The Deal Breaker Files: LV Handbags

The difficulty in discerning between earnestly and irony makes recognizing socioeconomic status symbols a bit tricky in New York. There’s ironically shabby, legitimately shabby, and shabby chic. Curated storefulls of short sleeved breast pocketed western plaids, clothes purchased and kept from JC Penny fifteen years ago, and shiny brand new vintage remakes. Poughkeepsie yard sales, PLO scarves next to I heart New York t-shirts, waiting in line for $10,000 Manolo Blahnik shoes, Harlem haberdasheries, The Sartorialist, used lampshades on Canal Street, Bargains for Millionaires, … I wish I knew what all of it meant.

A few weeks back in the rumblings of Angelika’s narrow main theater SC and I were treated to the new, unintentionally HILARIOUS Louis Vuitton ad campaign. Being a fashion ignorant in this city of fleeting and fickly cultural fancies it’s rare for me to have strong feelings about any superficial brand icon or trend. BUT there is one thing that is certainly certain: I don’t like LV.

I don’t like their mass marketed faux-luxurious Madison Avenue manufactured image. I don’t like their catered and pandered to demographic. I don’t like their tacky designs. I don’t like their $5000 men’s diamond set studded gold rings. I don't even like when raily fashion boys wear strappy LV backpacks seudo-ironically.

I can’t think of another brand I find more gaudy and unappealing. I don’t think I could ever fancy a woman who carried around an LV bag; real or fake, earnest or ironic, purchased or gifted.

Add it to The Deal Breaker Files.

Hotel Bathroom Mysteries of Our Generation

I just discovered this weekend that some hotel bathroom mirrors have built-in televisions (that's me watching cartoons while I brushed my teeth). Since when did society demand such technology? The only significant step forward in bathroom engineering I know of are those elliptical shower rods that provide a roomier bathing experience. That and fancier shower heads. Speaking of bathroom curiosities, whatever happened to those weird timed red heating lamp lights classy hotels like The Holiday Inn used to have?

One more thing.

It's funny how corporations can all of sudden become "environmentally responsible" when coincidentally, they save money by doing so. Changing the towels and linens everyday is undoubtedly excessive but I get a bit bothered when hotels take the moral high ground by pointing out this "bottom line benefit" in disguise. I'd be shocked if someone could prove that these environmentally intentioned savings on laundry soap and housekeeping salary hours were translating into anything but higher company profits.

Brunch Wheelbarrows in The Weimar Republic

The scene is reminiscent of media depictions during chaotic months following the Soviet Union's 1991 collapse. Hordes of hungry people waiting in endless lines, clamoring to purchase bread, flour, eggs, milk, and other dietary staples. The only difference is that this isn't post-communist Russia, it's a typical Sunday morning steps outside my New York City apartment.

Surrounded by female clothing boutiques, vintage nic nak shops, and a truly fabulous eyeglass store sits the unmarked 9th Street Market, one of Downtown's elite brunching institutions. Elite in that hungry Manhattanites routinely wait for more than hour to secure seating at one of their 10 coveted tables. The menu boasts a stock array of hearty New American seasonal fare: Banana walnut pancakes, French toast dusted with confectioner's sugar, Goat cheese omelettes, Steel cut Irish oatmeal, etc. I've had the pleasure of dining there on multiple occasions, a few times for weekday breakfast and once for their lesser known dinner offering. The food is undoubtedly good but given the preponderance of quality restaurants in the vicinity it's astonishing to me why anyone would wait an hour and a half for a plate of Migas and roasted potatoes. If you’re considering a peak time Sunday meal here just think how silly you'll feel standing in the freezing cold amongst a restaurant-full size group of uninformed brunchers, clogging the sidewalk, and trying to ignore our incredulous stares. Do yourself a favor and opt for one of these lesser known neighborhood alternatives: Angelina Café, La Palapa, Quhnia, or Tree.

Wasting Time Weighing The Weather

The following Reuters news story triggered an involuntary facial twitch I haven’t felt in a while.

“Landmark Communications said on Thursday it was exploring the sale of its publishing and television businesses including cable network The Weather Channel. Privately held Landmark wants more than $5 billion for The Weather Channel and its Web site, according to a New York Times report.”

“The Weather Channel reaches more than 95 million households in the United States and its Web site is one of the most heavily travelled. With 32 million unique visits a day, it has more hits than Facebook or MySpace.” The National Post

The amount of time and mental energy focused on spectating and anticipating weather in this country is a never-ending source of personal frustration and befuddlement. I never knew how bad it was. $5 billion dollars, that’s how bad. That’s how much those five minutes of your attention are worth on every local, national, and international nightly news station. That unmissable five minutes hosted by a woman of demographically tested and approved looks, tucked between your local high school football recap and the idiotic animal related personal interest story.

Travelers and the very unfortunate who get in Weather’s angry path have a bone fide reason to use this service. But besides them who watches The Weather Channel? 97% of this country wakes up in a house, walks into a garage, gets into a car (many of which could glide through five foot tall rushing streams), drives to various other roofed structures, then back into a car, repeat, repeat, repeat. If it’s cold outside wear a jacket. If it’s raining take an umbrella. A thermometer / barometer combo placed right outside your window not only displays the temperature but also helps you make the crucial determination of whether there’s a HIGH or LOW pressure system afoot (Big red “H” and big Blue “L”). For the the FULL effect attach a magazine cutout of some buxom blond or slick back haired tan guy.

You know what? Go ahead and watch your stupid channel but PLEASE stop annoying me with all the inane weather chatter at work. I am FULLY aware how cold it is outside. It’s January in New York City and we both walked into the same building within minutes of each other. How could I not know?

Gawker's Smear Campain Against Me

This morning my photo mysteriously appeared in a Gawker article outlining a political development proposed to slow the hedge fund rich from getting richer. The photo harmlessly/accidentally implies that I am one of these "tax avoiding" hedge funders (the term "funder" appears when you roll your cursor over my photo). Though I do not work for a hedge fund I will pretend to while I write this note.

Those of you that know me will have no difficulty spotting the abundance of hilarious irony. Could there possibly be another person who has shorted* Manhattan's cultural trajectory with more fervor? The vicious cycle of more tasteless money, higher rents, higher prices for everything, and less diverse inhabitants desiring less unique arts/food/services has turned Manhattan into New York's cultural bowl of smashed peanut shells. Go ahead and tax hedge fund performance fees by 20%, 30%, or 50% - Like that's gonna make any difference! Performance fees are only half the hedge fund payout equation. If you happen to be one who is somehow supported by the spume of these abundant capitalist treasures don't be worried. And even if DC does decide to raise taxes, don't believe that it will prevent a new deluxe high rise from towering over a neighborhood near you!

Your salary to the Nth power,
T. Boone Pickens

* 'Shorting' is hedge fund speak for betting that the price of a security will decline.
You might overhear a witty hedge funder utilizing this term in various non-financial contexts:
"Man, Marquee really sucks these days, I'm max short that place."
"You think she's hot? Where's your bid, I'm looking to put on a colossal short!"
"You live uptown? Man, downtown is totally where it's at, I'd short the hell out of above 14th street."

Gentrify Gripe

Houston between 2nd Avenue and Bowery.

David vs. Goliath.