Godammit, I’m Mad!

Marc Jacobs has revealed to the WSJ: “I’ve worked with Terry and Terry has asked me to do some crazy things. I know that those pictures will exist if I do them. But I’m a big boy and I can say no.” I see. That’s good for Marc, who added that Richardson is “not ill-spirited.” Somehow, I am not reassured.

Elsewhere, a bunch of photographers argue whether Terry Richardson’s conduct is business as usual in the fashion industry.  Basically, everyone knows all about Richardson’s behavior, but they can’t agree on its significance. They can’t even agree on whether he’s a hack.

The Village Voice rightly wonders why Richardson has refused all requests for a comment on the story.  No one is rushing to defend him, other than his buddy Tom Ford and one model.

You can tell H&M that you don’t feel good about them using Richardson to shoot their ad campaigns. Go here to send an email.

R13 is a line of denim produced in Italy that triggered my irrational yearning last year with an ad campaign featuring a tomboy endowed with an endearing Fuck You attitude.

See how pissed off she is?! Her Angry Runaway Look is particularly resonant for me, but obviously the appeal is widespread.

Look how pissed off she is above, in the new season droopy jeans!

I can’t remember if I’ve already divulged the shameful fact of my jeans hoarding. I have 22 pairs of jeans in rotation. Some are black but they’re still jeans. I’m not counting the leather ones or the red ones. My only consolation is that my friend Mark has 6o pairs of Levi’s. Thank you, Mark!

I’m pretty sure that I could live with maybe 4 pairs of jeans. A baggy pair, a tight pair, a high-waisted pair, and a black pair. But just thinking about it makes me nervous. Hoarding is a difficult and persistent problem, I am learning.

Luckily, I’ve just realized that I don’t need the R13 droopy jeans ($275) because nearly all of my jeans look like this by the end of the day. I am not exaggerating. They start out tight in the morning, and later on they are sagging to the point of falling off.

I can’t get them a size smaller, because then they’re too tight. God has worked hard on this conundrum, always making sure that the next size down will refuse to stretch out enough. Let’s give Him the credit He deserves for this!

I would like someone to provide exhaustive research on the fit of different brands and styles of jeans: For example, which work best for flat butts, big butts, long-waisted figures or big hips with a small waist. I want to know which jeans will stretch out a full size and which won’t.

Isn’t there a huge market for this? Or is it only the wish of a hoarder with drooping issues?

Today, I came upon this photo of Tragic Fashion Boy today on a fashion blog, with this caption:

“She has this androgynous petit gamin look that’s just fascinating. A good example of how the guests can really bring a designer’s vision to life at a fashion show.”

Oh dear! Is TFB pushing the petit gamin thing too far? Or is it a heinous lapse of cultural literacy on the part of the blogger, who should be able to identify TFB as easily as Leigh Lezark and Daphne Guiness?

On the bright side, when I showed this picture to my son’s girlfriend, she exclaimed, “Tragic Fashion Boy!” So my work is done.

I think I might be the only person in the world (besides Jesse James) who thinks this woman is hotter than Sandra Bullock. I just tried to get my husband to agree, but no dice.

I don’t care if Sandra Bullock is “America’s Sweetheart,” she looks like a man to me. It’s probably the no-top-lip thing, which I am very sensitive to. Plus, I’ve always had the feeling that Sandra is gay.

Hot or not?

Thanks to our writing campaign protesting the unconscionable behavior of fashion/perv photographer Terry Richardson, Condé Nast’s CEO Charles Townsend has responded to our concerns.  Note that Mr. Townsend is “appalled” by what he now knows about Richardson’s conduct. Yay Chuck!  And yay Andrea!

“People have the power.” -Patti Smith

From: “Townsend, Chuck”
<Chuck_Townsend@condenast.com>
Date: March 22, 2010 10:46:55 AM EDT
To: Andrea
Subject: RE: photographer Terry Richardson

Thank you, Andrea. I’ve received more email on the subject this morning than I can read, unfortunately.  I have forwarded it to our fashion people here. They make the creative decisions. I’m appalled at what I have read.  Respectfully,  C. Townsend

I’ve hated this cunt since the first time I laid eyes on him. I didn’t have to hear a model’s confession about his behavior to know how unsavory a creature he is. He adopts the look of a shady pervert and clearly revels in it. Think how funny it must seem to him! “I look like a disgusting scumbag, AND THE JOKE IS THAT I AM ONE!” Haha, Terry, we get it.

Every time I’ve seen his name on a fashion layout that crosses the line into soft porn, I’ve felt vaguely soiled. Now it’s good to know that he’s widely hated.

On his website, he has posted a terse little note of self-pity. His feelings are hurt, he says. Elsewhere on the world wide web you can find some commentary that goes like this: Big deal, everyone knows that Terry likes to get it on with models. That’s business as usual.

What?!? This fucker is a blight on the civilized world. I don’t want to hear one more word about his huge penis or how often he waves it around. I’m sorry that he has defenders, because some things are indefensible. He uses his power to molest and humiliate models who believe this is the price they must pay to get work. No one is there to protect them or back them up. Not Vogue, Rolling Stone, GQ, not the agencies, nobody.

I know I’m probably preaching to the choir here. But if you really hate this cunt and you want to make a difference, why not send an email to the CEO of Conde Nast Publications Inc? Here’s what I wrote to charles_townsend@condenast.com:

Dear Mr. Townsend,

As a longtime reader of Vogue and W,  I am disturbed by the unprofessional and in some cases criminal behavior of the photographer Terry Richardson. I urge you to stop publishing the work of this sexually predatory individual at once. Fashion should not be tainted by the abuse of models, and consumers don’t want to be a part of such practices. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this matter.

Yours truly,

Sister Wolf

~

It feels good to write to a CEO! Let’s see what happens.

Uh-oh.

Today, I went to Beverly Hills with the BFF and she had to hiss “Cher!” at me before I noticed Cher standing right by us in the Neiman Marcus shoe department! I turned to gawk at Cher, who looked just like herself only much smaller. She is actually quite tiny, in height and weight. She said to her assistant/handmaiden something like, “It’s really cute, isn’t it?” and her voice was EXACTLY like her voice!

I was so excited that I couldn’t stop staring. My BFF wanted me to stop, but I didn’t care. I wanted to take in every element: The black cargo pants with a million zippers, the long blue-black hair, the sunglasses that she never took off. When Cher sat down and removed her jacket to reveal a tight black bodysuit, I squealed, “Oooh, look at the implants!”

My BFF managed to move me along and we went upstairs, only to find Cher in the same place 30 minutes later. Her assistant/handmaiden was helping her to try on jackets, which she held open for Cher like an attentive date.

We tried on sunglasses while I kept an eye on Cher. I modeled a pair of sunglasses by some stupid brand I’ve never heard of, that the salesgirls were pushing aggressively. “Aren’t these glorious!” I exclaimed a little too loudly, raising the eyebrows of a gay guy who clearly didn’t agree. Everyone tried to persuade me that another pair was more flattering but I was fixated on the glorious ones.

Meanwhile, Cher was strutting around in the new Olive green Balmain military jacket.

It looked preposterous on her but she seemed quite taken with it. I turned to the salesgirls and squealed, “Look! Cher is trying on the Balmain jacket!” They nodded and the gay guy confided, “She likes Balmain.” I complained to the BFF that Cher should leave that jacket to the girl whose boyfriend hits her. It took a while before she retrieved the word, “Rihanna.”

I bought the glorious sunglasses with ny NM charge card, meaning they were free! Don’t tell my husband.

Then, we walked down the street to Saks. A frightening, giant Nordic woman showed me some awful new lipstick by Guerlain, and the BFF bought a sexy bustier by Camilla and Marc. We relaxed in the Saks cafe, where I ate an apple tart that cost $9 and started to realize that the sunglasses were a tragic mistake.

But at least I saw Cher!

I love these shoes, but not as much as the selling points, as dreamed up by Stylebop. The Agnes Deyn reference almost ruined them for me, but not quite. If  they were affordable, I would wear them with everything except for the hippie dresses and petticoats.

Stylebop sells beautiful stuff that you can’t always find online. For me, the attraction is the copy-writing. Where else would a “small 1cm wooden heel” be described in the same breath as “robust?”

Go to Stylebop and enjoy its wonderful malaprops and cockamamie styling advice!

Okay, it’s time to get serious. After reading a new interview with Sea here, and then having a look at her “other” blog, I see there is something going on. Upon deliberating, I think I have cracked the code.

Sea of Shoes is actually code for SOS! It is a cri de coeur from Jane,  begging the world to deliver her from her demons.

I hear you, Jane! In the interview, she is asked to describe herself in 3 words. She answers: “Dirty old man.” Oh my! Elsewhere, in response to the question, “Tell me something most people wouldn’t know about you,” she says, “I’m a big sicko.”

OKAY, I GET IT. You’re a dark soul with fetishes aplenty, or you’re a lesbian. This is why your latest entry at your “other” blog is a naked woman displaying her anus.  It explains the emphasis on tits and ass. Instead of dropping hints, it might be better to just integrate your dark, lesbitious side into your everyday life and to feel okay with it.

Jane doesn’t want your comments but you can leave them here instead. I will go first:

Dear Sea, Don’t be ashamed of who you are. Just be ashamed of buying all those shoes. Love, SW