Oil slick.

I hated this year's spring fashion shows.

While last year's collections (whimsical Miu Miu! Minimalist Chloé! Refugee-glam Balmain! Not to mention Karl's überfemme farmyard circus for Chanel) inspired me to push through Ye Olde Dark Days of Midwestern North Facery and onward to greener pastures, this year's offerings have left me decidedly unmoved. Pops of color, whatever. Oriental details, fine. But are you aware of the monstrosity we are being expected to embrace as "the shade of the season"? Orange. Who looks good in orange? Jennifer Garner at the Oscars in 2008. Halle Berry in her Bond girl bikini. Probably Brigitte Bardot, because, I mean...duh.

That's it. Nobody else.

I intend to avoid controversy and/or becoming a social pariah this spring by burying myself in vintage (four years out of style? Unforgivable. Forty years out of style? Genius! So individual!), but I will cede that there are bright spots in the modern-day fashion forecast. Maxiskirts, for one. I'm smitten, particularly those rendered in floaty fabrics like pleated chiffon and silk crepe de chine. And then there are metallics. I've always found metallic accessories to be a little too South Beach-chic for my taste (or a little too South Bronx-chic, depending on the designer), but I must admit that the latest crop is slowly burning a sunspot into my heart. I'll probably never be a gal who buys flashy gold bags and strappy silver Manolos (Carrie Bradshaw obsession notwithstanding); rather, my proverbial dollar goes to shades of aquamarine and copper that bear less resemblance to Snooki's night-out attire than they do to the sidewalk after it rains.



Yarrr! It's the not-so-cursed "Black Pearl," Chanel's latest nail epidemic. While things are still hot and heavy between me and the ol' "Factory Gray", I suppose I could be persuaded to alternate between nails the color of wet cement and nails the color of a rare and precious sea gem. I'm loving the oily iridescence that makes its distinctive deep green base seem almost neutral.







I spent the morning getting paid to ogle department store handbags on a "comparative shopping trip" for my job as a resale buyer (rough life, I know. I got free coffee, too!), and this clutch by Halston Heritage was a major standout. The pictures hardly do justice to the complexity of the metallic. I just wanted to stand there and stare. And while we're on the subject of Halston (a brand headed by the real-life Carrie Bradshaw, Sarah Jessica Parker) and things that are shiny, I wouldn't say no to this or this, either.

Metallics: not just for Lil Jon and the Macy's holiday windows. Who knew? Nobody, not one person.

And just because it seemed somewhat relevant to the petroleum-streaked samples above, I thought I'd throw in this editorial from Vogue Italia's September issue. It was met with mixed reviews from the fashion community - some thought the timing of the shoot was too soon/too real/too wait, is Kristen McMenamy really imitating a choking pelican? - but I thought it was beautiful and brilliant. I meant to do a post on fashion's ability to bring attention to current events at the time and got distracted. But even though it's a few months late, enjoy Steven Meisel's stunning and uncomfortable portrayal of last summer's Gulf crisis.

"Nothing is ugly as long as it is alive." - Coco Chanel

Yesterday, a friend of mine who is almost aggressively uninterested in fashion told me that I had helped her realize the importance of material things.

My knee-jerk reaction was, of course, mortification. Glorious! Just what we all need in the current moral and economic climates: a nagging voice urging us to pay more mind to stuff. I knew she was justified in her observation - materialism is an unfortunate byproduct of aspirations in the fashion industry - but what was remarkable was that she seemed to have genuinely meant it to be a compliment.

I'm certainly a believer that people - family, friendships, relationships - are infinitely more vital to our happiness than any pair of Manolo Blahniks that can be purchased on sale. That being said, I do see a tangible value in investing in appearances. For me, getting dressed is not only a means of artistic expression, but also a measure of personal pride; when I walk around with unwashed hair and ratty gym clothes on (out of laziness, not when I'm actually on my way to the gym), I feel devalued in a way that has nothing to do with whether or not men (or women) find me attractive. Clothes have, for better or worse, the power that we have collectively ascribed to them: a power that makes visible a portion of our interior and, perhaps more importantly, gives voice to our self-concept. To ignore society's expectations of our relationship to clothing is foolish. To pass up the chance to create for yourself a world in which you truly look the way you feel is, to me, actually depressing.

I'm also a big believer in the way in which clothes come alive on a person. You can build the most heartbreakingly beautiful dress on God's green earth, but until it's worn by somebody who takes pure, unadulterated joy in its construction, it's worthless. It's like how a fragrance reacts uniquely with the hormones of each individual who spritzes it on - clothing must be loved by its owner to be lovable to others. I adore reading personal style blogs because nine times out of ten, it's the pieces I never would have looked twice at in a store that inspire me the most. The number of trends I've hated until I saw them on people who wore them not to be "fashionable," but because they genuinely loved the look! Anyone can buy an expensive, current wardrobe - but to have true style, clothing must be worn dynamically.

And then I thought of this recent photo shoot celebrating the 30th anniversary of Loewe's Amazona tote. The bag is simple, maybe even boring - but I was instantly struck by the life it brings to each of these photographs. It appears to be, in every frame, placed with a purpose; this is a purse that belongs to someone - a dreamer, a mother, a hermit, an intellectual - and because of that, it takes on a value that no manmade object can claim on its own.











Whatever your opinion of fashion - a crutch for those devoid of inner beauty or the greatest thing on the face of the planet - I urge you to broaden that definition. Because for materialistic me, things are important - but only because people make them so. Is it possibly to have an unhealthy obsession with earthly trappings? Absolutely. Are there those who judge the enjoyment of said trappings too harshly? Believe it. But the only way to recognize the value of style is to experience it to the fullest. Nothing is ugly as long as it is alive.

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.

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.

From Russia with love.

So. Here's the story:

a) The photograph is courtesy of French fashionista Garance Doré, whose self-titled blog is always brimming with charm and inspiration. Her boyfriend is street-style photographer Scott Schuman. Perhaps you know him as "The Sartorialist." Yes, really.

b) PETA might come after me with paint cans (I'm one of those morally confused vegetarians who's involved in a torrid love affair with leather), but I would slap a fur trapper onto the list of Winter '10 essentials. These czarina-worthy chapeaux add a rich, cozy touch to otherwise austere outerwear. Whether yours is made of mink or, uh, synthetic materials, stick to satin lining for minimal hat hair. A subtle silvery sheen renders this look its most modern. Earflaps? Up to you.

c) Dear Girl In Picture, if you happen to stumble across this blog, please send me the name of the person who does your hair. Sincerely, Emma Aubry. P.S. Love the black and navy. Not sarcasm. Actually my favorite color combination since seafoam and silver.

Evanesco, wizard robes. Accio, high fashion!

Yule Ball be damned. Look at little Miss Hermione Granger, all grown up and gracing the pages of Teen Vogue:













What a gorgeous editorial, shot by Norman Jean Roy and styled by Havana Laffitte (which sounds like the name of a Potter character, if you ask me). I a) want all of the clothes and b) am so impressed with Emma Watson! She looks beautiful. Total girl crush. I had given up on Teen Vogue when they said smoky eyes were back for the thirty-four thousandth time, but I may have to buy this issue just to cut it up and stick it on my wall for inspiration.

I'm currently in the process of rereading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows to get psyched for July's movie adaptation of Half-Blood Prince. I generally take issue with the Harry Potter films. I can't figure out who exactly they aim to please: fans of the novels are left disappointed by abandoned storylines, while those unexposed to the brilliance that is the book series enjoy them, but wonder what all the hype is about. This English major and self-professed Potter nerd thinks that Rowling's books are nothing short of masterful - and I wish the movies did them more justice, for the sake of both halves of the crowd.

I think they would have had a lot more success (artistically speaking, because God knows these things do just fine at the box office) had they waited, à la Lord of the Rings, for the right time to make these movies - for the full storyline to be released, for the perfect cast, for that one perfect director who understood the books completely. It does the story a disservice, really, to have made it subservient to so many different people's visions. Despite the fact that every notable British actor of the past half-century (minus my boyfriend, Colin Firth) has managed to worm their way into the project, I have to wonder if Potter's adventures could have been better immortalized had Warner Brothers not been so antsy to cash in.

...That being said, the trailers for Half-Blood Prince look epic and we all know I'll be seeing it at midnight. Who's with me?!

The best ad campaign I've seen in a while:

I came across this spread in Elle the other day and literally started freaking out. It jarred me out of a six-month blogging hiatus, if that's any indication. The whole thing just makes me want to roam around Paris in a gauzy dress and ballet flats, with a balloon in one hand and a croissant in the other.







And Sofia Coppola's film interpretation is no less delightful: