Now that the weather’s dipped below 60 degrees, I’m so excited to begin wearing my favorite fragrance of all time, Serge Lutens’ Muscs Koublaï Khän, which literally smells like a large cat in heat. There are only two reactions to this frag: people either wrinkle their nose, or lean in to sniff me with wild eyes.
"A woman says a drone is the Peeping Tom of 2014" = Best lede of 2014.
"If you feel threatened by it or you get hit by it, feel free to tell a person, ‘Hey look, that’s not cool,’ Seattle Police Detective Patrick Michaud said.” = Best public safety advice of 2014.
I can’t wait to join the future with my very own creepy peeping drone, you guys.
By the late 2000s, sadly, the era of hot pink and pursedogs was drawing to a close, and only die-hards and “cool moms" still wore Juicy. Then, Rachel Zoe and other celeb stylists swept in to rid Hollywood of its trashy blonde extensions, its ruffly miniskirts, and yes, its Juicy tracksuits. And that was a major bummer. Excess bronzer, foam trucker hats, and flip flops may have been trashy, but they were accessible for teenage girls to emulate. By 2006, even wholesome-cheeked Disney starlets were swooping around in elegant, floor-length vintage gowns and Louboutins that we couldn’t convince our folks to buy with ten years’ worth of birthdays.
And the tyranny of good taste has only gotten worse since then. With brands like Zara translating the runways’ minimalism for the masses, fashion has become — let’s be honest — a bit of a bourgeois snooze, even at the high street level. This season’s profusion of sleek, monochromatic tank dresses and drab athletic slides is almost enough to make you long for the days of pink tiaras and sparkly kitten heels. If only, as the T-shirts once said, Juicy really was forever.
[…] American Apparel’s sexism was also dressed up in the conscience-cleansing rhetoric of garment workers’ rights and made-in-America pride, with many ads citing pleasant factory conditions, living wages, and the brand’s dedication to immigration rights. One typical ad blandly stated: “Made In USA Sweatshirts” along with photos of a topless woman in an open hoodie and knee socks, contorting herself on a tabletop. For American Apparel, crowing about its fair labor practices was a sleight of hand that both deflected the conversation about the ads’ sexism, and obscured the fact that having a CEO purported to have sexual relationships with many of his female employees was also a labor problem. For women who were passionately involved in the anti-sweatshop movement of the ’90s, American Apparel’s stratospheric success was a deeply pyrrhic victory. This was an intersection-fail writ large, a runaway fair-labor success story that seemed to tell women that we were expected to choose between workers’ rights, and our own. […]