Gawker
New York Times Critical Shopper stand-in Cintra Wilson takes a look at Phi, the Soho clothier that "showcases the artistry of the meticulously trained Norwegian designer Andreas Melbostad." Then it gets less penetrable: A reader dared us to translate the piece's most harrowing paragraph.
Art Deco is the dominant gene in Mr. Melbostad's inspirations, which fuses the utilitarian ur-sport of 1920s Chanel with a lean toward severe New York sophistication. A Poiret tendency toward Japonisme is evident, as is a smattering of glam-rock anarchism. But, like the best yacht-faring flappers, Phi never indulges to the point of going overboard: it is hot artistic nasty with a clean martini taste, which retains masterful poise even while dancing on the table. In less controlled hands, it might plunge into louche Weimar territory, but Mr. Melbostad sidesteps the vulgar and obvious.
So, uh, no. Maybe they should call the store PhD.
Comments
Nothing matches.
"(Very Poised)" gave me a migraine, I couldn't finish it. How much can one poise until one's unpoised?
I get paid by the reference.
Basically, unless you're schizophrenic, you probably won't find anything you like here.
I think "clean martini taste" is all you need to know.
Wait... so there are Wiemar flappers drinking martinis on a Japanese yacht with glam rockers, Coco Chanel and inspector Poirot in New York harbor? I miss all the good parties.
I think she's fantastic and I look forward to her columns. More, please!
Someone has a picture of Robin Givhan taped up in her locker.
Hm wha? Am I still drunk?
My ninth grade english teacher would have passed out after the third mixed metaphor.
@Smitros: LOL'ed on that one.
I think I need to meet this Mr. Melba Toast.
Translation: "Help! I'm not writing about the Oscars!"
Wow! I bet Cintra Wilson can't cum either.
Someone get this woman a job at Lucky.
It was a crisp and spicy morning in early October. The lilacs and laburnums, lit with the glory-fires of autumn, hung burning and flashing in the upper air, a fairy bridge provided by kind Nature for the wingless wild things that have their homes in the tree-tops and would visit together; the larch and the pomegranate flung their purple and yellow flames in brilliant broad splashes along the slanting sweep of the woodland; the sensuous fragrance of innumerable deciduous flowers rose upon the swooning atmosphere; far in the empty sky a solitary esophagus slept upon motionless wing; everywhere brooded stillness, serenity, and the peace of God
Sam Sifton gets it all, especially the "Poiret tendency toward Japonisme." And that's all that matters.
I bought my Melbostad sofa at IKEA. I think it means "six-month warranty."
What are yacht-farting flappers?
Not to mention the subject-verb agreement error in the first sentence, though maybe I'm wrong. I can't figure out which word is the subject and which is the verb.
@TedSez: I think it's German for "Melba Toast".
This piece gave me Roquentinian dry heaves.
Squeezing every last drop outta that college degree.
Someone's been taking NYU night courses in creative writing...
I love her and I love these articles. It makes me want a martini = something I like to read.
"Hot artistic nasty with a clean martini taste?"
What the . . .?
She's been reading my text messages!
With a little more writing like this, the NYT will shed so many readers that the print version can be reduced down to the size of a postage stamp.
@TedSez: Most likely, it's some place in Sweeden.
For some unknown, fucking insane reason, I know most of Ikea's naming conventions.
Whoa, this is the same woman who did the brilliant "Winter Steele" show on MTV's Liquid Television all those years ago, and had that brilliant column in Salon?
@sheistolerable: Now I can't get that damn line out of my head. Word sluts: what meter is it? Hot artistic nasty with a clean martini taste.
Er, gin plz kthx.
Carlyle sighed and was silent for a moment looking up at the
gathered host of stars blinking like arc-lights in the warm sky.
The negroes' song had died away to a plaintive humming and it
seemed as if minute by minute the brightness and the great
silence were increasing until he could almost hear the midnight
toilet of the mermaids as they combed their silver dripping curls
under the moon and gossiped to each other of the fine wrecks
they lived on the green opalescent avenues below.
All life is just a progression toward, and
then a recession from, one phrase--'I love you.'"
LUCKY tranlator:
OMG, Mr. M's inspirations, like, love! A pirouette toward Japanesiness is so there, and how much are we loving glam-rock punkiness! But, like the best yogurt-farting flappers, Phi never forces you to, like, think: it is hot artistic nasty with a clean martini taste, like dancing on a table [WILD!]. In less controlled hands, it might plunge into douche territory, but Mr. M sidesteps the vulgar and obvious! Loving it!
But I wonder what she thinks of the clothes.
@KarenUhOh:
And you can't afford it.
DRESSES made entirely of MARTINIS?!? This is SCIENCE gone TOO FAR!!!
@tammyfey:
yeah, me too.
And it's funny that a few days ago a post about mortgage rates had me confused to point of tears, but the above excerpt makes perfect sense.
@dickdogfood: Heck, I've had dresses that were all beer and tequila by end of the night.
It's the downside of "partnering" with Freakonomics.
My eye rests on an outfit by designer Venetian Lavalier. From its inception, the collar spreads, whimsical but attached, toward the color of the fabric, which is almost cream-like in its intensity but with a whiff of cat--as if inspired by Sucre de Brest. It runs after the 1910 Tishbein (the second show); the sleeves are twinned and match but for their flavour of pina colada and oatmeal, respectively. The empire is enciente, like twin ivory rebars, straining toward the hem, which, influenced by Plage du 'Ampton, is obscured yet still recognizably hesitant, pink and seafoam green.
@sheistolerable: They're called fourteeners.
--yours, wordpimp
@sheistolerable:
I would lightly accent the word "with" and call it seven trochaic feet, with the final unstressed syllable omitted.
I am a hopeless geek.
Anyone who says that an outfit made her look like a "sadistic prune" is ok in my book.
@sheistolerable: Trochaic heptameter.
This reminds me of when the Onion has spare column inches and just repeats the "huge amounts of blood" sentence. Whenever they have an article that runs short, they should just change the nouns and stick this in.
"Rudy Giuliani is the preeminent cankersore in the Republican Party's thinspirations, which fuses (sic) the utilitarian ur-sport of 1930s Germany with a lean toward severe statesmanship-tweaking hanky panky."
@momo:
Brilliant! Now why didn't she just say so?
@momo: Thanks for the image of less controlled hands plunging into douche territory.
The Manny reads like a LiLo-drenched wet dream without the pink elephant razmataz, and 1930's Budapest can't hold a candle to the charming-yet-aquatic way Stephen Greenblatt injects spunk into gallons of gaseous apple fan-boys at the drop of a blister-packed bottle of Mrs. Dash.
Cintra rules. She could fart across a keyboard and I'd read it and love it. And, it appears that's what she's done here...
Some great short-burst writing in here!
Okay. Here's the deal.
- The clothing is influenced by the following elements of Art Deco fashion: Paul Poiret's Japonisme [www.metmuseum.org] ; Coco Chanel's 1920s sportswear; and the defining Art Deco aesthetic of streamlined New York.
- Wilson then compares the designer to a flapper on a yacht who "never indulges to the point of going overboard." I think this is rather witty.
- The Deco analogy continues with the reference to the "clean martini taste." The martini image is great -- presumably that is what the flapper is indulging in. However, at this point the metaphor is completely becoming muddled.
- Rather than saying that the martini taste "retains poise" which is nonsense, Wilson should return to the image of the flapper who maintains her "poise even while dancing on the table."
- The refences to "glam-rock anarchism" and "hot artistic nasty" seem out of place. Wilson would have to do a lot more explaining in order to make me understand how in the hell these fit into the picture.
- The last sentence seems clear enough and bring us back to the historical period.
With these revisions, the paragraph makes sense as a fashion description and is (I think) a clever personification of the Art Deco design aesthetic.
... the metaphor is becoming muddled. ...is completely muddled? Or I'm muddled. Sorry.
@shesaidwhat: Nice limnjob, Michiko!
Looks like someone got their degree in creative writing...and probably from one of those annoying liberal arts colleges. Way to go Cintra Wilson! Now put down the SAT vocabulary book and stop trying to impress everyone.
Mr. Melbostad killed Poiret in the yacht's Salon de Japonisme with a flapper.
@Thatcornellguy: weak