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Thursday, September 16, 2004
Preach on Mark... Love Masochism? Vote BushCo! Could four more brutal years of the Dubya nightmare actually be *good* for America? By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist Wednesday, September 15, 2004 I have a good friend who believes, gloomily, bitterly, resignedly, that not only are we in for four more years of painful and cheerless BushCo-branded tyranny and misprision and aww-shucks dumb-guy shtick, but also that we are actually at the beginning of a long, brutal, fear-based Republican juggernaut that will last a good 16 more years, at least. Because this is how long it will take for the current horrific conservative cycle to play itself out, and this would resemble a more typical and historically proven 20-year pendulum swing, in this case one toward neoconservative right-wing hate and homophobia and warmongering that will careen us toward heretofore unprecedented extremes of sadness and isolationism and far too many overweight white people with guns. But here's the catch. Here's the argument: This dark era, this wicked 20-year dystopia America could now be facing, it might be a very good and necessary thing indeed. Not, as you might dream, because four more years of BushCo and a dozen more of sneering Republican domination means there will likely be good times ahead. Not because we will enjoy an unprecedented era of peace and stability and generosity and environmental sustenance, humanitarian progress and U.N. cooperation and fiscal responsibility and a generally relaxed and open-minded attitude toward religion and multiculturalism and sex. I mean, don't be ridiculous. Besides, the Clinton era already happened. But, rather, it will be necessary because the moral and spiritual and physical hemispheres of our existence will quickly become so dire and toxic and the nation's socioeconomic situation will become so extreme and desperate that maybe, just maybe, we will finally learn something. This is the argument. It is bitter and defeatist and, maybe, if you let your inner devil's advocate speak, a little bit true. Look at it this way: If Kerry wins now, the nation won't have suffered enough, won't have traveled far enough down the road of right-wing egotism and misogyny and homophobia and religious self-righteousness and deficit mauling and sanctimonious ideology and mangled grammar to really learn anything indelible, nothing that will affect a permanent sea change in our worldview, and we will just continue to limp along, never really healing and never really refocusing our intention and never fully understanding the depths of our dark side. And, furthermore, if Kerry wins, history might not be as fully and inevitably antagonistic toward BushCo as his short, dreadful despotism deserves. Our national memory is frightfully short. Everyone will think, oh well, it's all over now and the damage has been done and it wasn't all that bad, really, was it? I mean (they will say), sure Bush is widely regarded as the most politically inept and ethically dangerous and environmentally hostile president in American history, and sure women's rights were hammered and civil rights were shriveled and every single major ally we have in the world now either disrespects us or mistrusts us or openly abhors us like an Olsen twin shuns direct sunlight. And sure Dubya's sanctimonious and violent warmongering actions in the Middle East have done far, far more to inflame anti-U.S. hatred and have amplified the threat of terrorism against us a thousandfold, but hey, the Texas schlub only lasted four years and now we can move on, right? Wrong. Call it the fatalist maxim: The only way the national soul can really change is through serious crisis, through near-death apocalypse, through things getting so dire and tormented and swollen that something finally has to give, the psycho-spiritual levee at last has to break. And it won't be the slightest bit pretty. But it will be mandatory. And in the long (long, long) run, ultimately healthy. Sort of like finally purging a massive cancerous lump from your colon. Only not as much fun. History and the culture, it would seem, bear this view out: We don't shun pollutive monster SUVs until gas prices hit five bucks a gallon. We don't quit smoking until we have a lung removed after coughing up enough blood and phlegm to gag a horse. We don't take care of our bodies until after that second heart attack and we don't ease up on the toxic garbage foods until we get so fat they have to haul us to the lipo appointment with a forklift. We don't lift a finger to protect the environment until the hurricanes slam down and the heat waves crack the streets and vaporize your precious swimming pool and ruin the ski resorts. And even then we just sort of shrug and move somewhere else. We ignore the Social Security nightmare until 70 million boomers retire and the infrastructure collapses. We don't touch the truly dire water-supply issue until the reservoirs dry up and the pipelines crack and Earth recoils. We glut on the planet's natural resources until the land is choked and billions go hungry and even then we seem to think, well, why the hell don't they get themselves a nice Costco? We are, ultimately, a species of stasis and lethargy. We are rarely sympathetically proactive, always violently reactive -- and only when the threat is immediate and overwhelming. We have a fetish for shortsightedness and instant gratification and damn the costs and the impending toll on our stunned mal-educated children. We move, in short, only when we have to. So then. Maybe it has to happen. Maybe we need four more years of BushCo (though not, let us pray, 16 years of toxic Republicanism) just to see how bad it can get, to snap us out of this fearful lethargy, this ignorant numbness, this weird and tragic belief that it is only through sheer faux-macho posturing and pre-emptive bombings and through decimating foreign relationships and igniting holy wars and trying to prove that our angry acidic well-armed God is better than their angry acidic well-armed God, that we are actually safe and healthy and spiritually attuned. If the past four years are any indication, four more years of BushCo would be just unimaginably dreadful for America, for the health of the planet, for human rights, for the poor and for women and minorities and gays and non-Christian religions. After all, no one could have predicted, four years ago, just how much damage this boot-lickin' puppet president could have wrought on the culture in such a short time. He seemed so harmless and bumbling and lost -- at first. But, then again, no one anticipated that he would be handed the golden political grenade that was 9/11, and no one could have imagined the he and his snarling administration would so shamelessly, so heartlessly leverage our most horrific national tragedy for such brutal and oily gain, using it not only as a fear tactic and a justification for multiple wars and as a vicious excuse to quell dissenting voices, but also as an actual political slogan, a veritable trademarked brand for the Republican Party. BushCo '04: Vote for Us, or Die. By the way, there is another option. The path of direness and cataclysm is certainly available and will almost definitely eventually result in significant change born of pain and war and dread. But know this, too: The mystics and psychics and the energy workers, the healers and the deep astrologers and the ancient shamanistic texts, all tend to agree that a major shift is already under way on this planet, a massive spiritual/energetic transformation slowly sweeping all of humanity, right now and throughout the coming decade, affecting everyone and everything, ready or not, bringing the world's issues and conflicts and spiritual questions to a critical head. Here's the bottom line: It is our choice. It is up to us whether this astounding and deeply profound change will be, as my friend's opinion suggests, bloody and violent and full of disease and death and flagrant corporate-sponsored abuse of the planet, or whether it will be, instead, full of light and generosity and awareness and a deep, abiding respect for those who share this pale blue dot with us. Both avenues, after all, will cure the cancer. The question then becomes, Do you want it sliced out with a hatchet, or with a feather? One look at the cruel and arrogant BushCo agenda, and the answer seems evident: We are already making our choice. Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Here's a little story, I gots to tell... The Hooch scored a free pair of tickets, so we ended up attending the Beastie Boys concert Tuesday night in Long Beach. Talib Kweli opened. While they may be old enough to be my parents, I gotta' hand it to Mike D, MCA, Adrock and of course Mix Master Mike. These guys still get crazy. They kept with their usual antics and delighted with plenty of Ill Communication. Monday, September 13, 2004
Given that Olympus Spring 2005 Fashion Week has been in full swing, I have been reading my Fashion Week Daily newsletters much more closely than normal. I just ran across this FABULOUS interview with Michael Kors. The man makes some amazing things. But, the Michael Kors stuff that the Bloomie's buyers are stocking... no j'adore. And, the new "affordable" MICHAEL Michael Kors line? Not so much. But, the two reason I love this interview is because of the two things that Michael and I have in common. Neither of us like to wear socks, we both appreciate a good tan, real OR fake, we both still wear Calvin Klein underwear and LOVE the fashion of LAX. (And, I can just hear his voice in my head... sounding not just like he's from Long Island as he is, but sounding like a woman from Long Island. The Michael Kors Interview It's a good time to be Kors. NEW YORK: Monday, September 13, 2004 With the help of Lawrence Stroll and Silas Chou, he just bought his company back from LVMH. He's adding licenses by the day: timepieces, eyewear, swimwear. But don't be intimidated by his success (or that perfect tan). Just call him Michael... like his new, lower-priced line. Robert Verdi: Michael, when you were growing up, did you have fantasies about being from somewhere other than Long Island? Michael Kors: Oh sure. I wanted to live in Manhattan. I had friends because I thought their moms were chic or their house was great. I dated a girl because her mom wore a lot of Peretti jewelry. And I was good friends with this guy that I had absolutely nothing in common with, but his mother was so divine. She had this huge shag, wore big black Porsche goggles and drove a yellow Jaguar XKE. She was black-tan and always wore her winter uniform. It's still my favorite winter uniform. RV: Which is? MK: A tennis dress and a fur coat. There is nothing more divine than a tennis dress and a fur coat. I find the spring uniform is a negligee and a raincoat. Because that's when the kids miss the bus and you have to drop them off. I think it's divine. I love a satin mule with a negligee, a trench coat, a cigarette and sunglasses. RV: Is there a city that has particularly iconic style? Is it Palm Beach? MK: It's always a resort that has shopping nearby. It's Palm Beach…it's Capri. It's any place that is indulgent and sybaritic, where you can shop. I mean, even the Beverly Hills Hotel is so great because it's an urban resort. You could be lying in the sun or sitting at a cabana and having a Cobb salad and twenty minutes later you're like, I need to shop. RV: How do you achieve that perfect tan? MK: A little real, a little fake, a lot of moisturizer. The whole thing together works great. When people say, “Oh times have changed, there are so many people who are goth and want to be pale and edgy.” Excuse me, I don't see a lot of whitening products on the market. I see self-tanner selling big time. RV: Do you have any rules for living? MK: Never wear socks. Peds are fine, but never a sock. With a sneaker you can do a ped, but with a shoe not even a ped. Also, I'm convinced that if you look like you have to dress for the weather, you look poor. A woman who wears sleeveless dresses and sandals in a snowstorm, you automatically think she's got a car and driver waiting nearby. So if you want to fake it, just wear summer clothes in the winter. RV: You say people work with you, not for you. Why? MK: I am a believer in fashion of the family. RV: What’s the one part of fashion you’re weakest at? MK: I’m too pragmatic. RV: Do you think there is any reason for a gay designer to be in the closet? MK: No, I think it’s ridiculous. For as long as one can remember, affluent women have had a coterie of gay men who told them what to wear, how to do their hair, how to live in their homes, how to deal with their garden, all of that. The average woman in small-town America doesn’t have a decorator, she doesn’t know Michael Kors personally, she doesn’t get her hair done at Kenneth, she doesn’t have the most fabulous florist come and do her flowers. But when she turns on the television and you come into her house, you become the gay friend she wishes she could have. Even when you watch home shopping, the queenier the designer, the more he sells. RV: Do you ever order anything from QVC? MK: No. But I was on once with Donna Karan, for those breast cancer T-shirts. They cut us off! They told us we were selling too many after like two seconds, literally. RV: Do you have a driver? MK: No. I’d rather have my own plane than my own driver. I travel like crazy and the difference between flying private and flying commercial is huge. To me, the ultimate indulgence is traveling in a swimsuit on a private plane. RV: Who has the best accent in the business? MK: You know whose accent makes me feel very glamorous when I talk to them? It would be a tie between Oscar and Carolina. I love the whole Latin thing. I’m like, “Oh my God, I want a coffee plantation tomorrow.” RV: What’s the most fascinating thing going on in the world right now? MK: I’m concerned with the whole state of the world today. Our future, our lives: Jim McGreevey coming out, the war, and Nicky Hilton getting married. RV: What do you sleep in? MK: A T-shirt and underwear. RV: Really? What kind of underwear? MK: I actually, I gotta tell you, I still wear Calvin Klein. I do. RV: Boxers or briefs? MK: I switch. And I only do knit—not woven. RV: Tell me about Michael, your secondary line. You take the looks from your runway, and what do you do to make them more affordable? MK: Fashion works so quickly today. I don’t need to wait for a mass merchant to be influenced by Michael Kors. If Michael Kors does Michael Kors mass, he’s going to do it better than anyone else. So a lot of it is me saying, “Maybe this designer customer has it in 18-ply cashmere, but the silhouette is great. Would it work in cotton-cashmere blend?” Same attitude, but not as precious [in the execution]. And I think designer customers might want a knock-around version, too. RV: What’s the oldest garment you own that you still wear? MK: I have a really old Michael Kors double-faced peacoat that I wear all the time. It’s dark navy. RV: Do people need more clothes or fewer clothes? MK: People need the right clothes. RV: Tell me about your new store. MK: It’s on Rodeo Drive, across the street from Prada. Since we’ve been open on Rodeo, we’ve had customers from seventeen to eighty, everyone from tourists drinking slurpees to Jessica Simpson and Usher. The range in L.A. is amazing. What I love about fashion right now is so California at its root. The idea of boots in the summer is so L.A., and sandals in the winter couldn’t be more L.A. The whole idea of arriving at the airport and looking divine—give me LAX anytime. RV: Did you ever feel cheated by the industry? MK: Our clientele has always been so loyal, regardless of what was happening in fashion. When we were at the height of Dynasty, my girls were still like, “Show me the camel.” After time, people said, “Wait a second, if I want a great hamburger, I go to P.J. Clarke’s because they invented it. If I want luxurious, sexy, American sportswear, I'm gonna go to this guy who’s been doing it forever.” That's one good thing about being around so long. There are only five designers left on the runway in New York who have been showing continuously for twenty years or more: me, Ralph Lauren, Donna Karan, Carolina Herrera, and Oscar de la Renta. That’s it. RV: Do you feel old? MK: No, I don’t feel old. I think it sounds really weird to say this, but in the best sense of the word, I feel middle-aged. The cool thing about being in your forties is you can hang out with the daughter and the mother. RV: Do you still feel sexy? MK: Of course I still feel sexy. RV: I hate being naked. MK: Naked? If there were a Men of Seventh Avenue calendar, I’d go bottomless but never topless. I’d like a little fur chubby and nothing on the bottom. That would be my look. Because the legs are the last thing to go. 
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