Tilda en Chanel

Is there anyone cooler than Tilda Swinton? The woman never ceases to amaze (nor does she appear to age). I'm hoping to catch her this fall when she's expected to return to MoMA for "The Maybe," an exhibit in which she sleeps in a glass box for all to see.

In the meantime, there's a new Chanel campaign featuring Tilda to enjoy. The 2012-13 Métiers d'Art Paris-Edinburgh collection embraces the spirit and look of Scotland. Shot by Uncle Karl himself, it's full of rich tartans and tapestries and pearls (of course). Absolutely stunning.

To hear Tilda talk about the collection, visit here.

Saturday in the Garden

The Jefferson Market Garden in the West Village is a favourite place of mine that I've written about before. Without a plot of my own, I've taken to thinking of it as my garden. Walking by last Saturday I was struck by the sight of dozens and dozens of white roses hanging over the garden wall. 

Inside the other roses were a full riot of colour. Although the stream of white roses were striking, I was partial to these red beauties. It wasn't all roses though. There were foxgloves and alliums and even a voodoo plant (blood red, of course). Here are some other scenes from the garden.

For more info on the garden, visit their site here.

A Saturday Stroll

After running an errand in the West Village on Saturday, I decided to take my time and walk back home to Chelsea even though the sky was threatening rain. Here are a few of the things I saw along the way.

Heading down Christopher Street I spotted pops of colour along the way—the window of the Greenwich Letterpress (one of my favourite places to buy cards) and a cheery yellow bike parked in front of the old Northern Dispensary. Founded in 1827, the Northern Dispensary treated the poor and infirm for more than a century (Edgar Allan Poe was a one-time patient). Yet since 1998 the building has remained empty, largely due to its restrictive deed that dictates it can only be used to treat the "worthy poor." A bit of irony as it sits in the centre of a neighbourhood that only the rich can afford.

I grabbed an ice coffee from Whynot Coffee and sat outside people watching (more like dog watching) and admiring the greenery on Gay Street—the beautiful wisteria tree that has practically taken over a building and a small collection of plants on a nearby fire escape.

I next wandered over to the Jefferson Market Library to pick up a book. I love this branch of the New York Public Library with its Gothic design and grand size (the building is a former courthouse). I had just stepped outside when I noticed a protest going on across the street about Turkey. I'm not sure about the people in the penguin costumes but the crowd was large enough to warrant an accompanying string of police cars.

I went next door to the Jefferson Market Garden, which I've started to think of as my garden, to literary smell the roses that hung heavily over the garden walls and were in abundance inside (more on the garden in my next post). Suddenly the sun burst forth, turning the sky blue and flooding the garden with light.

After a long time in the garden and the heat, I turned back toward Chelsea, admiring a vintage ad painted on the side of a building along the way (love the old telephone exchange), before turning down West 11th Street. There I was greeted by the sight of some older men hanging out in plastic chairs in front of a barbershop. It reminded me of when I lived in the North End in Boston and the old people would park themselves in lawn chairs in front of the houses and shops once the temperature got above 60 degrees.

Further down the block there were some lovely old townhouses on one side of the street, like this one with its beautiful entrance, while across the way, where St. Vincent Hospital once stood, there was just a shell. The hospital that Edna St. Vincent Millay was named for and which once housed the largest AIDS clinic on the East Coast is gone, having gone bankrupt a few years ago. The plan is to build condos. Welcome to New York.

I had hit Chelsea and was just steps from home when I was greeted by two final sights of the day—a bicycle carrying a bundle of twigs and a sweet bunch of small pink roses. A nice way to end a stroll on a Saturday.

Photos by Michele. 

Punk: Chaos to Couture

Dress by Karl Lagerfeld for House of Chanel, Vogue, March 2011

"God save the queen. The fascist regime." Sorry, but when I heard that the Met was going to have an exhibit on punk I couldn't help but start singing "God Save the Queen" by the Sex Pistols. I may never have been a punk but I've definitely listened to a lot of the music.

Which is why I was happy to see the exhibit "Punk: Chaos to Couture" with a dear friend who I've known since middle school who is also a fan of the music. She went with me to see the Alexander McQueen exhibit a few years ago, which was so brilliantly executed that it raised the bar high for future fashion exhibits. 

Seditionaries at 430 King's Road

Unfortunately this one didn't come close. The exhibit starts off well enough with the birth of punk in New York and London represented by recreations of two legendary punk locations—the bathroom at CBGB in New York where Patti Smith said "all the action happened" and Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood's Seditionaries shop in London where they sold their infamous t-shirts (some of which are on display) and other bondage-based clothes. There were videos along with music blaring to help set the mood (this was repeated in each gallery; I was happy to hear the Clash in one).

Two Gianni Versace dresses, spring/summer 1994. The one on the left is the safety pin dress made famous by Elizabeth Hurley.

Sid Vicious oversees one of the galleries.

From there the rest of the exhibit is devoted to couture's adoption of punk or punk elements, which after the first round of gowns gets a bit boring. There are plenty of safety pins, studs, plaid, and ripped material to show a connection to punk but how punk can a dress be that costs more than my rent? Some of the more memorable items among the almost 100 on display are Versace's notorious safety pin dress worn by Elizabeth Hurley, a heavily studded black leather jacket by Christopher Bailey for Burberry, a particularly lovely black gown by Moschino decorated with tiny safety pins and rings, Gareth Pugh's black trash bag dresses that look like feathers from afar, Maison Martin Margiela's minimal dresses made out of plastic bags complete with original handles, and McQueen's spray-paint dress. But those items can't quite save the exhibit. Better luck next time, Met.

"Punk: Chaos to Couture" is at the Met through August 14, 2013. For more info visit here. All images from the Met.

The Fall

Gillian Anderson is Stella Gibson in The Fall. 

Last weekend I stayed up late watching The Fall, a BBC program that I had been dying to see (no pun intended).

The murder of a young woman has the police in Belfast stumped so they call in DSI Stella Gibson from the Met in London who quickly sees connections between this murder and prior one. The police at first are reluctant to agree (this might mean they messed up) yet when a similar murder occurs it becomes apparent that they have a serial killer on their hands, one who stalks and preys on young career women. Gibson takes over the investigation and sets about drawing the murderer out before he can kill again.

The main reason I was excited for The Fall is that Gillian Anderson plays Gibson. Yes, Dana Scully of the X-Files is once again donning a lanyard and carrying a gun. I don’t mean to sound glib. Anderson is a fantastic actress. It’s just hard not to think of Scully when she’s in a police tale, especially when she visits the morgue.

Gibson is a type of character popular in mysteries: the single female detective who is intelligent, attractive, lives alone, and appears to need nothing but her job save for the occasional one night stand. It’s been done many times before (think Cordelia Grey in the PD James novels or DCI Jane Tennison in Prime Suspect as a couple of classic examples), and you can now add Anderson’s Gibson to the list.

A good detective and leader, Gibson manages to run a team smoothly. She gives commands without raising her voice, holds her own with the men, and supports the career advances of younger female officers. She is utterly devoted to a case. She lives the job, drinking too much coffee, changing in the women’s room, and even spending some nights on a cot in her office.

She is also attractive and uses it to her advantage, lowering her voice and speaking softly, flipping her long blonde hair, and wearing shirts that almost reveal too much. In fact, her wardrobe is one of the standouts on the show: silk shirts with black pencil skirts and trousers, heels and tailored coats. She always appears put together, a bit posh. It’s only in the close-ups that she allows the fatigue she’s feeling to show in her eyes.

And Gibson is used to getting what she wants. Spotting a good-looking police officer, she asks to be introduced and almost immediately tells him where she’s staying and her room number. For her it’s sex with no strings attached, something that she refers to as “sweet night,” a term borrowed from an African tribe. Gibson knows this because her first degree was in anthropology, one of the few personal details she reveals about herself.

The other cast members are stellar including Jamie Dornan as Paul Spector, a family man and grief counsellor who happens to be a serial killer, John Lynch as ACC Jim Burns who has a history with Gibson, and Niamh McGready as Danielle Ferrington, the young patrol officer who becomes Gibson’s right hand woman.

All five episodes are streaming now on Netflix and the BBC has commissioned a second season (yay!). Watch them all but a word of advice: start your viewing early in the evening, as you’ll want to blast right through all five.

The Donut Pub

For the last few years in New York the word on the street (I can’t believe I just used that phrase) has been that the donut was the new cupcake, which means that more places have started selling donuts, many with ridiculous flavours (hibiscus donut, anyone?) and at high prices. 

Yet there are some things that don’t need fiddling with and the donut is one of them. It’s really quite simple—donuts should come in a few traditional flavours and should be cheap. And the best donuts in New York can be found at the Donut Pub. Now there are some who might disagree with me on this and that’s fine, they’re welcome to their opinion. But hear me out.

The Donut Pub has been in business since 1964. They are open 24 hours, seven days a week, and sell traditional donuts—rings, old fashioned, filled, and crullers—in the usual glazed, chocolate, sugar, jelly, and a few other flavors (the red velvet appears to be their nod to trends) along with other sweets and bagels. You can grab a stool and sit at the counter or get yours to go (if you do and order a coffee, they'll put it in your bag along with your donut, a sign that you’re in a real New York joint). A chocolate ring and coffee will set you back less than $3. And if that weren’t enough, the owner’s name is Buzzy. What more could you want in a donut shop?

The Donut Pub is located in Chelsea near the corner of West 14th Street and Seventh Avenue. For more information, check out their site here.

Photos by Michele. Sorry there aren't more donut close-ups. I was only able to take a few quick shots inside and meant to take one of my chocolate ring that I got to go but it, uh, didn't last long enough.