Garage feed for https://garage.vice.comenTue, 23 Oct 2018 16:14:11 +0000<![CDATA[Battle of the Bar Mitzvahs: Cardi B vs. Rich the Kid]]>, 23 Oct 2018 16:14:11 +0000I grew up on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, which is to say that I’ve been to my share of mitzvahs, both bar and bat. My seventh grade year was a blur of chocolate fountains, faltering Torah portions, and RAZR-texted gossip about who stole champagne from the adults’ table and made out with Adam B. in the rabbi’s office (reader, I think it’s been long enough to spill the tea: it was Lila K.).

All these fond, Aquolina Pink Sugar-scented memories came screaming back to me when I read that Cardi B and Rich the Kid recently performed at "dueling bat mitzvah parties" in New York. Rich the Kid helped usher the son of Cantor Fitzgerald CEO Howard Lutnick, Ryan (or ”Ryan L.,” as I assume he’s referred to over whatever form of online communication the kids now favor), into Jewish manhood at the Met’s Temple of Dendur. Meanwhile, Cardi B joined the Knicks City Dancers at Tao downtown to celebrate a bar mitzvah boy she referred to on her Instagram story as “this cute little boy called Jake.”

Cardi and Rich aren't the first megastars to get in on the bar mitzvah magic—everyone from Snoop Dogg to Beyoncé to Drake (duh) has made appearance at lucky Jewish 13-year-olds’ parties in the past, with Cardi B’s nemesis Nicki Minaj even crashing a bar mitzvah and posing for what Gawker termed “the horniest photo of all time” (see below).


You might be tempted to think of a bar mitzvah as a solemn occasion meant to mark the passage of an adolescent from the innocence of childhood into full membership within the Jewish faith, but I’m here to tell you that it is all! about! the! celebs! But which bar mitzvah wore it best? I mean, this is Met Gala credibility versus Khloe and Kourtney Kardashian’s favorite Manhattan hot spot. How could a not-a-girl-not-yet-a-woman choose?

While Cardi B seems like the obvious choice, being more famous (and commanding a hefty $500,000 appearance fee to Rich the Kid's paltry $200,000 to $300,000), I’m going to put in a plug for Rich the Kid’s performance. After all, the last thing a newly minted bar or bat mitzvah kid wants is to have his or her flawless Torah recitation upstaged by the newly minted Queen of Rap.

Plus: Ryan’s party featured catering by Caviar Kaspia and guests including the Duchess of York, Sarah Ferguson herself. Jake—or Downtown Jake, as I'm now calling him—entered the party with the Knicks City Dancers. Pretty swank, but everyone ate Artichoke Pizza, which is peak “drunk NYU freshman” cuisine. Sure, your fellow seventh graders might come for the lavish spread and star-studded celebrity appearances, but you want them to stay for you, not Cardi. Nevertheless, a hearty mazel tov to both Jake and Ryan—we're pleased to have you as part of the minyan.

3km9bbEmma SpecterRich the KidCardi Bbar mitzvah
<![CDATA[‘Mid90s’ Gets It Right: A Skate Betty Reviews Jonah Hill’s Film Debut]]>, 23 Oct 2018 14:46:35 +0000After I left a screening of Mid90s, I texted everyone I knew that, “Mid90s was soooo fucking good, Jonah Hill is a genius”—and nobody believed me.

Apparently, according to everyone I know, my credibility to judge a coming-of-age movie about skateboarders is marred by the fact that I am a “skaterdater,” or “skate-betty,” or “skate hoe.” While, sure, I may have a soft spot for people that know the Palais de Tokyo exclusively as a skate spot called “le dome” with a hubba ledge and a double set, Jonah Hill’s Mid90s charms even those without a predilection for skaters. Still, the best thing about Mid90s is that it is the rare movie about a subculture that actually gets the crew it idolizes right.

Mid90s follows Stevie (Sunny Suljic,) a lonely tween boy with a slightly checked-out single mother, Dabney (Katherine Waterston), and an angry, violent older brother, Ian (Lucas Hedges.) Stevie wanders around Los Angeles, friendless and alone, when he comes across four skateboarders outside a Motor Avenue skate shop. They’re joking around, pestering pedestrians, high-fiving each other. They’re a unit unlike any family Stevie’s been a part of. One of the guys is nicknamed Fuckshit (Olan Prenatt, who skates for L.A.’s Illegal Civilization) because he encouragingly says “fuuuuuck, shiiiiit” whenever someone lands a sick trick.

Stevie bikes home, determined to join this community. He trades his brother some video games for a dinky ’80s style hammerhead-shape skateboard that says COWABUNGA and returns to the shop. Eager to befriend the crew, he has no clue how to act natural: he sprints to refill their water bottles and grins as he watches them skate, clutching his board from his perch on the street. When one of the younger skaters, Reuben (Gio Galicia) offers Stevie a cigarette and Stevie thanks him, Reuben tells Stevie never to say thank you— that it’s “gay” to say thank you. Or be nice.

At his first hangout at the shop with “the guys,” dim-witted filmer Fourthgrade (Ryder McLaughlin, who also skates for Illegal Civilization)—so named for his elementary school intelligence level—asks Ray (Na-Kel Smith, who rides for Supreme and Adidas), who is black, if black people can get sunburns. Ray asks Stevie, who has been smiling and nodding along, what he thinks. He momentarily loses the ability to speak, and replies, “What are black people?” To Reuben’s horror, the guys love Stevie’s strange response and dub him “Sunburn”; he’s part of the crew. Reuben seethes; he’s been friends with these guys longer than Stevie and has no nickname.

Intimidated by this crew of cool elders, Stevie acquires a stoicism that masks his immense capacity for compassion, which, as Reuben told him, is “gay.” Young men ignoring their emotions and then lashing out is a primary theme of the film. Stevie self-harms: he steals money from his mom to buy a new board, and, wracked with guilt, scrapes a hairbrush on his stomach until he cries. Ian continually beats up Stevie—it’s the film’s opening scene—and calls their mother promiscuous, and Stevie strangles himself with a wire garrote. Rather than express his feelings of jealousy, Reuben physically fights Stevie at a skate park as dozens of older skaters cheer them on. Fuckshit, feeling left behind by Ray’s bourgeoning pro-skating career, drinks to excess, embarrassing himself and putting the boys in danger.

The film has drawn comparisons to Larry Clark’s Kids, not simply because it’s a film centered on skateboarders, but for its depictions of vulgarity, crass language, and teen drinking and sexuality. (Kids screenwriter Harmony Korine even makes a cameo in the film as one of Stevie’s mom’s sexual partners, because, as Hill said in an interview, ”Who’ s the last person in the world you want to fuck your mom? Harmony Korine.”) But Hill’s film is less nihilistic about teenage life; ultimately, it’s a celebration of the bonds that develop between young men. As Stevie embeds himself further into the skate crew, Reuben’s assertion that gratitude is “gay” is quickly corrected: “It’s just good manners!” Ray tells him. If Clark’s film could feel exploitatively bleak about growing up, Hill’s feels like a blessing.

At the skate park, Fuckshit and Ray hang out with a homeless man (played by rapper Del the Funky Homosapien.) The man thanks the boys for talking with him, saying that it makes him feel better to connect with people, as so many of his friends ignore him because he’s on the streets. Hill called this his favorite scene in a live-streamed Q&A after the film—it demonstrates the way Mid90s is set in a time when skateboarders existed on the fringes of society, Hill said, before they were widely accepted by the mainstream as minor celebrities and fashion icons.

Speaking of which: though Jonah Hill is a veritable Style God, the credit here goes to costume designer Heidi Bivens. Bivens, who was an extra in Kids, combed through ’90s skate magazines, borrowing and reproducing only T-shirts actually made before 1995. The skate shop has racks of Alien Workshop gear, the guys skate Mark Gonzales’s Blind Skateboards boards or Girl Skateboards Rudy Johnson decks, they wear puffy shoes, enormous pants, éS, shoelace belts, Droors. They skate at real L.A. spots such as the West L.A. courthouse in Santa Monica (now a Nike skatepark). The triumph of Hill’s film is that he surrounded himself with the right people—like Aaron Meza, iconic ’90s skate video filmmaker and creator of skate website Crailtap, who oversaw the actual skating style—to help bring his vision to life.

More than any skate-centric film, Mid90s reminded me of Greta Gerwig’s Lady Bird, another actor’s near-perfect directorial debut, put out by A24 last year. Both films capture the songs, the clothes, the feel of the time. You can tell Gerwig and Hill are each making a somewhat autobiographical story that they’ve been thinking of for decades, that each detail has been considered because it’s so personal.

Hill has said, Mid90s were no skate porn, and no nostalgia porn.” The film is painstakingly art directed to look like the ’90s and is literally about skateboarding, yet Hill makes good on his two rules. When the older boys attempt to skate a huge gap, and Reuben chickens out, Stevie attempts it. In a worse movie, Stevie would triumphantly land the trick, but for Hill, it’s a slapstick setup, and Stevie eats shit big time.

j53zqpZoe DubnoFilmSkateboardingLos AngelesJonah Hilla24
<![CDATA[In Fashion, Sister-Led Brands Set Style and Business Trends]]>, 22 Oct 2018 19:43:27 +0000Kate and Laura Mulleavy, the sisters behind American fashion label Rodarte, used to share one email address and eschewed a signature, a decision that, according to a 2010 New Yorker profile, made it “impossible to know which one you’re corresponding with.”

As a business practice, working with a sibling has an unconventional brilliance: mixing up roles, then suddenly distinguishing them depending on the situation, extends a certain degree of cover to both parties, like the twins in The Parent Trap swapping places to matchmake their divorced parents. The strategy is lent a sense of intuitive magic—a common language of creativity—because the accomplices are sisters.

Fashion and beauty are full of sister partnerships: in addition to the Mulleavy sisters, there are Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen at the Row, Danielle and Jodie Snyder of jewelry brand DANNIJO, as well as influencers like Simi and Haze. There are older examples like the Fontana sisters, who dressed Audrey Hepburn in the 1950s; and Callot Soeurs, who were doing pants under a dress as early as 1910.

Kathryn Fortunato, who, with her twin sister, Lizzie, runs the accessories brand Lizzie Fortunato, told me in a phone interview that their contemporary business practices have roots in childhood. “Because we’re twins, we were always scheming together,” she said. Lizzie, who helms design, “was, from a very early age, incredibly crafty.” Kathryn, who manages operations, recounted that she has long been interested in economics: “I…used to make my siblings play a game of marketplace with each other, where we would go get our prized possessions and barter them with each other.”

Ten years on from the brand’s founding (Lizzie launched the business in 2008; Kathryn joined full-time two years later), their contributions aren’t so sharply delineated. “I’m more creative than I realize, and I think she’s more business minded than she realizes,” she said. And it’s easier to be direct with a sister than a business partner: “We get to be very honest with each other. It was actually hard in the beginning to realize, once we have other employees that weren’t our siblings, that we actually have to be aware not to treat each other like siblings in the office.”

Eda and Anna Levenson, who run the nail brand Lady Fancy Nails, also see echoes of their division of labor in childhood. Eda, the elder sister and founder, does nail art; Anna manages the business side and recently began designing jewelry. The Levensons grew up on a solar- and hydro-electricity-powered homestead in California, where their parents produced and sold shakuhachi, a style of Japanese bamboo flute first developed in the seventh century AD. The sisters would help in the workshop, but it also was an opportunity for dress-up: “Anna had this thing—she may not tell this story, so I’ll tell it,” Eda said. “Anna used to be really fascinated with what she would call ‘office ladies.’ She used to wear these eyeglass frames and set up her little store.… She also knew how to use the computer really young, so she was like the neighborhood IT support.”

“I was a nine-year-old at a computer, and then a twelve-year-old was in the other section of the workshop, making the thing,” Anna added. Developing tenacity of craft—working through tedium and setbacks for the thrill of presenting the final product—has carried over into their nail creations; creating dozens of acrylic sets for a runway show requires a painstaking eye and some late, late nights. “We got to see the actual results of what hard work can offer you,” said Anna. “We watched our father and our mother build something for decades. I think that also makes us really dedicate our time to the craft, and to the process.”

Fur, a pubic haircare line (yes, you read that correctly) was co-founded in 2015 by sisters Laura and Emily Schubert along with Lillian Tung, a childhood friend and de facto sibling: she and Laura are sisters “not by blood, but by everything else.” (Emily left the brand shortly after its launch to focus on other projects; Laura is the company’s CEO; and Tung is its CMO.) “Our relationship allows us to do everything,” said Tung in a phone interview. “We can openly disagree and share ideas.” That candor is helpful for business partners—especially introducing a product line like Fur’s. “Beauty, but specifically, here, pubic hair care beauty, is really, really reliant on that trust level. Maybe the fact that we are close friends who can talk about things makes people feel that they should be talking about it with us.”

“Because we’re twins, we were always scheming together,” Fortunato said.

Kathryn attributes the density of sibling-run businesses in fashion, jewelry, and beauty in part to the way these projects often begin: the twins started producing jewelry in college, at Duke University, and sold the pieces to fellow students. Two years after they graduated, Lizzie launched the business from the sofa of their shared Lower East Side apartment. “I hate to say that there’s a low barrier to entry to making jewelry, because there’s not,” she said, but “you can cover your bases without having to have a huge team.”

There are also things a sister just gets, whether an off-kilter visual reference dredged up from an ’80s VHS tape, or how to shore you up—with words, food, or dumb videos—when you’re overwhelmed. “When you have a sister that’s close to you in age, you share clothes, you share makeup, you shape each other’s personal styles and identity—either being in complete opposition to each other, or being really similar,” said Eda. “I think sisters turn to each other. Those are the first people that you look to, in your own personal expression of who you are.”

pa9988Erin SchwartzRachel TashjianTwinsfashion newsthe parent trapmary kate olsenashley olsenRodartethe rowlizzie fortunato
<![CDATA[Hood By Air’s Former CEO Made Your Favorite New Cult Nightclub Film]]>, 22 Oct 2018 16:06:25 +0000In the early 2000s, Leilah Weinraub was the “video lady” at Shakedown, an underground black lesbian strip club in Los Angeles. The footage that she shot while working there eventually became her film of the same name: Shakedown. It debuted at Gavin Brown’s Enterprise, playing until October 24th, with daily screenings and a series of events, including the Family Awards and Lesbian Ball (hosted this past Sunday, it was billed as an “extravaganza dedicated to supporting teamwork, love, unity, sexuality, and most importantly family values”). The film, told through the performances and accounts of the club’s personalities—its promoter and emcee, Ronnie-Ron, and its “angels,” Mahogany, Egypt, Slim, and Jazmine—is a study of a community organized around arousal, dollar bills, and outside oppression. “With Shakedown,” Weinraub says, “my idea was to problematize your even being in your own body.”

But as much as Shakedown is a record of an underground scene, Weinraub is resistant to the idea that the film, her first, is a documentary. She has a writer’s credit on Shakedown and calls it “its own capsule”—a subjective encapsulation of a specific scene at a specific time, rather than, say, a definitive account of black lesbian sexuality.

Brought by a friend to the club, it was immediately clear to Weinraub that Shakedown was a film set and its fixtures were camera-ready. “The first day that I was there,” she says, “I was like, this obviously is going to be a movie; it needs to be a movie; everyone in the room was just like, a huge star.” She persuaded Ronnie-Ron to employ her as club photographer, then transitioned to making videos of the performances (she was simultaneously pursuing an MFA in film at Bard College).

The film ends with the club being shut down by police in 2005. The L.A. in which Shakedown existed, on the cusp of gentrification more than ten years after the riots sparked by the acquittal of four police officers who beat Rodney King, is manifest, but it’s not a film explicitly about resistance. “The film asks you about your own life,” Weinraub says. “How do you make your own life? What is work? How do you make your own utopia? If you want something, does it exist already or do you have to build it?”

Weinraub’s film inspires ready comparisons to Paris Is Burning, Jennie Livingston’s 1990 documentary about New York’s ballroom and voguing scene in the ‘80s; both are intimate portrayals of site-specific queer communities, and both required lengthy production processes. Livingston spent six years making Paris Is Burning, and Weinraub conducted interview sessions for the film over a twelve-year period, between 2002 and 2014. She had over 400 hours of footage of the club, and, in addition to the final 71-minute version currently showing at the gallery, there are several other cuts in existence. (The original version Weinraub submitted to Sundance Film Festival was four hours long. “I thought you could stuff everything you want to into a movie—that it’s like a crazy subway sandwich, and you're just like, ‘I want all the toppings!’”)

Paris Is Burning has arguably been instrumental in the mainstream assimilation of what was, at the time, underground drag culture. Could this film inspire a wider replication of the Shakedown scene, or can she see the scene catching on again, newly? “I can't like, comment on culture right now,” Weinraub says cautiously. But she does feel there’s been a shift from there being “nothing for women” to a growth in female, and specifically lesbian, club culture. As for her role; “I’m just trying to give some new ideas, like keep throwing out new ideas and see if people are into that.”

Weinraub has a knack for appearing at seemingly unconnected spots in mainstream and niche culture. Early on in her career, while still at college, she assisted American History X director Tony Kaye on his next film, Lake of Fire. Around 2007, she had a brief stint as Paris Hilton’s stylist (she is from L.A., after all!). Her most high profile gig was serving as the CEO of Shayne Oliver’s brand Hood By Air, from its launch in 2012 until it went on hiatus last year. Shakedown, she says, was a formative influence on the brand. “Shakedown taught me how to do Hood By Air, and have no second guesses at all, and be like, ‘No, we’re doing it exactly how we want to, and not like anything that anybody else has done before.’” Hood By Air began at a time, when, as she puts it, “No one was focusing on menswear, at all, no one cared about men, or their bodies, or if they had, I don’t know, personalities.” She see similarities to current lesbian culture, club and otherwise: “Right now there’s a dearth, there’s a lack, and there’s a lot of space for a lot of new ideas…. There is this whole wide open place for—what is the word for it? Women?”

“If you want something, does it exist already or do you have to build it?”

Club culture also informed Hood By Air’s identity. “Me and Shayne came from just being out at night forever, since we were teenagers…. And just knowing the levels that you get [to] at night, and bringing those feelings outside of the utopia, and the blurry fog—you know, [it is] the nighttime presenting in the daytime.” This idea of a utopian moment, and of containing, encapsulating, and, in some way, reproducing it, is the unifying theme in Weinraub’s work. She is particularly interested in “activating public spaces,” she says, citing Hood By Air’s fashion shows as some of the most interesting work achieved by the brand.

When she first finished making Shakedown, Weinraub thought it might function best if viewed on the internet, with the “alone together vibe” of a YouTube video. After it premiered at Berlin, though, she came to realize that a public screening was intrinsic to the work. It is a “public sexual experience,” she says, “watching it with other people in a theatre in a room…. It’s fidgety, it’s twitchy.... You just have to deal with other people in the room.”

Indeed, what’s striking about Shakedown onscreen is its unabashed physicality. It’s a fundamentally sensual film. The footage is explicit and lascivious, and money participates in, and drives, the show—bills flood the floor as the angels perform. Physical cash—rarer than ever—has become something of a symbol of vice; when it does appear, it feels illicit, both dirty and sexy (think Rihanna’s video for 2015’s “Bitch Better Have My Money”). There’s a strange thrill, in Shakedown, of seeing so much paper money. Online, I can imagine the film downloading as advertisements for “hot babes in your area” flash at the sides, but from seeing it at Gavin Brown, I can assure you that a public screening simulates some of what the club might have offered.

43eewdHolly ConnollyRachel TashjianFilmFashionmoviesHood By AirParis Is Burning
<![CDATA[It’s Big Coat Season, Baby]]>, 22 Oct 2018 15:49:10 +0000Allow me to take you back to just a few halcyon weeks ago, when the sun was shining, the breeze was mellow, and the jean jackets were out in full force. (On the East Coast, that is—West Coast, we congratulate you on living a permanently charmed 72F life, please do not @ us.) Now it's a wintry 40F in New York, which means it’s officially time to jettison the ~light fall jacket~ and opt for a proper winter coat.

Luckily for the warm-blooded among us, the Status Coat has never been bigger! (I could make a “big coat energy” joke here, but in the wake of the Pete/Ariana breakup, it just feels cruel.) Below, find a guide to thicc jackets throughout fashion history, and let it inspire you to avoid hypothermia this winter.

Photo via Shrimpton Couture.

The Norma Kamali Sleeping Bag Coat. The legend of Norma Kamali’s sleeping bag coat reportedly dates back to a post-divorce camping trip the designer took with a boyfriend in the mid-’70s. According to the New York Times, Kamali came up with the concept for the coat when she wrapped herself in her sleeping bag for a pee run: “I was thinking, ‘I need to put sleeves in this thing.’” The sleeping bag coat also saw a rise in popularity after 9/11, the Times reported, “perhaps because of a craving for security and comfort.”


Cam’ron’s pink fur coat. Okay, in terms of sheer dimensions, Cam’ron’s baby pink, satin-lined fur jacket isn’t necessarily the hugest, but we think it deserves a place in the annals of Big Coat history for sheer import alone. Killa Cam’s appearance in the coat at a Baby Phat show in 2002 was so instantly iconic, it spawned its own Pantone color. How many winter jackets wield that kind of influence?


The Balenciaga Layered Parka. Balenciaga’s Fall 2018 collection at Paris Fashion Week dared to pose the question, “What if there was a fire in your house and you had to throw on every layer of clothing you possessed within a five-foot radius and run screaming into the night?” The comparisons to Joey from Friends came fast and furious, but you have to admit there’s something appealing about a seven-in-one winter garment.

The Y-Project “Absolute Unit“ coat. In the midst of a busy Paris Fashion Week, one suspiciously Timothée Chalamet-esque model found time to be swallowed whole by a really, truly ginormous Y-Project sherpa jacket. Don't you just want to live your life within its soft, fleecy confines?


The Moncler Pierpaolo Piccioli puffer. We’ve written before about this floor-length beauty, which screams “Gilead by way of the Soviet space station“ (but make it fashion!). It’s hard to effectively communicate elegance and grace in an absolutely enormous puffer coat, but this Valentino collaboration is up to the task.

neggkwEmma SpecterwinterBalenciagaCam'roncoatsy projectnorma kamali
<![CDATA[The Prettiest Horror Movies Currently on Netflix]]>, 19 Oct 2018 19:48:10 +0000Ever since Dario Argento invented the idea of a horror movie that doesn't suck ass to look at with 1977's Suspiria, the beautiful horror film has become almost a mini-genre unto itself. This is barely an exaggeration; Argento spent years chasing the delicately balanced alchemy of scares and colors he achieved with Suspiria. (There have also been no small amount of poor imitators.)

Horror is a notoriously cheap genre, and also one in which unpracticed filmmakers like to cut their teeth, meaning a lot of what comes down the ol' spooky pipeline looks like shit, even now. Here are nine horror movies on Netflix that buck that trend, and actually spend their runtime looking pretty damn good.

It Follows

It's as much about what you don't see as what you do in It Follows, David Robert Mitchell's teen sex allegory about an entity that quite literally follows its sexually-transmitted victim until it can deliver unto them a gory, sexy end. Every perfectly-constructed frame of this movie screams out for attention. Which passerby is a threat? Where will the tireless murder ghost pop up from next?

The Witch

The Witch is an exercise in restraint, down to its muted palette and willingness to let twenty minutes go breezily by without a single thing happening, but Robert Eggers' and cinematographer Jarin Blaschke's composition is on point. When the blood does start flowing, it just looks all that much more redder.

A Dark Song

Irish horror is seeing a resurgence thanks to films like The Canal, The Hallow and A Dark Song takes place almost entirely within the grounds of an old, secluded house in Wales. This is a mysterious occult thriller so of course, candles and strange symbols abound.

The Boy

The Boy is a full-on trashy horror masterpiece with a dumbass twist that will make you shriek with delight. It's also much, much prettier than it needs to be. William Brent Bell doesn't allow The Boy's lowbrow entry point to stop him from playing with shadow and color with all the confidence of a filmmaker who's made more than just a couple of serviceable horrors.


The franchise mascot Pinhead is the legacy image of Hellraiser, but giving it a second look, it really does hold up visually outside of just that one freaky, ingeniously-designed, oddly alluring demon.

The Nightmare

Easily the scariest documentary in human history, The Nightmare plays not just on our deepest instinctive fears, but looks fucking fresh as hell doing it.

Under The Skin

Scarlett Johansson drives a van through the angrily industrial sights and sounds of Glasgow, Scotland, trying to pick up horny dudes for her nefarious ends. The harsh aesthetics of East Glasgow just make the film's trippier sequences stand out, most of which involve Johansson's black void of a bachelor pad, complete with a mirrored, tar-thick pool of alien goo.

The Shining

Simply put, there would be no Overlook Hotel without the Tanz Dance Academy. Stanley Kubrick fucks you up time and time again with as many color-coordinated assaults on the senses as he can cram into the film's relentless two-and-a-half-hour runtime.

neggn8Tom Philip NETFLIXmoviesthe shininghorror movieshouse of horrorsHouse of Horrors
<![CDATA[I Went to Equinox and I Am Now a Bourgeois Lifestyle King]]>, 19 Oct 2018 15:58:33 +0000Recently, after years of slumming it, I gave in. I made a huge, grown-up decision.

I finally joined Equinox.

If you are unfamiliar (wow, pleb), Equinox is a chain of luxe gyms with locations in most cool American cities and even a few in Europe. They pride themselves on consistency: each location has the same pleasing scent; the same up-to-date equipment; great, well-planned classes; Kiehl’s products in the locker rooms; chilled eucalyptus towels on deck; good-looking, friendly staff; and upbeat top 40 hits pouring out of the speakers. Everyone there is so hot that they look like they could approach you at any minute and flip their hair and be like, “Okay, Elliptical Boy, show me what you got!” and then dance like someone on a rainy street in a movie from 2004. No wonder people call it “Chic-uinox”!

For a fitness enthusiast like myself, it is…well…heaven.

The author in repose. Photograph by Dan Hall.

But when I moved to New York City 10 years ago, I joined the Chinatown YMCA on the corner of Bowery and Houston, connected, conveniently, to the Whole Foods I love so dearly. I hate affectations, but I love charm, and the Y had a nice basketball court, and a pool if I ever chose to take up swimming. It was a little dingy and worn-in. It felt like the right thing to do, like listening to NPR and carrying a library card. For years, I continued to visit almost daily, working out surrounded by annoying teenagers and people so old I thought they might actually die on a stationary bike. Honestly, it sucked, but I am lazy, and it did what I needed it to do.

In late August, after a month in Los Angeles, I returned to the rotten apple ready to continue my normal routine. I don’t mean to be that guy, but let’s face it: I’m 36, “a creative,” and I love Oasis and 19-year-old rappers alike, so I’ll just say it: Los Angeles changed me.

Also, the Y was closed for maintenance.

I sulked through Soho like Charlie Brown in Nike Dri-Fit. And then I decided on the spot to go join Equinox. I know, I know: this is the part where “REAL CUSTOMER” flashes under my name on TV. But it’s not like that. I’m a true believer. Think of how seriously your worst Thanksgiving uncle believes everything on Facebook, sharing posts on everything from crazy political garbage to Michael Jackson-Tupac lovechild rumors. That’s me with Equinox! I believe in my lovechild!

I hit the Soho membership director with a desperate email from Bowery and Elizabeth: “I NEED TO WORK OUT RIGHT NOW.” He told me to download the Equinox app (CHIC!), and he would add a guest pass to my account. With a quick scan of a barcode, I was let into fitness heaven. I was surrounded by heavenly bodies, everyone competing for best fitness drip while getting those gains in before work. After feeling rejected by the YMCA, Equinox made me feel welcome. I spent an hour and a half there. After a particularly vigorous workout, I wiped my face down with a chilled eucalyptus towel, grabbed a juice from the in-house Juice Press (HUGE MOOD), and went on with my day.

I felt like I had been on the best date of my life. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I called the membership director and pulled the trigger. It was double what I was paying at the Y, but I needed that RAW UNCUT BOURGEOIS fitness experience every day. This broke boy shit wasn’t cutting it.

I now spend more time at the gym than I did before because it is such a pleasant experience. I am working up to using the steam room. But for now, catch me at the brand spanking new Orchard Street location leaving it all on the treadmill. Sometimes you have to put yourself first. If you don’t love your body, then who will?

d3qq8kChris BlackRachel Tashjianworking outlifestylejuiceFitnessLuxury
<![CDATA[Lauryn Hill in Lauryn Hill Clothing Is Everything (Is Everything)]]>, 19 Oct 2018 12:00:32 +0000It’s officially cold out on the East Coast, which means it’s—deep sigh—real “winter coat hours” once again, friends. Fear not, though: you don’t have to resignedly click “Purchase” on the same exact navy J. Crew peacoat every girl on the C train next to you is wearing, because none other than Ms. Lauryn Hill has come through with a signature line of outerwear.

Photo courtesy of Woolrich.

Hill’s collaboration with Woolrich is a unisex capsule set featuring parkas and coats emblazoned with original collages from Hill’s album covers. Per Racked (RIP), the only way to get through the misery of winter is to get yourself a silly winter coat, and a puffy parka bearing the iconic countenance of Ms. Lauryn Hill herself more than qualifies.

Photo courtesy of Woolrich.
Photo courtesy of Woolrich.

Fun fact—Hill has been sewing and designing her own clothes over the past five years, and she came up with over 30 jacket sketches for the capsule collection herself. The collection runs between $2300 to $3300 exclusively at Woolrich, a tech bro’s rent money, but isn’t quite as staggering when you consider that you’re not just buying a coat, you’re buying a piece of musical history. Below, check out behind-the-scenes footage of Ms. Lauryn Hill at a Woolrich shoot!

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<![CDATA[‘Suspiria’ Director Luca Guadagnino on His ‘Tetralogy of Desire’]]>, 18 Oct 2018 20:13:08 +0000Luca Guadagnino’s remake of Dario Argento’s 1977 horror classic Suspiria, about a Berlin-based dance company that is in fact a coven of witches in hiding, is a far cry from his earlier films: I Am Love, A Bigger Splash, and Call Me By Your Name, known collectively as the Desire trilogy. The beloved director, in conversation with Suspiria screenwriter David Kajganich, choreographer Damien Jalet, and GARAGE editor-in-chief Mark Guiducci, breaks down how he crafted an exquisitely shocking experience, and why Suspiria might be the fourth installation of the Desire tetralogy.

Mark Guiducci: Luca, this film is going to surprise a lot of people. How did you get from Call Me by Your Name to Suspiria?

Luca Guadagnino: I have to admit, I believe that there is not a full comprehension of the kind of eclecticism I am drawn to. Truthfully, I love cinema and I love the way in which we can explore different depths of our emotions through cinema. To do a horror movie has always been my goal, since I was very young—like eight years old and starting my little film career on Super 8. I’ve always been infatuated with the genre, and especially with Dario Argento [who directed the original 1977 Suspiria]. The idea to make Suspiria actually preceded Call Me by Your Name. I had already planned to shoot Suspiria in 2016, the year in which I eventually shot both films.

MG: I Am Love , A Bigger Splash, and Call Me by Your Name, have been called your Desire trilogy. Dario Argento, of course, had his own trilogy of horror films he called the Three Mothers. Is Suspiria the first of another trilogy for you?

LG: I don’t consider those films of mine a trilogy, and somehow Suspiria is also about desire. So probably we have a tetralogy of desire, including Suspiria! Or maybe Suspiria is the first chapter of a trilogy on terrorism, which I think probably is more accurate to say.

MG: Having seen the movie, I think that sounds very accurate. Damien, how did you come to work with Luca?

Damien Jalet: It’s quite spooky, actually. Luca had seen this thing I did at the Louvre Museum in 2013 [a performance called Les Médusés] and thought it was almost literally the dance described in the script for the film. [Suspiria features a dance based on the Gorgons, of which Medusa was one.] The really spooky thing is that when I brought the three female dancers together to make that dance, I told them, “Listen, there is this film I want to show you. We are not going to pull anything from it directly, but there’s something in its spirit that I would like you to capture.” That film was [the original 1977] Suspiria.

MG: That’s an incredible coincidence. David, did you have Damien’s work in mind when writing the script?

David Kajganich: At the point I wrote the dance sequences for the script, I hadn’t yet seen Damien’s work, as I had only been looking at female choreographers in my research; I wanted only movements made by women in my head while writing the film. But after Luca told me Damien would be our choreographer, I watched everything of his I could find. One of the first things I saw was a video of the Louvre performance of Les Médusés and while watching it I had an experience of a kind of queasy, accelerating déjà vu. I don’t actually like trying to describe it. It was odd. I will say that the number of strange coincidences and parallels like this that have happened around this film has been unnerving.

MG: The original film does not feature much actual dance, though it’s about ballet, whereas the choreography is integral to the new Suspiria. Was that a decision made early on?

LG: Yes. In Argento’s Suspiria, we have an inaugural two or three minutes of actual ballet onscreen, [whereas my film] is powerfully shaped by Damien’s work.

DJ: The first thing Luca told me was, “I would like dance to be central in the film, to be the secret language of the witches and the expression of their power.” That was a very inspiring departure point as a choreographer. I think it’s brilliant to connect witchcraft and dance—they have so much in common.

MG: In the initial dance sequence for Dakota Johnson’s character, Susie, her performance casts a spell that unwittingly but brutally assaults another dancer, leaving her disfigured and mangled. It’s like a twisted pas de deux incantation. David, when did you have the idea to connect the performance of choreography with the casting of spells?

DK: Having the coven do spell work through movement was an idea I asked Luca to think about very early in our conversations. We knew we wanted the dances to have real narrative purpose, rather than just using them to decorate the film. So I thought if the company’s performances contained actual spell-casting that could be done in public, with no one in the audience knowing it was happening, then it would make enormous practical sense that a coven would hide inside of a dance company. Imagine the influence they could exert without anyone being the wiser. But in executing this concept, I couldn’t just write in the script, “Dance sequence here”; I had to use dance as a central line of narrative.

MG: Luca, do you think there is a reading of Suspiria as a metaphor for the death of ballet at the hand of contemporary dance? How much did the great female choreographers of the twentieth century influence the film?

LG: Well, I like that idea, but I think it’s more about the avant-garde foreseeing the future, rather than being in conflict with the present or the past. I believe that Mary Wigman, Martha Graham, Isadora Duncan, and all those radical thinkers who forged a new language were motivated by an almost interior need for new expression. In the film, we try to quote all of these artists without reproducing anything of their work. They’re inspiration. But I don’t think it necessarily goes in conflict with the idea of ballet.

DK: In terms of the specifics of my research, I started with the great Mary Wigman and her break from classical ballet into expressionist dance in the 1920s, with all the iconoclasm that implies, none of which was well received by the strongmen in power at the time. This was Germany in the 1920s and ’30s. It’s not unrelated to the film to mention that Wigman was one of the choreographers to whom Joseph Goebbels was reacting with his 1937 proclamation that dance “must be cheerful and show beautiful female bodies and have nothing to do with philosophy.” Watch Wigman’s Hexentanz for a taste of what must have triggered Goebbels. I would argue that the moment the dancer in Hexentanz opens her legs is more tense than anything I’ve seen in a modern horror film. From Wigman, I charted a course through the century, stopping to spend the most time with the work and writing of Martha Graham (just fascinating), Pina Bausch, and Sasha Waltz.

MG: There is an Isadora Duncan quote I found that made me think of Suspiria. Writing about the “dancer of the future,” Duncan says, “She will dance, the body emerging again from centuries of civilized forgetfulness, emerging not in the nudity of primitive man, but in a new nakedness, no longer at war with spirituality and intelligence, but joining with them in a glorious harmony.” I’m not sure most people think of dance in terms of spirituality anymore. What do you think?

DJ: If not, that’s really a pit, because I think spirituality is the real root of dance. I do a lot of research about the roots of dance and animism. I’ve been witnessing and filming a lot of rituals that are still happening in Indonesia or the volcanic islands of Japan. I really wanted the dancing [in Suspiria] to be visceral, to be somehow ancient, to have a rawness to it. Not just being about sophistication and shape, but also have this kind of center that comes from the belly and the gut. I think when you go to the ballet, dance is really a spiritual act; it’s part of a rite. But we’ve lost so much of that primal connection, in the West, at least.

Photo by Alessio Bolzoni courtesy of Amazon Studios
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<![CDATA[The Wing’s New Merch Drop Is a Nod to Heavy Metal]]>, 18 Oct 2018 20:06:37 +0000“So metal” isn‘t necessarily the descriptor that comes to mind when most people think of the Wing, the women-focused co-working space that’s drawn attention (and some controversy) for its signature brand of millennial pink, Instagram-friendly feminism.

The Wing's new ”World Tour” shirt aims to upend that perception, though, invoking hardcore metal via a collaboration with Christophe Szpajdel, the Belgian artist dubbed the “Lord of Logos” for his creation of over 7,000 logos for metal bands (he‘s the brains behind the “Emperor” logo that’s graced the front of countless suburban teenage boys’ T-shirts since its inception in 1991.)


“The idea of doing a tour T-style shirt came about because we’re expanding so much and opening in so many new locations,” Wing creative director Deva Pardue told GARAGE. While previous iterations of Wing merch have primarily skewed cute (think “In Sisters We Trust” hoodies and “Future Wing Woman” onesies), the Wing is deliberately moving in a new direction with its latest design inspiration.

The "Emperor" logo designed by Szpajdel.

“Audrey [Gelman, the Wing’s founder] is really into metal bands, so she was like, ‘We should do a metal T-shirt,’” Pardue told GARAGE. “We were all really into it and took a crack at it with our in-house design team, but metal artwork is a very niche thing, and in order for it to feel authentic we wanted to do a collaboration outside the Wing.” Pardue’s team came up with the “Annihilate the Patriarchy” language and called on Szpajdel to bring his signature metal look to the shirts.


“Christophe started off in the safer realm and we really wanted to push it into being grungier, almost borderline illegible,” Pardue said. When asked about the irony of having a man illustrate merch for a women-focused co-working, Pardue explained, “Szpajdel identifies as a feminist and loves the Wing. He was really into it, was talking to us about how opposed he is to Donald Trump.” Pardue contrasted Szpajdel’s design with earlier iterations of Wing swag, saying, "Our first merch drops were focused on, ‘Here’s this brand and this identity we’re newly creating.’ Now, we’re playing with what’s expected—there’s only so many ways you can say ‘feminism’ before you have to step outside your comfort zone and keep evolving as a brand.”


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