Notice I said "Guidelines", NOT RESTRICTIONS.
The too-thin model debate continues with the, Council of Fashion Designers of America (CFDA) weighing in and issuing guidelines that revolve around education, not exclusion. "Designers share a responsibility to protect women, and very young girls in particular, within the business, sending the message that beauty is health," read the guidelines. "The fashion industry [will] begin a campaign of awareness and create an atmosphere that supports the well-being of these young women." CFDA president Diane von Furstenberg led the panel that is asking that designers do such things as not hire models under 16 for runway shows and not allow girls under 18 to work past midnight; to provide healthy meals and snacks backstage at fashion shows and ban smoking and the consumption of alcohol; and to educate the industry through workshops about eating disorders. The CFDA Health Initiative will present a discussion on this topic on February 5 during New York's fashion week. ...
While some are saying "at least they're doing something," others, like myself, don't believe this is enough. These should be mandatory rules. Other countries have mandatory rules in place, so why shouldn't the U.S.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Spring '07's Biggest Trends
So I've been trying to figure out what the biggest trends are going to be next season, and I'm coming up a bit short. The best I can come up with has been "fashion is being influenced by architecture once again this season, so expect more volume and dangerous heels." I know, lame! So luckily as I opened up my elle.com newsletter this week I spotted their semi-annual Runway ABC's guide. Check it out (click here for more).
I know the pic's a bit hard to read so let me list out the ABC's for ya.
A - Anime
B - Bond Girls
C - Classical Style
D - Dominatrix Gear
E - Ethereal Elegance
F - Futurism
G - Graphic Attack
H - Haute Handiwork
I - I ♥ the 80s
J - Japonisme
K - Khaki
L - Luxe Lingerie
M - Menswear
N - Never Never Land
O - Off-White
P - Psychedelic
Q - Quite Bright
R - Roses
S - Swan Lake
T - Tent Dresses
U - Uptown Girls
V - Very Brief
W - Warrior
X - X-treme Sports
Y - Yin and Yang
Z - Ziggy Stardust
----
--> with these fashions I'm sure this will become a "sweet" pick-up line soon: "Lookin' like a model, lookin' like a superstar
You're out of sight"
I know the pic's a bit hard to read so let me list out the ABC's for ya.
A - Anime
B - Bond Girls
C - Classical Style
D - Dominatrix Gear
E - Ethereal Elegance
F - Futurism
G - Graphic Attack
H - Haute Handiwork
I - I ♥ the 80s
J - Japonisme
K - Khaki
L - Luxe Lingerie
M - Menswear
N - Never Never Land
O - Off-White
P - Psychedelic
Q - Quite Bright
R - Roses
S - Swan Lake
T - Tent Dresses
U - Uptown Girls
V - Very Brief
W - Warrior
X - X-treme Sports
Y - Yin and Yang
Z - Ziggy Stardust
----
--> with these fashions I'm sure this will become a "sweet" pick-up line soon: "Lookin' like a model, lookin' like a superstar
You're out of sight"
I'm a Natural
Your beauty aura is Natural!
When it comes to how you present yourself to the world, you strongly believe that keeping things simple — whether it's your relationships, career, or face soap — is the best way to be beautiful. You're satisfied with what nature gave you and aren't afraid to show your confident, unadorned self to the world.
Your beauty routine is all about maintenance. You keep your skin clean, your body moisturized, and add a splash of color to lips and eyes when the situation demands it. Other than that? You feel best looking as fresh as nature intended. In the course of being au naturelle you may sometimes forget to cut loose and have fun. You should feel free to dress up now and then or splurge on a scent. Spoil yourself, now and then, as nature intended.
Handbag Help from WhoWhatWearDaily.Com
Dear reader,
We understand your feeling of being caught in the horns of a handbag dilemma. We feel that when in doubt, it’s always best to go for the classic bag. Ideally you’re looking for something that can’t clearly be identified as being from a specific time period—skip seasonal hype. It’s one thing if you have a ton of money, like celebs do, and can easily afford the trendy bag, however, for the rest of us it’s best to look at your purchase as an investment—especially if you’re only looking for a single piece.
Some excellent choices, in terms of longevity, are the Hermes Birkin, anything by Goyard, woven bags by Bottega, or a Chanel chain bag (either quilted or caviar style). Stay away from seasonal textures and prints, as well as trendy hardware. For example: Traditional logo Louis Vuitton bags will serve you well for decades, but the ones embellished by artists are trendy and you’ll retire them before getting full usage value. Take Ashley Olsen and Jessica Simpson in the above image. They’re both carrying Fendi bags, but which one do you think get more wear?
If at all possible, do not sell bags from previous seasons, even if they are specific to a certain collection as opposed to basic. Today’s trash is almost guaranteed to be tomorrow’s eBay treasure. You never know when that piece will come back into style. Katherine rues the day she gave away her 1997 Prada backpack, especially since the company has recently released a new fantastic version for spring.
Hope this helps!
WWWD
------
so the lesson for today kids is: buy something that lasts, not the latest "it" bag
Justin Timberlake, Cameron Diaz Officially Announce Breakup
Stars — who dated for more than three years — spoke out because of 'inaccurate stories,' statement reads.
by Jennifer Vineyard
Last week, Justin Timberlake didn't want to address the rumors that he'd broken up with Cameron Diaz — even as his longtime girlfriend's absence at the Los Angeles premiere of his new movie "Alpha Dog" seemed to speak volumes. But now both Timberlake and Diaz are ready to confirm what the rest of the country has been gossiping about all week: It's over.
"We have, in fact, ended our romantic relationship and have done so mutually and as friends, with continued love and respect for one another," the two said in a joint statement released on Thursday (January 11).
Tabloid reports had placed the split as happening over the holidays, since Timberlake spent time at home with his family in Tennessee while Diaz went skiing with her family in Colorado. Rumors of breakups and marriage plans had plagued the couple throughout the course of their three-and-a-half-year relationship, but they kept silent about all of it.
"It has always been our preference not to comment on the status of our relationship," the statement read. "But out of respect for the time we've spent together, we feel compelled to do so now, in light of recent speculation and the number of inaccurate stories that are being reported by the media."
Timberlake and Diaz didn't specify which stories, but the most likely candidates are those linking the singer to pre-Britney girlfriend Veronica Finn (based on spending time together around Christmas), Kate Hudson (based on spending time together on New Year's Eve) and Scarlett Johansson (based on spending time together during the shooting of a video for his next single, "What Goes Around ...").
Both Diaz and Timberlake voice parts (as Fiona and a young King Arthur figure called Artie, respectively) in the upcoming "Shrek the Third," out May 18.
--------
Now it's time for my own 2 cents. While I don't think he's dating this Veronica girl or Kate Hudson, he could be spending time with Scarlett. Then again who wouldn't want to hang out with Scarlett, have you seen her!? She's awesome and one of my favorites. My mom was wondering if his breakup had anything to do with Britney's breakup; I don't think so, he seems to be "so" over her, but you never know what's really going on in someone's head. And my mom was also speculating that the breakup might have something to do with comments Cameron made on the Ellen DeGeneres Show in early December where she called herself a "commitment phobe". I don't know about that one, but it seems everyone's splitting up -- Michael Jordan & his wife, Jason Kidd & his wife, Justin & Cameron, yadayadayada. It seems as if once you look at a celebrity couple as the paragon of the "perfect couple" they split up. Maybe it's something in the Evian and/or Perrier.
--> right now he's probably slow dancing with a bleached-blonde tramp and she's probably getting frisky
What Shamu Taught Me About a Happy Marriage by AMY SUTHERLAND
Found this on nytimes.com
AS I wash dishes at the kitchen sink, my husband paces behind me, irritated. "Have you seen my keys?" he snarls, then huffs out a loud sigh and stomps from the room with our dog, Dixie, at his heels, anxious over her favorite human's upset.
In the past I would have been right behind Dixie. I would have turned off the faucet and joined the hunt while trying to soothe my husband with bromides like, "Don't worry, they'll turn up." But that only made him angrier, and a simple case of missing keys soon would become a full-blown angst-ridden drama starring the two of us and our poor nervous dog.
Now, I focus on the wet dish in my hands. I don't turn around. I don't say a word. I'm using a technique I learned from a dolphin trainer.
I love my husband. He's well read, adventurous and does a hysterical rendition of a northern Vermont accent that still cracks me up after 12 years of marriage.
But he also tends to be forgetful, and is often tardy and mercurial. He hovers around me in the kitchen asking if I read this or that piece in The New Yorker when I'm trying to concentrate on the simmering pans. He leaves wadded tissues in his wake. He suffers from serious bouts of spousal deafness but never fails to hear me when I mutter to myself on the other side of the house. "What did you say?" he'll shout.
These minor annoyances are not the stuff of separation and divorce, but in sum they began to dull my love for Scott. I wanted — needed — to nudge him a little closer to perfect, to make him into a mate who might annoy me a little less, who wouldn't keep me waiting at restaurants, a mate who would be easier to love.
So, like many wives before me, I ignored a library of advice books and set about improving him. By nagging, of course, which only made his behavior worse: he'd drive faster instead of slower; shave less frequently, not more; and leave his reeking bike garb on the bedroom floor longer than ever.
We went to a counselor to smooth the edges off our marriage. She didn't understand what we were doing there and complimented us repeatedly on how well we communicated. I gave up. I guessed she was right — our union was better than most — and resigned myself to stretches of slow-boil resentment and occasional sarcasm.
Then something magical happened. For a book I was writing about a school for exotic animal trainers, I started commuting from Maine to California, where I spent my days watching students do the seemingly impossible: teaching hyenas to pirouette on command, cougars to offer their paws for a nail clipping, and baboons to skateboard.
I listened, rapt, as professional trainers explained how they taught dolphins to flip and elephants to paint. Eventually it hit me that the same techniques might work on that stubborn but lovable species, the American husband.
The central lesson I learned from exotic animal trainers is that I should reward behavior I like and ignore behavior I don't. After all, you don't get a sea lion to balance a ball on the end of its nose by nagging. The same goes for the American husband.
Back in Maine, I began thanking Scott if he threw one dirty shirt into the hamper. If he threw in two, I'd kiss him. Meanwhile, I would step over any soiled clothes on the floor without one sharp word, though I did sometimes kick them under the bed. But as he basked in my appreciation, the piles became smaller.
I was using what trainers call "approximations," rewarding the small steps toward learning a whole new behavior. You can't expect a baboon to learn to flip on command in one session, just as you can't expect an American husband to begin regularly picking up his dirty socks by praising him once for picking up a single sock. With the baboon you first reward a hop, then a bigger hop, then an even bigger hop. With Scott the husband, I began to praise every small act every time: if he drove just a mile an hour slower, tossed one pair of shorts into the hamper, or was on time for anything.
I also began to analyze my husband the way a trainer considers an exotic animal. Enlightened trainers learn all they can about a species, from anatomy to social structure, to understand how it thinks, what it likes and dislikes, what comes easily to it and what doesn't. For example, an elephant is a herd animal, so it responds to hierarchy. It cannot jump, but can stand on its head. It is a vegetarian.
The exotic animal known as Scott is a loner, but an alpha male. So hierarchy matters, but being in a group doesn't so much. He has the balance of a gymnast, but moves slowly, especially when getting dressed. Skiing comes naturally, but being on time does not. He's an omnivore, and what a trainer would call food-driven.
Once I started thinking this way, I couldn't stop. At the school in California, I'd be scribbling notes on how to walk an emu or have a wolf accept you as a pack member, but I'd be thinking, "I can't wait to try this on Scott."
On a field trip with the students, I listened to a professional trainer describe how he had taught African crested cranes to stop landing on his head and shoulders. He did this by training the leggy birds to land on mats on the ground. This, he explained, is what is called an "incompatible behavior," a simple but brilliant concept.
Rather than teach the cranes to stop landing on him, the trainer taught the birds something else, a behavior that would make the undesirable behavior impossible. The birds couldn't alight on the mats and his head simultaneously.
At home, I came up with incompatible behaviors for Scott to keep him from crowding me while I cooked. To lure him away from the stove, I piled up parsley for him to chop or cheese for him to grate at the other end of the kitchen island. Or I'd set out a bowl of chips and salsa across the room. Soon I'd done it: no more Scott hovering around me while I cooked.
I followed the students to SeaWorld San Diego, where a dolphin trainer introduced me to least reinforcing syndrome (L. R. S.). When a dolphin does something wrong, the trainer doesn't respond in any way. He stands still for a few beats, careful not to look at the dolphin, and then returns to work. The idea is that any response, positive or negative, fuels a behavior. If a behavior provokes no response, it typically dies away.
In the margins of my notes I wrote, "Try on Scott!"
It was only a matter of time before he was again tearing around the house searching for his keys, at which point I said nothing and kept at what I was doing. It took a lot of discipline to maintain my calm, but results were immediate and stunning. His temper fell far shy of its usual pitch and then waned like a fast-moving storm. I felt as if I should throw him a mackerel.
Now he's at it again; I hear him banging a closet door shut, rustling through papers on a chest in the front hall and thumping upstairs. At the sink, I hold steady. Then, sure enough, all goes quiet. A moment later, he walks into the kitchen, keys in hand, and says calmly, "Found them."
Without turning, I call out, "Great, see you later."
Off he goes with our much-calmed pup.
After two years of exotic animal training, my marriage is far smoother, my husband much easier to love. I used to take his faults personally; his dirty clothes on the floor were an affront, a symbol of how he didn't care enough about me. But thinking of my husband as an exotic species gave me the distance I needed to consider our differences more objectively.
I adopted the trainers' motto: "It's never the animal's fault." When my training attempts failed, I didn't blame Scott. Rather, I brainstormed new strategies, thought up more incompatible behaviors and used smaller approximations. I dissected my own behavior, considered how my actions might inadvertently fuel his. I also accepted that some behaviors were too entrenched, too instinctive to train away. You can't stop a badger from digging, and you can't stop my husband from losing his wallet and keys.
PROFESSIONALS talk of animals that understand training so well they eventually use it back on the trainer. My animal did the same. When the training techniques worked so beautifully, I couldn't resist telling my husband what I was up to. He wasn't offended, just amused. As I explained the techniques and terminology, he soaked it up. Far more than I realized.
Last fall, firmly in middle age, I learned that I needed braces. They were not only humiliating, but also excruciating. For weeks my gums, teeth, jaw and sinuses throbbed. I complained frequently and loudly. Scott assured me that I would become used to all the metal in my mouth. I did not.
One morning, as I launched into yet another tirade about how uncomfortable I was, Scott just looked at me blankly. He didn't say a word or acknowledge my rant in any way, not even with a nod.
I quickly ran out of steam and started to walk away. Then I realized what was happening, and I turned and asked, "Are you giving me an L. R. S.?" Silence. "You are, aren't you?"
He finally smiled, but his L. R. S. has already done the trick. He'd begun to train me, the American wife.
Amy Sutherland is the author of "Kicked, Bitten and Scratched: Life and Lessons at the Premier School for Exotic Animal Trainers" (Viking, June 2006). She lives in Boston and in Portland, Me.
AS I wash dishes at the kitchen sink, my husband paces behind me, irritated. "Have you seen my keys?" he snarls, then huffs out a loud sigh and stomps from the room with our dog, Dixie, at his heels, anxious over her favorite human's upset.
In the past I would have been right behind Dixie. I would have turned off the faucet and joined the hunt while trying to soothe my husband with bromides like, "Don't worry, they'll turn up." But that only made him angrier, and a simple case of missing keys soon would become a full-blown angst-ridden drama starring the two of us and our poor nervous dog.
Now, I focus on the wet dish in my hands. I don't turn around. I don't say a word. I'm using a technique I learned from a dolphin trainer.
I love my husband. He's well read, adventurous and does a hysterical rendition of a northern Vermont accent that still cracks me up after 12 years of marriage.
But he also tends to be forgetful, and is often tardy and mercurial. He hovers around me in the kitchen asking if I read this or that piece in The New Yorker when I'm trying to concentrate on the simmering pans. He leaves wadded tissues in his wake. He suffers from serious bouts of spousal deafness but never fails to hear me when I mutter to myself on the other side of the house. "What did you say?" he'll shout.
These minor annoyances are not the stuff of separation and divorce, but in sum they began to dull my love for Scott. I wanted — needed — to nudge him a little closer to perfect, to make him into a mate who might annoy me a little less, who wouldn't keep me waiting at restaurants, a mate who would be easier to love.
So, like many wives before me, I ignored a library of advice books and set about improving him. By nagging, of course, which only made his behavior worse: he'd drive faster instead of slower; shave less frequently, not more; and leave his reeking bike garb on the bedroom floor longer than ever.
We went to a counselor to smooth the edges off our marriage. She didn't understand what we were doing there and complimented us repeatedly on how well we communicated. I gave up. I guessed she was right — our union was better than most — and resigned myself to stretches of slow-boil resentment and occasional sarcasm.
Then something magical happened. For a book I was writing about a school for exotic animal trainers, I started commuting from Maine to California, where I spent my days watching students do the seemingly impossible: teaching hyenas to pirouette on command, cougars to offer their paws for a nail clipping, and baboons to skateboard.
I listened, rapt, as professional trainers explained how they taught dolphins to flip and elephants to paint. Eventually it hit me that the same techniques might work on that stubborn but lovable species, the American husband.
The central lesson I learned from exotic animal trainers is that I should reward behavior I like and ignore behavior I don't. After all, you don't get a sea lion to balance a ball on the end of its nose by nagging. The same goes for the American husband.
Back in Maine, I began thanking Scott if he threw one dirty shirt into the hamper. If he threw in two, I'd kiss him. Meanwhile, I would step over any soiled clothes on the floor without one sharp word, though I did sometimes kick them under the bed. But as he basked in my appreciation, the piles became smaller.
I was using what trainers call "approximations," rewarding the small steps toward learning a whole new behavior. You can't expect a baboon to learn to flip on command in one session, just as you can't expect an American husband to begin regularly picking up his dirty socks by praising him once for picking up a single sock. With the baboon you first reward a hop, then a bigger hop, then an even bigger hop. With Scott the husband, I began to praise every small act every time: if he drove just a mile an hour slower, tossed one pair of shorts into the hamper, or was on time for anything.
I also began to analyze my husband the way a trainer considers an exotic animal. Enlightened trainers learn all they can about a species, from anatomy to social structure, to understand how it thinks, what it likes and dislikes, what comes easily to it and what doesn't. For example, an elephant is a herd animal, so it responds to hierarchy. It cannot jump, but can stand on its head. It is a vegetarian.
The exotic animal known as Scott is a loner, but an alpha male. So hierarchy matters, but being in a group doesn't so much. He has the balance of a gymnast, but moves slowly, especially when getting dressed. Skiing comes naturally, but being on time does not. He's an omnivore, and what a trainer would call food-driven.
Once I started thinking this way, I couldn't stop. At the school in California, I'd be scribbling notes on how to walk an emu or have a wolf accept you as a pack member, but I'd be thinking, "I can't wait to try this on Scott."
On a field trip with the students, I listened to a professional trainer describe how he had taught African crested cranes to stop landing on his head and shoulders. He did this by training the leggy birds to land on mats on the ground. This, he explained, is what is called an "incompatible behavior," a simple but brilliant concept.
Rather than teach the cranes to stop landing on him, the trainer taught the birds something else, a behavior that would make the undesirable behavior impossible. The birds couldn't alight on the mats and his head simultaneously.
At home, I came up with incompatible behaviors for Scott to keep him from crowding me while I cooked. To lure him away from the stove, I piled up parsley for him to chop or cheese for him to grate at the other end of the kitchen island. Or I'd set out a bowl of chips and salsa across the room. Soon I'd done it: no more Scott hovering around me while I cooked.
I followed the students to SeaWorld San Diego, where a dolphin trainer introduced me to least reinforcing syndrome (L. R. S.). When a dolphin does something wrong, the trainer doesn't respond in any way. He stands still for a few beats, careful not to look at the dolphin, and then returns to work. The idea is that any response, positive or negative, fuels a behavior. If a behavior provokes no response, it typically dies away.
In the margins of my notes I wrote, "Try on Scott!"
It was only a matter of time before he was again tearing around the house searching for his keys, at which point I said nothing and kept at what I was doing. It took a lot of discipline to maintain my calm, but results were immediate and stunning. His temper fell far shy of its usual pitch and then waned like a fast-moving storm. I felt as if I should throw him a mackerel.
Now he's at it again; I hear him banging a closet door shut, rustling through papers on a chest in the front hall and thumping upstairs. At the sink, I hold steady. Then, sure enough, all goes quiet. A moment later, he walks into the kitchen, keys in hand, and says calmly, "Found them."
Without turning, I call out, "Great, see you later."
Off he goes with our much-calmed pup.
After two years of exotic animal training, my marriage is far smoother, my husband much easier to love. I used to take his faults personally; his dirty clothes on the floor were an affront, a symbol of how he didn't care enough about me. But thinking of my husband as an exotic species gave me the distance I needed to consider our differences more objectively.
I adopted the trainers' motto: "It's never the animal's fault." When my training attempts failed, I didn't blame Scott. Rather, I brainstormed new strategies, thought up more incompatible behaviors and used smaller approximations. I dissected my own behavior, considered how my actions might inadvertently fuel his. I also accepted that some behaviors were too entrenched, too instinctive to train away. You can't stop a badger from digging, and you can't stop my husband from losing his wallet and keys.
PROFESSIONALS talk of animals that understand training so well they eventually use it back on the trainer. My animal did the same. When the training techniques worked so beautifully, I couldn't resist telling my husband what I was up to. He wasn't offended, just amused. As I explained the techniques and terminology, he soaked it up. Far more than I realized.
Last fall, firmly in middle age, I learned that I needed braces. They were not only humiliating, but also excruciating. For weeks my gums, teeth, jaw and sinuses throbbed. I complained frequently and loudly. Scott assured me that I would become used to all the metal in my mouth. I did not.
One morning, as I launched into yet another tirade about how uncomfortable I was, Scott just looked at me blankly. He didn't say a word or acknowledge my rant in any way, not even with a nod.
I quickly ran out of steam and started to walk away. Then I realized what was happening, and I turned and asked, "Are you giving me an L. R. S.?" Silence. "You are, aren't you?"
He finally smiled, but his L. R. S. has already done the trick. He'd begun to train me, the American wife.
Amy Sutherland is the author of "Kicked, Bitten and Scratched: Life and Lessons at the Premier School for Exotic Animal Trainers" (Viking, June 2006). She lives in Boston and in Portland, Me.
Monday, January 8, 2007
‘The OC’: A Fast Start, a Faster Finish
So as you've probably heard, my favorite show The OC is being cancelled next month. I guess I can go back to watching Grey's Anatomy, but I must say that it got kind of boring to me this season now that McDreamy and Meredith are dating (or at least I think they're still dating; I haven't exactly watched the show since the new OC season started). Maybe it's just me. Note to self: I must start an OC countdown on this blog soon. Here's an article I found on nytimes.com.---
LOS ANGELES, Jan. 5 — The end was in sight for “The OC” by at least last summer, according to Josh Schwartz, the wunderkind creator of the show that, with its glamorous locations, beautiful actors and hip soundtrack, defined new trends for music, fashion, celebrity and, of course, television.
After a stunning debut on Fox in 2003, in which the series drew nearly 10 million viewers each week and a particularly high number of adults between the ages of 18 and 34, according to Nielsen Media Research, the show’s ratings fell in each of the last two seasons.
It entered the fourth season without its most recognizable face, the pouty rich girl played by Mischa Barton, who was killed off at the end of the previous season. Fox, meanwhile, demonstrated its lack of confidence by leaving “The OC” in its 9 p.m. Thursday time slot to face off against “Grey’s Anatomy” and “CSI.”
Fox ordered only 16 episodes, down from more than 20 in each of the first three seasons, and its budget for promoting the show’s return, Mr. Schwartz said, made clear that hopes for the series this year were not high.
“We tried to be realistic about it,” Mr. Schwartz said. “Few shows get to have their last season be their best. So if this was going to be the last season, we wanted to write the show we wanted to do and the show the fans wanted to see. It was creatively liberating.”
Fox, for its part, declined to address its reasons for ending “The OC.” No network executives were quoted in the news release, issued on Wednesday, announcing that this season would be the show’s last, and a spokesman for the network said Friday that no one would comment for this article.
When “The OC” had its premiere, it was quickly compared to “Beverly Hills 90210,” “Dawson’s Creek” and other series that drew raves for their chronicles of teenage angst. But while “90210” lasted 10 seasons, “The OC” will not even make it to the 100-episode milestone, considered a benchmark for profitable syndication.
It did, however, influence the culture. Orange County’s Newport Beach community became a tourist destination for young fans. At least two reality-based television series drew on the fame of “The OC”: “Laguna Beach,” an MTV series that billed itself as “the real Orange County,” and “The Real Housewives of Orange County,” a Bravo reality show that follows a gaggle of women from their tennis lessons to Botox sessions.
Thanks to its heavy use of mood music from emerging rock and alternative-music groups, “The OC” became known as a showcase for new bands, and it produced a half-dozen soundtrack albums featuring groups like Death Cab for Cutie and vocalists like Imogen Heap.
For all of its focus on good-looking rich kids, the show was also about adults, winning praise for developing parental characters with their own storylines and concerns. The show also created what were arguably the first Jewish heartthrobs on television: Sandy Cohen, played by Peter Gallagher, a public defender married to a wealthy gentile developer; and his son, Seth Cohen, played by Adam Brody, who dealt with his mixed religious heritage by promoting the family’s adoption of Chrismukkah as its winter holiday celebration.
Reviewing the show’s second-season premiere, Virginia Heffernan, a New York Times television critic, wrote: “In tone, diction, fashion and music, Mr. Schwartz knows just how to keep it credible with its swooning fans. But he is also mindful of the strict rituals that define television drama, and his discipline in tightening the world he has created — rather than giving in to impatience and blowing it apart — is admirable.”
In the end, however, the weakness of “The OC” might have been that it was too much the product of one person, conceptually, if not in practice. Just 26 when Fox agreed to broadcast the show, Mr. Schwartz was the youngest person in network television history to create and produce his own one-hour series.
He worked furiously, writing or revising every episode of the first season and several in the first part of the second year. After that, he cut back, and while other longtime collaborators like Stephanie Savage continued to work closely on the show, many fans expressed the opinion that the second and third seasons did not match the originality of the first.
Mr. Schwartz disputes that. “I really believe in my colleagues,” he said, citing his particularly close association with Ms. Savage and Robert De Laurentiis, a show-business veteran who has served as an executive producer since the first season.
In fact, Mr. Schwartz will be producing a new series with Ms. Savage. The CW network has signed the pair for “Gossip Girl,” an hourlong teenage drama set in New York City and based on the book series of the same name. NBC, too, has signed Mr. Schwartz for a series, a dark comedy-drama titled “Chuck,” which Mr. Schwartz has developed with Chris Fedak.
For now, Mr. Schwartz, who grew up in Providence, R.I., not on the California coast, said he was focused on “delivering the most satisfying finale we can” for “The OC.” The remaining episodes will feature an unexpected pregnancy and more of the show’s familiar love-triangle tussles. All of which could work to raise the size of the audience from the fewer than four million who have tuned in for each episode this season, according to Nielsen. But it is unlikely that the series will win any reprieve from what, for such early promise, could be viewed as an early death.
---
--> California here I come, right back where I started from (I'm getting a bit bored with "Now That's Class!c W!th A Tw!st")
February W Magazine Cover
Is this not the coolest cover for January. It's from the February Issue of W Magazine. Check out the latest Bond's tattoo.
---
Here's a snippet of the article I found on style.com.
---
Daniel Craig can't stand listening to Nicole Kidman. In fact, it's so painful that he has stuck his fingers in his ears and is humming loudly to drown her out. Meanwhile, Kidman is happily responding to a question about whether the 38-year-old actor changed after landing his role as James Bond last year.
"Oh, completely," deadpans Kidman, 39, who was with him, shooting one of their upcoming films, The Invasion, when he got the call. "In 24 hours he became a diva," she adds, with a nod toward Craig, who continues to hum his tune as the pair sit in the cozy bar of a London photography studio, where they're sharing a bottle of sparkling water. But then Kidman breaks down and tells the truth: "Oh, he didn't change at all," she says in her haute-Aussie twang. "The thing about Daniel, and the reason I like working with him, is that he's an actor's actor."
Of course, Craig has heard the whole thing, and he seems far more alarmed by the compliment than by the faux insult. "How dare you!" he shouts, and they both giggle.
It is a chilly, slate gray autumn Saturday, and Kidman, who's barefoot and still wearing a caffe latte–colored Dior gown from the fashion shoot, and Craig, in a navy blue cardigan more suited to Mister Rogers than Mr. Bond, are punchy after a long day posing under hot lights. On Monday they'll return to the London set of The Golden Compass, a fantasy-adventure film based on the first book in Philip Pullman's trilogy His Dark Materials. The movie, to be released later this year, is their second collaboration, the first being The Invasion, which is loosely based on Invasion of the Body Snatchers and is also due out in 2007.
"The Actors," photographed by David Sims, has been edited for Style.com; for the complete story, pick up the February 2007 issue of W.
♥ Pete Wentz Interview
Latest obsession = Pete Wentz. Here's an interview I saw with him on Nylon TV (a YouTube channel linked with Nylon Magazine). It's a good interview, but the girl interviewing him kinda freaks me out.
Seasonal Themes from WhoWhatWearDaily.Com
I'm totally obsessed with the whowhatweardaily.com newsletter. Get it or just check out the website from Monday to Friday for new posts. Here's something I found in my inbox this morning.
The future is present on the Spring 2007 runways. While some space-age looks venture into extreme territory-the gold plated-pants at Balenciaga are clearly currently channeling Star Wars' C-P30-it's relatively easy to incorporate this seasonal theme into one's wardrobe. It might be something as simple as picking up Roger Vivier's metallic gold clutch. Bergdorf Goodman already has a waiting list for the $750 accessory, which they project to be the season's "it" bag. Or perhaps you could pick up a pair of Lucite hoops a la Lanvi's runway jewelry look. Large-lens, translucent-framed sunglasses (versions seen at Balenciaga, Dior, Bottega, Givenchy and Stella) are another Jetsons touch that brings to mind Timbuk 3's 1986 hit. To steal from the band, clearly the future's so bright, we gotta wear shades.
Romance is also in the spring air, blowing in via retro feminine shapes and fabrics. Flowers are blooming on prints, hair accessories and shoe embellishments, as well as being actual inspiration points. Thakoon Panichgul told WWD that, "Peonies and their simple complexity," were the major muses of his eponymous collection, while other designers, like Louis Vuitton and Valentino, hit upon the romantic trend through petticoat tiers of silk and chiffon. For a less literal translation of this trend, look for garments that suggest softness-in both color (think muted and dusty pastels) and cut.
We the editors at WhoWhatWearDaily are not the most athletic bunch. Unless, of course, you count threading through a crowd to get to the pinot-grigio for Katherine, noir for Hillary- or whipping through the racks at Sarsaparilla in South Beach. That said, we have no problem with looking active, hence our sighs of satisfaction over the many sporty styles available this spring. Some of our favorite looks include the playful rompers at Stella and sherbet-striped, racer back tops at Proenza. We also covet the clear Chanel tote that would make the most chic gym bag ever. Too bad we don't actually workout...
-----
--> now that's Class!c W!th A Tw!st
The future is present on the Spring 2007 runways. While some space-age looks venture into extreme territory-the gold plated-pants at Balenciaga are clearly currently channeling Star Wars' C-P30-it's relatively easy to incorporate this seasonal theme into one's wardrobe. It might be something as simple as picking up Roger Vivier's metallic gold clutch. Bergdorf Goodman already has a waiting list for the $750 accessory, which they project to be the season's "it" bag. Or perhaps you could pick up a pair of Lucite hoops a la Lanvi's runway jewelry look. Large-lens, translucent-framed sunglasses (versions seen at Balenciaga, Dior, Bottega, Givenchy and Stella) are another Jetsons touch that brings to mind Timbuk 3's 1986 hit. To steal from the band, clearly the future's so bright, we gotta wear shades.
Romance is also in the spring air, blowing in via retro feminine shapes and fabrics. Flowers are blooming on prints, hair accessories and shoe embellishments, as well as being actual inspiration points. Thakoon Panichgul told WWD that, "Peonies and their simple complexity," were the major muses of his eponymous collection, while other designers, like Louis Vuitton and Valentino, hit upon the romantic trend through petticoat tiers of silk and chiffon. For a less literal translation of this trend, look for garments that suggest softness-in both color (think muted and dusty pastels) and cut.
We the editors at WhoWhatWearDaily are not the most athletic bunch. Unless, of course, you count threading through a crowd to get to the pinot-grigio for Katherine, noir for Hillary- or whipping through the racks at Sarsaparilla in South Beach. That said, we have no problem with looking active, hence our sighs of satisfaction over the many sporty styles available this spring. Some of our favorite looks include the playful rompers at Stella and sherbet-striped, racer back tops at Proenza. We also covet the clear Chanel tote that would make the most chic gym bag ever. Too bad we don't actually workout...
-----
--> now that's Class!c W!th A Tw!st
Friday, January 5, 2007
Celebrity Street Style from WhoWhatWearDaily.com
As I was surfing whowhatweardaily.com, I came across this. I agree with him on 1, 3, and 4, but I have to disagree with him on 2; I am an Olsen fan after all (Michelle Tanner's my idol!).
Based on an incredibly informal poll-a recent reading of Us Weekly with our beaux commenting over our shoulders-we've noticed that the fellows have affinity for certain celebs that we just don't get ("You like her? In that outfit? WHY???"). So naturally we thought that celebrity street style would make for a perfect A Guy's Opinion. Today's John Doe, Michael, 29, is a reality television producer. And before you can say BlindDateWhat? we must assure you that the fellow in question works on one of television's most stylish shows. Read on to find out if our Guy thinks the above outfits are in or out...
1. If I saw a girl wearing this in high school, I would still dream about her to this day. The pants are well tailored and stay away from the skinny jean trend, the shirt has Kate Moss’ iconic pout strewn across it, and the hat with the hair just says, “We can go to a movie, a poetry slam or your basement. Whatever.” But the clincher, the small touch that would leads to years of therapy (a la John Cusack in Grosse Pointe Blank), is the red lips.
2. Let me be completely honest here, those shoes, when not placed on a woman’s foot, are structurally and aesthetically sexy (maybe it’s the S&M and not the H&M in me). But when said shoe is placed on an actual foot, that woman begins to resemble a goat. A female goat, yes, but a goat none-the-less. The rest, you ask? The hat: ill fitting and played out (hence, why I wear one). The scarf: also played out and not working. The purse? Unless she is smuggling a severed head in it, it's just, for the lack of a better word, dumb. And I’m sure it cost more than I make in a year.
3. This is how my brain worked on this picture after I got past that I'm looking at Natalie Portman: Is she trying to look like Victorian soldier who just traded her mink muff for one of the “natives” maize pouches while on her way to work as a junior exec at JP Morgan? If so, mission accomplished. I will say, however, her shoes and pants are undeniably classic and for Beautiful Girls and Leon: the Professional, I will always forgive something like this being worn by Ms. Portman.
4. "Hello? 911? You have to help me. I have no idea where I am, I think someone drugged me and put me in orthopedic clown shoes and for some reason my dress isn't working? I don't know why, it's a decent shape, though a bit muumuu-y, and a fairly safe print, though colored like Grey Poupon. Wait, it could be worse, I could have leggings on and not wearing cool shades. Thank you, 911." That said, I like spring dress, but when the dress you are wearing weighs as much as you do, the look isn't flattering.
Based on an incredibly informal poll-a recent reading of Us Weekly with our beaux commenting over our shoulders-we've noticed that the fellows have affinity for certain celebs that we just don't get ("You like her? In that outfit? WHY???"). So naturally we thought that celebrity street style would make for a perfect A Guy's Opinion. Today's John Doe, Michael, 29, is a reality television producer. And before you can say BlindDateWhat? we must assure you that the fellow in question works on one of television's most stylish shows. Read on to find out if our Guy thinks the above outfits are in or out...
1. If I saw a girl wearing this in high school, I would still dream about her to this day. The pants are well tailored and stay away from the skinny jean trend, the shirt has Kate Moss’ iconic pout strewn across it, and the hat with the hair just says, “We can go to a movie, a poetry slam or your basement. Whatever.” But the clincher, the small touch that would leads to years of therapy (a la John Cusack in Grosse Pointe Blank), is the red lips.
2. Let me be completely honest here, those shoes, when not placed on a woman’s foot, are structurally and aesthetically sexy (maybe it’s the S&M and not the H&M in me). But when said shoe is placed on an actual foot, that woman begins to resemble a goat. A female goat, yes, but a goat none-the-less. The rest, you ask? The hat: ill fitting and played out (hence, why I wear one). The scarf: also played out and not working. The purse? Unless she is smuggling a severed head in it, it's just, for the lack of a better word, dumb. And I’m sure it cost more than I make in a year.
3. This is how my brain worked on this picture after I got past that I'm looking at Natalie Portman: Is she trying to look like Victorian soldier who just traded her mink muff for one of the “natives” maize pouches while on her way to work as a junior exec at JP Morgan? If so, mission accomplished. I will say, however, her shoes and pants are undeniably classic and for Beautiful Girls and Leon: the Professional, I will always forgive something like this being worn by Ms. Portman.
4. "Hello? 911? You have to help me. I have no idea where I am, I think someone drugged me and put me in orthopedic clown shoes and for some reason my dress isn't working? I don't know why, it's a decent shape, though a bit muumuu-y, and a fairly safe print, though colored like Grey Poupon. Wait, it could be worse, I could have leggings on and not wearing cool shades. Thank you, 911." That said, I like spring dress, but when the dress you are wearing weighs as much as you do, the look isn't flattering.
Monday, January 1, 2007
The Hope of a Fresh Start
Found this on the NY Times website. Read please.
New Year’s Day is the simplest holiday in the calendar, a Champagne cork of a day after all the effervescence of the evening before. There is no civic agenda, no liturgical content, only the sense of something ended, something begun. It is a good day to clean the ashes out of the wood stove, to consider the possibilities of next summer’s garden, to wonder how many weeks into the new year you will be before you marvel at how quickly 2007 is going. “This will be the year ...,” you find yourself thinking, but before you can finish the thought you remember what all the previous years have taught you — that there’s just no telling.
We are supposed to believe in the fresh start of a new year, and who doesn’t love the thought of it? But we are just as likely to feel the pull of the old ways on this holiday, to acknowledge the solid comfort — like it or not — of the self we happen to have become over the years. We may not say, like Charles Lamb in 1820, that we would no more alter the shape of our lives “than the incidents of some well-contrived novel.” But we know what he means.
No one has faced the prospect of New Year’s time more honestly than Lamb. He knew that its real theme was what he called “an intolerable disinclination to dying,” something he felt especially sharply in the dead of winter, awaiting the peal of bells ringing in the new year. It was an inescapable syllogism for him — New Year, the passing of time, the certainty of death.
What it forced from him was the very thing it should force from all of us — a renewal of our pleasure in life itself. “I am in love,” he wrote, “with this green earth; the face of town and country; the unspeakable rural solitudes, and the sweet security of streets.”
--> Now that's Class!c W!th A New Year's Tw!st
New Year’s Day is the simplest holiday in the calendar, a Champagne cork of a day after all the effervescence of the evening before. There is no civic agenda, no liturgical content, only the sense of something ended, something begun. It is a good day to clean the ashes out of the wood stove, to consider the possibilities of next summer’s garden, to wonder how many weeks into the new year you will be before you marvel at how quickly 2007 is going. “This will be the year ...,” you find yourself thinking, but before you can finish the thought you remember what all the previous years have taught you — that there’s just no telling.
We are supposed to believe in the fresh start of a new year, and who doesn’t love the thought of it? But we are just as likely to feel the pull of the old ways on this holiday, to acknowledge the solid comfort — like it or not — of the self we happen to have become over the years. We may not say, like Charles Lamb in 1820, that we would no more alter the shape of our lives “than the incidents of some well-contrived novel.” But we know what he means.
No one has faced the prospect of New Year’s time more honestly than Lamb. He knew that its real theme was what he called “an intolerable disinclination to dying,” something he felt especially sharply in the dead of winter, awaiting the peal of bells ringing in the new year. It was an inescapable syllogism for him — New Year, the passing of time, the certainty of death.
What it forced from him was the very thing it should force from all of us — a renewal of our pleasure in life itself. “I am in love,” he wrote, “with this green earth; the face of town and country; the unspeakable rural solitudes, and the sweet security of streets.”
--> Now that's Class!c W!th A New Year's Tw!st
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