McQueen has McQuit.

Designer Lee McQueen (of Alexander McQueen) was found dead today in an apparent suicide.

I often feel that celebrity deaths are blown out of proportion. Maybe it's because I don't completely buy into pop culture, but I have a hard time feeling anything beyond an initial "Wow...really?" when I hear about another "tragic" celebrity death. Of course it's difficult for the families, but no more difficult than it is for any other family going through a personal loss. If anything makes semi-public grieving a harder pill to swallow, it's the paparazzi. Not the loss itself. All human lives end with equal gravity.

For the greater population, the only thing we have the right to mourn, the only thing that gives us the right to tweet en masse about the "tragedy" of it all, is the loss of potential. That I understand. It's the unexpected yanking away of an artist who could have turned out a work with such innovation and power to inspire that we will unknowingly suffer for not having seen it come to fruition. Heath Ledger, for example. Brilliant actor at the peak of his career. Heath Ledger's death was tragic. I realize that what I'm about to say will be controversial, but: Michael Jackson? He was the King of Pop. He changed American music immeasurably. But he lived a life full of self-hatred and public controversy. He hadn't put out a record in almost a decade, and even that was negligible in its musical impact. I would never say that Michael's life wasn't worth commemorating - even celebrating - but that, at least, felt a bit more like how things were supposed to end.

Anyway. I would be lying if I said that McQueen was one of my favorite designers, but as someone who has always applauded people who take risks over people who achieve so-called "perfection" (I mean, my style icon is fictional fashion nutjob Carrie Bradshaw), I think that his loss to the artistic community is a great one. Dubbed l'enfant terrible for his outspoken nature and his theatrical, risk-embracing approach to fashion design, he consistently brought fresh perspective to an industry that largely makes its buck off of recycled ideas. What takes the tragedy of McQueen's death to a whole new level is, of course, its supposed nature. Having dealt personally with losing friends to suicide, I never find the notion of it any easier to wrap my head around.

No one should ever feel like they have no other option.



I don't follow Alexander McQueen closely enough to give comprehensive highlights of his career, but this tulle and tartan confection is always the first thing that springs to mind when I hear his name (that's the designer himself posing with Sarah Jessica Parker). It's a little out there, but without question one of the more memorable red carpet looks of the '00s. If you'd like a bit more insight into McQueen's aesthetic, watch the "Bad Romance" video: Gaga is clad almost entirely in McQueen throughout.

Rest in peace, Lee McQueen. You will be dearly missed by the fashion community. All the best to your friends and family.

Moist. Yeah, I said it.

When did "moist" become the most loathed word in the American vernacular? A mere spoken reference to the five-letter lexeme elicited literal shudders from the table of sorority girls I just ate lunch with. Personally, I think it has something to do with the fact that "moist" shares so many letters with "mayonnaise" (ew), but a quality so prized in everything from skin to baked goods should be met with a bit more geniality.

So moisture, then, for the squeamish: so important. Especially at this time of year. Ask any dermatologist how to combat premature aging and it always comes back to H2O and SPF, preferably combined into one non-greasy, adorably marketed package. Based on what I've gleaned over the years from both hearsay and experience, an ideal moisturizing routine is composed of three parts: a lightweight facial moisturizer for morning, a more sumptuous facial moisturizer for night, and a body lotion of your choosing.



For the past two years, I've started each day with Philosophy Hope In A Jar. The formula is lightweight, silky, odorless...and, unfortunately, SPF-free. Philosophy does make a version of the cult favorite with sun protection, but I wasn't a fan of my Sephora sample: the barely-there texture I love in the original had mutated into a sticky, oily, (dare I say it?) mayonnaise-y mess that separated into oil and lotion while still in the jar. Delightful. Anyway, I'm still on the market for a moisturizer with SPF, but the texture of this one is the best I've found for the quick turnaround time between moisturizer and loose powder.



At night, on the other hand, there's no need to worry about looking a little shiny; a thicker formula allows deep healing to take place while you sleep. Lancôme Absolue Premium Bx is my choice product for evening. I got it as a free sample once and quickly became hooked, probably more out of laziness than anything else...but it works. It works, people. According to the product website, Allure gave it an award, so if you don't believe me, believe them. It feels a little filmy going on, but don't mistake intense moisture therapy for grease. Your skin is more likely to overcompensate with oil production when dry, which in turn causes you to break out.

As far as I'm concerned, the face is the money. That's where you should spend your money. If your legs are dry, hair conditioner will do in a pinch; but if you do have a disposable income lying around to lavish upon those ashy, ashy elbows, here are a few of my favorite products:



Vaseline Cocoa Butter Vitalizing Gel is a recent discovery that has quickly become a staple in my post-bathing routine. It's oil-based, so if you take morning showers, proceed with caution: apply too much and you might be looking at a hefty dry-cleaning bill. If you bathe at night, resign yourself to the fact that you're going to want to spend all night rubbing your legs sensually against one another (or, if you're lucky, someone else's). The gel smells and looks like summer; rub a little on your shoulders before going out to achieve that oh-so-photogenic sun-kissed sheen. Bye-bye, rosacea!



The name of DuWop Buttercream more or less speaks for itself: this stuff literally smells like frosting. Think of it as a grown-up alternative to Warm Vanilla Sugar. The downside? The price. A bottle runs out relatively quickly, so think carefully about which days you want to smell like a cupcake.



For penny pinchers, Victoria's Secret's Amber Romance line is always a winner. Though I often don't understand their product distinctions (body butter, body lotion, body cream?), the smell is sweet without being sickly and couples nicely with woody oriental fragrances (or holds its own for a seductive night in).

But that's just me. Any other winners? Any solutions to my SPF-less-ness?

X marks the spot.

So I meant to post this for National Lady Gaga Day last Friday, but can we please talk about this Gaga spread from Out? It's from last September, but I just stumbled across it via The Cut.



















I just died. It's so artsy. It's so naked. It's so Gaga. I'm obsessed. Major props to photographer Ellen Von Unwerth and stylist Nicola Formichetti (of Haus of Gaga) for capturing this envelope-pusher with all of the shock factor her public persona demands and deserves.

Everything will be coming up roses...in just a few more lunar cycles.

Why is it that I always find myself thinking, "I just have to get through this week. This week is my hard week, and then I'm golden," yet the so-called "easy week" never seems to come? God bless the quarter system.

That was my feeble attempt at a disclaimer for the fact that this is basically unadulterated spring fashion porn. I'm sick of windburn and layering...I just want to look pretty. If your Seasonal Affective Disorder is in full force, consider this a reminder that there is, in fact, a light at the end of the tunnel:

Blazer: Apiece Apart.
Dress: Dolce Vita.
Shoes: Miu Miu.
Watch: ASOS.
Clutch: Sondra Roberts.

A few things to marinate on: Feminine meets masculine. Hard meets soft. Snakeskin. Rose gold. Floral accents.

Simmer away. I'll be in touch.

Just pulling your leggings.

Ask any follower of fashion about the most controversial issue currently plaguing our nation, and chances are you won't hear some formulaic tirade on health care reform or the newly elected senator of Massachusetts. (Disclaimer: I am not trivializing these things. This is a fashion blog. You can find somewhere else to air that dirty laundry.). Instead, you'll hear a formulaic tirade on a debate that has been brewing since long before Michelle's toned arms registered a blip on our national radar: are leggings (workout staple-cum-darling of catwalk and sidewalk) a privilege, a right, or a bar none fashion faux pas?

The most interesting thing about this debate is our tendency to oversimplify it into a mere question of categorization. We all have that aggressively opinionated friend (Deanna): "I don't care how skinny you are. Leggings are not pants. They just aren’t." I hate to break it to you, haters, but leggings are pants. Dictionary.com defines pants as "an outer garment for covering the body from the waist to the ankles, divided into sections to fit each leg separately," so by definition, leggings are an acceptable pants substitute. You heard it here: leggings are literally pants. Case closed.

But the question, then, takes a far more inward turn: should I wear leggings? Is it in my best interests (and the best interests of the innocent bystanders who are going to have to look at me all day) to do so? It would be ridiculous to say that pants with tapered ankles aren't pants, or that pants a size too small for you aren't pants. But do I recommend that the unfettered masses take those looks out for a spin? Hell no. The key to looking chic has always been to wear what flatters your body, and leggings happen to offer a little less leeway than, say, an A-line skirt or a pair of straight-legged jeans.

So let’s instead define that boundary with a simple litmus test. Stand up. Jog a few steps. If you can feel the cushiony part of your rump bounce independently from the rest of your body, the only place you should be wearing leggings is to the gym. (And that’s not to say your lady lumps aren’t hot. Is Christina Hendricks gorgeous? Duh. Does she run around in leggings? No, and to her credit.) The line is a fuzzy one: in-between territory can be tough (holla atcha, sixes!) and becomes more of a matter of confidence. If you think you “can’t pull off” leggings as pants, you probably can’t. If you have a feeling you just might be able to rock the look, wear them with heels for a little extra lift.

Having said all this, I love the look of leggings when worn appropriately (that is, with a shirt that’s not a crop top; the ‘80s may be back in vogue, but they are definitely over). Like skinny jeans, leggings provide an excuse to play with more billowy upper-body proportions, and, as such, pair well with the boyfriend shirts/tees/jackets we’ve been seeing these past few seasons. Texture is another variable ripe for experimentation (I’m a major proponent of the Shiny Leggings from American Apparel in Lamé Matte Black; their visage hovers somewhere between leather and sparkly mica). As for spring's jeggings? Use your judgment. Personally, I think jeans and leggings are great, but I’d rather wear them separately. Don't all those seams and rivets look lumpy in such a tight cut?

I’ll leave you with a few inspiration shots from "collective fashion consciousness" Lookbook.nu. For day:







For night:





And for weekend:







However, even by modern standards, wearing leggings to the office might be a bit of a stretch.

The only thing better than blue velvet? Red velvet [cake, in my belly].

My Balmain-meets-Chanel look for New Year's Eve '09:











Let's talk resolutions. In theory, they're positive, allowing us to imagine happier, healthier, more successful versions of ourselves. But all too often, resolutions stem from somewhere a little less bright and shiny: nagging reminders of our dissatisfaction with the way we already are, of our failures thus far. Even today, as I sat down to write my annual manifesto of self-improvement, I found myself zoning in on my shortcomings rather than the many ways I've grown (or literally shrank) in the past year.

So if I can say one thing to everyone who passes through this blog (thank you so much, by the way, for reading), it's this: forgive yourself. January 1 might be just another date on the calendar, but using it as an excuse to start fresh isn't silly or quixotic. Set goals. Set deadlines. And if you can only stand to make one resolution, make it this: start believing that you're the shit. If you ever come to a point where there's nothing about you that needs improvement, you're in trouble. My girl Miley said it best this year. It's all about the climb.

Some major changes to La Vie en Ginger are in the works; most notably, more personal style posts (read: self-indulgent photographs) and more frequent updates. I love hearing from people who actually read this thing, so keep the feedback coming. Tell me what you like. Tell me what you want to hear more of. Tell me why ain't nothing but a heartache/ain't nothing but a mistake/I never wanna hear you say "I want it that way," (seriously, Nick Carter, what happened to you?).

Happy new year! I hope your night sparkled like fireworks.

Dress: Topshop (Bought it!).
Tights: L'eggs.
Shoes: Dollhouse.
Necklaces and ring: Inherited.

Watch this!

A magpie-like jewelry-hoarding gene runs through my family line, much like red hair or emotional eating. My mother collects silver bracelets. My sister is the queen of small, sparkly earrings. My grandmother was the ultimate jewelry fanatic, boasting a collection of baubles that rivals that of some museums (much of which I was fortunate enough to inherit). As for me, my downfalls have always been cocktail rings and wristwatches, the latter of which I honestly believe to be the easiest way to look instantly pulled-together, even in the event of the most classic (read: boring) outfit. Never mind that most of my watches are broken and permanently set to 5pm (happy hour!). If I don't have a watch on, I feel naked.

My watch collection is extensive, but fairly simple: each piece consists of either a two-tone combination of gold and silver or one of the aforementioned metals paired with a leather strap. A bit of opalescent color or an odd shape on the face is about as crazy as I go. Lately, though, one of my favorite fashion bloggers, stylist/designer Andy Torres, has gotten me hooked on neon plastic, the likes of which I haven't worn since the heyday of the Casio Baby-G in the late '90s.













I love the pop of color her watches lend her outfits. Even when paired with nicer jewelry, they don't look tacky or cheap; just youthful and pleasantly unexpected.

Itching to test-drive the look? Here are a few of my favorite styles from California brand Nixon:

The article no magazine will ever publish.

Magazines occasionally stress me out. Like, I love them. I devour them. But as someone who wants to spend my life making them, I feel like I need to savor every last morsel of Harper's Bazaar and Elle, gleaning from each page what I enjoy and what I hope to imitate in my own writing and wardrobe. I buy them in bulk at the drugstore, sit down with a steaming mug of wild cherry green tea and read them cover to cover, dog-earing pages to denote looks I want to copy or references I want to check. No halfhearted treadmill skimming for me: where a normal person might flick lazily through an editorial, I am studying the fine print names of stylists and photographers, testing myself to see if I recognize designer pieces from their respective runways. I attack magazines with the same fervor my more literary fellow English majors attack Joyce and Tolstoy. So it seems only fitting that I have, as a result, acquired a similar level of surface expertise.

There's a fairly wide smorgasbord of magazines out there, enough to target a fairly wide audience of potential readers. To read them all would be time-consuming and costly. Apart from an element of style, what do you look for in your magazine experience? Celebrity culture? Current events? As the end of the calendar year (and likely end of your subscription) draws near, consider the menu of options hovering at the forefront of the industry: the good reads and the guilty pleasures. Which publication was made for you?

If you want to draw inspiration from impeccable photo spreads full of things you will never be able to afford: Vogue. There's a reason this magazine is often cited as #1. Aesthetically, Vogue is virtually flawless. Creatively, it's also the most forward-thinking; the number of designers, models, and photographers discovered and nurtured by Vogue is astounding (chicken or egg: did Vogue pick up on their raw talent, or did we decide they must be talented because Vogue thought so?). However, being on top comes with a flip side: in this case, a snootiness that makes Vogue a bit inaccessible to anyone who isn't a) extremely knowledgeable about fashion or b) rolling in the Benjamins. Steel yourself to see a $400 top described as "a steal." This is a place to gather ideas, not to compile a shopping list.

If you want to literally see something in a magazine, then go buy it: Lucky. Pretty much the opposite of Vogue. Not a ton of high fashion happening here, but if you want to save yourself the energy of synthesizing runway trends and just see a well-executed take on what you might actually be able to add to your wardrobe, this is the mag for you. Perfect for those who like to look current but aren't particularly interested in devoting a lot of time to personal style. Lucky is an easy read full of great deals, with a well-developed online sector positively overflowing with coupons and giveaways.

If you want to read articles that will make you think about fashion in a whole new way: Harper's Bazaar. Provocative, sweeping, sophisticated yet tongue-in-cheek. Think Vogue with a bit more irony. Similarly focused on couture but with arguably more attention paid to written content, Harper's Bazaar is Vogue's biggest rival (and wins my prize for number of covetous gasps elicited per issue). Not the best choice to flip through while waiting to get your hair cut; Bazaar's wit demands a focus from its readers that may or may not be your cup of tea.

If you want to feed your intellect at the same time you indulge your materialistic side: Elle. One thing's for sure: Elle is not afraid of words. If you're into fashion, but just as into literature and the state of your soul, Elle is a savvier take on the classic women's magazine. Don your most geek-chic pair of glasses and spend an afternoon poring over it in a coffee shop, but don't try and take it on the treadmill. Check out one of my favorite articles from the last issue here.

If you want to put your consumerism in the context of what's happening in the world: Vanity Fair. Best summed up by its own Google summary: "From world affairs to entertainment, business to fashion, crime to society, Vanity Fair is a cultural catalyst that drives the popular dialogue globally." So there you go. Issues! Politics! You may like fashion, but you're not shallow! You're informed! Go forth and prosper, Michelle Obamas of the world!

If you want to see how the other half lives: InStyle. InStyle has a not-entirely-deserved reputation as being geared toward more mature readers. This stigma aside (and really, I love InStyle and think it has plenty to say that is relevant to us young ones), their big thing is celebrity culture - not in a trashy US Weekly kind of way, but more in the vein of red carpet coverage and celebrity home tours. For the fashionista who is enthralled by famous faces, InStyle is a cocktail of sartorial splendor and superstars.

If clothes are fine...but really you're all about the make-up: Allure. Speaks for itself.

If clothes are fine...but really you're all about the men: Cosmopolitan. Also speaks for itself. Find out how to please him. Many times over.

If you don't take life (or fashion) too seriously: Glamour. The perfect potpourri of fashion finds, empowering tidbits, heartwarming stories and boy advice. Reading Glamour is like having a conversation with your "rah-rah, girl power!" best friend. Funny. Satisfying. Glamour might be a Jack of all trades and a master of none, but it's a pretty damn good Jack.

There are several more that I feel unfit to judge due to lack of experience (W, Nylon, and Marie Claire spring to mind). Any thoughts, peanut gallery?

So there you have it. Be picky with your readership, but remember that each publication requires an intense amount of manpower and creativity to come to fruition each month. Let's give all those magazine-makers out there a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

The ultimate stress relief.

In honor of finals, La Vie en Ginger would like to break with its usual aesthetic to present you with this:



That exam might be a bitch, but somewhere in the world...this puppy exists.

Have your cookies and eat them too.

Christmas? Love it. The overabundance of baked goods is just one reason we look forward to the holidays all year long.







But nothing ruins a showstopping party dress quite like cookie weight. Save yourself the guilt trip: indulge! Then break a sweat as often as you can stand to balance it out. Whether you're rushing from the gym to a final exam to a holiday bash (or simply looking to clean up après-ski at Winter Park), here are a few products to take you from abominable snow monster to ice princess in no time flat.



"Ojon" means "the people of beautiful hair." I am inclined to agree with this translation. Ojon Rub-Out Dry Cleanser is a must for any girl with fine locks that start to look limp and/or greasy quickly. Meant to be used as a pick-me-up between washes, I also use it as a volumizer on just-washed hair. Warning: these cans clog easily, so shake vigorously before using. I would also recommend buying the travel size; if it does clog up on you, that's less product wasted (although I've heard Sephora will switch out a clogged can). There's also a strong, baby-powdery smell associated with the spray...but seeing as this is a product that all but encourages not bathing, you could probably use a little freshening in the scent department.



Speaking of scents: when was the last time you felt passionately about your deodorant? Yeah, that's what I thought. We settle for "functional," content to breathe generic florals every time we cock our heads too far to the side. No more. If you worship at the altar of vanilla, Ban Vanilla Twist is a stick that not only keeps you from smelling bad, but actively contributes toward you smelling good. And the homey aroma lasts all day.



"Shiny" is a great adjective when it comes to healthy hair or anything sequinned. Not so much when it comes to your face. With scents like green tea, lavender and rose, Boscia Blotting Linens go above and beyond the call of merely reducing oil and enter the realm of therapeutic experiences. Dab your face and inhale after a tough workout. Just make sure you have a place to toss that alarmingly soaked sheet when you're through.