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tyrantisterror · 4 years

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TT’S GONNA RECOMMEND SOME SELF-PUBLISHED KAIJU FICTION

Because the mood struck me

(and also because I’ve been meaning to give these a full fledged reviews for a RIDICULOUSLY LONG TIME and I’m kind of embarrassed how long it’s been taking so I figure if I do some quickies I’ll feel less bad about myself as a person ok LET’S GO)

I’m gonna start with the Daikaiju Yuki series by Raffael Coronelli, because its first entry was also the first self published kaiju novel I read. This series is fun and fast paced, with wonderful characters and dynamic storylines in a highly unique setting: a post-post apocaylptic world, where humanity has rebuilt civilization after a kaiju war hundreds of years ago destroyed the old one (i.e. ours). The protagonist of the series, Yuki, partners up with one of the few kaiju who decided to defend humanity back in the kaiju war, a grouchy old bipedal lion named Narajin, and the two essentially fuse to fight various threats to their world with the other remaining members of the Pantheon Colossi (i.e. the protector kaiju).

(Our heroes, Yuki and Narajin, ready to conquer your kaiju-fan heart)

For newbies, this series covers a lot of kaiju tropes in an engaging and unique way that actually serves as a pretty decent primer for how this genre stands out from other monster fiction. For experienced kaiju fans, the new twists author Raffael Coronelli has put on the old tropes and the innovations he’s added solely of his own invention make for a take on the genre that is astoundingly fresh, managing the difficult task of paying homage to what came before while crafting something very new and distinct from it.

I also can’t stress enough how fun these books are. The characters grow on you very quickly, and the stories move at a lively pace that makes the books very easy to digest while still having a lot of substance. Also there’s a LOT of content to consume here, so if you find you like the first book, you’re in luck - because not only is there a lot more of what you liked in the other entries, but Coronelli’s writing has gotten even better with each installment.

Buy them here:

Daikaiju Yuki

Yuki Conquers the World

Yuki vs. Fleshworld

Mokwa: The Lifesblood of the Earth (a spinoff focusing on another member of the Pantheon Colossi - also has the best villain of the whole series IMO)

Scythian Frost (short story anthology in the same universe as Daikaiju Yuki)

Pharoah of Eels (novella in the same universe as Daikaiju Yuki)

BONUS: I’m gonna link Coronelli’s Big Egg here because while it’s arguably more of a Weird West story than a kaiju story and not part of the Daikaiju Yuki series, it’s nonetheless VERY GOOD and kaiju-adjacent enough to feel relevant.

If you love it when kaiju stories go dark and experiment with body horror - and I know a good chunk of my followers here do, both from the posts you make and from the sheer number of body horror-riffic entries you’ve submitted to my Create a Kaiju Contests in the past - you owe it to yourself to read All Your Ruins by Alex Gayhart. It is a bleak kaiju story that leans as far into the horror as kaiju stories can, while still retaining many of a kaiju story’s hallmarks. You’ve got experimental robots, you’ve got a big lizard who shoots lasers from his mouth and has a few suprisingly poignant and tragic moments of pathos, you’ve got scenes of massive property damage - and you’ve also got scenes of people being torn apart by swarms of giant bugs, poisoned by toxic kaiju blood, assimilated into piles of fungus, and all other sorts of horrifying demises. If you want a kaiju story to send chills down your spine, this is your book.

I’m emphasizing the grim aspects of this story, but I also want to note that it avoids one of the pitfalls a lot of modern horror falls into, in that it balances all the horrific shit by having characters in it that you actually care about. It’s a tragedy, you know from the start things won’t end well, but some of the people involved in the conflict are so lovable and try so hard to survive that you root for them despite the prevailing sense of dread. It’s a gloomy story, but it’s not the sort that makes everyone relentlessly awful - more George Romero Day of the Dead in tone than, say, the all consuming bleakness of The Walking Dead.

Also it’s got some killer illustrations. The main monster even takes the “bipedal lizard with dorsal spikes” visual in a direction so unique that it actually stands out against the progenitor of that design concept. That’s not the say the book depends on those illustrations, mind you - Gayhart’s prose isn’t afraid of laying it on thick every now and then to paint an appropriately distinct and horrific image with words. That might not be for all tastes, but as a person who’s read a LOT of classic horror literature, I personally appreciate it - a dash of melodrama in the description of the horrific, when used well, can make it very effective, and Gayhart put just enough in there to work very well for my tastes.

Buy it here:

All Your Ruins

BONUS: I’m going to recommend the two books in author Alex Gayhart’s Black Star Saga here as well. I haven’t actually fully read them yet - I bought the initial release where the two volumes were bundled together as one, and got sidetracked by LIFE BULLSHIT shortly after I started it (this happens to me too often while reading - I still need to finish Stephen King’s It and Marie Kondo’s books too), but I liked what I read, and from what I’ve heard the more recent editions made some big improvements to the story’s pacing. It’s the same quality of writing as Gayhart’s All Your Ruins, but with a less grim tone - more Ultraman and less Shin Godzilla.

The Black Star Saga Volume 1: 2525

The Black Star Saga Volume 2: Moonage Daydream

A lot of classic kaiju movies bring up the threat of giant monsters destroying all of civilization if they aren’t stopped, but almost none have shown them carry that threat through. In the Shadow of Extinction let’s that threat actually play out - you see the kaiju apocalypse begin and civilization as we know it end in the first third of the book. The remaining two thirds focuses on survivors picking up the pieces in a world now ruled by giants. It’s the kind of story you’d think there’d be more of in our genre, but outside of All Your Ruins and, uh, the Godzilla anime trilogy, there really aren’t that other takes out there.

While Gayhart’s All Your Ruins focuses on the horror aspect of a kaiju apocalypse, Kyle Warner’s In the Shadow of Extinction focuses on a political/crisis management angle. It’s like if Shin Godzilla had a baby with George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, and that baby had the “bureaucratic failings of big governments in the wake of national disasters” elements of the former and the “multiple different perspectives via a large cast of characters” format of the later. There’s no one protagonist in this one - you follow a large and diverse cast of characters from around the world and from pretty much all walks of life as they try to navigate a disaster that destroys society as it once was.

Once the civilization effectively ends in the first third of the novel, In the Shadow of Extinction transition from “disaster movie” to “post apocalyptic thriller,” like The Stand, Day of the Triffids, 28 Days Later, or, I dunno, a toned down version of Mad Max (but, y’know, with giant monsters, so I guess not THAT toned down). I bring this up because the content of the last two thirds takes after the tropes of post apocalyptic thrillers as much if not more so than kaiju stories - that is to say, there is some Triggering Content in this one. That’s not something to dissuade you - the characters and story remains very solid and unique for the kaiju genre - but it is something I feel you should be aware of, and if you want a more explicit description of what kind of Triggers I mean here, shoot me a message. Suffice to say, kaiju aren’t the only monsters when civilization breaks down here.

But Kaiju do remain prominent in the book nonetheless - it is ultimately a kaiju story more than anything else, and it’s impressive how the book manages to incorporate all those other influences as well as a heaping dose of political commentary without ever diminishing the presence of its monster stars.

Buy it here:

In the Shadow of Extinction

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to do what I should have done years ago and write some damn Amazon reviews for these so the authors can have a boost in Amazon’s search algorithms.

#Daikaiju Yuki #All Your Ruins #In the Shadow of Extinction

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pixelburied · 5 years

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Not choices but I will defend Marie Kondo with my life. If you have an issue with her, meet me in the parking lot at 3.

#not choices #marie kondo

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miseriathome · 5 years

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Requested (cross)post about celebrity rpf

[Real person fic] is almost always about celebrities. And at a certain point, we don't actually understand or know celebrities as real people. After all, celebrities are never actually genuine to the public--even if they seem genuine, it's always a part of the role they play as highly public figures. Celebrities as we know them are personas that real people put on. Fic about them by people who have never intimately met them before is actually fic about their personas--not about the real person. Likewise, as always, fic isn't actually a representation of what you want in real life. You can absolutely write fanfiction about Martin Freeman/Benedict Cumberbatch while being aware of/respecting their real world relationships with other people, and their potential forever lack of interest in one another along those lines. So to that extent, I don't see why rpf about celebrities should be a big deal.

And because I like pointing out grey areas as a way to illustrate why lines are drawn in the sand and nothing matters, here's a bunch of bullet points:

What about self-insert non-rpf fic? What about second-person/reader fic? Aren't there real people involved in those? What if your original character is a thinly-veiled real person?

How do anti-rpf folks feel about Hamilton? Or Bohemian Rhapsody? Or that Steve Jobs movie? Is it only okay when the real people are dead? What about The Social Network? Or that movie about the Obamas? How far in the past do real events have to be to be acceptably reportrayed with creative licenses taken? Are SNL's incredibly timely political skits acceptable? Or are these things only okay because they're professionally produced? In which case, isn't this all just catering to the invisible line between professional authordom and fanfiction authordom that literally constantly shows up in fandom wank as a blatantly obvious double standard?

To follow that train of thought, is it wrong to make posts like "Steve Irwin definitely forgave that manta ray in heaven?" Because you're literally setting up a fictional interaction about a real person against that real person's consent (since, after all, he could have secretly resented and hated that rayfor killing him, even despite his public persona saying it was just doing its job! Because the disjoint between celebrities' public and personal lives is not one you're privy to seeing!) What about posts that are like "Marie Kondo loves you?" What if it's not true? You're literally putting words in a real person's mouth. Where's the line when it comes to acceptable shared comfort illusions based around real people, and when does it start being "too much" and turn into unacceptable real person fic?

Isn't it kind of fucky to say things like "I ship the Obamas?" I mean, what if behind closed doors, their relationship is actually super abusive? Then you're shipping real life abuse! And what if they got divorced? Would you stop shipping them? Or would you continue shipping two people who don't want to be together against their consent? /s

You know when little girls fill up notebooks with "Mrs [their name] [celebrity name]" because they have crushes on celebrities? That's literally a ship. It comes with daydreams about getting married and being domestic and doing interviews because now you're famous. And daydreams are just... unwritten fic. So if an entire real person fanfiction exists in somebody's mind, is it still a problem? Or is it only bad when somebody can see it? What if that little girl tells a friend about those daydreams? What if she writes the fic in a notebook? What if it's in a word doc? What if it's on a private only-those-with-a-link-can-access webpage? What if it only gets sent to people who signed themselves up to be part of a fic-sharing email chain? What if it's on a tiny blog under a read more? When does a fanfiction actually become a fanfiction, and therefore policeable the way thoughts can't be?

What about when the daydream is subconscious? What if it was a dream somebody had about real people? What if they write it down in a dream journal? What if they tell somebody else about it? What if they submit it to a crowdsourced dream journal online?

Where's the line between a fic and a headcanon? When we made memes about Joe Biden desperately wanting to share government secrets, was that going too far? Is role play based on real people fucked up? Because if it is, then the source of the "then perish" meme should be morally appalling.

Boy, do I have thoughts about people who fight over who a celebrity should "get with." Lots of people will only stan the person that somebody is currently with, speaking to that person's decision to be involved with them... but is a show like The Bachelor where you're supposed to root for somebody with a high probability of being wrong exploitative? The people on that show are all real people, and the proper way to engage with that show is to want two of them to get together, but you don't actually know if they will. So really, you're headcanoning and you're shipping. About real people. While also doing exactly what those tv shows expect you to do. Because it's almost like this wank is a nonissue in regular life.

What about tabloids and reality television? It's well known that tabloids lie and reality television is partially scripted/omits things in favor of creating dramatic and entertaining narratives.

What about when it's a fic about somebody whose public persona is very obviously not like their real self? What about when somebody plays a fictional character, but that fictional character has the same name as their real life self (The Colbert Report, Seinfeld, The Drew Carey Show)? How do you navigate that? Is it okay to write about the fictional characters they play? Or if that crossing a line because in some sense, those fictional characters are still them?

Here's the thing: Being anti- something doesn't do anything. It's not even an ideology, it's just a moral code that nobody else has to adhere to. And especially when it comes to a decentralized, non-industrial, unpoliceable phenomena like fanfiction, there's no way to change what people are putting out or why or how. So really, you have to suck up the fact that even if you hate it and it goes against your personal morals, it's going to happen, and then the real question is "what are you going to do about it?" And that's where an anti- morality falls flat, is because they either can't rise above moaning about it or they go out of their way to attack people for having different moralities. So in my opinion, the far more productive and uplifting ideology is to go "okay, this thing exists and I just have to live with that fact. What can I do to help people?"

And... I think also.......... the argument that real people aren't consenting to be a part of those fanfics falls flat when those real people aren't actually a part of the process of creating that fanfiction. You don't get to consent (or not) to something that doesn't involve you, that doesn't affect you. And the idea that these things affect celebrities is ridiculous. Wank about real person fic, headcanons about OC's, etc are ridiculous. Fanfics are thoughts put on paper and published, and really it's only possible to be against what you can see. If you loudly decree that (any type of) fanfiction is wrong, the least that happens is literally nothing, and the most that happens is you manage to chase it out of the public eye, but it will nonetheless continue on smaller websites or in email chain or in physical zines or in personal notebooks or in peoples' brains. But if anti- types are just satisfied with having it out of sight and out of mind, then they don't actually care about the arguments they're making about peoples' rights... and this effect could have just as easily been achieved by those people curating their own environments to not contain real person fiction, instead of treading on the toes of people writing it.

Being a celebrity means being known and being interpreted and even being misread. In fact, being a social being comes with these risks. People will misunderstand you, misread you, misattribute things to you, misremember you, miscategorize you. I think there are a lot of people who fear what it means to be known, and they channel their anxieties and insecurities into "defending" the "rights" of others not to be misrepresented in others' minds. But that's not how being a secure person works. Becoming, for all intents and purposes, a persona in the minds of others--being turned into a caricature and being framed and reframed through every lens possible--is part of the job description of being a public figure. People are supposed to think they understand something about celebrities. Celebrities are supposed to sell themselves as fantasy/outrage fuel. If a celebrity weren't interesting enough to invoke masses of people thinking about them, they would be out of a job. People are supposed to turn celebrities into dolls to play with in their minds, and there's no shame in engaging with culture as culture is set up to function.

Obviously this write-up overlooks non-celebrity real person fic which has more nuance to it, but ultimately I think the point that “people are going to do it anyways, so what are you going to do about it?” still stands.

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #rpf #fanfiction #discourse #shipping discourse #just saying

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martian-martian-martian · 5 years

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hey just a quick little update, I’m taking a break from tumblr for a while. maybe forever im not sure.

haters rejoice, i guess.

you see I mainly used tumblr since opening my blog as a creative outlet, and over the last few months ive realized its just not worth it to me anymore.

The constant hate and bullshit spewing into my notes like a broken faucet has worn me out physically and mentally and is making me miserable.

im losing sleep and worse, i feel like ive lost the love and passion for writing in recent days.

i feel like theres no reason to create if everyone delights in destroying it, yknow?

people dont acknowledge this but constant berating and having to defend yourself against anonymous bullshit attacks can drain you dry.

i joined this site to make me happy, and now its making me depressed and antisocial, which im taking as my cue to say goodbye for a while.

i love my friends on here and im proud of my work. i dont want anyone to take this as shame or backing down or submitting.

but i need to take care of myself and my mental health first and foremost, always.

in the words of marie kondo, this site no long brings me joy, it is draining the joy out of me, and its time to get out because it swallowing my life up and making every time I turn on my phone into a waking nightmare.

thus i will be checking my messages to keep in touch with dear friends but i will not be posting or engaging with any @s.

i hope that this might make people realize that im human, that people you interact with on the internet are real, and the things you say can have a real impact.

im sick of the pedophiles and the instigators and the people who delight in other people’s misery just to validate themselves.

im sick of the drama and the cancel culture and the fandom bullshit that means nothing.

im sick of having to always explain myself and apologise for my beliefs for fear of being crushed under a suffocating wave of unbridled hatred.

because when you get people every day telling you to die, it worms its way into your conciousness until one day you lie awake at 4am and think they might be right.

i have to go.

enjoy my absence.

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sasquatchandleatherjacket · 5 years

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jensenscomedyelbows replied to your post “marie kondo is wonderful? i haven’t seen any of the criticism of her...”

I KonMari’d my dressers, and my life has improved 500%. I’ll defend her to the death.

that’s awesome!!! i wanna try it but my drawers are super low height, i may have to modify the folding method :o

#jensenscomedyelbows

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ellcrys · 5 years

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“We are encouraged to strategize and scheme to find places, times, and roles where we can be effectively put to work,” Harris, the Kids These Days author, writes. “Efficiency is our existential purpose, and we are a generation of finely honed tools, crafted from embryos to be lean, mean production machines.”

Burnout isn’t a place to visit and come back from; it’s our permanent residence.

This is a super long article but so worth the read.

The part that definitely resonated with me the most was the part on self-optimization. I can see this shit reflected in my daily habits and mindset. If I’m not being ‘productive,’ I’ve not had a good day. Every single part of my schedule is dictated by crossing things off my to-do list and what I’ve been able to accomplish. I’ve known this to be unhealthy since day 1 but couldn’t/can’t reverse the mindset. And now I get why.

Some great quotes below.

Topics that hit home for me in order of appearance:

On Branding:

“Branding” is a fitting word for this work[1], as it underlines what the millennial self becomes: a product. And as in childhood, the work of optimizing that brand blurs whatever boundaries remained between work and play. There is no “off the clock” when at all hours you could be documenting your on-brand experiences or tweeting your on-brand observations. The rise of smartphones makes these behaviors frictionless and thus more pervasive, more standardized. In the early days of Facebook, you had to take pictures with your digital camera, upload them to your computer, and post them in albums. Now, your phone is a sophisticated camera, always ready to document every component of your life — in easily manipulated photos, in short video bursts, in constant updates to Instagram Stories — and to facilitate the labor of performing the self for public consumption.

On Self-Optimization[2]:

Even the trends millennials have popularized — like athleisure — speak to our self-optimization. Yoga pants might look sloppy to your mom, but they’re efficient: You can transition seamlessly from an exercise class to a Skype meeting to child pickup. We use Fresh Direct and Amazon because the time they save allows us to do more work.

This is why the fundamental criticism of millennials — that we’re lazy and entitled — is so frustrating: We hustle so hard that we’ve figured out how to avoid wasting time eating meals and are called entitled for asking for fair compensation and benefits like working remotely (so we can live in affordable cities), adequate health care, or 401(k)s (so we can theoretically stop working at some point before the day we die). We’re called whiny for talking frankly about just how much we do work, or how exhausted we are by it. But because overworking for less money isn’t always visible — because job hunting now means trawling LinkedIn, because “overtime” now means replying to emails in bed — the extent of our labor is often ignored, or degraded.

The media that surrounds us — both social and mainstream, from Marie Kondo’s new Netflix show to the lifestyle influencer economy — tells us that our personal spaces should be optimized just as much as one’s self and career. The end result isn’t just fatigue, but enveloping burnout that follows us to home and back. The most common prescription is “self-care.” Give yourself a face mask! Go to yoga! Use your meditation app! But much of self-care isn’t care at all: It’s an $11 billion industry whose end goal isn’t to alleviate the burnout cycle, but to provide further means of self-optimization. At least in its contemporary, commodified iteration, self-care isn’t a solution; it’s exhausting.

On “The Double Shift”:

Millennial burnout often works differently among women, and particularly straight women with families. Part of this has to do with what’s known as “the second shift” — the idea that women who’ve moved into the workplace do the labor of a job and then come home and perform the labor of a housewife[3].

The labor that causes burnout isn’t just putting away the dishes or folding the laundry — tasks that can be readily distributed among the rest of the family. It’s more to do with what French cartoonist Emma calls “the mental load,” or the scenario in which one person in a family — often a woman — takes on a role akin to “household management project leader.” The manager doesn’t just complete chores; they keep the entire household’s schedule in their minds. They remember to get toilet paper because it’ll run out in four days. They’re ultimately responsible for the health of the family, the upkeep of the home and their own bodies, maintaining a sex life, cultivating an emotional bond with their children, overseeing aging parents’ care, making sure bills are paid and neighbors are greeted and someone’s home for a service call and holiday cards get in the mail and vacations are planned six months in advance and airline miles aren’t expiring and the dog’s getting exercised.

On “Adulting”:

“The modern Millennial, for the most part, views adulthood as a series of actions, as opposed to a state of being,” an article in Elite Daily explains. “Adulting therefore becomes a verb.” “To adult” is to complete your to-do list — but everything goes on the list, and the list never ends.

That’s one of the most ineffable and frustrating expressions of burnout: It takes things that should be enjoyable and flattens them into a list of tasks, intermingled with other obligations that should either be easily or dutifully completed. The end result is that everything, from wedding celebrations to registering to vote, becomes tinged with resentment and anxiety and avoidance. Maybe my inability to get the knives sharpened is less about being lazy and more about being too good, for too long, at being a millennial.

On Errand Paralysis:

There are a few ways to look at this original problem of errand paralysis. Many of the tasks millennials find paralyzing are ones that are impossible to optimize for efficiency, either because they remain stubbornly analog (the post office) or because companies have optimized themselves, and their labor, so as to make the experience as arduous as possible for the user (anything to do with insurance, or bills, or filing a complaint). Sometimes, the inefficiencies are part of the point: The harder it is to submit a request for a reimbursement, the less likely you are to do it. The same goes for returns.

Other tasks become difficult because of too many options, and what’s come to be known as “decision fatigue.” I’ve moved around so much because of my career path, and always loathed the process of finding family practitioners and dentists and dermatologists. Finding a doctor — and not just any doctor, but one who will take your insurance, who is accepting new patients — might seem like an easy task in the age of Zocdoc, but the array of options can be paralyzing without the recommendations of friends and family, which are in short supply when you move to a brand-new town.

Other tasks are, well, boring. I’ve done them too many times. The payoff from completing them is too small. Boredom with the monotony of labor is usually associated with physical and/or assembly line jobs, but it’s widespread among “knowledge workers.” As Caroline Beaton, who has written extensively about millennials and labor, points out, the rise of the “knowledge sector” has simply “changed the medium of monotony from heavy machinery to digital technology. … We habituate to the modern workforce’s high intensity but predictable tasks. Because the stimuli don’t change, we cease to be stimulated. The consequence is two-fold. First, like a kind of Chinese water torture, each identical thing becomes increasingly painful. In defense, we become decreasingly engaged.” My refusal to respond to a kind Facebook DM is thus symptomatic of the sheer number of calls for my attention online: calls to read an article, calls to promote my own work, calls to engage wittily or defend myself from trolls or like a relative’s picture of their baby.

To be clear, none of these explanations are, to my mind, exonerating. They don’t seem like great or rational reasons to avoid doing things I know, in the abstract, I want or need to do. But dumb, illogical decisions are a symptom of burnout. We engage in self-destructive behaviors or take refuge in avoidance as a way to get off the treadmill of our to-do list. Which helps explain one of the complaints about millennials’ work habits: They show up late, they miss shifts, they ghost on jobs. Some people who behave this way may, indeed, just not know how to put their heads down and work. But far more likely is that they’re bad at work because of just how much work they do — especially when it’s performed against a backdrop of financial precariousness.

Footnotes:

[1] For many millennials, a social media presence — on LinkedIn, Instagram, Facebook, or Twitter — has also become an integral part of obtaining and maintaining a job. The “purest” example is the social media influencer, whose entire income source is performing and mediating the self online. But social media is also the means through which many “knowledge workers” — that is, workers who handle, process, or make meaning of information — market and brand themselves. Journalists use Twitter to learn about other stories, but they also use it to develop a personal brand and following that can be leveraged; people use LinkedIn not just for résumés and networking, but to post articles that attest to their personality (their brand!) as a manager or entrepreneur. Millennials aren’t the only ones who do this, but we’re the ones who perfected and thus set the standards for those who do.

[2] One of the ways to think through the mechanics of millennial burnout is by looking closely at the various objects and industries our generation has supposedly “killed.” We’ve “killed” diamonds because we’re getting married later (or not at all), and if or when we do, it’s rare for one partner to have the financial stability to set aside the traditional two months’ salary for a diamond engagement ring. We’re killing antiques, opting instead for “fast furniture” — not because we hate our grandparents’ old items, but because we’re chasing stable employment across the country, and lugging old furniture and fragile china costs money that we don’t have. We’ve exchanged sit-down casual dining (Applebee’s, TGI Fridays) for fast casual (Chipotle et al.) because if we’re gonna pay for something, it should either be an experience worth waiting in line for (Cronuts! World-famous BBQ! Momofuku!) or efficient as hell.

[3] (A recent study found that mothers in the workplace spend just as much time taking care of their children as stay-at-home mothers did in 1975). One might think that when women work, the domestic labor decreases, or splits between both partners. But sociologist Judy Wajcman found that in heterosexual couples, that simply wasn’t the case: Less domestic labor takes place overall, but that labor still largely falls on the woman.

#this! article! is! everything!#thoughts and more quotes under the cut #i read about 3/4 of this article on my phone and then was like #i need to pull out my laptop so i can copy paste quotes and take notes #a long but very good read #good reads

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rabbirose · 5 years

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Marie Kondo the Oppression Drawer: Thoughts on Representative Omar

There are all kinds of folks opining on Rep. Omar’s anti-Semitic comments. Some claim that her words are nefarious and her apologies and claims to ignorance are disingenuous. Others say that she is being treated unfairly, her words misinterpreted, and that in fact the real problem is Islamophobia (Omar is a Muslim).

I don’t have a lot of patience for Omar’s vociferous and accusatory defenders, and I’m sure I’m part of the problem. To me it is quite clear that she has used anti-Semitic tropes. At first I couldn’t figure out why my friends on the left were defending her and giving this triple (at least) offender a pass, and turning themselves inside out in hermeneutic gymnastics trying to explain why she is being misrepresented.

Then I thought of Marie Kondo. She’s the organizing and cleaning genius who leads people in paring down and organizing their messy living spaces and messy lives. My wife introduced her teachings into our home, and my sock drawer has never looked so awesome. All matching pairs, laid out neatly and separately.

I imagine these defenses of Omar as some kind of messy sock drawer of oppression and offenses, impossibly tangled up together. We need some Marie Kondo action on all of this. Take everything out of the drawer, get rid of the junk, separate things, and put them back in a more useful way.

That is to say, separate the issues. One is anti-Semitism. Another is the existence of equal and even worse anti-Semitism on the right. Another is the high stakes of Democratic party missteps in the face of a dangerous President willing to race-bait and to violate democratic norms. Another is the very real danger of Islamophobia. Another is the current climate of racism (Omar has brown skin) in our nation. Another is overwhelming misogyny and unequal representation of women in politics as well as everything else. Yet another is the tension around criticism of Israel.

When all of these issues are tangled up like my socks were a month ago, you can’t touch one without all the others coming out with it. But in thinking about ethics, allowing things to be tangled together prevents us from being honest and clear.

The fear that acknowledging the anti-Semitic nature of her remarks will be used to give cover to bigots, Islamophobes, misogynists and other miscreants silences many people. These are people whose general outlook I share. i’m sympathetic to their concerns. Many of them are scared that drawing attention to the ugliness of her words will be used to silence legitimate criticism about Israel (and while I tend to part from my left friends on Israel, I agree we need more robust debate on Israel, including being unafraid to voice legitimate and thoughtful concerns about Israel’s policies).

I get it. But silence in the face of your political friends’ evil can lead to very dangerous places. George Orwell has a great essay called The Prevention of Literature. The essay doesn’t match up perfectly with the present situation concerning Rep. Omar. For one, Orwell is addressing a much higher stakes situation, and a deep level of deliberate intellectual dishonesty. But what strikes me about the essay, which you can find here is that he addresses the ways in which people on the political Left in England found it difficult to challenge obvious brutalities by Stalin and the USSR out of their concern for the British working classes and out of their general sympathy with socialism and communism. The power of this essay (and by the way, so many of Orwell’s writings) for our age is that he warns us against a problem that is currently paralyzing us on the left and the right. And that is the locking together of sets of complex ethical issues that we are being encouraged (usually by our friends) to take all together.

You know that strange phenomenon in which you can so often accurately predict the politics of another person on issues a,b,c,d and e just by knowing where they stand on issue x? That happens because we often haven’t thought through all of these issues with the care we ought to, and instead, we accept “packages” (or sock draws, to push my analogy to the breaking point) of issues that have been bundled together. Not only does this make talking politics with people so very uninteresting, and reduces our discourse into very limited prefabricated “conversations” - it limits our intellectual freedom. The result is a self-imposed if inadvertent limitation on freedom of thought.

So, let’s Mari Kondo our discourse. We need to be vigorous in our celebration of the fact that there is a Muslim woman wearing a head-covering serving in Congress. That is something that every American should celebrate (I’m not fooling myself about the fact that half of the country is not) and every Jew in particular should celebrate. We need to say “Great, more women are serving in Congress, and even more need to run.” We need to call out every person and every rag churning out anti-Muslim propaganda. We need to attack all forms of bigotry as soon as they appear.

And we need to be merciless in halting the Mother of all Modern Bigotries, anti-Semitism. Representative Omar’s comments have been ugly and dangerous. She has been criticized. She should apologize in a full throated way for all of the anti-Semitic statements she has made and do so without self-justification, hedging, or using the opportunity to engage in other slanders. And then we should expect that she will never again use anti-Semitic tropes. If all that happens then we should take her seriously as a voice in Congress.

We should not be apologizing for her or giving her a pass. Anymore than we should give a pass to the many others in American life, in politics and elsewhere, who use dangerous language to demean and diminish any group.

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pisati · 5 years

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I did write some comments on your post, but that was an initial reaction after one read-through, and of course it was a lot to take in. I went to my guitar lesson, ate a little bit, dicked around for a bit, and read it through again. what’s on my mind is too much for character-limited replies so I figured I’d just write a post.

if you’re serious that the amount of stuff you told me is maybe 10% of all the things her parents did, then... holy shit, dude. it’s hard to imagine anyone growing up with that and not being completely brainwashed. I feel for her daughter too. hopefully once she gets her degree and gets a job she can get away from that bullshit. most people, I think, are reasonably paranoid about the possible threats that come from strangers on the internet, but that’s just extreme. the scottish mafia??? is that even a thing?? I’ve never even. heard of that, lmao. jesus.

I want to say when the internet was in its infancy, a lot of scammers saw it as an opportunity. that’s where the whole Nigerian prince thing and all that came about. first rule of the internet was not to trust anyone. no personal information, to anyone, ever. the thing is, the internet has changed drastically since then. social media has revolutionized the way everyday people use the internet, and very, very many everyday people use it. the chances you’re likely to run into a normal person just like yourself vs. a scam artist today are much, much higher than they were even a decade ago. some people don’t want to accept that things have changed. I mentioned my Brazilian friends on your post; my mom was pretty nervous at first when I told her about them. I met them just before I graduated high school, so I was 17. I actually was on Omegle (which was WAY worse than tumblr or twitter???) and I talked to a kid named Matia. he was a few years younger than me but his english was very good and he was a cool kid. we followed each other on twitter, and then his friends saw and a bunch of them followed me, asking him “quem é essa gringa matia??”-- who’s this foreign girl? they’d talk to me in english about music and ask me what it was like in the US; they were fascinated. they affectionately nicknamed me ‘gringa’; in Brazil it doesn’t have the same negative connotations as it can in Spanish-speaking countries; it literally means ‘foreginer’. I learned Portuguese inadvertently just from reading all the tweets they posted. they’d mess with me and tweet in slang and typo-ed Portuguese so I couldn’t google translate it, but when I learned enough Portuguese and read back on their old tweets, I had a good laugh because it was all stuff like “lol let’s mess with her so she can’t translate it, that’ll be so funny!” and they knew I’d get all frustrated because I didn’t know what it said, lol. like, just pure, innocent interactions between strangers on the internet. I had a ton of fun with it. and Portuguese even ended up being my best language, because I learned it not only in natural, informal contexts (rather than “hello, how are you?”), but I learned it through drunken slang and intentional typos and a whole assload of cursing, lmao.

I was nervous to tell my mom about it; I knew how she’d react. there was no way to tell her about all the jokes and conversations and how all of it was harmless. how I just knew they were real people like me (they were all around my age too). she didn’t want me to study abroad there, when I brought it up, or at least... if I did, she’d rather I’d have picked somewhere in Europe instead. I told her I’d skyped with my friend David, and once I even mailed him a package with an old shirt of mine (because I’d tweeted about how I had this IUP shirt and once I transferred I knew I wasn’t gonna wear it anymore, but I didn’t want to donate it; he said he wanted it and I was like well if you’re serious lol). I skyped another friend Guilherme once because he said he could help with an assignment I had for researching the grammar of non-native speakers of english, or something like that. she warmed up after a while. I think she realized that, hey, most normal people are also on the internet now. and there’s normal people in other countries, lol. but like. people in that generation are from a different era of information-sharing. it’s a totally different perspective. and if you’re the kind of person who worries entirely too much... well, you’ve seen what can happen.

you said it in your other post too (which, first of all, I’m really proud of you for opening up, as painful as I’m sure all this is, and second of all, I’m honored that you’re comfortable enough to share with me)... the thing about sounding ‘weak’ and ‘pathetic’. and... maybe it does feel like that. but given the circumstances? I think reacting like that is perfectly normal. I’m sure you know, but this kind of situation, all the things that happened... none of that is normal. you had a perfectly normal reaction to seriously abnormal events. it’s only natural to want to know why. when you love someone so much and think they love you too, and have your whole perception of the world turned on its head... it’s absolutely devastating. you don’t want to let it go. what else is there? you didn’t picture it vanishing so suddenly, and you feel like that’s it.

I just want you to know, I don’t see weak or pathetic. I see someone very much like myself. who genuinely cares and feels so intensely and deeply and is sometimes even afraid of being too much. a lot of people don’t understand that we have pure intentions. they don’t understand how we feel because they don’t have that depth.

anyway, I understand a little better how you feel about it. a lot of it wasn’t her fault; she pretty much had a gun to her head. or, multiple, depending how you want to look at it. she grew up with that bullshit. you said it wasn’t even the first time something like that happened to her. it’s really, really hard to defend yourself or stand up for yourself when that’s what you know. when that’s your family, who is supporting you and your daughter, and threatens to kick you out if you follow your own will. she was playing a losing game. it made me a little sad to read how hard you tried to make it work, when clearly you were being pushed away, but I understand, man. I’ve done the same thing. you want so badly to make it work, you feel like there’s always a way you can. the most devastating part of it all is realizing you can’t. and it can’t be fixed.

the thing that puzzles me, though, and please tell me if I cross a line here. I really don’t want to. I respect your feelings and I understand that your relationship with her lasted a long time; there’s so much packed into that time. I’ve told you a lot of the shitty parts of my relationship with A, and you’ve wondered why I didn’t kick him to the curb; I didn’t tell you about all the good parts there were too. I know how complicated and difficult those things can be. despite how much they hurt you, how they did it, how much more pain you were in because of what they did than anything you could ever do to them... you still care about them. a lot.

I just... I guess I’m not 100% clear on the purpose she serves in your life at this point. of course you care about her. it’s only natural to, when they’re your best friend. you know so much about them and they know so much about you and you’ve shared so many good things and you just enjoy them as a person. god, I even remember writing some sappy poem or blog post or something about how, even after everything, A could have stabbed me in the gut and I would have apologized for getting my blood on him. but he also did more damage to me than anyone ever has. I realized this past summer (that’s a story for another time) with such sudden, horrible clarity that I burst out sobbing while I was driving home on the highway; what he did was irredeemable. there was nothing he could do to fix it. I had done everything I knew how to do to even stay his friend, and I finally told myself that it was either I continue to pursue this and make myself miserable and make him miserable (because he was allowed to have feelings for whoever he wanted; me getting upset over every new one would hurt him too), or I could just. let go. finally. and that was not a decision I ever wanted to face. I put it off for so long. I told myself there could always be a way to fix it. but it always came down to him putting in the effort. he was my best friend. he knew me better than anyone. a lot of the things you said about M, I’ve said about A. I’ve never been able to be that close to anyone before; he’d seen much more of me than I was comfortable showing anyone else. I didn’t know if I’d be able to be that close to anyone else. making the decision to let go of the one person I was that close to was the hardest thing I had to do this past year, right up there with having to talk to the team from the cremation place not 15 minutes after learning my dad was dead and watching them take him away in a body bag.

anyway, I guess what I’m getting at is... you can still love her, and still care deeply about her, but also keep her in the past. this is just my conjecture, given that I don’t know anything about your relationship now, but it seems to me like trying to keep her in your life is not beneficial to either of you. I know you said you don’t keep people around based on the purpose they serve in your life, and that’s a good philosophy to have, for sure. I’m not arguing that at all. but I think there’s a lesson to take from Marie Kondo here (ha); when something has served its purpose in your life, you should understand when it’s time to let it go. thank it for all it brought to you, all it did for you, of course; there’s apparently a lot of Shinto traditional beliefs that influenced her organization philosophy that would be really interesting to read about. but anyway I don’t think it just applies to the physical clutter we all accumulate in our homes. we weigh ourselves down with all the things we keep. especially those that don’t ~spark joy~, lol. if she’s really as brisk with you as you say... do you think she would be bothered if you disappeared as well?

I know it’s never just that easy. I made that decision, and then later I learned that A had a whole clusterfuck of mental illnesses that he wasn’t even aware he had. it was bad. worse than he thought. but once he finally got into therapy and started journaling his moods, it became more obvious. he realized a lot of how he treated me came from that. when he told me, I felt just a tiny bit of my resolve crumble. how could I drop him like that, when he was clearly struggling and needed something stable? even just a good friend, who was patient and understanding, like I’ve always tried to be? I’m not the only friend he has, of course. he has plenty of people around. I don’t have to go back to trying so hard if I don’t want to, but I also felt like I couldn’t just abandon him. I realized it wasn’t entirely his fault. he still did what he did knowingly, he still knew how it hurt me, but it still wasn’t entirely his fault. I know you’ve seen that in M as well. it’s so complicated, I know.

I’m not trying to convince you of anything. maybe just trying to get you to think about it another way. you’ve got a lot of pain that you’ve buried and try your hardest not to deal with. I’ve done it too. get to it when we get to it, except we hope we never have to. but it makes healing so hard when we don’t address it and subsequently deal with it. I wonder if you think it’s possible to heal the way you hope to and also keep her in your life. I’m sure in some way it is, but I wonder how you picture that possible future. I’m still trying to work that out for myself, with my situation.

anyway, I really do appreciate you taking the time to help me understand your demons better. and... if it means anything, I don’t see you as broken. even if that’s how you feel. I mean, shit. all of that is enough to break anyone. I’ve never even been in a relationship, let alone had one that got to the marriage-talk, engagement-ring, wedding-dress, baby-name point. for someone that feels as intensely as we do, no less... I can only imagine. I see how the innocence, so to speak, was ripped from your hands. I understand how you feel changed by it. I see the darkness in you that I’ve seen in myself, but I see the light there too. you need to feel safe so that light has time to heal and grow again.

#and like sorry for talking about myself and my experiences so much LOL #just trying to use examples to illustrate my line of thinking

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mintybunnytron · 3 years

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2020.11.25

Granny and my late aunt Hanh sent me a Christmas present one year. Toxic mother told me it was a photo album with pics of me granny and Hanh taken with mother and father’s camera that granny had me provide her from their room.

At the time I was angry. I had cut off everyone on fathers side except for mother. I was angry and further fueled by mother story about how they manipulated me into taking the camera from her Nd father bedroom and then gramma would never give the camera back.

I held onto to unwrapped album for years. It was with me forgotten in a drawer when I moved to LA with my ex. It came with me to Kim’s when I left that fker. Then it lived in my car trunk.

Then I had to move out of Kim’s so I had to clear the trunk to make space to move. That’s came across it.

I was filled with anger and sadness every time I saw the package.

I’d always fantasized about how to return it unopened and the hurt it would cause. Just to be vengeful. I could mail it back. I could drive to granny’s house and place it in the mailbox or throw it in the yard. Throwing it in the yard was my favorite.

The wrapping paper had seen some wear and oil stains at this point. I thought it would hurt them to see it discarded.

But it was too much for me. I always dream of revenge but I can never carry it out. I’m empathy points.... I’m not the least bit interested in hurting anyone. And with revenge.... I most definitely hurt myself in the end.

I don’t think my sister gets it when I say shitty things about them and follow up with a that’s fucked up fo me to say that. Yes the ducked up statements are true. But I feel the need to say it’s fcked up aNd feel guilty about saying it the fked up statements about them because deep down I’m a softie and care about these people who have all hurt me like hell.

But anyways I didn’t want to have the album burning a hole in my car anymore. I think I’m a fit of anger and Marie Kondo this does not spark joy So I threw it away in a trash can outside work. I didn’t want to carry it anymore.

Now I know that was wrong. It felt better than the vengeful versions i he thought of. It I still ended up hurting myself throwing it away. I should have kept it. Or given it to someone I trust for safekeeping.

Now that she’s dead I feel regret. And I hate it. Regret is useless. It’s too late. It already happenned. Move the fuck on and stop dwelling on it. It’s fking annoying hearing about regret.

I’d blamed everything that was wrong with our nuclear family on granny. And partly on Hanh since a the favorite she’d benefited from not challenging granny. It’s likely she want being manipulative and just really loved granny and sided with her big brother and granny. Idk.

I’m hard and angry and say things like everyone on fathers side are terrible evil people and I need to cut them off. Even the ones that aren’t terrible evil I have a hard time trusting because they’re still in it and I don’t trust their motives having been hurt by them before. Still in the abusive environment.

But now that Hanh is dead, I see things differently.

This isn’t granny’s fault at all. She never really left the house when she came here. Never worked real jobs here in America. She knows nothing of what it’s really like to live and work here.

Why the fuck did my mommas boy father have to listen to her. She knows nothing of the struggles of working and raising your children within American culture and rules.

Why the fuck did he not stand up to her and defend mom when HIS ENTIRE FAMILY wa fretting mother like shit?

Instead, avoidance measures. Everyone treated mom like shot and she never divorced his dumb ass. Things have gotten so bad both children don’t hVe a good relationship with mother and father. Despite the emotions abuse and manipulation and control, mother never leaves.

Which leads me to believe she likes this. She’s chosen this life. She’s chosen a bit house and a comfortable bed over her children. The trade is woth it to her.

I hate them both so much. Which translates to I love these fkers but they’re trash and fking hurtful.

Now I’m just....I’m more angry. I threw away that album because the what pushed me over the edge was mother’s story about how Granny had me steal away the camera and never gave it back.

These two fkers - my birth mother and father - didn’t take care of shit in their relationship. Mommas boy and superficial keeping up with the Jones more important than her children garbage ass parents. You two fked up everything.

I regret that I threw away the album. She’s dead and I have no pictures of her. No pictures of us. I have a stupid creepily photoshopped picture of her on the funeral program. Terrible photoshop. She looks so thin. It makes me cry.

I miss my aunt so much. You always think you’ll have more time. I cut her off because of my mother and father were just too toxic to be around. Too toxic that I couldn’t be around anyone in their circle.

And now this. Hanh is gone. Never coming back. Pancreatic cancer. It was fast.I have no pictures of me and the woman who at one point was my third parent, my roommate at 3 years old, my mentor for a bit. She always took us out and spoiled us. And derpy games for our family parties. Still gifts. Always kind and always nice and happy.

And she’s gone forever. I hadn’t seen her since at least 2014 or 2015. The last time was the tet before grandpa’s 80yh birthday.

At the end of the day I can blame father and mother but I won’t do me any good. Yea they’re both trash. But similarly to how father is an adult and he doesn’t have to be a manage mommas a boy and take granny’s advice word for word, I too am an adult.

I stayed away because I didn’t want to deal with any of those fkers related to father because for the most part they’re all evil assholes. But that’s for the most part. There are some good people there.

And one of them has already died.

I don’t want to let things sry like this as more people die. I missed out on Hanh. I don’t wanna miss our on granny or grandpa or David or Kevin. I really don’t.thw rest I can do without. But those 4.... grandpas 80th was 5-6 years ago. Thy means he’s even more old now.

I can’t miss out on them just because my father is a dick.

Idk. I have visceral feelings of panic and anger when it comes to even text communication from ANY OF THEM. So it’s going to be hard. But I have to. I cannot take anymore premature deaths. Co Hanh wa unexpected AF. Gramma and grandpa are old AF.

I guess let’s get my health together first. But I do want to see them eventually. Hopefully my surgery next month will go well.

I wanna shoot for maybe a June 2021 deadline to reach out and see each there or have lunch or something. I’d like it to be sooner but idk what’s gonna happen with my health. I don’t wanna be around these people with shot health.

I still need to visit her grave. It’s in rose hills. Pretty far. The last time I drove to that area and back I wanted to die on the way home so...Here’s to taking things one day at a time. And here’s to my health.

God fking damn. I know I ranted and repeated myself. It’s just....things I’ve been thinking.

#personal

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sockparade · 4 years

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ill at ease

I can still picture the grin on Milan’s face that day as he walked into the office with a Starbucks frappuccino in hand. I have a hard time remembering a day when Milan didn’t arrive at the office with a Starbucks frappuccino in hand. So it wasn’t out of the ordinary. But it was noteworthy that day because the week before a video went viral of two Black men being arrested at a Starbucks in Philadelphia because a white employee was uncomfortable with them asking to use the restroom and sitting in the coffeeshop while they waited for a business associate to arrive. Something non-Black folks do all the time. People were calling for a total Starbucks boycott.

I raised my eyebrows at his drink, and he shrugged saying, “Look, I’m not going to let the actions of some racist white people take away my freedom to get whatever drink I want.”

And like, yeah, I objectively understand how that’s an imperfect political stance and maybe an ineffective strategy to create change, but also, man, I really felt that. In order to protest Black men being arrested for sitting in a coffeeshop (read: for being Black), was I really going to try to tell a Black man about where he should or shouldn’t get his substandard (ha) coffee fix? Try to convince him about the importance of voting with his dollar? Can’t a person just live?

I just didn’t have it in me to disagree.

I often think about that exchange whenever I hear a call to boycott such and such corporation or a call to cancel a celebrity. I mean, listen, I do believe in the power of an organized boycott or protest. There is concrete historical evidence and contemporary examples of how people have bossed companies and the government into doing what we demand. But I don’t want to keep pretending that it’s an easy switch to flip or that it’s a cost-free way for people of color to fight against the inequity in the world.

That Starbucks incident was just one in an endless number of incidents in which a white person says or does something that reveals their racism, forcing people of color to do the emotionally taxing, unending math, of just how much caucasity we’re willing to stomach.

This is a really old story. Marginalized groups of people have always had to bear the brunt of publicized racist behavior. For every racist incident, there are generally three major phases of emotional labor that people of color in the United States have to work through. At first I could only name two but then I realized it’s actually three. Let me walk you through them.

First, before any explicitly racist incident happens, we have to contend with the fact that there are generally such slim pickings in terms of choices that will allow us to exist ethically and stay true to our convictions. How do we earn a living? Where do we grocery shop? What authors do we read? Whose music do we listen to? Are there ANY electronics that are manufactured in an ethical way? Do we wear checks or not? Are the non-white teachers at this preschool treated with respect by the white owners of this preschool? How do I reduce my purchases on Amazon? Is this restaurant gentrifying the neighborhood? Wait which banks have divested from fossil fuels again? Can I truly be myself at this church? What athleisure brands haven’t been accused of overt racism yet? Where are the influencers that look like me?

When it comes to the consumption of and participation in… well, almost anything, we constantly have to make concessions because we live in a place that’s simply not built for us. It is so hard to name a single sphere of life that I enjoy that isn’t dominated by whiteness or the white gaze. I think my MO for some time now has been to assume that no brand, company, restaurant, actor, or celeb is truly *safe*. I’m generally always waiting for the other shoe to drop while also trying not to think about it too much. It’s a lot of mental gymnastics.

I was at a lecture a few years ago on the topic of the “doctrine of discovery” and the systematic oppression of Native American nations. It was a large auditorium in Berkeley full of neoliberal mostly white folks. The lecturer read a rather dismissive opinion rejecting the Oneidas attempt to reclaim land that was criminally stolen from them in violation of U.S. treaty (Sherrill v. Oneida Indian Nation, 2005) as a shockingly recent example of how this oppression has continued. And then theatrically, he revealed the author to be none other than Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg. There was a loud, audible, collective gasp from the audience.

I mean, no, I didn’t know the Notorious RBG had that in her. But also, I’m not over here clutching my pearls. I’m not saying I’m proud of my jaded mentality. I’m just accustomed to it. As Tressie McMillan Cottom says in her essay “Know Your Whites” in Thick: And Other Essays, “I am not disappointed. If you truly know your whites, disappointment rarely darkens your door.” I’ve been seeing more and more of this language with the virality and frequency of racist actions being caught on video and circulated on the internet. People will say, “I’m not surprised, but I’m mad.” It’s too overwhelming to feel shock and pain every single time. So we steady ourselves for the eventuality, we brace for the pain. Know your whites, y’all.

The second phase of emotional labor is related to the actual injury. We feel the deep pain of injury even if we don’t know the person that was harmed or the person who caused the harm. I think people are sometimes quick to dismiss the behavior of rich and famous people as irrelevant and reduce discussion of it as simply celebrity gossip. But I think there’s pain whether it’s a murder, an arrest, or a racial slur. I know it can be hard to tell by the overwhelming amount of white tears shed on social media after each viral incident but the marginalized group targeted by the offense carries the pain so differently than anyone outside of that group. Try as we might to muster our empathy and our vague-ass Christian lament, it’s just. not. the. same. It’s not. Sometimes it’s so painful that I don’t even fully let myself go there. I haven’t been able to bring myself to read in detail about the recent hate crimes against Asians since COVID-19. I feel squeamish about it. I feel pain when I read stories and see pictures of families being separated, detained and deported but I know for a Latinx person that pain must be so much deeper. And I absolutely cannot fully imagine the pain that Black and Indigineous folks in America endure living in this place.

And then finally, there’s the third phase of labor. This is the part when we’re called upon to react, call it out, bring awareness, advocate for change, and make swift changes (big and small) in our own lives. Sometimes I feel judged (by others and by my own conscience) when I don’t boycott or abstain. And sometimes I just try to skip to this third phase because I don’t want to deal with the grief of the second phase.

After this past week’s twitter feud, lots of folks are ready to cancel Alison Roman for the trash comments she made about Chrissy Teigan and Marie Kondo in her recent interview in The New Consumer. It feels like there’s a sudden clamoring to point out just how white Alison Roman is, and how there’s new evidence that she’s racist. And I guess what I want to say is, um, it’s not really much of a reveal nor is it brand new information. Right? Roxana Hadadi in her recent article titled, “Alison Roman, the Colonization of Spices, and the Exhausting Prevalence of Ethnic Erasure in Popular Food Culture” gives a pretty detailed explanation of just how unshocking it is.

Prior to reading this interview in The New Consumer, did anyone really think Alison Roman had an astute analysis of her white privilege and her accompanying habit of cultural appropriation that she’s benefitted from her entire career? No! While certainly gross, was I shocked that she mocked imperfect English (regardless of whether it was in reference to Marie’s accent or a Eastern European cookbook)? No! Am I shocked when any person mocks an accent? No! We’ve *allowed* it in TV shows, in movies, in corporate settings, and in social settings. I cringe every time but I’ve been forced my whole life to accommodate it. I��ve heard mockery of accents maybe most often from second generation immigrants mocking their own culture’s accents! And If I’m completely honest, I still sometimes find myself guilty of laughing along. (Curiously, Alison Roman’s lengthy apology made no mention of that part of her interview. Perhaps she, and/or her PR team, realized there was no easy way to walk that one back.) Race relations are a fucking mess in our country, y’all. Let’s please stop pretending like it’s just the occasional ultra-public celebrity slip-up.

Hear me when I say I’m not defending her fuckery. What I’m taking issue with is the lack of nuance and the self-righteousness in how we respond to these public brouhahas. Both the shocked reactions and the gotcha reactions expressed by people feel equally tiresome to me. This reflection, written by Charlotte Muru-Lanning, is one of the few three-dimensional, unflattened, and self-searching reflections written by a person of color on this whole drama. While I don’t agree with how defensive she is of Alison Roman, I appreciate the way she refuses to act as if she doesn’t exist in the world that she’s critiquing and I love that she recognizes the complexity in herself as a woman of color.

I’ve become pretty comfortable in my understanding that everyone white in our country is racist. I say racist in the fullest, most comprehensive definition of the word. Some are hateful in their racism. And some are actively trying to fight it even as it exists in themselves. As Ijeoma Oluo explains so succinctly and precisely in her book, So You Want to Talk About Race, racism is “a prejudice against someone based on race, when those prejudices are reinforced by systems of power.” And then she goes on to say, “Systematic racism is a machine that runs whether we pull the levers or not, and by just letting it be, we are responsible for what it produces. We have to actually dismantle the machine if we want to make change.” It’s in the water. And we are all impacted by it, no matter what part of the machine we’re in. Me included. As a Taiwanese American who grew up in Houston, Texas, I wasn’t magically immune to the anti-blackness that was/is prevalent in the Asian American community. Whether it was comments made by my parents, my relatives, my friends, or comments from acquaintances/strangers, it was pretty consistent. You don’t bake in that environment for all your formative years without it damaging a part of you. It’s something I still find myself fighting to unroot and discard from my psychology and my bias despite spending my non-profit career trying to address racial disparities in education and employment. I might spend the rest of my life working on it. We can’t keep pretending it’s an occasional affliction or it’s a disease that only Trump supporters suffer from. I suspect the people who are *shocked* at Alison Roman’s racist comments are also people who believe there are good whites and bad whites. #notallwhites?

Lots of folks have written reflections on cancel culture so I don’t feel the need to rehash it all here. Cancel culture exists for a reason. And it also has its various pitfalls. On one of my favorite podcasts, Still Processing, Jenna Wortham and Wesley Morris do an excellent job of examining the limits of cancel culture in their episode about Michael Jackson (content warning: child sexual abuse). One of their most compelling arguments against cancel culture is that while it attempts to hold an individual accountable, it can also be harmful because it allows people to look away. It allows us to skip the hard work of scrutinizing our broken systems beyond a single individual and it allows us to give ourselves a pass and not search ourselves for the ways in which we are complicit. We can’t look away. We have to interrogate what we consume and why. It’s the only way things will change.

I want to attempt to do some of that hard work here. Beyond organized boycotts, I do subscribe to the idea that there’s value in the individual choices I make to abstain from something. Not just in service of a desired economic, political or societal outcome, but because of the impact it can have on me, as an individual. So let me push past my annoyance that I even have to do this when I’ve already done two other phases of emotional labor and get to work.

A question I’ve been asking myself this week is: Did I somehow make peace with Alison Roman’s cultural appropriation for profit? And if so, why? The answer is, yeah, I think I did. And here are my thoughts on why.

I like Alison Roman’s recipes. I have both of her cookbooks and I only have three cookbooks in my kitchen so that’s something. It’s pretty rare for me to crack open a cookbook when I’m in the kitchen. I mostly just google for specific recipes I’m craving or I’ll look up what temperature is ideal for roasting cauliflower. Almost all the dinners I cook for my family consist of rice/noodles, a meat, and a vegetable and I don’t use recipes for those anymore. Each week I do like to have one “more complicated” dinner recipe and that’s when I’ll sometimes open a cookbook or scroll Instagram. I spend an unreasonable amount of time reading recipe comments (often contradicting) about modifications or adjustments they made and that’s after wading past all the comments about how excited people are to make the posted recipe-- it’s all very confusing and time consuming.

For someone who was not taught how to cook and who didn’t spend much time in a kitchen until maybe 3 years ago, I appreciated Alison Roman’s insistence that she had figured out the “best way” to make classic dishes (usually dishes I did not grow up eating, like Shrimp Louie or Shallot Pasta), the way she suggested using spices I’ve never cooked or eaten before (Aleppo pepper), and her encouragement to use new techniques that I was unfamiliar with (slow roasting tomatoes in the oven for six hours). It was kind of like finding a cooking lifehack.

While I found her IG persona mostly grating and self-congratulatory, I was charmed by her vision in her first cookbook for lowering the barrier to entry for making a really great meal that you can be proud of and her push in her second cookbook to host dinner parties that bring your friends together in a memorable way. For a generation that has relished mostly eating out all the time and then ordering in all the time, following an Alison Roman recipe could sometimes feel like permission to try shit out in the kitchen without the pressure to be a master at it. It was a good feeling when the recipes turned out well and it was fun to talk about which recipes I’d tried with other folks who were also working their way through her recipes.

Okay, and this part might sound ridiculous but I sort of thought that Alison Roman was someone who could maybe teach me how to make white food. Haha. You know what I’m talking about? Like the food that might be on a menu at a restaurant tagged as “American (New)” on Yelp. I mean yes, she has a recipe for “Kimchi-Braised Pork with Sesame and Egg Yolk” in Nothing Fancy but that kind of bastardized Asian dish has been popping up on white restaurant menus pretty consistently for some time now. But a question I’m now asking myself is why I wanted to make white food in the first place? Did I subconsciously think it was fancier and would make for a more interesting menu when hosting dinner parties?

In her introduction to that Kimchi-Braised Pork recipe she says, “I am calling this a braise, but it is really a stew (an homage to the Korean Jigae) in which meat is braised--but isn’t that most stews?” How do you react when you read that sentence? I think she avoids triggering my usual alarm bells because she doesn’t attempt to be an expert in Korean cuisine. She feints left by throwing in the homage line. She’s not aiming for authenticity in her recipe. It might actually be worse if she gave a mini lecture on Korean cuisine. I don’t know. When I read that line in the cookbook, I don’t find myself immediately questioning the proper origins of the recipe. I don’t have the same knee jerk reaction as when a white chef publishes a whole cookbook of recipes from just one specific region of the world and presumes to be the expert or the ultimate curator.

And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I need to work harder to stay in the habit of questioning recipe creation and curation. Kind of like the way I’ve learned to question books like Jeanine Cummins’s American Dirt. Fifteen years ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about white authors writing the stories of people of color. Wasn’t that the whole of literature? Or so I thought. What a gift it’s been to pivot my reading to mostly authors of color! What would happen if I demanded more from the food media I was consuming?

It gets a bit more complicated for me though. Alison Roman has a Chinese-inspired recipe called “Soy-Braised Brisket with Caramelized Honey and Garlic” that I really like. In her introduction to it she writes, “... the tangy, spiced braised beef noodles available at a few of my favorite Chinese restaurants around New York, which I’ll order every time. While not a replication, this brisket is my interpretation: salty from soy sauce, sour from vinegar, lightly spiced from a few pantry all-stars.”

I don’t even know where to start with this one. I am personally so confused by Chinese food. What is Chinese food? What is Taiwanese food? What is Americanized Chinese food? Is that still Chinese food? What was the food my mom cooked at home throughout my childhood? It took me awhile to allow myself to just fully enjoy Americanized Chinese food without feeling hung up about it. A few years ago my mom made a new dish that I loved and I naively asked her whether it was a recipe she grew up with. I think I was secretly hoping it was a family recipe that she learned from her mom so I could check that immigrant kid fantasy off my list.

She laughed and said, “Do you know where I learned it from? I learned it on YouTube!”

I mean, this is the thing with the Asian Diaspora. Things are pretty disjointed for me. I know some Asian Americans are super locked in and schooled on their origins, heritage, and culture but I honestly don’t know much. I don’t know what region or city in Taiwan my favorite kind of Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup is from. I think I’ve learned to make a version of it that I like better than anything I’ve ever eaten in a restaurant or in someone’s home. I don’t say that to brag, I just say that to point out how confusing it is to try to connect that Taiwanese dish with my heritage when it’s something I learned how to make in my thirties using a recipe I found on a stranger’s website. I feel like I’m trying to connect with a culture I didn’t really grow up in myself. I’m chasing phantoms.

You know what, I feel like some white lady in the Midwest on the Instant Pot Community Facebook group might legitimately be the world expert on the best way to make General Tso’s Chicken in a pressure cooker at home. After I made the Butter Chicken recipe from Two Sleevers, I looked up who authored the recipe and was so relieved to see that Dr. Urvashi (affectionately nicknamed The Butter Chicken Lady) was Indian. I loved that Butter Chicken recipe. I was super excited to try cooking more Indian food and I was happy that I could do it with a clear conscience. Haha, it’s all so convoluted, I know.

I think maybe I feel reluctant to hold others accountable for being more respectful of food origins because my understanding of my own cultural heritage (as it relates to food, but also in many other ways) feels spotty and incomplete. I find myself feeling unsure of what I am defending. But ultimately I think this has been a flimsy excuse. It’s not so hard to google a bit more to find a chef that’s sharing a recipe from their particular culture. I think I need to confront the hidden grief I feel about being disconnected from my culture.

In The Melancholy of Race: Psychoanalysis, Assimilation, and Hidden Grief, Anne Anlin Cheng puts it this way,

“If the move from grief to grievance, for example, aims to provide previously denied agency, then it stands as a double-edged solution, since to play the plaintiff is to cultivate, for many critics, a cult of victimization. So the gesture of granting agency through grievance confers agency on the one hand and rescinds it on the other. As a result, for many concerned with improving the conditions of marginalized peoples, the focus on psychical injury and its griefs is strategically harmful and to be studiously avoided. But this also means that we are so worried about depriving disenfranchised people of their agency that we risk depriving them of the time and space to grieve. A final problem is that since justice based on grievance and compensation tends to rely on the logic of commensurability and quantifiability, it is ill-equipped to confront that which is incommensurable and unquantifiable. In short, we as a society are at ease with the discourse of grievance but terribly ill at ease in the face of grief.”

So yeah, I guess the part I haven’t said is, when I read those comments made by Alison Roman in that interview, it hurt me. And when she deflected and didn’t take the initial pushback seriously, that hurt too. It was such a familiar feeling. I know that feeling because I’ve been there before. I’ve had my feelings brushed off with a laugh or a weird, unsatisfactory explanation. I’ve been told that someone was just punching up and didn’t think about it in the context I was. I’ve experienced that basic othering so many times in my life.

Okay so the theory here is that if I do a better job of facing the first and second phase of emotional labor head on… if I can somehow process the pain and grief of living in a racist society, then being a thoughtful consumer will feel less like a sacrifice. It’ll be easier for me to stand by choices I’ve made because I’ll know I’ve made them with integrity and in a way that is true to myself. And I can get to a place where that doesn’t feel like a loss of freedom but rather a true liberation. Man, I want that.

I also want to get in the habit of asking myself whether my desires, the same desires I am so reluctant to give up, are not actually just byproducts themselves of suffering in this machine for so long. Like, do I really believe it’s coincidental that I bought into Alison Roman’s brand and that I also do a good amount of my shopping at Madewell? And then they happened to do a collab together?

I need take a magnifying glass to the way I’ve been subconsciously trained to prize dominant white culture. It is so uncomfortable for me to even type that out because it feels like I’m admitting that I like white culture. Like I’m somehow admitting to an inferiority complex. I’m not saying I wish I were white. I definitely don’t wish that. But I am guilty of believing that my taste, my style, and my preferences are somehow invincible to the whiteness of million dollar marketing campaigns in this country. I like to pretend that my brain is somehow impervious to the terrifying industry of engineered social media algorithms and psychological branding strategies. And that’s bullshit. I don’t think anyone really wants to be white these days. Even white people themselves seem uncomfortable. But a white person enjoying wonderful things created by people of color? We eat that shit up. Why do we do that?

We have to spend time recognizing, no matter the discomfort, why our pleasures align so easily with the dominant culture. My hope is that when I start interrogating the way my tastes align with whiteness I’ll begin to cherish the ability I have to move into a place of misalignment. Maybe it won’t be so difficult to give up things I’ve taken pleasure in, because I’ll find pleasure in the process of detaching. Maybe it’ll eventually stop feeling like I’m abstaining and it’ll feel more like I’m just making powerful choices.

I think the shallow analysis of white supremacy and consumption in this country instructs a person of color to believe that liberation means having the freedom to consume as we please, disregarding the impact of our choices. You know, a chance to live the way many white people live. But I think a more thoughtful analysis instructs us to believe that our choices have consequences in terms of whether it supports or dismantles the machine of racism -- both in ourselves and in society.

Instead of the performative handwringing of trying to decide whether or not we buy another Starbucks coffee, hit next when MJ starts playing on a Spotify playlist, or keep cooking that Alison Roman brisket, my friend Milan has taught me over the years that it’s more important to be attentive to what we are desiring and why we’re making the choices that we make. Yeah that will often mean boycotting things or making different choices, no doubt. The difference is that it won’t be from an exhausting place of trying to achieve blameless optics. It’ll be from a genuine realignment. There’s freedom in that.

And yes, I see it too. That our pleasure and the way we experience culture is so closely tied to consumption is fodder for a whole other damn essay. Ugh.

#alison roman #chrissy teigan #marie kondo #cancel culture #cultural appropriation #food media #asian diaspora

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trendsdresscom · 4 years

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Donatella Versace Is Not Who You Think She Is

Donatella Versace at her home in Milan.

Pier Nicola Bruno

Shortly before I interview Donatella Versace, I ask my colorist to bump up my already-straining-credulity blond by a shade. That’s the effect Versace has on you before you even meet her: Some people make you stand up straighter in their presence; she has a way of drawing out your inner Italian bombshell. In a world taken over by penitent Marie Kondo–style bloodletting of our gladdest glad rags, she is a beacon of maximalism, an old-school practitioner of Fashion with a capital F, a full-throated defender of glamour. And isn’t that refreshing? Today, when so much high fashion looks like what you’d wear at a particularly progressive convent, when we’re apparently expected to don outfits that resemble scaffolding on a Brutalist building, don’t you want to be a little sexier? Flashier? Versace-er?

J.Lo definitely does. For the house’s spring 2020 show, she re-wore her 2000 Grammys look, a jungle-print dress that didn’t so much break the internet as remake it, spurring Google to create its image-search function. With her bronzed, toned body and her confident strut, J.Lo, if I may, made that dress her bitch. And the audience raised thousands of iPhones in tribute. “There was so much energy in the room, and you could feel the power of us creating a special moment in time,” Lopez says. “The power of women behind it, the power of fashion behind it, the power of putting beautiful things out into the world and celebrating beautiful moments in life—that’s what it was.”

With Lopez at Versace’s spring 2020 show.

Victor VIRGILEGetty Images

Or in Versace’s own summary of that moment: “I’m here. Look at me: I’m not afraid, I’m not 20 years old, but I’m much better.” That’s the kind of empowerment Donatella Versace stands for. Not necessarily the bland boardroom, PowerPoint connotation of the word, but the ability to say, “Hey, world: I’m 50, I’m fabulous, and I’m here.”

Versace’s kingdom, I’d hazard to guess, has room for the inner circle of fashion Illuminati and the people who, like Elizabeth Berkley’s character in the seminal Showgirls, pronounce it Versayce. She’s a big-tent kind of girl. And she has a self-professed knack for spotting people on their way up. “You have to have an eye to see behind the way they look. I look for what they represent,” she says, offering Gigi Hadid, who has walked many of her shows and starred in several Versace ad campaigns, as an example. “I met Gigi when she was 16, and she was gorgeous, of course, but she wasn’t a typical model at that moment. But there was something there: a kindness, a tenderness, the beauty inside, not just outside. One of her first fashion shows was for me.”

Versace with her son, Daniel, in Miami in 1994.

Bruce Weber

So many designers start out modestly—the perfect white shirt, the perfect little black dress, a wide tie—and build from there. When Gianni Versace founded the house that would bear his name, he was already thinking in epic terms, doing what a science fiction author would call “world-building.” Growing up in Calabria, Italy, a former Greek colony that retained its classical motifs as well as its Roman glory, he drew on the might and myth of those traditions. He would make the Medusa his logo, and dress his “girls” like some combination of (sex) goddess and gladiator. Donatella was his muse and right hand—he dedicated his perfume Blonde to her.

“I’m here. Look at me: I’m not afraid, I’m not 20 years old, but I’m much better.”

The vision has only gotten bigger. Now you can stay in a Versace hotel; lounge in a logo bathrobe with a Barocco-printed belt and matching slippers (next to Fido in his coordinating dog bed); and, if your vice decrees, flick cigarette ash into a Medusa-head ashtray. They’ve truly thought of everything.

The brand is larger than life, and so is its current figurehead. Given the way she looms over our culture—there are few designers well-known enough to be identifiable by a first name, let alone a Saturday Night Live impression—it was hard to believe the received wisdom that Donatella Versace is shy. (“That’s the most uncomfortable thing for me,” she’ll later tell me, of her own celebrity.) But it’s true. She is soft-spoken, small-wristed, elfin.

When we meet, it’s hard to put this petite woman in the context of the sprawling hotel penthouse she’s sitting in, let alone the massive international brand she sits at the helm of. Her voice is subdued, the discreet growl of a domesticated tiger. She excitedly talks about her recent pilgrimage to see the Downton Abbey movie. (Imagine Donatella Versace at the ticket counter saying, “One for Downton Abbey, please.” Just sit with that image for a moment. Consider it my gift to you.) I like the Crawleys as much as anyone, but none of this jibes with my conception of Milanese excess. Where are the gold Medusas? The gold safety pins? The…other gold things? But then I ask for tea, and it’s conveyed to me in a gilded Versace cup with a winged handle, and I’m officially whisked off to Versace-land.

Versace with her son, Daniel, in Miami in 1994.

Bruce Weber

So I say hello to the woman behind the curtain of pin-straight platinum-blond hair and the daytime smoky eye—who, it seems, actually is deeply introverted. At least, according to the woman herself. She conceived the look as armor, “so people would talk about how I look, not about what I have inside.” There were, she says, “things happening in my life, and I didn’t want to explain.” She retreated even further into the image during the most difficult season of her life, Gianni’s 1997 murder, which thrust her into the spotlight as she took over the brand. (Her brother is never far from her mind; her spring 2018 collection was a tribute to him on the twentieth anniversary of his passing, and today she’s wearing a navy sweater imprinted with his signature.)

With brother Gianni Versace in 1995.

Ron GalellaGetty Images

She developed a tough outer shell as a coping mechanism—not just the hair and makeup, but the whole package. At one point, she kept the same trainer for 18 years. She imitates herself whining, not wanting to do another rep: “He didn’t listen to anything I say! I love that.” But despite her protestations, fitness gave her discipline and mental clarity. Ever image-conscious, she would even bring the trainer on vacation with her.

“He didn’t listen to anything I say! I love that.”

Recently, though, she’s felt more comfortable being herself. On Instagram, she kicked back in a pair of novelty turkey slippers (Caption: “You see…I don’t always wear high heels!!”), and she made a cameo appearance in a campy soap opera for the brand’s holiday campaign. You might say she’s embracing her extra-ness. “Toned-down, that’s not me,” she shrugs. “Take it or leave it.”

She contributed to the rise of the supermodel, hardly a toned-down creature. Long before Gigi was a glimmer in Yolanda’s eye, models were sharply divided into “print” and “runway” girls, but Donatella chafed against the distinction. “I brought them to Milan, and Gianni was like”—she imitates their easy sibling back-and-forth—“She can’t walk.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“She’s not tall enough.”

“Doesn’t matter. Put that dress on her; you’ll see that she’s going to be tall enough.”

With supermodels Carla Bruni, Claudia Schiffer, Naomi Campbell, Cindy Crawford, and Helena Christensen at the spring 2018 show dedicated to Gianni Versace.

VenturelliGetty Images

When I mention the period in the mid-’90s when designers opted for scores of anonymous, interchangeable models, she sputters, “Oh God, I couldn’t take it anymore!” The Versace girl has always been a supermodel. For the house’s fall 1991 show, a band of mononymic glamazons—Linda, Cindy, Naomi, Christy—strutted to the strains of George Michael’s “Freedom! ’90” (a watershed moment Versace nodded to more than 25 years later by reuniting some of those supermodels at her spring 2018 show). Versace was prescient, about that and other things, too. She foresaw the friends-with-benefits relationship that would spring up between pop music and fashion, forging early alliances with Madonna and Prince; the latter made CDs of then-unreleased music especially for the Atelier Versace couture show in 1995. “This kind of clash of culture, it was very interesting to me,” she says. “And I thought, ‘Fashion, if it doesn’t go into this world, it will become irrelevant.’ ” And before politicians and fashion mingled so seamlessly, she invited Chelsea Clinton to her spring 2002 fashion show and gave her a mini-Donatella makeover. (“I saw her recently. I adore her. She’s a smart girl,” she says of Clinton.)

With Madonna and Chelsea Clinton in 2002.

Dave BenettGetty Images

Her interest in politics hasn’t abated. She imitates her phone, going, going, going with its fusillade of push notifications. Her morning news-gathering routine goes like this: Politics first. “And then fashion, and then music, and then art.” She has a lot to say about, for example, Greta Thunberg. (“I’m very happy a 16-year-old girl said, ‘How dare you take my future away?’ I really like the youth in this moment; there are a lot of young people with great ideas.”) They remind her of her student days at the University of Florence: “I was into protesting. I was outside in the street.”

She’s also been outspoken regarding the #MeToo movement. (“I’ve always defended women. I’m finding a lot of women more interesting than men right now.”) While she says she didn’t face sexism when assuming her mantle at the company, she acknowledges that this is probably because “I was in a [more] privileged position” as a family member. When I mention the wave of covered-up fashions that followed in the wake of the #MeToo allegations, she purrs, “Not on my runway.” She’s a firm believer that a woman should be able to dress however she likes. She wants to live in a world where you can command the C-suite in a corset. And why not?

“I’ve always defended women. I’m finding a lot of women more interesting than men right now.”

Versace is an ardent supporter of LGBTQ rights; because of her brother’s legacy, she says, “I can’t not be.” Last year, she was named a Stonewall Ambassador, making the scene at New York City’s Pride March in a rainbow-sequined dress and matching go-go boots. We commiserate for a bit about the rollback of LGBTQ rights in the United States. “I wish people would fight more. People fight in New York, people fight in L.A., but the other places in America, they need help,” she says. “They need to be pushed to fight, because this is not right. The country is not moving forward. It’s going backward.”

At New York City’s Pride March last summer.

One thing that is going forward, in a big way, is the house of Versace. In 2018, the company was acquired by luxury group Capri Holdings, also the parent company of Michael Kors and Jimmy Choo. “I was very careful about deciding something like this, which could change my life completely,” Versace says of the sale. “I think the company needs to move ahead. I’m very happy about my choice, because Versace can grow faster.”

With her children, Allegra and Daniel, in Miami in 1994.

Bruce Weber

Indeed, Capri is pursuing an aggressive expansion of the brand, with plans to open dozens of stores each year. Beyond that, she doesn’t know what the future holds. “I cannot live forever, I’m not gonna be here forever, and things change in fashion. I’m the first one open to changes.” But there are none on the horizon just now. She jokes, “Nobody wants me to step aside, and that’s terrible!”

“I’m not gonna be here forever, and things change in fashion. I’m the first one open to changes.”

Instead, she’s gone full bore on aligning the brand with her beliefs. Versace ceased using fur in 2018, and the company is striving to be more sustainable, having just opened a new green headquarters in Milan constructed from ethically sourced materials. As they’re opening all those new stores, they’re asking all the nitty-gritty questions. “Where do you source the materials? How do you recycle the water?” she says. “How can you use less electricity? All of these aspects are taken into consideration now.” She’s also taking steps in her own life. This famous jet-setter? She says she’s no longer flying private.

And when it comes to her designs, she sees quality and craftsmanship as the antidote to the fast-fashion mind-set. “We cannot forget the value of heritage, because today fashion is like, ‘Wear today; throw it away tomorrow,’ ” she says. It’s rare to see someone who’s so squarely a part of the old-school fashion world and yet so engaged with everything new. She says she keeps herself surrounded with young, creative employees, a posse of anti–yes men and women. “It’s so easy to surround yourself with people who think like you, who say yes [to everything]. That’s the moment you should retire. You should go do something else.”

This article appears in the March 2020 issue of ELLE.

The post Donatella Versace Is Not Who You Think She Is appeared first on Trends Dress.

from Trends Dress https://trendsdress.com/2020/02/22/donatella-versace-is-not-who-you-think-she-is/

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choupetit · 5 years

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GOT Recap: Winterfell

Airdate: 4/14/19 ; Season 8, Episode 1

Ah, the long winter for “Game of Thrones” fans is finally over…and yet, the Long Winter in Westeros has only just begun. After much anticipation, season 8 is officially upon us and “Winterfell” was the perfect place to start things off. This episode gave us callbacks, shade-throwing and a handful of much-anticipated reunions. And of course there is that awkward moment when you introduce your new girlfriend—who is technically already a blood relation—to the rest of the fam.

Cozy up in your warmest pelts, because the icy cold is spreading across the realm and extending to people’s moods in this recap of “Winterfell”.

First off, it’s worth noting that the credits got a makeover. The Wall has been updated to show its gaping hole, and as we visit the different locations on the map, we get a look at the interiors – including the crypts at Winterfell. It is…très cool. They even take us all the way into Cersei’s closet with her clothes folded into perfect little Marie Kondo squares. If you didn’t catch it, that’s on YOU, ok?

Homecoming

A young boy runs through the snowy wood and climbs a tree to take in the magnitude of Daenerys Targaryen’s vast army of Unsullied and Dothraki as they march to Winterfell in the near distance. Daenerys and Jon Snow ride side by side upon their steeds. Just as she did in the very first episode of the series, Arya Stark watches the royal procession amongst the commoners, unnoticed by the familiar faces that pass her. Her face lights up at the sight of Jon. She looks ready to call out to him, but doesn’t and her face fades to disappointment when his horse passes her. Shortly after, she sees the Hound – if she’s surprised to see him alive, it doesn’t show. When she sees Gendry, however, a smile passes across her lips. Yasssss, I so want these two to hook up, I’m just going to put that out there right now.

The Northerners watch the army pass through, their faces stone-cold and suspicious, not much impressed by the foreign queen. But when her two dragons soar overhead, the crowd gasps in wonder and fear and Dany’s self-satisfied grin says it all: “Damn straight, betches! The mother of dragons has arrived!” I never get sick of Dany’s dragons gliding through the sky. Arya beholds them with giddy amazement, but as the dragons glide over Winterfell Castle, Sansa looks on from the ramparts with awe and apprehension.

When Jon and Dany arrive at Winterfell, his siblings are there to greet him – well, sans Arya, that is. Bran Stark aka the Three-Eyed-Raven sits creepily and devoid of emotion in his wheelchair, so it’s business as usual, really. Jon greets his little bro warmly a la “Dude, you’re a man now!” Bran replies with a monotone “Almost.” Sansa just flashes Jon her go-to look she gives anybody meeting this new version of Bran. “Yeah, he weird. Just roll with it.”

When Jon introduces Dany to Sansa, the queen is met with an icy greeting. Bran tells them they don’t have time for drama and need to work on a plan to defeat the Night King who has a newly acquired zombie dragon. The Wall has fallen and the dead are on their way. Meep, that’s news to Jon and Dany!

In the Great Hall, it’s time for another powwow. Sansa, in her wisdom, called all the House Stark banner men to Winterfell as soon as Bran told her the Wall was breached. The Stark siblings, Daenerys, and Tyrion sit at the VIP table, while disgruntled banner men congregate and give Jon and Dany the collective stink eye.

The first item on the agenda is Little Lord Umber and the lack of reinforcements he brought. The poor kid looks about 10 years old and totally unfit to be the head of his House. Remember how the Umbers sold out Rickon Stark to Ramsay Bolton? Grrr, but we can’t hold this little boy accountable for his crappy elders. When he explains he didn’t bring his men because they need more horses Sansa tells him they’ll give him the resources they can spare and she sends him back to his home at the Last Hearth.

Jon says they need to notify the Nights Watch at Castle Black to leave their posts now that the Wall has been breached by the Night King’s army.

Next up, Lyanna Mormont addresses the elephant in the room: The Northmen were pledged to House Stark and are none too pleased with their King in the North giving up his title to Daenerys. They aren’t down to serve an outsider and feel miffed and betrayed. Jon defends his actions and explains it was all to secure the safety of the North. They can only survive by making allies, and seriously, titles do not matter at a time like this. Tyrion Lannister pipes up that Jon risked his life to prove the threat of the Whitewalkers is real. And Dany – foreign though she may be – has brought significant resources to help the North in their fight against the dead. “She’s got the greatest army ever and two mutha-effin’ dragons y’all. Throw her a bone. Oh, and House Lannister will be sending an army for additional backup.” Booooo, hissss! That tidbit doesn’t tip the scale in his favor, as the North hates the Lannisters with the passion of a thousand suns.

Sansa, who is basically House Stark’s stellar PR person, is also super pissed about Jon’s decision to bow down to Dany. She has no qualms about looking a gift dragon in the mouth and gets down to practical matters. “Yeah, so…we don’t have enough food stores for all of us AND your impressive army, not to mention the giant dragons. What the hell do they eat anyway?” Dany turns to her and starts to explain how Drogon is going full Keto Diet right now, and Rhaegal is currently a pescatarian and may have a gluten allergy, so things are gonna be a little challenging. Ok, fine. Dragon’s eat whatever the hell they want, ok? Next question!

After that super tense meeting, we see Gendry going through the carts of dragonglass in the courtyard, and Tyrion takes a moment to chat with Sansa. They last saw each other at Joffrey’s Wedding – ya know, when Tyrion and Sansa were still married. It’s a slightly uncomfortable reunion between the two, but they manage to share a laugh before Sansa makes it clear she doesn’t believe Cersei will send an army to support them, and Tyrion is a fool if he thinks she will. As Sansa walks off, Tyrion notices Bran staring at him. Creepily…obviously. Tyrion has a cryptic look on his face. I still can’t figure out if he is in cahoots with Cersei.

In the Godswood at Winterfell, Jon Snow is at the Weirwood Tree. He’s startled by the sudden appearance of Arya. They share a heartfelt embrace and I almost cry. Jon was always Arya’s favorite sibling, and vice versa, and the only time these two were together on screen before was the very first episode of the series. Man, this reunion was a long time coming and it made me so happy! Jon tells Arya he could’ve used her support when he arrived, ‘cause Sansa is kind of a bitchy know-it-all. But instead of commiserating with him, Arya tells him Sansa is the smartest person she knows and she is just looking out for the family, as is Arya. When Jon says it’s his family, too, Arya hugs him and says “Don’t forget it.” Oooh, knowing what we know about Jon’s true lineage, it’s an extra poignant line.

Dirty Deeds

At the Red Keep, Qyburn informs Cersei of the terrible news that the Wall is down and the dead are marching south. In typical She-Devil fashion, Cersei says “Good. “She saunters away with that infuriating smirk of hers.

Meanwhile, Euron Greyjoy’s fleet arrives at King’s Landing with literal boatloads of soldiers of sell-swords from the Golden Company of Braavos. Below deck, Euron pays a brief visit to his niece and prisoner, Yara Greyjoy, who tells him he’s supporting the wrong side. He retorts that he’ll just take his fleet elsewhere. But first, he wants to bone the queen.

In the throne room of the Red Keep, Euron and hunky Captain Strickland (the head of the Golden Company’s army) meet with Cersei. Strickland gives the queen a count of soldiers and horses at her disposal. When Cersei is informed there will be no elephants in her army, it’s a huge disappointment for her and hilarious to watch. I can only imagine the hours Cersei has spent daydreaming about riding on an elephant with friggin’ laser beams attached to its head and putting that smug little dragon queen in her place. How do you come back from something like this?

Meanwhile, Euron jockeys real hard for a private meeting of the “Do I make you horny, baby?” variety. Really, this whole scene is an homage to Austin Powers, in my book. Cersei shoots him down at first, but then relents and Euron skips off to her chambers.

Speaking of horny, Bronn of the Blackwater is about to get some action with three whores. The women can’t stop talking about their former customers who died in the recent battle against Daenerys and her dragons. The fun(?) is cut short when Qyburn interrupts them with an urgent matter. Cersei wants Bronn to kill both of her brothers, should they survive the Night King and his army. In return, Bronn will finally get all the riches he’s dreamed of – and the ever elusive castle Bronn has been jonesing for. Qyburn hands him a cross-bow and Bronn mutters “That f*$&in’ family!” Hmmm, will he go through with it? He’s known to sell out to the highest bidder, but don’t his good times with Tyrion and Jaime count for anything? And didn’t Tyrion once tell him that he would always double whatever Bronn was promised?

Next, a post-coital Cersei waits for Euron to get the hell out of her room. She is still hung up about the elephants and Euron wants to know how he stacks up against her former lovers: King Robert and Jaime Lannister. Cersei shoots daggers at him with her eyes but also weirdly flirts with him before telling him she wants to be alone. As he leaves, he tells her he’s going to put a prince in her belly. Ew. As Cersei sits at her table, you can tell she’s scheming. If she truly is pregnant, as she indicated last season, will she try to pass it off as Euron’s child? Maybe she’ll push for a hasty marriage now, so she can have a seemingly legit heir to the throne, and then worry about how to get rid of Euron later.

Back on Euron’s ship, Theon Greyjoy and a few of his men have snuck aboard on a rescue mission. They kill the guards, free Yara, and commandeer the ship. Theon asks his sis if they're on their way to support Daenerys up in Winterfell, but Yara has other plans. With Euron otherwise disposed, the Iron Islands are theirs to reclaim. Plus, if Dany & Co. don’t succeed, they’ll need a place to retreat from the Night King. Since the army of dead can’t cross water, the Iron Islands will be a perfect plan B. Yara senses Theon wants to return to Winterfell to be with his surrogate family, so she sends him off to join the Starks.

Diplomacy ya later!

At Winterfell, more banner men arrive and Davos walks the grounds with Varys and Tyrion explaining the Northern culture and the need for Daenerys to earn their loyalty. Oooh, might the North be in for a kick-ass open mic night, where Dany wins them all over with her Marvelous Mrs. Maisel-esque comedy set? Sadly, no. Davos’s suggestion is a marriage proposal between Jon and Dany. Finally the realm will have two good and just rulers. Tyrion doesn’t look excited about the prospect.

Cut to: Dany and Jon are discussing Daenerys frosty welcome - she isn’t here to make friends with Sansa, but she does want some danged respect. Before Dany can go full tilt Aretha, two Dothraki ride up and inform her that her two dragons, Rhaegal and Drogon, aren’t eating enough. Great, like Dany doesn’t have enough on her plate, now she has to worry about her dragons developing eating disorders. She brings Jon along to check on her darlings and remarks that they don’t like the North. I’m pretty sure that’s called projecting, but ok. She invites Jon to hop onto Rhaegal – yes, the one named after her big bro and Jon’s actual father – and they go on a thrilling joyride. Or is it joyflight?

The dragons land in a secluded spot– it’s a bit reminiscent of Jon and Ygritte’s little cave adventure- and Dany muses they could just stay there forever. Then the two of them make out. In front of the dragons. Who stare at them, making it both awkward and totally relatable for any viewer who’s ever had a hot and heavy makeout session only to look up and see their pet staring at them.

Back at Winterfell, Gendry has forged a dragonglass axe for the Hound who serves up a healthy helping of smack. Arya appears and tells the Hound to leave Gendry alone. This is their first meeting since Arya left him to die back in Season 4. I feel these two genuinely like and respect each other, but they would never let the other know, so the most sentimental line we get is from the Hound sneering “You’re a cold little bitch, aren’t you? Guess that’s why you’re still alive.” Awwww, they really do care for each other! Once the Hound leaves, Arya and Gendry flirt ever so subtley. Gendry puts out some intense Princess Bride vibes when he literally says “As you wish, milady.” Squeeee! These two have to hook up. I’m just putting that out there. Of course if they do, I’m sure one of them will die shortly after, because there is no true happiness on GOT. Anyhoo, Arya wants Gendry to make a special weapon for her. She shows him a sketch of what might be a sword or dagger that can detach in the middle. Knowing Arya, it’ll be used from some bad-ass purpose in the near future.

Meanwhile, Jon is back from his outing and meets with Sansa in private. House Glover has just sent word that they won’t help and Jon and Sansa argue about him abandoning his Northern crown. Jon insists titles are completely moot right now. He asks Sansa if she has any faith in him at all, and while she says that she does, she also wants to know if he gave up his crown to save the North or because he’s hot for queenie.

Say It Ain’t So

In the maester’s quarters, Daenerys and Ser Jorah Mormont pay a visit to Samwell Tarly. Dany commends him on his miracle worker skills in curing Jorah’s greyscale and indicates that she’ll need a maester once she’s taken her true place on the Iron Throne. Sam’s the man for the job. The conversation takes a nasty turn for the awkward, however, when Daenerys realizes that Sam is related to Randyll Tarly, whom she barbecued a few episodes back. “Hey, I told your pops he could keep his land and titles if he bent the knee, but he refused, so obviously I had to torch him. You get it, right?” –“Well, at least my brother will let me back in the house now.” – “Ummm. So, about that…yeah, he’s dead, too. So. Um, should we join the rest of the group for some Pictionary now?”

Sam excuses himself to get some fresh air and bumps into Bran who is sitting in the courtyard waiting for an old friend. It’s time for Jon to know the truth about his parents, and Bran informs Sam that it needs to come from him, as Sam is the person Jon trusts most.

To the crypts we go! Jon pays his respects at Ned Stark’s coffin. When Sam arrives, he asks Jon if he knew Dany killed Sam’s family. The conversation escalates when Sam asks if Jon would have handled it differently and when Jon eventually counters that he isn’t a king, Sam drops the bomb. He lets Jon know that he and Bran pieced together that Jon Snow is actually Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark’s legitimate son: He was named Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name, yadda, yadda and is the actual heir to the Iron Throne. Jon is not interested in being king and is incredulous that Ned lied to him his entire life. Things end with Jon declaring that Daenerys is their queen and to claim otherwise is treason. Sam points out that Jon sacrificed his crown for his people, but would Daenerys do the same now that the tables are turned? Hmm, looks like Jon has some pondering to do. Gah, I can’t wait to see what happens next. Will he tell Dany? Will somebody else tell her? Will they gargle Listerine for about a week and take hot Clorox showers (separately!!!) to try and remove the ick?

Up at the Last Hearth, we see Thormund Giantsbane and Beric Dondarrion – huzzah, they survived the fall of the wall at East Watch! Joined by a few other men, they look around the courtyard – it’s eerily empty with fresh blood stains on the ground, but no dead bodies. They investigate further and hear footsteps down a corridor. As their group braces for an attack, we see Dolorous Edd (aka the dude left in charge of Castle Black) and a group of the Night’s Watch turn the corner. Whew, no White Walkers here. They’re grateful to see each other, then Edd leads them to another room. It’s a super grisly sight: Little Lord Umber’s dead body has been pinned to the wall. His corpse is surrounded by a spiral symbol made of dismembered body parts. Beric says it’s a message from the Night King. Might that message be “I have so many dead people in my army that I can just waste random body parts and still win this war?” Cause, I gotta say…that’s pretty effective in terms of psych outs.

It dawns on the men that the Army of Dead is between them and Winterfell. Fortunately, Edd and his guys brought extra horses down from Castle Black. With some luck, they may be able to get to Winterfell by horseback before the Night King and his crew. I say the odds are in their favor, especially now that the Night King is embracing his inner Banksy, futzing around and leaving corpse art installations everywhere. Suddenly, Little Lord Umber’s eyes open – glowing blue – and with a terrifying shriek he flails at the men with a dagger. Beric raises his flaming sword and sets Snow Zombie Umber on fire – still pinned to the wall. The screams are the stuff of nightmares, as the whole thing – boy and spiral body parts – goes up in flames. Yeesh, that was intense.

Back at Winterfell, a cloaked figure arrives on horseback. When the rider dismounts, he pushes back his hood and…it’s a bearded Jaime Lannister. He gazes around the yard and does a double take when he sees Bran calmly, creepily sitting across the way, staring at him as though he’s been expecting him. Of course he has. They lock eyes and Jaime’s “Oh crap” face, is priceless. Bran just stares back, expressionless. Roll credits.

Wowzers! What a way to start the season! I think it was all pitch perfect and it was so bittersweet to see the remaining Stark family members back at their home – all of them changed and hardened.

I was never rooting for the Jon and Daenerys relationship, so I’m glad they put the info about Jon’s parents in his hands right away. And I’m super curious to know if and how Dany will find out. I hope they don’t draw it out forever.

Now that Jon can fly Rhaegal, are he and Dany going to challenge the Night King to a high stakes winner-takes-all Quidditch match? Meh, they got 99 problems and a snitch ain’t one. But it will be interesting to see them both on dragons in a battle - assuming this happens, which of course it has to!

Mostly, I can’t wait to see what happens next between Bran and Jaime. I feel like Bran is so removed from his past self that he probably won’t even hold anything against Jaime, since getting pushed out of the tower ultimately turned him into what he is now. I feel like they have more pressing matters to discuss. Also, I want Bran to start doing a lot more greensight time traveling into the past.

Last but not least, I’m gunning hard for a Jaime, Brienne and Thormund love triange. I know it won’t happen, but a gal can dream, right? We only have six episodes left to go, and things are gonna have to happen fast, so as Queen Dany would say: Hold onto whatever you can, because this season is going to be off da hook! See you next week!

#gameofthrones #GOT #recap #recaps #GOTrecaps #winterfell #daenerys #targaryen #jon snow #sansa #stark #arya #tyrion #bran #white walkers #Winter Is Here

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sirrongirl · 5 years

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Road Trip to Tahiti

Tuesday, Feb. 19, 2019

Nah - he’s not going skiing. The mountain actually got more than a foot of snow, conditions for skiing are excellent, but conditions for driving up there are not. We opted for a walk around the downtown area. Michelle was right, it’s a very cool town, with kind of a hippy dippy vibe. We walked around the Santa Fe Plaza, visited the Church of St. Francis of Assisi and took some goofy pictures around town. It was cold, but when the sun is out it’s tolerable. With a last stop in the dog friendly Starbucks, we were ready for another day in the car. About Starbucks -I really don’t prefer their coffee, although Tom does. There is just something about the place I like. Maybe it’s the smell? Mallory suggested I try the citrus defender tea on one of our visits. That’s my go-to drink now. I also like there coffee mugs, although I don’t buy them. I get anxiety just thinking about collecting them. All the opportunities I have missed in all the places I have been. So it’s probably better I just don’t start. I have one, that Mallory brought me from Bangkok. At this point in my life I don’t need to collect more “stuff”. When I’m home, I’m busy selling my “stuff” on ebay. Anything that still doesn’t “spark joy’ as Marie Kondo says.

So where to next? We could drive down to Phoenix and have dinner with Mallory who is there for work. Roswell NM is close, we could go check out the aliens, or head towards Las Vegas? The museum of nuclear energy is where we ended up — and I’m so glad we did. I have never b been a fan of nuclear power. I’ve always worried about the waste product blowing up and destroying the planet. I remember back at Our Lady Queen of Heaven School, as we had air raid drills in the hallway. I also remember worrying about the fact that we didn’t have an underground bomb shelter near our home on Sirron Street. Buildings use to have sign on them if they were “official” shelters. I remember once walking from my home to the school building counting the steps to shelter. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that? Back into the dog carrier for Dylan- and into The National Museum of Nuclear Science & History we go.

Best Western Santa Fa

Downtown Santa Fe

Looking at the models of the bombs I remember our friend Michael Cocken. Michael told me about his “15 minutes of fame” when he accidentally dug up an unexploded bomb in gardening project he was working on with his dear wide Jackie. Mike and Jackie live outside Birmingham, England. We met on a Holland American Cruise of Norway.

Today we met Ray, a retired geologist , now a docent. Ray told us about his experience mining for uranium and working for power plants. It was fascinating to learn from him that in fact, there is a recycling procedure for most of the waste that results from producing energy. Most of the world is going it, especially Germany, Canada, France, and the Scandinavian countries. China and India are also onboard. It’s not being done in the USA, because President Carter stopped it. Ray strongly feels that was a mistake. So the situation currently is that we produce radioactive waste, and the US has no good method to dispose of it. Instead of recycling it, we transport it and fight about where to store it. We are missing a huge opportunity for energy, in Ray’s opinion. So what are we to do for energy? As much as I myself would love to rely on solar and wind power — it won’t be enough to power the world Coal has become a dirty word, and rightly so in my opinion. Oil? Natural Gas? Much smarter minds than mine will have to figure this out.

We moved on to the exhibits of the bombs. Models of both ‘fat man” and “little boy’ the bombs that were dropped on Japan were on display. The same B29 bombers that delivered the charge were also parked in the outside yard. Ray told us a very interesting story about the fact that “little boy ," the bomb dropped on Hiroshima almost wasn’t . The bomb itself was so heavy, the aircraft had to dump fuel in order to fly. The pilot , Colonel Paul Tibbets, knew they did not have enough fuel to get back to Tinian Island. Only he and two other crew members knew exactly what kind of weapon they were carrying. Once the bomb was dropped, they made their way to try to land in Okinawa. When they tried to radio the air base there to advise of their emergency landing - the reply was radio silence. This B29 was a secret aircraft that didn’t exist- and now it was trying to land? Ray tells us when the aircraft actually landed, there were only 7 gallons of fuel left.

Saying goodbye to Ray, I asked a question I have wondered about. Where is the safest place in the world? Ray smiled and told me he has though about that as well. The Southern Hemisphere, he says, “has no target so it’s the safest place”.

I went outside to walk the dog and check out the aircraft. There I met Ed, was wearing a USS Marshall hat. I asked him about his career and he also had a fascinating story for me. Ed was a 20year old serving in 1962 as the carrier headed for Cuba. I wont go into the whole Cuban crisis, I’m not a history writer. Ed told me it was common for the Russian Submarines to surface off the coast of the USA. Something about recharging? Americans had no idea the submarine were so close. But the Navy knew they were there. Ed told me that his ship was situated right on top of one of the Russian ships during the blockade. They sat on it like a mother hen as Kennedy and Khrushchev negotiated. Ed and his pals had no idea how tense the situation was, he tells me “it was just another 13 days in the navy” for him. When the situation was resolved, they moved away off the sub. Ed says the Russian Submarine surfaced and asked for food and water from the US navy. Russian Sailors appeared on deck and play Dixieland music. Ed says they never did get the food or water.

I looked around at more of the aircraft. I saw the ‘hound dog’ missile loaded onto one of the planes. I walked back into to the car humming “you ain’t nothing but a hound dog”.

Heading out of Albuquerque, we found ourselves in a huge traffic jam on I-40. I checked WAZE, and found out there was an accident ahead. We heard on the radio a car had driven off a bridge ahead and was in the water. Divers were searching for a baby because they found a car seat in the back of the car. The news reported that the driver died in the car, but there wasn’t a baby in the car at the time.

Although we have had good luck with the Wyndham Collection, there wasn’t much of a dog friendly choice off the highway in Gallup, NM. There were two Days Inn’s in town. One had an indoor pool, hot tub, offered free breakfast. Okay-that could work, I booked it and programmed the GPS. When we arrived, I quickly saw the either the pictures were all wrong, or I had booked the wrong place. This Days Inn was an old style motel with the individual outside entrances. The pool was outdoors, cold and empty. There were bars on the windows of the lobby. I wasn’t expecting much from Gallup, but this was unacceptable. I imagined the cold it coming through the door that probably wouldn’t seal completely. I remembered being in Oakland CA with my mother when we delivered that Cadillac way back when I was 13. . We stayed at a sketchy hotel that night. Mom pushed a chair backwards up against the door for safety. With a little help from Beth at Wyndham customer service, we were able to cancel the booking. Instead, we found a very comfortable La Quinta in snowy, cold, dreary, dirty Gallup, NM.

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