I watched the debates while working late tonight, and I think this was the night that Hillary unofficially lost the election. She'd fallen out of my favor weeks previously when Bill made the questionable reference to Jesse Jackson back in South Carolina, but I don't think she actually lost until tonight. Compare Obama's calm, collected, emotional and rational approach to her defensive, angry one; one is the behavior of a leader, and the other is not.
When Obama won Iowa, I got choked up seeing his acceptance speech. And it's not just because I like most of his policies or that the man knows a nice ass when he sees one. (I kid, I kid.) Seeing the one-time underdog there with his wife and daughters made me so happy that finally, there was a possibility of change, a possibility that someone other than, well, a white dude, would be in charge.
Although she would have also been a groundbreaking candidate—at least on the patriarchy-smashing tip—Hillary never stirred that sort of inspiration in me. While I don't need a politician to be inspiring, I'd at least like to admire the way she leads. Years ago I saw her speak at Umich, and she was intelligent, articulate, funny, great. But her behavior during the campaign has not been that of a good leader; she's been alternately vicious and vulnerable, gracious and cutthroat. Her policies are very different from those of Dipshit Bushie, but her inability to admit mistakes reminded me so much of him.
And yet. I trust Hillary about as far as I can throw her, but in a way, I mourn her eventual defeat. If there's one thing we've seen with this campaign, it's that she was systematically, consistently treated differently from other candidates because of her gender. The comments on her "cackle." Rush Limbaugh's misogynist ramblings about whether she looked too old. Blame for being too emotional, blame for not being emotional enough. Having to do a story for Us Weekly — a tabloid! — about her worst looks over the years. And so on. And so I have to admire her for her perseverance, for her ability to laugh off the "jokes" made at her expense, and to continue on. So even though she wasn't my candidate, I feel a little defeated myself.
When Obama won Iowa, I got choked up seeing his acceptance speech. And it's not just because I like most of his policies or that the man knows a nice ass when he sees one. (I kid, I kid.) Seeing the one-time underdog there with his wife and daughters made me so happy that finally, there was a possibility of change, a possibility that someone other than, well, a white dude, would be in charge.
Although she would have also been a groundbreaking candidate—at least on the patriarchy-smashing tip—Hillary never stirred that sort of inspiration in me. While I don't need a politician to be inspiring, I'd at least like to admire the way she leads. Years ago I saw her speak at Umich, and she was intelligent, articulate, funny, great. But her behavior during the campaign has not been that of a good leader; she's been alternately vicious and vulnerable, gracious and cutthroat. Her policies are very different from those of Dipshit Bushie, but her inability to admit mistakes reminded me so much of him.
And yet. I trust Hillary about as far as I can throw her, but in a way, I mourn her eventual defeat. If there's one thing we've seen with this campaign, it's that she was systematically, consistently treated differently from other candidates because of her gender. The comments on her "cackle." Rush Limbaugh's misogynist ramblings about whether she looked too old. Blame for being too emotional, blame for not being emotional enough. Having to do a story for Us Weekly — a tabloid! — about her worst looks over the years. And so on. And so I have to admire her for her perseverance, for her ability to laugh off the "jokes" made at her expense, and to continue on. So even though she wasn't my candidate, I feel a little defeated myself.
The day before I left for Fashion Week, I realized that if I was to make it through even one day, I needed a giant bag. Since the only one I had was a weekend tote, I picked up a cheapy patent "leather" bag at Forever 21 during my lunch hour. It turned out to be a lifesaver due to its ability to swallow my normal needs (wallet, grooming items) as well as press passes, snacks, folders, a camera, and a recorder.
There's something enjoyably, secretly subversive about attending fashion shows while toting a shitty $18 bag. There's something so gauche about it that I couldn't stop laughing, and oddly enough, carrying the bag in question made me immune to the stares of well-heeled fashion types. I mean, if you don't play the "whose bag is more fabulous" game, you kinda win by default. Nobody cares what you're wearing, although, in a weird turn, I received compliments on my crap bag. Go figure.
Based on my observation that the less fancy your clothes are, the less vulnerable you are to mean fashion snobs, I plan to show up wearing a potato sack and flip-flops in September. Watch out, Anna Wintour!
There's something enjoyably, secretly subversive about attending fashion shows while toting a shitty $18 bag. There's something so gauche about it that I couldn't stop laughing, and oddly enough, carrying the bag in question made me immune to the stares of well-heeled fashion types. I mean, if you don't play the "whose bag is more fabulous" game, you kinda win by default. Nobody cares what you're wearing, although, in a weird turn, I received compliments on my crap bag. Go figure.
Based on my observation that the less fancy your clothes are, the less vulnerable you are to mean fashion snobs, I plan to show up wearing a potato sack and flip-flops in September. Watch out, Anna Wintour!
I have just returned from Fashion Week, which is one of the longest weeks you can imagine. I have a feeling that people envision a nonstop party, and for some people that's probably true. For me, it meant transcribing until 2:30am and being at a show at 7am to cover the beauty trends. (Let me tell you, nothing makes you feel gorgeous like being surrounded by gaggles of 18-year-old models before dawn.) So while it was a productive week, it was also a long one, and I am very happy to be back to my simple little life.
The model above was among my favorites. Every time I saw Bruna, I couldn't help but stare; her face is intriguing, and her nose has a funny little bump in it that makes her face so much more beautiful than it would be with a "perfect" nose. She always looked sad, though, or maybe she was just annoyed that I was giving her the "why so beautiful?" gaze.
Glaringly absent from the runways: Black women, again. It blows my mind that I can attend a show that has two dozen models walking the runway, and not a single one is black. Most shows, if they have any black women, have one or two who are flanked by Eastern Europeans and Brazilians and, occasionally, an Asian-American model. It just floors me that so many shows continue to act as though black women don't matter. It's a sad state of affairs when America's Next Top Model, a fake modeling show, features more women of color in any given season than Fashion Week does.
Labels: fashion week, new york
