Thursday, October 23, 2008
craptastic crab ads
Joe's Crab Shack, mid-priced Texas based theme eatery, dissatisfied with just having tacky slogans like 'I got Crabs at Joe's' et al now they have submerged themselves into the waters of ham-handed misogyonstic television commercials! The commercials often play during evening prime time and have two veritable Shakespearian story lines; one depicts a vapid, some what crazed, nagging female telling her male dining companion that he has shit on his face, he grimaces, eye rolls, flicks his eyes in the way that is male code for 'bitches ain't shit but hoes and tricks', and neglects to tell his attractive female companion that she has half a crab leg stuck to her fore-head. The second, is 20x more suggestive and gag-worthy; it opens with a pneumatic blonde with huge harry forearms cracking crab legs and being generally puzzled on how to rend the tasty crab flesh from its pointy shell. The viewer soon finds that the arms belong to a male dining companion who appears to have the female sitting on his lap which he wraps his arms around her, cracks crab legs, and wipes grease and bits of shell on the woman's prominent chest. Clearly, Joe's Shit Shack wants you to know that women should keep observations to themselves and look good so as to not spoil the classy atmosphere of a chain-restaurant where the cuisine is mildly warmed under salamanders and the kitchen are apt to spit in your food for fun. Perhaps their Ad-team of 13yr old boys step it up from immature, jocks who are more likely to eat at buffalo wild wings to the unemployed, video gaming market next! They can have 3am ad spots and totally naked women rolling in vats of melted butter, but have their bodies be slightly geometrically topographic for gaming familiarity. Game Over.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
crispy critcs
I've highlighted NYT critical shopper reports before; sometimes with delight and sometimes with disgust, but, perpetual smart ass critical shopper contributer, Mike Albo is all good (in the hood). Now, before I get started, I have no ill vibes for Cintra Wilson's acid tongue and epic taste levels; Mike Albo is just fucking on all the time. To the point: Albo's current review of the Gap flagship (which occurs after Wilson's review of the Mcqueen store; how fair considering the Dow is plummeting faster than Brett Michael's hair line is receding). Quoth Albo re: the economy and our aging child star american sportswear brand, beloved by yours truly, Gap: "...o my right, a Frenchman wheeled a baby carriage onto my foot until I moved out of his way. There must have been 100 Europeans in this store: men wearing sweaters tied around their shoulders, women wearing sunglasses inside, entire families chattering and pointing. All of them had rapacious looks in their eyes because they knew time is money. They needed to buy as much as possible before the increasingly global financial meltdown turned their powerful euros into a currency as pathetic as, well, the United States dollar..."
This installation of critical shopper is a rarity in which the reviewer does not have a positive opinion at all of the selected store upon arrival, but is mostly pleasantly surprised; "..and if I were a literature grad student visiting from Strasbourg, I would have bought all three and then gone home and worn them while smoking loose tobacco cigarettes and reading Houellebecq."
However, being the whip quipper, Albo does not let some fug merch slide by, "..One look at those items and I wanted to breathe into a paper bag....a perfect purchase for someone who works in catering or an office and needs at least to pretend to care about his job."
Though, marring Albo's final assement is his realization that in Gap, like every other box brand in the U.S/earth, you will never look as good in the clothes as the visuals people dress the manniquins, unless you invest in a basket full of binder clips and pin the extra folds of the off the rack garb to your flesh. Albo's verbage on the matter: "..it is my hope that during the next presidential administration I can form the Truth in Visual Merchandising Commission and put an end to this travesty. Be warned, retailers: End this deceitful practice now! Either stop clipping or tucking your clothes, or get fatter mannequins!"
Outside of nymag:sex diaries, this is easily the best archive to pour over while pretending to work in those last eternal fifteen minutes of work.
This installation of critical shopper is a rarity in which the reviewer does not have a positive opinion at all of the selected store upon arrival, but is mostly pleasantly surprised; "..and if I were a literature grad student visiting from Strasbourg, I would have bought all three and then gone home and worn them while smoking loose tobacco cigarettes and reading Houellebecq."
However, being the whip quipper, Albo does not let some fug merch slide by, "..One look at those items and I wanted to breathe into a paper bag....a perfect purchase for someone who works in catering or an office and needs at least to pretend to care about his job."
Though, marring Albo's final assement is his realization that in Gap, like every other box brand in the U.S/earth, you will never look as good in the clothes as the visuals people dress the manniquins, unless you invest in a basket full of binder clips and pin the extra folds of the off the rack garb to your flesh. Albo's verbage on the matter: "..it is my hope that during the next presidential administration I can form the Truth in Visual Merchandising Commission and put an end to this travesty. Be warned, retailers: End this deceitful practice now! Either stop clipping or tucking your clothes, or get fatter mannequins!"
Outside of nymag:sex diaries, this is easily the best archive to pour over while pretending to work in those last eternal fifteen minutes of work.
crispy critcs
I've highlighted NYT critical shopper reports before; sometimes with delight and sometimes with disgust, but, perpetual smart ass critical shopper contributer, Mike Albo is all good (in the hood). Now, before I get started, I have no ill vibes for Cintra Wilson's acid tongue and epic taste levels; Mike Albo is just fucking on all the time. To the point: Albo's current review of the Gap flagship (which occurs after Wilson's review of the Mcqueen store; how fair considering the Dow is plummeting faster than Brett Michael's hair line is receding). Quoth Albo re: the economy and our aging child star american sportswear brand, beloved by yours truly, Gap: "...o my right, a Frenchman wheeled a baby carriage onto my foot until I moved out of his way. There must have been 100 Europeans in this store: men wearing sweaters tied around their shoulders, women wearing sunglasses inside, entire families chattering and pointing. All of them had rapacious looks in their eyes because they knew time is money. They needed to buy as much as possible before the increasingly global financial meltdown turned their powerful euros into a currency as pathetic as, well, the United States dollar..."
This installation of critical shopper is a rarity in which the reviewer does not have a positive opinion at all of the selected store upon arrival, but is mostly pleasantly surprised; "..and if I were a literature grad student visiting from Strasbourg, I would have bought all three and then gone home and worn them while smoking loose tobacco cigarettes and reading Houellebecq."
However, being the whip quipper, Albo does not let some fug merch slide by, "..One look at those items and I wanted to breathe into a paper bag....a perfect purchase for someone who works in catering or an office and needs at least to pretend to care about his job."
Though, marring Albo's final assement is his realization that in Gap, like every other box brand in the U.S/earth, you will never look as good in the clothes as the visuals people dress the manniquins, unless you invest in a basket full of binder clips and pin the extra folds of the off the rack garb to your flesh. Albo's verbage on the matter: "..it is my hope that during the next presidential administration I can form the Truth in Visual Merchandising Commission and put an end to this travesty. Be warned, retailers: End this deceitful practice now! Either stop clipping or tucking your clothes, or get fatter mannequins!"
Outside of nymag:sex diaries, this is easily the best archive to pour over while pretending to work in those last eternal fifteen minutes of work.
This installation of critical shopper is a rarity in which the reviewer does not have a positive opinion at all of the selected store upon arrival, but is mostly pleasantly surprised; "..and if I were a literature grad student visiting from Strasbourg, I would have bought all three and then gone home and worn them while smoking loose tobacco cigarettes and reading Houellebecq."
However, being the whip quipper, Albo does not let some fug merch slide by, "..One look at those items and I wanted to breathe into a paper bag....a perfect purchase for someone who works in catering or an office and needs at least to pretend to care about his job."
Though, marring Albo's final assement is his realization that in Gap, like every other box brand in the U.S/earth, you will never look as good in the clothes as the visuals people dress the manniquins, unless you invest in a basket full of binder clips and pin the extra folds of the off the rack garb to your flesh. Albo's verbage on the matter: "..it is my hope that during the next presidential administration I can form the Truth in Visual Merchandising Commission and put an end to this travesty. Be warned, retailers: End this deceitful practice now! Either stop clipping or tucking your clothes, or get fatter mannequins!"
Outside of nymag:sex diaries, this is easily the best archive to pour over while pretending to work in those last eternal fifteen minutes of work.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
kittttiez
Conversely to W, this months FLAUNT is pretty righteous. The cover(above) is done by Hisham Bharoocha, artist, RISD grad, former member of Lightning Bolt and Black Dice, and pretty much an all around enviable dude (see this on point Vice interview esplaining this). The entire thing is devoted to aural pleasures, including a fashion piece where looks are illustrated and paired with songs, ex illustration of a designer outfit which exemplifies part of an Ariel Pink song. On top of all of this, a thoughtful look at the life of Prince. Really, I am not asking much from printed media, just for it to tell me more about things I am interested and maybe show me some new tricks. Flaunt, for sure, consistently delivers.
W-tf
W, wtf. This month's issue is about some shit: blah blah blah..anne hathaway..blah blah blah..dakota fanning..blah blah blah...ralph rucci. Which is well and good for a fashion/culture magazine. It is only natural that they would profile a few iconic, emerging, notable figures that would hold some relevance to their audience. However, what is puzzling and vaguely offensive is the way their writer's handle the diction of their interviews. In the editor's forward regarding Anne Hathaway, there is not only gratuitous mention of Mlle. Hathaway's disastrous love life (she essentially was conned by some guido who was also conning everyone else), but in the same breath of prose they paint her as a bratty naif AND manage to highlight the erratic nature of male actors that have little to nothing to do with Hathaway, but are featured with interview later in the issue. Then, close their run-down of 'emotional disorders of the rich and famous' with "a note to Hathaway: he's single".
In the Ralph Rucci article, they manage to make the designer seem at times anti-current, neurotic, self-effacing, and subversively ego maniacal. Also, they take a stab at Margiela (oh NO you didddnnttttttt chica) who is very anti-publicity -ex: corresponds in to his rare interviews via fax and is never photographed- by calling his activities 'schtick' while using his product a few pages later in an accessories report.
Despite my general, neutrality or minor-distaste for the featured figures in this month's W, I cannot get over how thickly smarmy their coverage of these individuals comes across to the reader. It is as though there is a recurring subtext of, 'these people are totally NOT cool but we felt like doing a good deed and deigning to let them into our aspirational pages, but fyi we still think they are L-O-S-ERS'. Even though W, is more of an industry magazine than Cosmo, and often is elitist they really shouldn't make reading through the lines so easy that, even hung-over at 8am on a Sunday, I can be creeped out by their actions.
In the Ralph Rucci article, they manage to make the designer seem at times anti-current, neurotic, self-effacing, and subversively ego maniacal. Also, they take a stab at Margiela (oh NO you didddnnttttttt chica) who is very anti-publicity -ex: corresponds in to his rare interviews via fax and is never photographed- by calling his activities 'schtick' while using his product a few pages later in an accessories report.
Despite my general, neutrality or minor-distaste for the featured figures in this month's W, I cannot get over how thickly smarmy their coverage of these individuals comes across to the reader. It is as though there is a recurring subtext of, 'these people are totally NOT cool but we felt like doing a good deed and deigning to let them into our aspirational pages, but fyi we still think they are L-O-S-ERS'. Even though W, is more of an industry magazine than Cosmo, and often is elitist they really shouldn't make reading through the lines so easy that, even hung-over at 8am on a Sunday, I can be creeped out by their actions.
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