No, read that a little slower. I don’t want it ruff, I want a ruff. Okay, maybe I want it, too, but if that were the main theme of this article, I would have used the correct spelling of the word. Moving on.

I remember going to the circus once in my life and not being particularly enchanted by it. The modern acts didn’t thrill me at age 6, and I certainly wouldn’t pay a couple hundred dollars now to watch unhappy, mistreated animals plod around with their heads down, or to laugh at completely generic, mindless slapstick comedy routines (that’s what George Bush and Britney Spears are for). There’s something I’ve always loved, however, about antique circus art, be it from the harlequin-oriented Victorian era or the tattooed 20’s. Where are today’s knife throwers, horseback dancers and puddle divers?

I suppose most of them probably died practicing their craft, and not many have attempted to recreate the feats more recently. I know I wouldn’t. Read More »

The Setting: an American Apparel store in Brooklyn
The Characters: 2 girls, about 13 years old, and me

And, scene:

I am waiting to try on some cropped cotton pants, which will be perfect for the new gym I joined.

“Ugh, this is SO tight, I look SO fat!” says one 13 year old girl. She and her friend are occupying the only dressing rooms.

She emerges, in a backless leotard and a skin-tight mini skirt.

Her friend emerges as well, in gold lame hot pants.

“No, you look cute! I like it!”

“But like, you can see my back.”

“Yeah but it’s so cute! My ass looks huge in these,” she says, as they stand in the open dressing room, preening and posing in front of the harshly lit mirror. I am still waiting, but they don’t seem to notice, instead gazing like Narcissus at the river. How inappropriate, I think, that 13-year-old girls are trying on gold lame hot pants. Then I look around and see the life-sized photographs of underage models staring down at me. They look drugged out. They are overly sexualized. Suddenly I don’t want the pants anymore. I throw them down and leave. Read More »

I’ve talked about American Apparel before. Those ads that look like porn with bad lighting? Those models who may or may not be underage but who are definitely bored and affected?Well, it gets better.

A contributor for Jezebel (one of the funniest gossip sites out there) recently wrote about her experience working at the enigma that is A. Apparel, proving that it’s not just their ads that are pretensions and strange.

“I thought cocaine was kind of scandalous when I started working at American Apparel. And so I naturally found it kind of scandalous that a major coke dealer actually served as a kind of informal HR chief for many of the American Apparel stores in New York.” The Jezebel story begins, going on to explain about the monstrosity that is Dov Charney—the Canadian founder of A.A. Read More »

I’m not trying to get into fisticuffs with Mary from Dartmouth, but I have to make an argument against buying American Apparel. I know, I know, it’s all American-made and sweatshop-free, but it is also run by one of the most disgusting, misogynistic pricks on the face of the earth.

What is the point of being all synthetically moral when the CEO is horrifically anti-women? The sexual harassment lawsuits against Dov Charney (and there are many) not only claim that he has coerced his employees to have sex, but on a far more frightening level that he has created an “intolerable” and “intimidating” sexual atmosphere.

American Apparel offices are wallpapered with Penthouse and Oui magazine cutouts, and Charney boasts about having sex with employees and jerking off in-front-of/on them. Fans of Jane magazine may remember when Claudine Ko interviewed Charney and he jerked off in front of her during their interview. Eight times. Read More »