“I’ve never ‘done’ Reykjavik, and this simple verb is something contemporary travellers must be wary of. Real travel entails a more-than-superficial engagement with a foreign culture; buying a handwoven hammock in Tijuana or getting a henna tattoo in Marrakech doesn’t cut it.”—Is today’s travel any better than The Grand Tour? – Aeon Magazine
How a 67-cent pack of Juicy Fruit panicked the nation and changed the way the world shopped.
By Chris Stokel-Walker
In 1974, representatives from the retail industry were summoned to a Congressional hearing, where they were asked about a worrying development in American supermarkets. Jobs were said to be at stake, and customers at risk of being over-charged. Congress felt compelled to call the retailers to book because of voters’ disquiet. The scourge that threatened to bankrupt the nation’s housewives and send its store clerks to the breadline? The barcode.
I love to hate Anthropologie furniture. In particular, the way they stage it for their website. There’s this gross fantasy they’ve created of an art student who can afford to spend thousands of dollars on a paint-splattered flea market find. It’s like all their customers are aspiring to be Charlotte in Tiny Furniture (a loft-dwelling trust fund dilettante).
They’ve gone off the deep end with the juxtaposition. You know those fashion editorials every fall where models lasagned in Prada swing around street signs in Red Hook? It’s like that, but on acid. The settings are more deteriorated and the designs are more design-y. It’s like shopping from deep within Fuck Your Noguchi Coffee Table.
If you choose to purchase a piece of Anthropologie furniture, it will only really look right in one of three settings:
1. An alternative gallery space six weeks from opening
2. An urban cabin with faulty electrical wiring
3. A crumbling Southern plantation (soon to be deemed “the new loft” by the NYTimes)
Let’s take a stroll through the Anthropologie furniture section together. What’s for sale today?
Here are some choice quotes from today’s Thursday Styles Section profile of convicted murderer Michael Alig, in no particular order:
“I look just ADORABLE in my mess-hall whites & hair net,” Mr. Alig tweeted in Marchto his followers (he currently has 29,500).
His face looked fresh and well rested, his hair was given a jailhouse Caesar cut, and his biceps and shoulders were buffed, thanks to a “cute boy” he met who is studying to become a personal trainer.
His spin on “America’s Next Top Model”: take two wannabe club kids from Podunk towns and with no money, plunk them down in New York with $1,000 and see if they can thrive “on being fabulous,” he said
Victor P. Corona, a sociology professor at the Fashion Institute of Technology, said that Mr. Alig is a bona fide fashion icon, one who paid his debt to society and made a lasting contribution to culture.
For the first time in 17 years, since he pleaded guilty to killing Andre Melendez — a fellow club kid known as Angel — in a heroin-soaked stupor in 1996, cutting up the body and tossing it into the Hudson River, Mr. Alig walked as a free man.
Mr. Alig then suffocated him with a sweatshirt and poured Drano down his throat, he said, before dumping the body in the bathtub, pouring ice over it and abandoning the apartment for the next nine days.
Mr. Alig ordered a pan-roasted Arctic char and a Coke.
“Travel isn’t about an itinerary or doing super luxurious things. It’s about being immersed in something else. Curating is better than accumulating. Edit out the unnecessary and only take what you really need.”—Dushane Ramsey