2011: Gagalations

After I noticed some striking (read: obvious) similarities between Gaga's Grammy performance and Alvin Ailey's modern ballet Revelations, the lovely ladies over at Gaga Stigmata agreed to let me write a piece for them comparing the two works and their meanings in the contexts of their debuts. You can check it out here. I worked a lot on it and am really excited to share it!

 

I also recently interviewed legendary hairstylist Vidal Sassoon. There's a documentary about his life out right now in NYC and L.A., and I saw a screener. It's so amazing, and he is an inspiration for anyone who has ever wanted to make art or do anything completely different and revolutionary. He also once cut Grace Coddington's hair - and we all know she is the only remaining badass at American Vogue  - so that, added to the fact that in a period of 15 minutes he legitimately referenced Bauhaus, Camus and Sartre, confirms him as a visionary and, possibly, my soulmate.

I leave for a week-long tryst in Spain in about two weeks! If anyone has any advice about what to do in BARTHELONA, let me know. xoxo

Free shoe day Friday

Working at a magazine def has its perks. Today, I got an IM from my managing editor. It went something like this.

Ed: What size shoe do you wear?
Me: haha, ummmmm.... 7/7.5. y?
Ed: Yay!!! You win!

She proceeded to bring a Sam Edelman box to my desk, which I opened to reveal these:

Shoes were always my big thing before I moved to New York. I was obsessed with them. Heels, platforms, stilettos, boots. I loved them all and wanted them all. Then I moved to New York and had to walk everywhere and was basically like FTN fuck that noise.

Today brought a nice reminder that I still, in fact, fucking love shoes. These are perfect. They are sparkly, they are black and they are flat. I can wear them in the city without wanting to kill someone, so that is good. And they were  FREE.  Thanks, universe.

It couldn't have  come on a better day, because I found out today that I have a fucking EAR INFECTION. All caps attack necessary. Am I five years old??? On top of that, I'm on my period, so yay TMI Friday this morning I basically felt like a snotified zombie lady with intent to kill.

But my new sparkly shoes made me feel better. Happy Friday everyone!

PS, I interviewed the guys who made the Facebook film CATFISH that everyone is talking about. My story is here. I encourage everyone to see it - it's shocking and thought-provoking, especially for those of us who belong to the Internet Generation. Ahem, that means you.

I've got the magic... dress?

You may recall that I posted a few weeks ago about this ridiculous dress I bought. Well, I wore it out earlier this week to a magazine party*, and... something happened. I'm not sure what, but something switched on in me. Walking down the street, I felt more like myself than I have ever felt, and more like I was living the life I have always wanted and worked for. Also, inexplicably, I adopted a No Shit Attitude (NSA) toward pretty much everything, and it carried over to the mornings after. Kind of like a hangover. The best hangover ever.

Z accompanied me to this party, and as we waited (im)patiently for the bartender to pour us our (free) drinks, a man came up behind me and reached past me to get the drink menu off the bar. This behavior was totally acceptable, as it was crowded and loud and he probably just didn't want to ask me to hand it to him. We waited some more. Wait wait wait. Then the same man came around to my right, leaned forward to the bartender and ordered his drinks before us, even though it was very clear that Z and I had been waiting longer. Oh. Hell. No.

I turned to him, heels clacked and hip jutted, looked him in the eye, and said directly (and with some indignation), "We were here before you. And you know it." The Douche avoided my eye contact, saying nothing and looking away sheepishly as the bartender set out two glasses for the drinks he had ordered. I repeated myself, for emphasis. "No, I'm sorry, but we were here before you. That's not OK." He again ignored me, turning to his lady friend to say (undoubtedly) something completely ignorant and base and fucking devoid. Devoid of what, you may ask? Everything and nothing. Just fucking devoid.

Seeing that my current course of action was going to have no effect, I turned to the bartender, who was most likely a completely innocent participant in all this foolishness, and said, "I'm sorry, but my friend and I were here before that guy." She immediately apologized and asked me what I wanted to drink, and thanked me for telling her what was going on. I ordered our drinks, which she promptly prepared - before The Douche's - and I tipped her $5 for doing the right thing. I then turned my back on The Douche and walked away feeling very good. Very, very good.

So good that the next morning on the train, I asked someone to move who was taking up more than his fair share of the middle of a seat. Normally, I just sigh and accept it as fact that many New Yorkers are inconsiderate assholes and that even if I ask someone to move so I can sit, there is no guarantee that he actually will. But this time, I simply said, "Excuse me," and moved to squeeze my ass into what little space was left beside him. He sighed loudly (as if to say, "UGHHHHH how dare you try to sit next to me on this, the New York City public transit, widely lauded as the most spacious and least crowded of allllllll mass transportation systems the world over?!?!") before moving to his right a little bit so I could fit. Yeah, that's right, asshole. Sorry to inconvenience you, but I am sitting here. I don't care if you like it or not, and I care even less what you think about me. Move. Down.

What is with this sudden onset of NSA?! I can feel something growing inside myself, a newly found lust and love for my life, an irresistible urge to exert my independence, and a fierce compulsion to protect it at all costs. Maybe it's because I've been thinking a lot about how lucky I am to have this amazing life. Maybe I'm starting to become a real, living, breathing New Yorker. Maybe I'm just terrified of losing all these amazing things I hold dear. Maybe I've simply removed the filter on my bitchdar. (I can hear the snarks now: What filter?)

Or, maybe - just maybe - it's the dress.























Fuck. Take 2.























Gratuitous BFF pic.























*Again, my life is ridiculous.