the world according to sherimaven

Good afternoon, Thursday. I'm going to try and write more frequently, here and otherwise because I realize how bummed out I get when I'm not contributing to my version of life.

I'm often torn between wanting to write full time (with that pervasive and inevitable gnaw of impostor's syndrome ) and starting some sort of production company with all of my favorite talented people (with that pervasive and inevitable gnaw of whether or not that's the right move for me and anyone daft enough to join me in this mission). I just finished a few projects and now I'm left to my devices and thoughts and gnawings and damn if I'm not just melting ever so slightly. It happens. I'm just feeling a bit rock and hard place like and before I continue to employ anymore cliches, I'll shut up about all of this woe and talk about clothes. That's always best.

So I'm subscribed to Moda Operandi, that online trunk show that allows for pre-ordering the most luxe items before they are even in the stores. Needless to say, I'm not much of a patron but a girl can dream (see why that writer's life is troublesome?). 

And right now I'm dreaming of jackets, specifically those I spotted on MO yesterday from Alix of Bohemia, created by a Scottish born designer who's traveled the world in an art filled haze of gorgeousness. Lest you think I've become some version of Suze Orman, I have not. I just love the way a great jacket pulls together an outfit- you can literally wear all blah black and put on a fab jacket and transform a look. From over a more formal dress to make something feel more breezy to putting something embellished over jeans and ballet flats, you're in business with a beautiful jacket. And these jackets? Sweet Mother of Pearl. I love them.

Think the best of hippie, bohemian, military influence. I adore these pieces and though they cost several limbs and an organ transplant (my liver most likely comes cheap), I am very much coveting one of these fabulous jackets. I'm attaching the link to their site for your own peril/enjoyment, and you can also pre-order them at Moda Operandi here. They are truly all that.  And as I try to look to the future and decide what I want to be when I grow up, I'm happy for the distraction of a wonderful item of clothing. Now back to my regularly scheduled program featuring neurotica, fears of homelessness, and wanderlust. Cause that's what's up this well jacketed Thursday in the 718. Yours, in suiting up. XO

Good afternoon, Monday. It's been a long time. Regretfully I have not had time to write on this blog or create the new one I keep mentioning. I've been busy with a book project as well as producing some shoots so no time to talk about anything important- like the death of Prince, my hatred of festival fashion, and how fabulous Gloria Vanderbilt looks at 90. 

But I digress because as I was walking Khan this afternoon, rejoicing in the first Monday I've had off in some time, I had a thought. It may seem obvious, but it hit me over the head so I thought I'd share. 

As a freelancer, having a week off is a wonderful perk- a week is a good amount of time before the inevitable fear of homelessness sets in, when New York is yours, and you can sit in the park and breathe and take a class at the gym at 11 am instead of 6 am. That alone is a great luxury.

I've spent my career in advertising and my husband happens to work in the biz as well. Something that came to mind today was the expectation that people in our line of work (and many others too) are expected to work around the clock, night and day if necessary to meet a deadline, win a pitch, or solve any multitude of problems. And though he never complains about it (most likely because he's used to it), my husband, who works as a creative/writer in said business, often does not come home till late into the night. For those of you also making ad type objects of late, you know full well that working late is not the exception- it is very much the expected norm if you want to succeed and not be in the dog house with your boss or cohorts. Working past 6 is "what we must do". I am starting to think that this is shite and here's why.

One of the biggest reasons is we are not compensated to work late. That's right. I said it. I used to make fun of my mom when she would ask me if I got "paid extra" to work weekends and pull all nighters and travel.  But really, shouldn't we get paid for all of the time we put in? Why is it expected of us to always be working? Day time/night time/all the time. It's farkakta. For you non Jews, that's our way of saying completely wacky.

Sure people in advertising make a nice amount of money- enough to buy organic kale, a good handbag, and take classes at Soul Cycle if one is so inclined. But if people in this biz and others are expected to put in more hours than the actual work day, shouldn't they be paid for that? Imagine how many ad agencies would come to a screeching halt at 6 pm if they actually had to pay people to work there past dinner time. Wouldn't that be something?

Now I know those of you in senior management are rolling your collective eyes right now, because you could argue that you pay people well, very well in some cases. But if time is money, why are agency workers not paid for the time they put in? And if agencies and other types of organizations don't want to pay for extra time put in, then maybe we should not be working late in the first place. Not to mention that I have always been a very efficient kind of girl- why on Earth can't people get their work done during working hours? The way work is distributed and the expectation that any idle hours are frivolous is a ludicrous concept. I find it sad that the only time I feel like I can feel unburdened is when I'm not working- surely there's a way to work above the minimum wage as a professional and get compensated for not just the effort we put in, but the time? Why is our time so taken for granted when life is so damn short?  Not to mention the countless entry level types who are expected to work until dawn, with no additional compensation. The fact that that's considered "doing what it takes" is ridiculous. Maybe that's why so many millennials are perceived as non-compliant with this sweatshop like behavior- because they have a better sense of their value- from a time, money, and quality of life perspective. They're not as dumb as we were, that's for sure.

Maybe just maybe all of those dreaded late nights would be worth it if we were compensated accordingly. Because then the time we do take off would be well spent- taking that much needed vacation, taking care of family, and maybe even taking a class at night in something to enrich our lives. 

I'm tired of the expectation that work requires us to never stop- I am far from lazy and will do whatever it takes to make something great. But really- why is our time not valued? If our work is valued and we are paid for our brains and experience and creativity, then why are we not paid for our time? Why is that considered idealistic? And why are we expected to never stop working, even though we are not paid based on the time we put in?

These are the kind of things I think about when I actually have the time to have a thought that is my own.  When did time well spent become so disparate from time well paid?  I believe strongly in working hard, but I also believe in the balance of having a life, and if work/life has to blur because we are now perpetually "on", should we not be paid for our precious time?  I think we can agree on one thing- life is very short. And every second counts.

Cause that's what's up this taking a pause kind of Monday in the 718. Yours, in time well earned.  Hopefully you're not going to read this while having dinner at your desk. And if you are, they better be paying for it. XO

Good late morning, Thursday, and happy #TBT.

I'm not one for nostalgia, and I don't ever even think about going back instead of moving ahead. But as a visually and sensory oriented person, it's hard not to think about a different time and romanticize it- and this week and probably a bit before that, I can't get the 90s out of my mind.

This week saw the death of Phife from "A Tribe called Quest". He was in my age group and a large part of what I call my New York come uppance. I remember first listening to them in college in Philly, when the Jungle Brothers, De La, and Tribe formed  the backdrop for many wild times in college, accompanied by King Brit for all of those who also came up in the 215 going to Silk City and dancing your faces off. Such good times.

And all of those sounds came with me to New York, the defining moment of my young lifetime, back in 1993. I remember very clearly the feelings of freedom, happiness, and excitement I felt. And as I walked these streets as a young chick, the thing that struck me most besides the diversity and beauty of the huddled masses was the style. THAT STYLE. Just look at Kate and Johnny from back in the day. I can't. I CAN'T. I CAN NOT. (I just did). 

The 90s were a mix of rave culture, hip hop, skate, and Belgian influence. There was minimalism, there were little backpacks, there were sneakers and dresses and dyed blonde hair and denim jackets. I was in a favorite shop of mine the other day where I tried on a sleek pair of black trousers, fitted through the leg and a bit flared at the leg. I had such a moment because I remember those days when everyone wore black pants and top to go out at night- full stop. It was the uniform of New York girls looking to get down.  

A friend of mine on Facebook posted a throwback photo of himself mid 90s in NY- he of long hair and eyeglasses a la River Phoenix, with a baggy shirt, shorts, and Birkenstock Arizonas, while his female friend had a blonde pixie crop, a black crop top with a boy's button down, and black mini, with Nike sport sandals. Genius.In the 90s, there was a hippie vibe happening again, but it was very post 60s and 70s and more a product of the greed and excess of the 80s- think style that let you be free to dance and love and whatever else you were doing. it was not as much about flower power, but it was a casual cool that was pervasive in culture. We were letting our hair down, and stripping it down to a basic cool that felt like the antithesis of gluttony and big shoulders and weird science. And it spoke so clearly to where I was in life- loving up on the club scene, hip hop scene, city scene, fashion scene- all the fun scenes that rolled before me in a very elegant haze. It was a great time to be young in New York. And it's true I've left out the influence of grunge, but you already know that did not speak to me as loudly as some of the other stuff I mentioned. It was a bit too morose and masculine for me, and though I loved the anger of it, I was more in the mood to dance than emote. 

Which brings me to an exchange I just had with my dearest friend, who alerted me to the fact that Vogue.com was featuring some of Helmut Lang's seminal late 90s shows online. If you are not familiar with the amazingness that was 90s Helmut, you should familiarize yourself at once. One of my favorite designers of all time- hands down. This was also the era of Tom Ford Gucci, mind you, another watershed moment in my fashion life where I clearly remember the game changing forever. But back to Helmut- and his very special brand of genius. Many find minimalism boring, but for me it's quite the opposite- these are clothes that let you live your life in technicolor and are almost like a blank canvas for all of your adventures. It's a liberating thing to think of clothes this way- thus the popularity of late of the work uniform- to me these clothes are a perfect antidote to indecision and regret. 

On the runway you would see diversity in ethnicity and age group. And the clothes? Find me anything in these photos you would not wear right the fuck now. So in love with all of these pieces- they are so well suited to city life-  from the office to Odeon (who is also enjoying a renaissance of late according to the NY Times and is also a popular haunt of mine). There's nothing better. And the simple hair and makeup is so classic and timeless. Remember this is long before the Kardashians, the real housewives, and selfie mania.  Helmut made clothes for modern life, without bells and whistles and "look at me" tackiness. It's no coincidence that the Gap was at their peak during this era- they understood the power of simple clothes done well. Why oh why can't they find their way back there again? Most of the looks are from 1998, with one or two from 1999 in the photos throughout- perched on the eve of a new century and aptly so. Can you believe almost two decades old and still so fresh?  I can't imagine ever not wanting to dress like this. Forever, ever? Yes. Forever ever. So my vibe to this day.

Now go look at every Rag and Bone collection, like, ever. And then have a look at Vince. And then look at COS. And then look at new Calvin. It's all based on the principles at Helmut- clean, modern, sexy, straightforward. The influence is felt to this day and I for one am so glad I was around for it the first time- needless to say, the new designers at Helmut (not him anymore, he bowed out a bit ago) are killing it again, and I bought a fabulous one shoulder caftany number that I wore to a wedding in Miami and will wear again on the beach in Montauk, most likely with the Nike sandals I was talking about earlier. Links to those 90s Helmut shows here.

The 90s were definitely a time. I'm so glad I was in this city when this was all happening. It was magical and wonderful and what's great is there is zero shame in repeating any of these looks now. In fact, our troubled times call for clothes like this. Pieces you can depend on that stand the test of time and are just that perfect. 

And that's whats up this #TBT in the NYC. Yours, in don't be afraid of your freedom, or your vintage Helmut Lang.XO

Good morning, Monday.  Weather is all kind of cray with some snow showers this am, and warming up this week, so my mind is very much on Springtime. I'm looking forward to blooming flowers and sunshine. 

Speaking of which, perhaps you need a little style inspiration to get you in the mood. Because I'm a weirdo, I spent much of the weekend in between binge watching "Billions" and working my little tale off thinking about Lauren Hutton in the 70s. I happened to catch a picture of her casually suited self (above) and couldn't help but want to wear that outift on the spot- adore the idea of a suited approach to dress that is sexy and easygoing and cool. I adore her- she's still such an iconic American beauty and just love her athletic, casual chic. Looking through these photos, there's very few things I would not wear today. The 70s is my style era- obsessed with these looks and going to channel these moments when I think about dressing a bit saucier/sexier for Spring. 

Hope you enjoy all of these lovely looks as well-so gorgeous and their easy/breezy vibe gets me well sorted for thinking about Springtime outfits. Cause that's what's up this 70s inspired Monday in the 212. Yours, in American beauty and infamous style. XO

Hey, friends. Happy St. Patrick's Day from your favorite Jewish girl. 

I am working on launching my new blog soon- keep your eyes open and look alive- I promise it's coming before it gets too warm outside. Very excited to share it with you.

So some of your lovelies mentioned you miss my product posts- with that in mind, here's one such item you should probably purchase, and good news- it won't break the bank.

When I was in Miami a few weeks ago, I stopped in my favorite indie beauty stock up spot, Cream. I have always loved their great selection and attentive service, and they have lots of fun things to smell and dab on and arm test (you'll walk out with several shades of lipstick on your forearm, guaranteed). 

I was tan then so decided I needed a good tinted moisturizer to match my face, which was usually more of a ghostly New York white and my makeup I packed was ill suited for my bronzy look. The ladies there recommended a tinted moisturizer from The Balm- a brand I was not familiar with but now I'm obsessed. I haven't tried any of their other offerings but I adore their tinted moisturizer called BalmShelter- it's just the right amount of coverage plus it's not so matte that you don't glow- I love it so much, and what's even more lovable is the price- it's under $30, a great bang for the buck. If you have a chance I highly recommend trying it- I always switch to a tinted moisturizer with SPF for Spring and Summer vs. my winter foundation- I like lighter in the Summer and don't need quite as much coverage, but absolutely need the protection from all of those hot rays.  I got the medium tone and it's still working for me somehow despite my fading tan.

Anyway, I thought I'd break that off for you- it's a great product at a fab price- try it if you're in the market for some lighter makeup for the warmer months.  It's the BOMB. There, said it.  Cause it truly is a great product. Link to buy here.

And that's what's up this less is more makeup kind of Thursday in the 212. Yours, in green beer and good makeup. XO

Good afternoon, Tuesday. I have not much time to talk to anyone let alone write a word other than the words I am due to write for a project. But I had to take a breather for a bit and note two things about what everyone's talking about, the crazy cuckoo weirdo acid trip of an election we're about to have. It's like taking peyote on a spaceship wrapped in itching powder. I can't.

But here's what- I have two funny things to impart amidst all of the hallucinogens.

One- I happened to walk into Lord and Taylor the other day (I have no business in that store, I know- it's off brand) and happened to find myself in the shoe department, as one does.  Needless to say, I was merely browsing and not finding anything interesting, but I did notice a fairly large array of Ivanka Trump shoes. And I'll tell you- not a single woman would go near them. It's as if the shoes had the worst case of crabs. Nobody wanted to go near them. I asked the older saleswoman if she noticed a decline in sales of Trump shoes since all this craziness started, and she said "absolutely, nobody but nobody wants to buy these shoes at this point". And why would they? I'm not sure if the Donald is going to be our next (gulp) President, but in New York City, women ain't buying his daughter's dumb shoes. We do what we can, right ladies? I guess he had no idea he'd destroy his daughter's brand as he goes all gestapo through the states.  But according to my trusted source at Lord and Taylor, us New York girls are not having it. 

Two- I have to comment on Obama's recent swagger game. I mean the man is on fire. In a good way. He's become the honey badger of presidents, and can you blame him? Cases in point:

How can you not love his recent rap with the creator of Hamilton? The hip hop hug at the end was a nice touch. Love. Game is strong.

Obsessed with this talk on C Span. The man is a stitch. I will miss his impeccable comedic timing. And his well bred humanity. 

Then there's Michelle. And that Jason Wu dress. And that sexy hair. Vavavoom and fuck you all. I love it. How 'bout Obama's face? So good. Game face. 

Obama gives not a single fuck at this point, and I'm wayyyy cool with that. What I'm not cool with? The fact that he can't stay. I mean, I'd beg if I could. If you could count the amount of BS he had to deal with while resetting this whole country, well,  ya can't.  So there you have it- my pervasive election coverage. Ha. I cherry pick for you what's important. You're welcome. You know you've had enough of those other people. Cheers to our President. He's still in the White House. And he's a badass. I hope he moves to New York. Sure these are more than serious times, but I needed a minute.  Cause that's what's up this yes we can, he just did kind of Tuesday in the 212. Yours, in keeping hope alive. XO

Good day, Friday. I’m back in New York and what a difference a week makes. The weather here is just a delight. Sigh. Thinking positive thoughts and at least I have a good tan. There's that.

So I went down to Miami for a friend’s lovely wedding and decided to make a vacation out of it. Miami has always been a bit of a double edged palm tree for me- as you all know I lived there for many years and fell in and out of love with the Magic City many times.  As for my recent weeklong stint in the 305? I’m back in love. Well, more like major lust. Because if New York is my main boo of boos, Miami is my very hot sidepiece.

 Miami- like a lover you experience for the first time, albeit with warm, tanned skin (what’s better really?).  When you land in the arms of this mistress you see light in new ways- everything is amplified by that intense sunshine- blues are bluer, and everything becomes more in focus and sharp.  It’s hard to resist the appeal of palm trees, bare limbs, and the ocean. And though I am married to my life in New York, that Miami ocean air just gets me good. In ways I kind of forgot existed. And like a lover you revisit from time to time, it’s amazing to see how much remains, but even more intriguing to see how very much has changed. And really, this is one love affair that has gotten much better with time. Miami, you're looking good bay. Really good.

From the cool and art filled streets of Wynwood to the almost alien like glam of The Design District with its miraculously architected luxe emporiums, Miami is definitely in its prime. It’s a city I almost forgot about, but like all seductions, getting back in touch was well worth it.  The weather was delicious and oh how I love that sweet dose of sunshine.  Yes please. 

 If you’re planning a trip there or thinking about a city worthy of a quick love affair (do it soon before the weather gets too hot), Miami may very well be your type. I remain surprised by how much it’s mine. From the beautiful beaches of Key Biscayne to the pulpy darkness of Miami by night, it’s a city you may not want to marry, but one to get it on with that sunny bump and grind (I don't see nothing wrong). On Monday, I'll break you off with a little round up of some of my top picks from the Magic City, but today, I'm back in New York and back at work and back in that groove. And just wanted to riff on this for a minute, which I thought about as I bundled up this morning on my way to midtown:

Last night I got a haircut and then went to a favorite haunt in my 'hood for a few (too many) glasses of wine. My favorite DJ was in the house, a girl whose musical taste is much enmeshed with mine- from a love of reggae and old soul to a passion for Brit Pop circa 1990something. It's all there. So good. My friend who cuts my hair also happens to be a stellar DJ, and there we were- three chicks geeking on music for a few hours, in a setting that very much feels like home. New York is my jam. I will never leave here- even if from time to time I get turned on by some other city. Because even though Miami has that light and those trees and that ocean, New York has my heart. It's amazing how easy it is to jump back in- it's like the best old sweater you've ever had that keeps surprising you with new ways to wear it. And even though this weather is gnarly, there's no place like home (heel clicking away as we speak).  Miami, I may be blinded by your light, but New York- you're the only one for me. You get me, you really just get me (and I get you).

Cause that's what's up this back at it kind of Friday in the 212. Yours, in location based love affairs.  XO

 

Good afternoon, Tuesday. I'm off to Miami on Thursday and I'm excited to celebrate a dear friend's wedding and get some sunshine. It will be nice to see that crazy place again. Plus Cuban Coffee. And stone crabs.

So I shared an article on Facebook this morning in praise of girlfriends. I appreciated the sentiment that as you get older, it's super important to have and love on your girl friends- because they will see you through some dark shit when you need them.  Lately, I've been jokingly posting on Instagram about all of my various girls night locales- but all kidding aside, I really, really love my lady pals. One can never underestimate the importance of women who understand and accept your quirks, crazy, and vulnerability.  

I think that when you're a younger woman, it's easy to feel competitive with other women- in every situation from work to romance to who looks better in a bikini. But as we age, something happens- we're so free and confident with who we are as women, and if we're fortunate enough to see the beauty in female companionship, we're able to get past the competitive bits and bask in the glow of true friendship. And as I round the corner on another year here on Earth, I'm feeling such a strong connection to the wonderful friends in my life who happen to share my gender. I love to laugh with them, cry with them, and everything in between with them. So I guess I'm writing this to thank all of my wonderful female friends for being such amazing, talented, and beautiful chicks. Sure that's Taylor Swift and her glam gaggle o' girlies, but all of us have our own squad- albeit a bit more seasoned and less perfect. My friend and I were talking about a communal living situation as we age so we can have each other's backs- think Squad 2.0.  And speaking of squads, I've often thought about who would be in my fantasy squad if such a thing was viable- it would probably include bad ass bitches like Wanda Sykes, Chelsea Handler, Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, Maya Rudolph, and Kristen Wiig, and of course, Melissa McCarthy. I love funny women who keep my ass in line. I love the new generation of female friendships on TV- though I am not a huge "Broad City" fan, I love the message and "Girls" remains a favorite of mine, because it shows the complexity of maintaining relationships with your friends at a very narcissistic time in life. (Maybe I need to to write the Gen X version hmmm?) Obviously the holy grail was "SATC", but I'm not sure I understood the girl power thing in that way back then- I more related to the setting of my beloved city, the endless fashion revelations, and the sense of freedom of being single and unafraid. Now when I look back, I realize how precious those friendships were.  Way more than those Blahniks. (Though those were great too).

Never discount the value of female friendships. Or good shoes. Or rom coms. Or any of those things that may seem overly girly or cheesy. And if you're the kind of woman who would rather drink whiskey than shop for shoes, and would rather watch "The Warriors" than "Love Actually"  I'm down for that too.  My womanhood is not limited to one sensibility- but what I can promise you regardless of if you're covered in head to toe ink or head to toe Prada is that you will have a friend for life. I really believe that as a woman, respecting and befriending and supporting other women is great karma. I'm lucky to still be friends with all of my girls from my pre-teen years, and I'm rich in friends from all other areas of my life too. At this stage in the game, I'll take all that I can get.  I'm so enjoying you ladies- you know who you are- and I'm here for you any time you need me.  

So if you're feeling catty or jealous of some other woman's success in whatever today, don't. Why not phone a (female) friend instead? I guarantee she'll know what you're going through and will get you through it.  We gotta stick together, right?

Cause that's what's up this pinky Tuesday in the 212. Yours, in girl power and friendships. XO

Good morning, Friday. I'm enjoying being back on this blog so very much and can't wait to start the redesign of my next endeavor. Watch out for that- it's tots in the works and may prove saucier than my usual, but think you will enjoy it. Can't wait to share it with you.

So last night was the end of Figgity Fashion Week and dare I say- I was left deflated by the majority of the shows. Boring, tired, uninspired. Bleh bleh bleh. Thus my post on nihilism earlier this week, though I'm not ready to hide under the duvet in search of nothing just yet.

Because the Marc Jacobs show last night restored my faith more than ever so slightly. Would I wear most of the things from that collection? Nope. They are completely cuckachoo, but in the best of ways. But what that collection did for me was inspire me, because lately I've been feeling somewhat anti-minimalist of late, which is weird for me because for years I've rocked my New York version of Garanimals forever- basics in black, a bit shapeless, nothing to see here folks. 

But now, NOW. I want to go a little macro, a little over the top, a little exuberant. I have been feeling a pull towards a bigger self expression when it comes to fashion- when I was younger I absolutely went for it way more than I do now, and I'm thinking it's time to get a little crazy again, and in the best of ways. 

A friend of mine on Facebook just asked my opinion on this article, extolling the trend towards wearing the same thing every day. I believe that's what we call a uniform approach to dress, but really, it's uninspired, particularly if you're someone who loves clothes. Now if you're someone who can't be bothered to hobble around in stilletto Doc Martens, then I get it. If wearing the same thing every day helps you, well, get through the day, then go for it. But for me- it's wayyyyy too vanilla at this very moment in time. And that's what I love about fashion- when it's great it's a noddy/winky  or a sledgehammer between the eyes of what's to come in culture. And to me, we've been in a minimalist vibe for a few years now, and I'm ready for a change. Plus all these barre classes where I'm constantly on my toes makes me have an easier time walking in heels. And if David Bowie's passing has taught us anything, it's that being an individual in terms of creativity and style and DNA is worth celebrating, and expressing. Plus, who doesn't love some feathers? 

Now don't look for me to go all Manic Panic on my hair or start channeling an Edwardian Goth from outer space. Just know I'm thinking about breaking out of this fashion bind and keeping you all entertained with my love for a more original mystique. That Marc show was really something- reminded me of Leigh Bowery and club life and extreme rebellion and some Edward Gorey fantasy on mescaline and nitrous. Loved it. Love his middle finger to a safe and sale-worthy point of view.  Let's get over the top, friends. Who wants to get onboard?  How long do we have to be in the shadows until we are dying to come out? And yes, that's Gaga there on the runway. Maybe she's feeling the need to get a little freaky deaky again after a way too long era of strolling through Barnes and Noble with Tony Bennett singing the old standards.  Even though her Bowie medley made me feel violent, I like that she's a weirdo again. So much better that way.

Plus, I dig his homage to Hillary at the end. Surely that's one item in this collection many of us can get behind. Unless you want to live in Bernie Sanders America, which is actually quite the perfect place to wear a uniform (oh, yes I did). I for one am loving this over the top very much needed icing on the very boring cake of this (fashion) week. 

Thanks, Marc.  I needed that.I know I needed that, and I suspect so do you all.  Let's dispense with all this uniform stuff for a minute, yes? Why have we become so afraid to be who we want to be, or further, who we really are? 

Cause that's what's up this freaky Friday on the island of Manhattan. Yours, in letting it all go, and hang out, and what have you.  XO

Good morning, Tuesday. The weather in New York is like a never ending case of PMS- aggravating, puffy, and gloomy. I've about had it.

So lately I feel like everything's irrelevant. A bold statement I know. But I do. And I don't mean anything about my personal life, mind you. That's more relevant than ever. But I mean the world at large. So from a social commentary perspective, I'm back in high school smoking cigarettes in my pink bedroom, hating on everyone.

I've been watching the shows at Fashion Week and it feels utterly pointless to show clothes that one can't buy fresh off the runway. The whole model needs to be reinvented, because nobody really cares. And judging from most of the shows I've seen, the clothes reflect this new nihilism I somehow can't shake- everything feels so off, so unimportant, so not special.

Take last night's Grammys. The highlight of the show was the 12 year old piano playing prodigy at the end, and we had to wait the whole bloody show for that. Between Taylor Swift's bob to Kendrick's rage (which is relevant but was horrible to watch and listen to) to the sad state of Lady Gaga's Vegas medley in homage to David Bowie, everything felt horribly irrelevant. Does anyone buy albums anymore anyway? Isn't this vehicle ridiculous at this point? Do we really need another song about kissing girls or girl crushes?  And remember when Johnny Depp was cool? Guess what he is now? Yup. Irrelevant. And bloated. It's all so pointless and meaningless.  Nihilism is my jam. Or else I'm just old and not connected to anything that's happening out there.

Believe me, I've considered it. 

But I've always felt connected to youth culture and what's happening out there in pop culture but right now I hold out as much hope for that uniquely American export as I do for Trump ever curing his extraordinary case of rosacea.  I'm not sure what's happening but maybe there will be a trend towards irrelevance, nothingness, and existential crises that would do Camus and Sartre a real solid. 

It's true I come from a super cynical generation, which by the way, may make me and all of my Gen X mishpucha irrelevant too. I can even point to my own industry of advertising as one quickly rounding the corner on Irrelevance Alley. One need only have watched the Super Bowl spots to see that in action, although the Grammy spots gave my hardened soul a slight glimmer of hope. But not enough really. Oh and a recent update on last night's after parties is one for the books- Sir Paul McCartney couldn't gain entry to Tyga's after party. That's sad, yo. A world where Tyga is more relevant than a Beatle. Yea, I know. But it's fucked.

Perhaps it's just time to stop looking without and go within to figure out how to conform and adapt to a world where nothing feels fresh, vital, or remotely interesting. Sure it's fun to keep up with the Kardashians from time to time, but I feel our waters are toxic with an insignificance that overwhelms- and maybe that's because there's actually a lot of real fucked up stuff to worry about. Is irrelevance our new drug to cope with too much, well, relevance?

My fantasies never felt so nihilistic. Perhaps I need to daydream a bit harder...or get with the program. Or feel the Bern? Freewheelin' on a Tuesday. Yours, in existential destruction. XO