Scenes from the end of the semester

So apparently I just completed another semester of grad school. One year ago I was marveling at the fact that I had completed one quarter of my classes. Now I have only ONE QUARTER LEFT. That is crazy.

I haven't posted in a bit and I'm using the end of semester as an excuse. So here are some pics to illustrate what I've been up to.

This is the fork-turned-bracelet I bought on etsy as part of my final assignment in DDR. Instead of a paper, we were assigned to locate and purchase an item that represented deconstruction, destruction, or reconstruction. It was tough because we could only spend $75, yet the museum usually likes big designer names. I argued that etsy and the do-it-yourself/eco-friendly movement was important in fashion today. I guess it was persuasive, because mine was one that was picked to be presented to the museum accessions committee! But hey, if it doesn't work out, I get a sweet fork bracelet to wear.

Jealous? You can get your own here.

This is a photo I took on the day our mannequins were due. Mine is in the back in the brown dress. The one on the right was dressed by a guy from the museum staff. He has years of experience dressing mannequins but the museum has a policy that you can't dress period garments unless you have taken the class with our professor. Since he already had experience he was the only one without a partner. Besides building a fully boned corset for his lady, he also whipped up that hat the night before.

On Monday I presented my thesis topic to a panel of graduate professors. I proposed writing my qualifying paper about Seattle high-fashion retailer John Doyle Bishop. I first learned about him eight years ago when I was interning at MOHAI as a high schooler and have been fascinated by him ever since. At first the panel had sort of critical questions ("so, you haven't found his business records?") but eventually they seemed to get more excited about it. After showing them pictures of his swanky store and then him wearing pants decorated with his initials one of the women said "I want to be John Doyle Bishop." Yes! The topic was approved and you will all, no doubt, hear tons about him in the coming months.

Speaking of men, yesterday I presented my menswear paper about novelty pants. Since last time I showed you all the ridiculous things I found, here is one I actually loved:

1957 Pucci. Swoon! (Not sure why there is a dolphin floating above it)

And that's it! That is all the stuff I've been working on!

What's that you say? Didn't I have another class? Right. The exhibition. That one has been...um...fine. Yep. Actually, I do have some things to report. It was unclear for a long time how secretive we had to be about the topic since it hadn't been officially approved by the museum. But this finally went up on the website so I guess the secret is out. I've been put in charge of getting use rights for copyrighted material, and am close to inking a deal with Sony to get this (the band is wearing designs by Westwood).

Now that song is going to be stuck in your head all day! You're welcome!

What I did with my life today

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Wednesday is mannequin dressing D-Day, so we have to have all of the underpinnings and accessories ready. Last week our professor clucked at our sad, stretched out ringlets and so today I put tiny dots of hot glue behind each turn of the curl to get it to stay in place. I think it looks pretty good!

P.S. In the back of picture #1 you can see the mannequin that our professor uses for demonstrations, which she lovingly refers to as "the creature."

Journey through a 1970s men's magazine

No, not THAT kind of "men's magazine." This kind:

My research into the world of patterned men's pants is in full swing. Which means that I've been spending quality time with old issues of GQ. Let's see what we've found...

Blood, Glue, and Ethafoam

Remember when I was trying to explain that my mannequin dressing class was difficult? It really is. Even if I can't convince you that putting historical clothing on a form is challenging, how about making the form itself? That was our most recent project.

Mannequins are shockingly expensive for both store and museum use. They can cost around $1800 for a whole form, and many museums don't have that kind of money to spend. To prepare us for do-it-yourself situations, our professor broke us into teams to build our own dress forms. Two groups made forms out of buckram--a material with stiffening which softens in water. Basically you can cut up strips, wet them, and mold them around a form. Then it dries and you can cut it off and add some internal supports. I tell you this because I was in one of the groups who did not get assigned the buckram route. No. We had to carve our ladies out of heavy blocks of foam.

My team was assigned to an "intersect" mount. That meant that we cut out two main shapes out of 4" ethafoam-- a front view and a side view. Then we cut notches in them, made them intersect, and added more chunks foam to fill in the four side gaps. Chances are, that didn't make any sense to you, but it isn't really important. Basically, after two full class periods of work, we had a vaguely female shaped pile of plastic. This week, the three hours were spent with giant knives taking turns trying to shape our thing into a size 2. Occasionally our professor would come over, giggle, and whisper "Spongebob Squarepants" to us--which was her way of indicating that our form was still too blocky. We started getting tired and frustrated and I even sliced into my finger at one point (one of those shallow cuts that nonetheless bleeds a lot). But finally we got the nod that she was done and we could cover her in fabric. In the picture you can see me wielding the hot glue gun with my band-aided finger strategically held out of the way.

Anyway, I guess there isn't much point to this post other than 1) This stuff is hard! and 2) My grad school projects continue to be weird (ask me about my attempt last week to make a wig out of crinkled paper).

P.S. The buckram people got their comeuppance for having an easier project. After covering the form in wet strips of buckram they shrouded it with a protective sheet of plastic. By the following week their project had blossomed with an astounding number of mold colonies.

Simple Joys

I haven't written much about my menswear class but it is one I am really enjoying. Like Medieval art, I think it is one of those topics that seems bizarre and boring until you actually start studying it, and then suddenly you can't get enough. Menswear is like a whole different language of aesthetics and sensibilities and I find myself wanting to interrogate the males in my life about color and pattern and why they wear what they wear (and why don't they wear floral embroidered waistcoats anymore??).

This week in class we had a paper to turn in and a presentation to give about a museum artifact. I've been very busy and was pretty drained by the time our thursday evening class rolled around. At break I decided to talk to my professor about my final paper topic. At the end of the conversation I found myself overwhelmed with cheerfulness and the euphoria lasted for most of the evening. What had caused this? Three simple words: Patterned Novelty Pants

Our final paper is supposed to use a primary source as a starting point (an actual object, a photo, a fashion plate). I had recently found this amazing photo of a Seattle guy with his initials monogrammed all over his pants and thought maybe I could use it to look into the history of monogramming. I wasn't thrilled with the idea, but I thought it could be fun. Of course then my professor turned around and suggested that I take it in a different direction. That direction being men's Patterned Novelty Pants. HOW FUN IS THAT? For the record, she said that plaid pants didn't count because that would be "too easy."

I've barely gotten started, but I have a few weeks ahead of me to search for photos and examples of crazy pants worn by men. So far I've found this website and done several google image searches for Liberace (which has brought up a whole new issue --do hotpants count?). So if you'd like to help me out dear readers, be on the lookout for fun men's pants and send me any pictures or leads.

I can't believe how excited I am about this. On Thursday night I practically danced home thinking about it. The FDA should totally approve Patterned Novelty Pants as a natural mood enhancer.

Writer's Block

I know I need to update this blog, but at the moment I can't think of anything interesting or compelling to say. The other day I scanned this from a 1982 magazine:

In these tough economic times, everyone seems to be asking: Can oompa loompas sell clothes and improve consumer confidence?

Discuss.

Studying fashion has made me feel good about my body

A few days ago while I was getting dressed I looked down and saw that I had a little bit of a belly. I patted it, hoping it was an optical illusion, and sighed for a moment feeling sorry for myself that I don’t have a flat stomach like I should. But then I came to my senses and remembered the lessons I've learned from fashion history.

I’m not about the make the argument that fashion celebrates women of all body types. In fact, in every era, fashion has promoted a certain type as ideal. During my first semester at FIT I learned that the fashionable body is, and always has been, a distorted one. Limbs are elongated in paintings, waists are made wasp thin in fashion plates, and photographers use angles and lighting to play tricks. Today, of course, we have photoshop.

The real problem is that in every era we assume that this year’s standard of beauty is universal. Today we believe that that big boobs, flat stomachs, small waists, and a toned physique make up the absolute, universal standard of female beauty. But frankly that isn’t true. In the 1920s the ideal body was flat and without curves. In the Renaissance it was fashionable to have a bit of a belly, and women would dress with extra fabric in the front of their gowns to enhance the effect. Later Renaissance nudes usually show the torso as barrel shaped (much like the effect of the corset at the time) making the breasts small and the chest/waist/stomach all roughly the same size around. Today we have this idea that bodies should be toned and skin look like it is smooth and tight. But a 17th century woman would have hated looking that way. During the time of Rubens, women were supposed to be soft and “fleshy.” Nothing was more alluring that dimpled, rippling, squishy skin.

When you look at the history of fashion ideals you realize something: women have always had women’s bodies. We all have different attributes and sometimes some of us are lucky enough to be alive when one of our things is “in.” A girl with the ideal look of the 1920s would have hated her body in 1900, and would probably have spent extra money on “bust enhancers” and hip padding. Conversely, someone with the perfect “Gibson Girl” form from 1900 would be unhappily trying to flatten and minimize her curves in 1925. In one era fashion told these ladies that they were beautiful, and in another that they were shamefully incorrect. But in the end, they were both just two kinds of natural body types.

As with the study of any historical subject, learning the history of fashion helps you step out of your own time and see the bigger picture. And let me tell you, the bigger picture has lots of sexy belly fat.

Not in the Spirit of Community Living

I love Menno House, but it is becoming clear that I have some sort of complex about it. I think it boils down to this: When I applied to the house I was a poor student watching my savings shrink as I paid a hefty rent and labored at a 10 hour a week job paying $7.35 /hr. But when I moved in to Menno House I had a good job and a tuition exemption. I feel like I tricked the system a little. Of course, when I express this feeling to my housemates they give me a funny look and assure me it doesn't matter. But I'm a champion worrier, so I've got it into my head that I will be found out and evicted. I've already had two anxiety dreams to that effect.

Most of my housemates are working at low paying jobs or are part of Mennonite Voluntary Service, which is sort of like Americorps. The MVS people have a food stipend and then $50 a month of discretionary spending. That is barely anything, especially in this city. When I moved in, one of the outgoing residents told me that moving my stuff up all those stairs would be a bigger headache than I expected. "But," he told me, "The MVSers will do anything for $10. Get them carry it."

Ever since he said that I've been tempted to pay my housemates to do things for me. I make money, they need money. Who doesn't want an underpaid servant ready to do your bidding? The main thing stopping me is the worry that it would be against the community spirit of the house. We all have to do our part with chores and cooking the weekly house meal. The last thing I want is to be seen as a bad apple and get kicked out of the house for not being "community oriented" enough.

This Saturday was house cleaning day. From 10am to 6pm, everyone had to clean and complete needed maintenance projects on the house. If you couldn't be there, you had to make up those hours later. Well, I work on Saturdays, so I put in as many hours as I could but still had time to make up. Last night I put in some time waxing the kitchen floors and stamping "Return to Sender" on a giant pile of mail that had come for former residents. But when that was all over I still had about 2 hours to go. The house manager asked that I put down two more layers of wax on the floor this evening. I really wanted to get some homework done, so I asked her if it would be bad form for me to pay someone to do it. I think in real life she just shrugged, but in my head she gave me a disapproving look and said "That is between you and God."

Well, dear readers, I did it. I knocked on the door of one of the MVSers and offered her $20 to do my work. I'm feeling half guilty, and half ready to burst into an evil laugh. I ended up getting a lot of homework done, but I also started to notice that my shelves could use a good cleaning. A good cleaning that I certainly don't have time for...

Fashion & Controversy

I LOVE my special topics (a.k.a. DDR) class. We read philosophy, look at fashion magazines, and have discussions about what it all means. Most of the time we are pretty hard on the editorials or ads we look at. We’ve discovered that every Alberta Ferretti campaign seems to involve four emaciated women (we’ve decided they are sisters) who are too weak to stand and seem to be in some unsafe location. Their favorite hangouts include a windy manor house, various subway cars, and a mysterious institution with lots of black drapery. What is the message of these ads? Should we be worried about these women? Why is it that somewhat unsettling images seem to sell clothes?

This week however, we spoke favorably about an editorial that elsewhere had caused outrage. I’m talking, of course, about Vogue Italia’s “Water & Oil” spread in which the tragedy of the gulf oil spill was retold with a model and several thousand dollars worth of designer clothes (go here to see the pictures). The many angry responses to this shoot boiled down to three main points:

-It is disgusting to glamorize an ecological disaster

-It is appalling that they are using the oil spill to sell clothing and make money for the magazine

-How dare fashion get above itself and attempt to tackle a real world issue

Here is what we discussed:

Point one: It is disgusting to glamorize an ecological disaster

Okay, take a close look at the images from the shoot. Forget for a moment that you are looking at a fashion editorial and just think about what kinds of thoughts and feelings the photos convey. Do you think it is glamorous? Does the model look chic and fab? Do you imagine someone looking at that haunting shot of her face covered in oil and saying, “ooh! Where can I get that look?” No. The images are dark and disturbing. Fashion photography does not always equal glamour.

Point two: It is appalling that they are using the oil spill to sell clothing and make money for the magazine

Again, this photo shoot really isn’t about making readers covet the model’s look. The clothes look dirty, torn, and grey—unlike the Alberta Ferretti ads in which the women may be ill but the clothes still look expensive and alluring. So if it isn’t to sell clothes, what is the point? If this is “art” then why use designer clothes at all?

That was my question, but as my professor pointed out, the clothes help tell the story. The model is made to look birdlike by wearing feathers, or seal and fish-like by wearing shiny fabric that looks wet. Other pieces echo the natural forms of the rocks or the seaweed. Some of it simply looks frail and torn. “Fashion is the perfect metaphor for death,” my prof explained. “It is ephemeral and replaceable, with new trends burying the old. Fabric, like the body, is fragile and easily broken.”

People make money off of tragedy all the time, but in those other contexts we assume that the intent is honorable. For example, someone in Hollywood makes a movie about the holocaust just about every year. Have you ever heard people rail against how disgusting it is that someone is profiting from murder of six million people? No, because we believe that the movies have something to teach and that the profit made by the studios is just part of how the system works. Which brings me to the next point…

Point 3: How dare fashion get above itself and attempt to tackle a real world issue

As you can imagine, we get very defensive about this. There is a widespread perception that fashion is completely frivolous, has no meaning, and isn’t something that anyone should actually consider important. It never has anything to say about politics, economics, or society and it shouldn’t try. People have worn things to cover their bodies since the beginning of time, yet everyone sure that there is no connection between clothing and the human experience. How dare it get mixed up in the “real” world.

Yes, fashion is part of a capitalist system—but as my prof put it, fashion is “sort of like the angsty step-daughter who is happy to bite the hand that feeds her.” Where did these high-end clothes come from? What sort of energy went in to making them? What sort of energy went into making the clothes that you are wearing? BP may deserve the bulk of the blame for the spill, but aren’t we all part of a system that created the need for an oil industry?

Be Careful What You Wish For

This has been a terrible week for homework. A total disaster as far as getting work done and working ahead on upcoming projects. My fears about Menno House have come true: I’m having too much fun with my housemates. Here is how it played out:

Monday: I discover that several of my housemates have not seen my favorite movie Strictly Ballroom. Watching commences immediately.

Tuesday: “What? You haven’t seen Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion either? Sit down.”

Wednesday: “Hey Clara, you went to college in the Midwest. Do you know how to play Euchre?”

“I love Euchre! Deal me in!”

“By the way, what are you doing Thursday night?”

“Menswear class.”

“Oh, because I was going to stand in line for rush tickets to the Opera. I’ll get two tickets and it is the Met’s new production of Rheingold.”

[Jaw drops]

Thursday: Dear menswear professor, I will not be able to attend class this evening due to an unexpected conflict…

Yeah, so the trade off for not getting any work done was the AWESOME experience of paying $20 to see Met’s new production of Rheingold—featuring the much-hyped set by Robert Lepage. Last year I was offered a free ticket to Siegfried but I had to give up another event in order to go. Choosing the opera ended up being 100% the right decision, so I now understand that when life offers you Wagner, you drop everything and go. We had great seats and the music was fantastic. Truth be told, I was a bit underwhelmed by the set and the staging (Of course Seattle's production is better), but I got to be a real New Yorker and snobbishly discuss the pros and cons of the performance on the subway ride home.

All in all, this has been a great week. I feel like I'm enjoying life here and taking advantage of what the city has to offer.

Oh wait. Aren’t I in grad school or something?

Drinking on a Budget

Blurg. Except for the crunch around finals, I try to post something every week. But here it is, a full fortnight since my last post. Last weekend my parents were here, so I guess my official excuse was that I was running around with them. It was a good weekend. We went to two Broadway shows: La Cage Aux Folles and Wicked which were both delightful (Kelsey Grammar can't sing btw). Of course there were also the requisite museum visits and nice meals at restaurants. It was quite lovely.

Anyway, I can’t think of some kind of theme for this week, so I’m just going to tell you a story.

About two weeks ago I went out with two of my housemates to a bar. I was loving it because we had walked there, and walking with friends to a neighborhood bar was one of the things I missed when living in Park Slope. The place was crowded and noisy. At one point the lights turned off for a minute but then came back on. Then they went off again. Then we heard someone saying “Everybody OUT.” The way they said it, it registered more as angry “Party is over, guys” shouts than anything being wrong. We shuffled toward the door, moving slowly because there were so many people in front of us. Behind us was a woman screaming “GET OUT! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!” She kept screaming and pushing, which was obnoxious because we couldn’t go any faster than the person in front of us. She seemed like the pedestrian version of a driver than leans on his horn in gridlock traffic.

When we finally got out we heard someone say something about a fire. Then a fire truck pulled up. Then another. Then another. Eventually there were five. A few guys suited up and went in to the bar, but there didn’t seem to be much urgency. We saw no flames or smoke. Just for kicks, one fireman opened up the hydrant and let it run into the street for a while. We stuck around because one of my friends had left her sweater and the other had opened a bar tab. Eventually the one with the lost sweater was able to talk the bouncer into retrieving it (confirming the fact that the bar was not consumed with fire) but he refused to return any credit cards. Eventually they told us that the bar would be closed for the rest of the night so we went home.

It was all very strange. While I don’t think that I was ever in any real danger, it was weird that there had been some sort of legitimate fire in the bar and that we weren’t told until we had exited. Of course yelling “fire” in a crowded space could cause panic, but since we didn’t know what was going on, everyone just ambled toward the door. Is there a medium between panic and annoyed indifference?

Anyway, the friend with the open bar tab went back the next day (at the time they had told her to return) and found the place still closed. She cancelled the card and so all our drinks that night ended up being free.

The end.

Mannequins and DDR

Amid the hubbub of moving I started all my classes for fall. Here is what my semester looks like:

Exhibit: Plan & Interpretation—This is a big one. Every spring the second year students in my program put on an exhibition at the Museum at FIT. We’ve all been looking forward to it with a mix of excitement and fear. As rewarding and valuable as it is to create a real museum exhibit, the project also has a history of creating exhaustion, frustration, and bitterness. One of the points of tension is the assignment of jobs. A few positions (the curators mainly) do the majority of the work. They learn the most and get the most credit, but the commitment of time and effort is brutal. Those with smaller jobs are less stressed out, but resent how little they are getting out of the experience.

I put my name in for curator, and part of me really wanted it. It is a huge honor, and it must feel great at the end to look at the exhibit and say, “I did this.” However with my 21 hour per week job I was worried about the time commitment. My nervousness only increased when we met for the first day of class. Something about the way the project was presented filled me with nervousness and dread (I can’t go into much detail, but the term “dictator” was used in positive context). That Friday we each got phone calls announcing our positions. At first I was disappointed to get a small job, but the more I think about it the more I realize it is the best thing that could have happened. If I were curator I'd be looking forward to six months of unparalleled stress and pressure. I'll still be busy with school, but I'll have breathing room to pay attention to my other classes, hang out with my housemates, and sleep regularly. I’m in charge of PR. So far I’ve read examples of press releases and picked out a dress to wear for the media preview in March.

History of American Men’s Wear—Pretty much what it says on the tin.

Costume & Textile Mounting Skills—This is, in essence, mannequin dressing. Sound easy and lame? It is actually one of the best and most valuable courses offered in the program.

The class is taught by a woman who worked for years at the Met and is something of a legend in the field. Her approach requires that we read books on anatomy in order to understand the human body and how it is modified by clothes in various periods. Over the course of the semester we have to diagram 10 period garments (from a study collection) and show exactly how they are proportioned and how they are put together. How are the seams finished? How are the shoulders cut? How is the skirt pleated? This is our chance to really get into the details of clothing. With an understanding of construction and anatomy, we can start to understand how people stood and held their bodies in various periods. Each garment expects a certain structure underneath. You just need to know how to create the right one.

Special Topics—also known as “DDR.” Last semester we got to vote on the topic for this seminar. We settled on an awesome one: Deconstruction, Destruction, and Reconstruction. We are exploring the recent tendency in fashion to have clothes that look like they are missing pieces, falling apart, or crudely put together. The most familiar examples are jeans that come pre-torn or shirts that are made to look like they are inside-out. This is heavy fashion theory. On our first day our professor explained that this phenomenon first appeared right before the fall of the Berlin Wall and then gained strength again in the wake of September 11. What does it say about our society that we seem drawn to dressing like we’ve been through some violent or earth-shattering event? Last week we read a book called Structuralism and Post-Structuralism for Beginners. It was awesome. I love it when my supposedly vapid and superficial field becomes mind-bendingly thought provoking.

I Moved!

I did it! I successfully moved from Brooklyn to Manhattan! Once my room looks less like I dumped the contents of my suitcases on the floor (which I miiiiight have done) I will post pictures. In the meantime, I’ll share some tidbits from the move.

In terms of doing the actual move, I was sort of lost. I had just enough stuff to make it hard to do on my own (on the subway or with taxis), but not enough to make it worthwhile to hire movers. Someone suggested renting a U-haul, but driving a giant van in New York sounded worse that taking 50 trips on the subway. So for a while I was planning to go with the subway method. But then I had a lucky break--someone moving out of Menno House was renting a U-haul and wanted to share. When she explained that she had to drive it the whole time for insurance purposes, I became very enthusiastic. So on Monday I put on my running clothes and spent a hot, sweaty day moving.

Once I had the U-haul planned, I realized I didn’t have enough boxes. I mentioned this to one of my coworkers, and she had a quick answer. “Just go to the liquor store,” she said, “They always have boxes.” Hmm. Interesting. So I approached my local store, and said, “This might be an odd request, but I am moving soon and…” “Yeah, sure, boxes.” The guy said. He called over another employee and they brought me what they had. Amazing! So I moved into Menno House with my stuff packed in containers for rum and Jack Daniels.

The U-haul day was Monday, but I didn’t officially start living at Menno House until Wednesday (the bulk of my stuff hung out in the MH basement in the meantime). On Wednesday it was sort of sad to say goodbye to John. We had a good rapport, and I think he was sorry to see me go. His new roommate seems cool, but he is bringing another older cat into the apartment. That means that there will be two 16 year old cats and one 10 year old without teeth. I can’t help but think that I got out just before the apartment became a geriatric kitty ward. (Just before I left, John had to ban one of the cats from his bed because she was getting into the habit of pooping there instead of going all the way to the litter box.)

I had one class on Wednesday, and through most of it I kept thinking about how exciting it would be to walk home when class was over. If my first night is anything to go by, I think my time at Menno House will be pretty great. We shared a delicious house dinner and then had a Beyoncé dance party while cleaning the kitchen. Then, when I mentioned that I owned seasons 1-5 of Project Runway on DVD, half the house got super excited and wanted to get started on season 1 right away.

By the way, to give you an update from my last post, Thailand apparently won the costume contest.

Miss Universe National Confusion Contest!

When I first started this blog, I thought that maybe it would be a mix of stories about my life, and funny commentary on various other things (in the vein of Go Fug Yourself and Project Rungay). As it turned out, there has been very little of the latter. But I'm going to change that right now. Why? Because this is one of my favorite times of the year: the week where the pictures are released for the Miss Universe National Costume contest.

The ridiculous awesomeness of these costumes cannot be overstated. No one knows how to interpret the assignment. Here are some highlights from this year.

First there is the "screw this, I'm going full on showgirl" route:

Aruba, Bahamas

Or the showgirl's ancient predecessor, the loincloth wearing warrior princess:

Columbia

I see your golden loincloth and raise you a cow head:

Kosovo

Or you can pick a relevant topic. Like...tennis:

Belgium

I don't know if I should run in fear from this, or put in on the top of my Christmas Tree:

Kazakhstan

You can cover yourself in bizarre crap: Angola , Guam , Panama

A bunch of countries got a memo about wings: Albania, Jamaica, U.S. Virgin Islands, USA

At first glance the headdress is all you notice, but on closer examination...is that a whip she is holding? What?

Dominican Republic

A few just heard "costume" and not "national." Here we have the pirate wench of Ireland and the Ren Faire maiden of Lebanon

Oh crap. We need a national costume? Ok, stay calm. I've got an extra bikini and a whole bunch of beads:

Croatia

Neutrality or Death! Switzerland

Fills me with inexplicable sadness: Slovenia

Fills me with an inexplicable urge for wheat. Sexy, sexy wheat: Ukraine

Battling it out in the Lady Gaga Category: Turkey and Venezuela

C'mon Finland, Norway, and Singapore! You can't just buy a pretty dress! That's cheating!

See, some of the Asian countries look fierce!

Korea, Malaysia, Sri Lanka, and Thailand

And a few of the African countries look damn fine as well:

Ghana, Nigeria

Never Mind: Zambia

One Year

On this day one year ago, I boarded a train bound for New York City. I've been thinking about this anniversary for weeks now and have had ideas for all sort of "one year assessment" posts for this blog. Maybe that will still happen, but at the moment I'm finding myself at a loss. One year ago I was frantically packing and trying not to let on that I was more nervous than excited about my big move. I feel like the best summary is to describe what I did today, one year later:

-In the morning I went to my internship at the Met

-When asked about my recent trip to Seattle, I glowed and told them that I had a wonderful time

-At lunch I chatted with a classmate and griped about all the drama that was already involved in our exhibition class for next year

-After the Met, I hurried over to FIT to squeeze in an hour of work

-At my library job at FIT, I met with my boss to catch up on what I had missed last week. She was particularly intrigued when I told her "I like New York, but I feel an incredible sense of place in Seattle."

-After work I headed upstairs to watch Pret-a-Porter, the last movie in my professor's Fashion in Film series

-I went to bed in my apartment in Brooklyn, and tried not to stress out about my move to Manhattan

Blind Item: Internship at the Met

I realized that other than posting a picture of my ID, I haven’t written anything about my internship at the Met. The thing is, I’ve been a little nervous to do so. On the first day we were told that some of what we do and see is confidential, and that past interns have gotten in trouble for posting things on the internet. The problem is, they weren’t very clear about what was off limits. I can sort of guess, but since I’m not sure, I’m going to do it like a gossip column. Sometimes a reporter has a really juicy piece of news, but can’t reveal it for whatever reason. So they post a frustratingly useless “blind item” that is something like “a famous married actor with a big summer movie was recently spotted smooching a certain famous blonde.”

So here is a totally un-informative rundown of my time at the Met:

- I’ve seen some really amazing objects

- One time, there was a famous photographer taking pictures of some clothes

- A designer from a well-known fashion house came to look at some pieces from the house’s history.

- Some of the work I do involves a typewriter, scotch tape, and an aerosol spray can.

- A separate task involves a heat gun, a letter opener, and some metal clamps

- The staff is nice and approachable instead of snobby like I expected

- The employee café is awesome

- Something I did involved this:

If you want to hear more, just ask me in person. So long as I sweep the room for recording devices, I think it will be safe to give you more details.

I Deserve Better

When you live in a city like New York, you expect certain things. One of those things is celebrity sightings.

In this regard, New York has been failing me. Not only do I work and study in Manhattan, but my Brooklyn neighborhood is also known to house some big names. I think I’m entitled to some thrilling run-ins. Other people I know have seen minor celebrities at grocery stores, and major ones filming on location. They’ve ridden elevators with famous designers and glimpsed starlets out at bars. But my list is short and dubious at best. Here is the tally:

• Passed a woman on the street who may have been Judy Dench. May also have been a regular old lady.
• Walked by a bar that had a red carpet with several photographers swarming around a smiling woman. I and the person with me stopped, looked her up and down, and shrugged to confirm that neither of us had the foggiest idea who she was. (Sad for us, but maybe sadder for her)
• Went to an exhibit opening and saw Elisa Jimenez, 10^th runner up, Season 4 of Project Runway.
• Thought I saw Season 5 Project Runway winner Leanne Marshall, but not really sure.
• Saw Scott Adsit, who plays Pete on 30 Rock. He was on the subway, and because of the Judy Dench and Leanne Marshall experiences, I wanted to make sure I got a good look. He looked straight back and me every time I looked over. It was weird.

But now I have real ones to add to the list. On Sunday I went with a couple of friends to the premiere of Season 4 of Mad Men in Times Square. We dressed up, got our picture taken at a promotional booth, and then stood to watch the episode (there were chairs for those who had arrived early, but considering that none of us girls had skirts we could sit in, it worked out just fine). It was kind of a cool experience. It was a bit hard to hear, but it was fun to watch it with a big group of people, commercial free, one hour before it aired on the East Coast. Also, we must have looked pretty fabulous doing it, because after it was over we were stopped by two separate people who told us so and asked to take a picture.

Anyway, January Jones and Elizabeth Moss both attended the event. “Spotting” a celebrity at a public appearance is sort of cheating, but we did see them at close range. After the show was over we navigated our way to the stage exit. They walked right past us! Yay! Actually, more than anything I was shocked by how tiny they were. I’ve heard that famous women usually are, but it was sort of scary to see. January Jones was terribly thin and bony, but it was almost weirder to see how small Elizabeth Moss was, considering that when she stands next to other celebrities she sometimes looks slightly chubby (not actual chubby, chubby in way that Anne Hathaway is “the fat girl” in The Devil Wears Prada).

So maybe I shouldn’t blame New York for not producing enough celebrities in my life. Based on their actual size, and the profusion of street lamps and signposts in the city, they are probably harder to spot than I realize.

If you want to see some professional photos from the evening, go here. But here is what you really want to see...

It was taken in front of a green screen, and they made a big deal about squishing together and fitting in the frame...so...not sure what happened there.

(Similarly, I have no idea what goes on with the formatting on this blog. Today it has interesting but inconsistent ideas about how paragraphs should look. Resistance (and the tab key) is futile)

Small Talk

This weekend I had a lovely trip to the Philadelphia area to see my college friends Becca and Mike. On Saturday Becca and I went shopping, and throughout the day I talked her ear off about all kinds of random stuff that I've learned this past year. I find myself doing this to everyone these days, and while most of them swear that it is fascinating, I think they are humoring me a little bit. So for those of you who miss having me around, just picture me saying one of the following "conversation starters" and it will be exactly like the real thing.

"Did you know that before they figured out to create cultured pearls, real pearls were more valuable than any other precious stone? I mean, think about it. Divers had to go down and pull up oysters and like, 1 in 10 would have a pearl. And 1 in 100 would have a pearl that was even remotely close to the same color and size as the last one you found.

"So do you want to hear how cultured pearls are created?"

"Most perfumes today are made with all kinds of synthetic chemicals, but Chanel no.5 is still made from natural ingredients."

"Do you realize that ready-made clothes are a relatively recent invention? The revolution in ready-to-wear meant that clothes had to be designed to fit as many people as possible. Most of us have never had something made just for us...we don't even know what well-fitted clothing feels like!"

Here is one I haven't burdened anyone with yet, so maybe if I type it here I can remember not to bring it up next time everyone else is having a nice, normal conversation that doesn't involve the history of clothing...

I've been re-reading parts of Anne Hollander's book Seeing Through Clothes which was required summer reading last year for my first class. I giggled too when I first saw the title, but considering how much of the book is about "the fashionable body" underneath historical clothes, it is quite apt. Anyway, one of the things that makes it tough to be a fashion historian is the criticism that clothing is artificial and frivolous. While most people aren't nudists, many feel that clothing is something false whereas nakedness is natural and pure. But as Hollander points out (and my World Dress and Textiles class confirmed) every human culture dresses or decorates the body in some way. She writes:

Nakedness is not a customary but rather an assumed state, common to all but natural to none, except on significantly marked occasions. These might be ritual, theatrical, or domestic, but they are always special, no matter how frequent."

Isn't that interesting?! Maybe our most natural, human state is dressed! Don't you wish I was talking incessantly to you right now about this very subject?

Mennos in the City

This week I got some unexpected news. I was offered a room at Menno House to live for the next year. Menno House is a brownstone in Gramercy that houses people who are doing Mennonite Voluntary Service (sort of like the Mennonite version of Americorps), other volunteers and low-income do-gooders, and a couple of lucky people who aren’t saving the world but sneak in anyway. The place is nice and the rent is ridiculously cheap for Manhattan. It will be community living--shared kitchen, living room, and bathrooms--but that appeals to me. John and I have been getting along great, but I do feel sort of isolated in Park Slope. If I want to go out or spend time with people it has to be a planned event and requires a 40 minute ride into the city. Living with a bunch of people certainly has downsides, but I lived in a 10 person house in college, and it was a blast (Yeah Foster House!!). Plus, I’m excited to live in Manhattan and have the serious city living experience.

Once I decided to accept the room, I spent some time exploring the Menno House website. It was awesome. Specifically, it has surprisingly in-depth information about the house’s history. The building itself was built in 1851, which is fun because that year has another cool historical association (gold star to any non-MOHAI person who knows). Then, there is this picture:

The Mennonites apparently moved in during the 1950s. The house was used as a lodging place for conscientious objectors (and their wives) who were coming to the city to fulfill their alternate service requirement. Sadly, plain dress and bonnets are no longer required. I sort of wish they were. My life could turn into some straight-to-DVD movie. Clara is a good Mennonite at home BUT on the walk to work she pulls off her cotton sack dress to reveal sassy, modern clothing! Instead of spending her days picking lice off of orphans, she is studying fashion! Hilarity ensues when she forgets to take off her bonnet before class and her housemates get suspicious when they catch a glimpse of pink under her hem!

Farther down on the history page is an article about the house from a 1966 Mennonite magazine. It starts like this:

New York City--center of world trade, skyscrapers, riots, United Nations and eight million people--was virtually unknown to Mennonites in the past. It was a huge city that was far enough away from our Mennonite communities that it did not pose a great threat to us. It was a place where we occasionally went to see missionaries off to some foreign land, a place we passed through en route to the New England States, or a place where a few daring tourists "saw the town."

Wow. ...pose a great threat...a few daring tourists... Where else would someone list the top 5 New York identifiers and include “riots”?

But sadly, things have changed. The Menno House I will be living in will be tragically in step with the times. It will probably look more like this:

Tsk tsk.

(Move in date is September 1st)

So...hot...can barely...type

One of my fears about this summer was how I would handle the heat in New York. I have done my fair share of traveling in my life, but I have never spent the summer somewhere other than Seattle. Yesterday, instead of the traditional overcast-with-a-chance-of-rain July 4th, it was 97 degrees and humid. I went to Long Island for a cookout, and spent most of the day in my classmate's parents' yard, trying to pretend that it was cool in the shade. Once I got some potato salad and sangria in me, I was done. I asked my host if it would be weird if I went inside and took a nap. What could she say? I crawled onto an available soft surface and passed out. I woke up in time to consume some pie, ice cream, and sangria.

The other thing I have been discovering is that I really do not own enough warm weather clothes. It seems like every day I open my closet hoping to put on a light, flowy dress, only to find that the majority of my wardrobe consists of pants, heavy skirts, and tops with sleeves. But even if my closet was packed with sleeveless cotton dresses, I would still struggle with my summer clothing concept. Both places I work are very air conditioned. The problem is particularly bad for the Met. In order to get there I have to take my regular train as far north into Manhattan as it will go, get out at a stop that must be the deepest underground stop in the whole metro system, walk up four long escalators (standing is for tourists), walk above ground for four blocks, enter another subway station (most subway cars are air conditioned but the stations are ovens), get on a train, get out, and then walk several blocks to the Met. No matter what I am wearing or how cool it is that day I am inevitably sweaty when I get there. But within an hour I'm reaching for my sweater and wondering why I didn't think to wear tights. We are not required to wear lab coats but I usually appreciate the extra layer it provides.

There is one perk of the hot weather. Because cold and drizzly reminds me of home, hot and humid makes me think I'm on vacation. It doesn't happen when I am sweating in the subway station or trying to fall asleep, but sometimes when I go from a cool building into the heat, some pleasure center in my brain activates. It says "Mmm! Feel that? That is not was Seattle feels like! You must be far away, having some exciting summer adventure!"