Another instalment of Horrible & Expensive Jeans, courtesy of Nordstrom.
My friend Janet was on Twitter about these jeans a couple weeks ago. In addition to being droopy & unsightly (and apparently pre-worn & dirty), they are Cdn$756. I think even Giselle Bundchen would look unattractive in them.
So I thought I’d peruse the Nordstrom site and see what other horrors are on offer:
These are called jeans with “side panels”. They retail at Cdn$1200. And come with a free trip to the Emergency Department (at least in Canada, where emergency health care is free). I think they would really work with the camel-toed shoes from yesterday.
“Snow imitation pearl-embellished”. For only Cdn$1500. They are supposed to look like you were caught in a snow storm. Or in a paint ball game that uses sticky pom-poms and pearls.
“Oversized pocket jeans” – with handy pockets on the calves. Because that’s how I like to carry my keys around – as close to my ankles as possible. Bargain priced at Cdn$1300.
And I’m debating which is more awful: the “hem flare” jeans or the “frill flare” jeans. I think the see-through hem flare wins. (Although the frill flare is more expensive.) I also think they really don’t work with sneakers. I also don’t understand what Ms Frill Flare is wearing on her feet. It looks like a turquoise bathroom brush duct-taped onto her foot.
But to redeem Nordstrom a teeny bit, I think these jeans would be pretty amazing on the right (very tall skinny) person:
Although they are Cdn$900+, which is about $800 – $850 more than I pay for my jeans @ Reitmans or The Gap.
Apparently these are real. My law firm’s Gal Friday, Franca, took a picture of them last week. They are “camel-toed” shoes.
They were in Specchio’s window. According to an internet search, they also come in flats:
Specchio is a ridiculous shoe store on Bay Street, a stone’s throw from my office, where you may find a decent pair of boots amongst displays of $1200 sneakers that are irrationally ugly.
I walked by Specchio’s window later this week and didn’t see the camel-toed monstrosities. I’m hoping they were removed after complaints from passers-by; I fear they were sold.
Ballet buddy Barb and I went to see The National Ballet of Canada’s production of The Winter’s Tale on Wednesday night. Although we were both English lit majors in the day, and read our more than fair share of Shakespeare, we knew absolutely zip about this play.
I wasn’t particularly psyched to go. The posters for the ballet were pretty monochrome and blah (sorry NBOC, but I was uninspired):
And I knew it was a long ballet – 2 1/2 hours with intermissions. I was tired, work was tedious and overwhelming; it seemed like a bit of an imposition to go. I trudged along to the Four Seasons with low expectations and low energy.
Hold the phone. It was beyond fabulous and invigorating, and I haven’t stopped talking about it since.
I can’t decide what I loved best about this ballet:
- the choreography, a perfect meld of traditional and modern
- the performances – esp. Piotr Stanczyk, whose descent into jealous madness is told on his face and through his off-balance contortions throughout (he’s a gifted actor as well)
- the score by Joby Talbot
- the exuberant (I think I stole that word from the NBOC programme) second Act – I need that music and those images on a loop in my brain from November 1 to Feb 28, every dreary winter:
- the scenery and silk staging for the violent seas
- Jamie Street’s awesome death as Mamillius (that kid can die like nobody’s business)
- plus let’s not forget the gorgeous costumes – it is not a monochrome ballet at all – the jewel tones in Act 1 were awesome
The TO Star loved it also (4 stars/4 stars):
If you can manage to go (only 3 performances left), please do. Clearly Shakespeare could not make up his mind whether this was a comedy or a tragedy, so he threw it all in, plus the kitchen sink. And Christopher Wheeldon’s ballet tells the great mess of a story, emotionally, with precision and remarkable beauty.
This apparently is a real thing.
I weep for the future.
Ballet buddy Barb and I went to see the National Ballet of Canada’s premiere of Streetcar Named Desire, with book club mate Helen.
Now, Barb and I are both English Lit grads (and Barb has her MA and wrote her thesis about Tennessee Williams), so we feel we are pretty well-positioned to judge a Tennessee Williams’ adaptation.
And I get that Neumeier’s ballet isn’t a strict adaptation of the play. That would be impossible. It’s his take on the themes and characters, translated to dance.
I just didn’t think it worked. The ballet is pretty much a glimpse into Blanche Dubois’ tortured mind. It’s flashbacks and feelings, very haunting and ethereal (esp. Act I). But that results in a narrative and plot that are both weak. And with the canned music (why no live orchestra? I now realize the live orchestra is about 49% of what I love about ballet), it was flimsy, fluttering and slow to progress. I felt many of the dance pieces dragged. (Although the raunchy sex scene between Stanley and Stella at the beginning of Act II was very hot. Mature content, indeed, the posters at the entrance door warned.)
Barb’s take is that the play is just too complex to translate into ballet. Maybe that’s it. Or, this particular ballet translated a brilliant play into a mediocre and diluted dance.
I don’t think popular opinion agrees with me, but I gotta call them as I see them.
Nevertheless, bravo to NBC for tackling it. And I was delighted to see that the Four Seasons was pretty much sold out for this performance.
Check it out. Makes mine look like it was scrapbooked by a second grader.
Possibly my favourite post so far (I even tweeted about it):
Please read if you need a laugh.
And his views on politics are always a good read:
Clear jeans are just wrong.
I’m not really sure which are worse – the entirely clear jeans, or the clear knee jeans. Obviously the clear jeans are absurd (or dumb, as GFY says), and anyone who wears them is beyond salvation.
But … there may be some people who think the clear knee jeans are bordering on wear-able. And they aren’t. That may be even worse.
This is why I like how girls write and what girls write. They write intelligently, they write strategically, they write honestly.
And sometimes they write vindictive, they write mean. And it’s fun.
They do NOT transcribe.
And out of their tiny minds.
No, really. And this:
I’m just embarrassed for any woman of any age who buys clear knee jeans. Dear God.
The bus shelter in front of my office building has carried this Holt Renfrew ad for the past several weeks. I cringe in embarrassment every time I walk by it:
Any woman who thinks that this ridiculous outfit – what is apparently a swim suit, under a trench coat, with 6″ pink platform heels – is appropriate for any conceivable kind of event, be it party, beach, backyard, workplace, or even Halloween, is out of her mind.
Is this an indictment on the advertising world, that they think women are so gullible as to wear preposterous costumes like this? Or is it an indictment on women because, let’s face it, some gal somewhere must be forking out real $$ for this shit.
So ends my little rant.
Her essay The Lost Strudel from I Feel Bad About my Neck. I read this very short piece on the subway one morning, years ago, and laughed out loud. And then re-read it immediately.
I’ve had a craving for cabbage strudel ever since (which objectively sounds disgusting), but I’m a bit afraid to try it, since it likely won’t live up to Nora’s praises (even Nora had trouble meeting her own expectations of strudel). And then I’d just be disappointed. I’m sure Nora would tell me that’s not a healthy way to go through life (were she still with us).
I especially admire the line “I dropped Ed Levine’s name so hard you could hear it in New Jersey.”
Nora Ephron’s tribute to Meryl Streep. Brilliant, funny – and her delivery is impeccable. The crowd is mesmerized — when she talks about going into Meryl’s trailer at the end of her tribute, the entire audience of celebs and self-important people hang on her every word:
Plus – what a great outfit, right?
Nora Ephron’s tribute to Mike Nichols (only Nora can make a really bad pun hilarious):