I never was really into Fresh Jive. I was, however, really into Nautica shit for a while. Huge puffy vests, awful be-logoed sweaters, with gigantic beige cargo pants and fluorescent orange New Balances. Jesus, 1997 was awesome.
This whole "banishing the logo, de-branding the brand" stunt is totally old-school Maison Martin Margiela. Margiela is probably the most famous upmarket designer who just sews a patch of blank fabric or a sequence of numerals signifying the sizes, into the clothes, in lieu of a label with his name. Yohji Yamamoto has done it, too--I remember getting a press release once about Yohji doing some one-off "anonymous" collabo with some other brand, which was supposed to be "revolutionary," because neither of the entities put their names on the product. Of course, the best part about it was that they ANNOUNCED THAT IN A PRESS RELEASE.
@Nic Fit: fuckin a. my mossimo shirts have blurry lettering. is it because you're fuuuuucked up or perhaps have astigmatism? i don't know brah but who drank all my fuckin' lynchburg lemonades?!
Embarassing: my first Freshjive t-shirt was purchased in seventh grade from the Meadows' Mall's outpost of a Pacific Sunwear, along with, I believe, a pair of JNCO jeans "boot cut" enough to smuggle child labor in, and a pair of Anarchy sunglasses. Freshjive going brandless means it's now easier to forget that sordid past.
@Foster Kamer: I believe I may have owned one that said "Phuc U", but granted this was in 1993 and I lived in Minnesota, where that was still truly (sadly) subversive.
Just doing rounds in my duly appointed position as Secretary-Treasurer of the Gawker Pro-Cary Tennis Brigade.
For today, I'm going with an old one: There are plenty of forces in the editorial workplace that seek to turn one's writing into a homogeneous work product. There's nothing inherently wrong with that: I've often appreciated the uniformity of style and voice in a publication like Time. But I submit that it's still valuable when someone resists those forces and inserts a recognizable amount of personality into one's writing.
Also consider that the advice column, as a genre, is probably one of the simplest for any periodical to initiate: Your readers give you half the content, for crying out loud. As a result, there are probably far more advice columns out there than can actually do good work, and I submit to you that most of these low-effort columns subside into a cookie-cutter style cribbed from Dears Ann and Abby. (Sorry, Emily Yoffe, whom I nevertheless esteem highly for other reasons.)
I further suggest that Cary Tennis' columns illustrate something that's both useful and (deservedly) rare: How hard it is to try to inhabit another person's problems, as a means of analyzing them. That's got to be worth something, even if the advice fails. (In fact, maybe all advice should fail. Any takers on that one?)
I also always liked John Leonard's book reviews. So can't we just classify our disagreements here as arguments over taste and leave it at that?
@skahammer: Not when I've seen the guy say stupid, quite possibly harmful things to people with serious problems. And no, I can't give you a concrete example now, because it's been years since I stopped reading him in disgust. I sometimes feel the same way about other advice columnists as well (it's a genre I used to read a lot, don't ask me why, except maybe that it was soothing to recognize how perplexed we all are sometimes), but they have the saving grace of not being absurdly pompous, at least most of them. I did like him at first, for much the same reasons that you do, but went off him after one too many omphaloskeptic expeditions.
@skahammer: Obviously not enough of one, since I don't get the reference. But then, I kind of think if you're using Sid Vicious as a guide for living, you may be doing it wrong.
Please, God, i don't ask for much. But just this one, please listen. Get that horrible bag of slop off of Salon, please. There must be others out there who could run the freak show without all that vaporing on.
OMG THANK YOU! Cary Tennis is a big part of why I stopped reading Salon. He's an incredible idiot, and a poster boy for a lot of what goes on at that publication, which seems, to me at least, to be variations on "My Navel Lint: An Appreciation".
@MissNormaDesmond: Ditto. Although the Gawker bits involving Tennis are pretty worthwhile. Maybe Richard can recap his columns along with NYC Prep and Real Housewives?
MissNormaDesmond promoted this comment
Edited by Blue Plate Special at 07/27/09 4:43 PM
Blue Plate Special was starred
Blue Plate Special was unstarred
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Oh, God, the early nineties is back, isn't it?
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I wish Apple could go brandless like this.
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For today, I'm going with an old one: There are plenty of forces in the editorial workplace that seek to turn one's writing into a homogeneous work product. There's nothing inherently wrong with that: I've often appreciated the uniformity of style and voice in a publication like Time. But I submit that it's still valuable when someone resists those forces and inserts a recognizable amount of personality into one's writing.
Also consider that the advice column, as a genre, is probably one of the simplest for any periodical to initiate: Your readers give you half the content, for crying out loud. As a result, there are probably far more advice columns out there than can actually do good work, and I submit to you that most of these low-effort columns subside into a cookie-cutter style cribbed from Dears Ann and Abby. (Sorry, Emily Yoffe, whom I nevertheless esteem highly for other reasons.)
I further suggest that Cary Tennis' columns illustrate something that's both useful and (deservedly) rare: How hard it is to try to inhabit another person's problems, as a means of analyzing them. That's got to be worth something, even if the advice fails. (In fact, maybe all advice should fail. Any takers on that one?)
I also always liked John Leonard's book reviews. So can't we just classify our disagreements here as arguments over taste and leave it at that?
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Not a Sex Pistols fan, I take it.
07/27/09
I don't want to see you anywhere near a suicide hotline. Or, for that matter, near anything of any practical use or meaning.
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