Vogue and found myself staring at Lindsey Wixson decked out in giant purple slabs of agate (Maybe? That’s what it looked like. I’m no gemologist), with the most dreadful lilac space age bob, carrying a rock-like minaudière that resembled a coffin for a boutonnière, sporting all black Chanel. Perhaps in a different setting Karl Lagerfeld’s designs would have been appealing, but I looked at that picture and thought, “Good grief I don’t EVER want to look like that.” 

Hat trashcans - the portable way to make sure you have somewhere
to dispose of your recycling after lunch.

            Not many pages later, I found myself staring at some print from Louis Vuitton (they just can’t catch a break with me this month). Now I will say, the handbags these young ladies were photographed with were somewhat smart. I could like them in a different setting. The stylists RUINED it. These girls have upside down trashcans on their head. Felted wool trashcans. Millinery on LSD. No, scratch that. On LSD they’d at least be in pretty colors. It’s Millinery on meth. Toothless, dirty, ugly hats. The peasants in My Fair Lady had nicer hats. 

Little Miss Muffet sat under her tuffet, watched Edward
Scissorhands, and lost her mind (in quadruplicate).

            Even so, LV doesn’t take the cake for the worst showing in the magazine. It’s funny - these are the kind of weird photographs I expect from D&G, Miu Miu, Balmain, and the like….in comparison their ads were so tame. The winner of the worst editorial marketing photo of the year is…… drum roll….. Juergen Teller for Marc Jacobs!!!!! When you turn the page and see a bunch of dumpy anorexic girls in white cake makeup, with faux? Real? Fur hats (although they were big enough to be tuffets for Pomeranians), dowdy sweaters and brocade jackets, and think “Is THAT JOHNNY DEPP?” you know you’re in trouble. I don’t want to look like Johnny Depp. I don’t want to wear a fur tuffet on my head. And I certainly don’t want to hang out with anorexic girls in ugly sweaters. I want pretty dresses, diamonds, and pool boys. If anyone in your marketing department told you otherwise, they were sadly mistaken.