Now if only he'll take us to the Dairy Queen to show off our new Balenciaga bags.

Tim Gunn has a new book out, and I will be rushing to Borders after work today to purchase it and read it while drinking and watching What Not To Wear tonight.

Behold:

There is an arcticle on MSNBC that features some exerpts from the Almighty Tim Gunn's
Guide to Quality, Taste & Style. The kicker for me--which makes me want to run out and buy this immediately--is not Gunn's many suggestions for stream lining a wardrobe and cultivating one's own personal style, but the fact that on page two of this article he compares fashion to the philosophy of Soren Kierkegaard.

Gunn writes:

"For Kierkegaard, a “classic” results when form and content meet in perfect harmony. In our case, the content is the person inside the garment; the form is the garment itself. Some form and content marriages are quite obvious. Examples that come to mind are Paris Hilton and the line Heatherette, or Audrey Hepburn and Givenchy."

Fashion can be an intellectual pursuit, and I think Gunn proves this well by paring his Kierkegaard with Givenchy. Like Audrey Hepburn's character in Funny Face, there is a place in the fashion world for bookish intellectuals.

Thank you, Tim Gunn! Will you be my life coach?

Runway the Real Way, or TDBKR in Heaven

On my birthday trip to Vegas with Magen, I discovered London designer Ted Baker and realized that he is the guy for me. I came home from that trip with a "souvenir" from Ted's store in Caesar's Palace, courtesy of Magen's parents: a $325 silk day dress in navy blue and red in a pattern that I can only describe as "1970s Russian folk wallpaper." As far as I can tell, Ted Baker no longer makes or sells the red and navy version of the dress, which was the only color available in January and thus, I would guess, is the original version. Mr. Baker now offers the "Latifa" dress in a birch brown, onyx and silverly-blue "cloud" versions.

The onyx version of my fabulous Ted Baker dress.


I was out shopping today downtown and what is the first thing that I spy when I walk into ANGL in the Paseo Nuevo? Oh, that's right, a really cheap looking version of the exact dress pictured above. And what's behind it? Another knockoff of Ted Baker's dress in a light blue color that could be construed as "cloud," and one in a burnt orange and brown (birch brown?), and then, stuffed behind those, my dress. My red and navy Ted Baker dress.

The ANGL knockoff dresses are precisely the same pattern on the Ted Baker dresses, although there might be a slight difference in the crowns of the large flowers at the bottom of the dress. They are the same cut. There are really only two differences between the Ted Baker dress and the ANGL knockoff that would be noticeable to someone who doesn't really notice much about fashion.

The first of these differences is obvious: the ANGL dresses aren't silk. Everything from the sheen of the fabric to the way that the dresses were presented on the racks (wrinkled) yells "cheap imitation poly-blend." (My god, couldn't someone have at least purchased a steamer so that the clothing will look nicer on the rack, not like it just came out of a box that was on a tramp steamer from China?) The other difference will be more noticeable to the wearer: there's no pretty soft lining inside to preserve the quality of the outer fabric, in part because the outer fabric is already not of quality.

Now, I'm all about affordable clothing. I'm fucking lucky that I have a Ted Baker original, and I only have it because of Magen. I'm all about spending money on things that look more expensive than they are because ultimately, the only thing that matters about the quality of clothing is that they're sewn properly so that they're durable and fit well, that they fit well on you and that they look expensive.

My problem with the ANGL knockoffs is that they, presentation-wise, don't look expensive. And yet, they are. ANGL is charging $59.99 for a wrinkled poly-blend of a designer silk dress. Granted, $60 is not $325, but I should never, ever pay $60 for polyester blends. I can get a 100% silk blouse by INC at Macy's for only $70. INC is not Ted Baker, and I wager that if INC were doing a knockoff of my Ted Baker dress, they'd be charging about $100-$120 for it and using real silk and it would be a fucking steal. That's about the right price for that kind of quality of fabric. I only paid $325 for my dress because its Ted Baker.

But $60 for polyester? That's certainly cheap, but not cheap enough for the diminished quality of the dress. A polyester dress should be at least half that price. Actually, a polyester dress just simply shouldn't be.

In fashion magazines, there's always a feature called "Runway the Real Way" in which the magazine's editors take pictures from recent designer's hot hot hot runway shows and send their stylists and buyers out to find more affordable versions of the catwalk fashions. The idea is that you, too, can look like a runway model for about 1/5 of the price of the designer brand.

The difference between the things you see in "Runway the Real Way" segments and the Ted Baker knockoffs at ANGL comes down to quality and integrity. No editor who wanted to keep her job would ever suggest that polyester could substitute for silk. She might go out and find a lower-priced silk dress in a similar style, but never a polyester one--her magazine, after all, is supposed to uphold a standard of quality dressing. Furthermore, and this is the thing that really bugs me about the ANGL knockoffs, these dresses aren't simply imitations of Ted Baker's dress (say, if it were the same pattern, but cut completely differently, or the same cut but with a different pattern), these dresses are copies of Ted Baker's dress. You don't steal someone else's designs. You just don't. Just like you don't plagiarize the works of Megan McCafferty and call them original, Opal Mehta. It's as though the "designer" who created these knockoffs just found Ted Baker's sketches in a trash can and erased Ted Baker's name from them. A "designer" who steals other people's designers is not a "designer" at all, and that's a sort of stylistic integrity that shouldn't be compromised.

Naturally, as soon as I saw these dresses, I called Magen from the store and told her all about them. Her response was just to remind me that I have in my possession a dress that someone actually wants to make knockoffs of--and that's pretty cool.

Minding the Gap.

I am interested in the naming of things. Why things are called what they are called is a fascinating meditation, and its even more fun when the things you are contemplating are word puzzles with actual solutions, such as why brand names are what they are.

Today I was thinking about something that's bothered me for some time: why is Banana Republic named after banana republics? A banana republic, the kind of country, not the Gap brand, is definied by Wikipedia as follows:

Banana republic is a pejorative term for a small, often Latin American or Caribbean country that is politically unstable, dependent on limited agriculture, and ruled by a small, wealthy and corrupt clique put in power by the United States government in conjunction with the CIA and the US business lobby. The term was coined by O. Henry, an American humorist and short story writer, in reference to Honduras. "Republic" in his time was often a euphemism for a dictatorship, while "banana" implied an easy reliance on basic agriculture and backwardness in the development of modern industrial technology.

Of the four Gap brands--Old Navy, Gap, Banana Republic, Forth & Towne--only Banana Republic doesn't seem to sell products that suit its name.

Old Navy sells clothing that is intended to be casual and fun for the whole family. They sell weekend wear and day wear--nary a fancy party dress or pair of beautifully cuffed trousers in sight. It's the kind of stuff that's all-American, what you picture a sailor might wear when barbequeing with his wife, kids and faithful dog when he's lucky enough to have shoreleave in the summertime. Hell, maybe he was even lucky enough to go see the wife and kids on the 4th of July. It's the kind of clothing that's okay to get grass stains on, that's okay to spill mustard on, that's okay to wash and wear. The fits aren't stellar, but that's the kind of fit you get at that price point. I, personally, hate Old Navy. (Even though my sailor father definitely took me shopping there when I was little and there was a brand-new Old Navy near our house. I think he liked the novelty of the name more than anything.)

The Gap's name is no mystery. The company widely publicizes the fact that their name refers to the Generation Gap between young people and adults that reached its peak when Gap was founded in 1969--the Summer of Love. It's also no suprise, then, that Gap originated in San Francisco. While I have no knowledge of the style of clothing found at the Gap in the late 60s and early 70s, I know that in the 80s and 90s Gap embraced a style that transitioned easily between work and the weekend. The store is filled with basic work peices that can look more high end when mixed with nice trousers for work and can go casual with jeans. The store came to reflect the versitility of the lifestyle of people in their 20s and 30s, which are the years that really "fill in the gap" between childhood/adolescence and full-blown responsible adulthood. They even added a "Baby Gap" to help with that transition. Granted, Gap has had some major troubles maintaining the popularity of their basics in recent times and floundering sales led to the resignation of their CEO. They did manage, though, to do a number of things crucial to my generation. Gap pushed forward the Neo-Swing movement with their 1998 khaki commercial set to Louis Prima's "Jump, Jive & Wail," which Brian Setzer had coincidentally covered around the same time. (He sounds spookily like Prima on that record.) They also brought the gifted and talented Rufus Wainwright to the attention of the world when he asked us what we were doing on New Year's Eve in his white dinner jacket at a black baby grand during Gap's holiday campaign. The Gap also started Macy Gray's career and revived popular interest in musical theatre with their "West Side Story" commercial, for, fittingly, chinos.

Fourth & Town is the newest addition to the family of Gap brands. It is a very high end specialty retail store that is organized by "collections" and has a community of individually-styled fitting rooms. The shopgirls are meant to act as "stylists," although I can't say that's true for the one here in Santa Barbara. Fourth & Town, from the product it carries to the way the store is organized and the feel you get from walking in and being greeted by the shopgirls, fits its name. The kind of people who shop there, who like that lifestyle, who can afford the faux-couture clothing might live at an address such as "Fourth & Town."

Those things all make sense to me. The product each of those stores carry and the atmosphere they create all seem to reflect the name. Except Banana Republic.

Banana Republic, or BRep, as I like to call it, sells some of the finest workwear ever made. Some of the peices can be casual, yes, but the majority of the clothing sold at BRep is meant to transition not from work to the weekend, but from work to an evening out, or from a day in the office to a nighttime networking event. In BRep, you've left the world of family fun created at Old Navy. In BRep, you've even left the world of casual-minded Gen Xers with tots who shop at Gap. In the world of BRep, you've got style even Tim Gunn would approve of. (And clearly does, as Project Runway awarded its first two winners with jobs on the design team of BRep.) Banana's designs are all well-cut and highly-styled, and that kind of attention to detail and aesthetic is reflected in the price point of most of their items. They're not cheap, but they're definitely not as expensive as the faux-couture of Forth & Town.

So with that in mind, what's with the name? The meticulous care with which BRep's garments are crafted certainly don't have the raw, natural-fiber look of items made in such banana republics. My coworker Bill suggested that it was because BRep was the proxy government running the Gap, however, while it's a good analogy, BRep was established in the late 70s and incorporated into The Gap, Inc. in 1983. So the high-style running the lower-styled store doesn't exactly measure up.

But then I remembered what Banana Republic looked like in the late 80s and early 90s. And I remembered why I used to hate it. Granted, those years were definitely not good years for fashion for anyone, but I recall a Banana Republic that sold high-end resort wear. Imagine Tommy Bahama-style but with less tack: fewer loud prints, more raw, natural fibers and more neutrals.

Marcus has a jacket from BRep circa 1992 that I refer to as his "hobo jacket" because it truly is that hideous. It's some olive green linen thing that looks like a combination between a happy coat and a painter's smock. If it were part of the Seinfeld universe, I imagine it's something you'd buy in the J. Peterman catalog and wear with your "urban sombrero." I might burn it one night while he's sleeping.

If this jacket is the kind of style BRep had cultivated for itself until the late 90s--and certainly til Tim Gunn's blessings were bestowed upon them--then I get the name. It is similar to Bill's conjecture, only Gap is the despotic ruler-from-afar and Banana Republic is, well, the banana republic. The upscale resort wear manufactured for old BRep might be the kind of thing the dictator might wear while running the country. (I'm sure a majority of their products are actually manufactured in third world countries, as I'd wager is the case with all Gap brands.)

I'm glad that BRep has been touched by the hand of Gunn and that their style is no longer as heinous as it used to be. I love that they still sell natural fibers and that some of the peices do seem to have the worldly influence that their clothes have always carried, but now that worldliness is so much more sophistocated than the hobo jacket.

You're lucky, Banana Republic. Even with your really odd name, you're the only Gap brand I'll actually patronize. I forgive you for your misguided youth. And the hobo jacket.

Jean Blues

I am so certain that designers create these concoctions out of denim and have no idea exactly how they are supposed to fit anyone who isn't straight as a fucking board.

I have 36" hips, which are massive compared to the 32" bust line, small shoulders, and 29" waist.

I went to 6 different stores downtown today and tried on tons and tons of jeans, only to realize that every pair fell into the same problem categories:
1. If the jeans were low rise, they just make me look short. And I am not fucking short. I am on the tall side for a gal, so fuck you for cutting me down to hobbit size, LEI and Paris Blues.
2. If the jeans were a flare leg, or a wide boot cut, they also make me look short. That helps fucking no one. No one wants to look short.
3. Gap jeans has tried to make a series of jeans for "curvy girls." I thought I would be one of these girls. However! I argue that Gap's curvy jeans just make girls look fatter. Why, oh, why would you put a wide waistband across the hips of a girl who calls herself curvy? You're emphasizing the biggest fucking part of her body, and no shirt seamed along the ribcage is going to make up for that. Tilt jeans are guilty of this crime as well.
4. Any midrise jeans I tried on somehow gave me a "front ass" out of denim. This was also Gap's problem. Apparently, a size 8 gal, albeit I was told that was the national fucking average, comes with a front ass of her own. I'm not there yet. And I hope not to be until I have children and have an excuse.
5. Pegged jeans are fucking everywhere. No thanks, I'd rather eat that ice cream cone than look like one. They've even crawled into Express, which makes me wonder exactly what the world is coming to.
6. Another trend that fucks over girls who were designed to bear children: fucking whiskering on the thighs. Really? Please, just further emphasize the part of my body I hate the most. I fucking love that.

So I pretty much cried in every dressing room and blamed myself for being a model discontinued in 1954. But then I remembered that there's technically nothing wrong with my body, and a whole host of things wrong with modern design.

I finally found some good standard bootcut jeans in Robinsons-May, of all places, and I was a fucking quarter of the age of everyone in there, so I don't know what business the store has selling jeans in the first place. And Calvin Klein and DKNY, at that. I bought a pair of CK, at $70, and a nice pair of Levi's at $36. (To these people, and this is the phenomenom that happens with high-end stuff, I am a size 6. And that makes me feel nice, although I know they are lying to me just to get my to buy more from them. But you know what? It's a smart marketing scheme and it's fucking working.)

And I will not go jean shopping again for a long, long time.

I don't need to put myself through this kind of fucking self-loathing on a regular basis.

And while I am still mad about fashion, fuck leggings. Fuck them. Fuck them. Fuck these stupid skinny-ass girls who wear this shit and think it looks nice. You look like dirty street trash. Comb your fucking hair. Get some clothes that actually fucking fit you. Stop putting your fucking dogs in purses. Congratulations, however, on being part of a trend I hate even more than mini skirts with Ugg boots and trucker hats.

It's time for more Deadwood, which explains all the expletives.