Outfit Post: Is women's fashion man-repelling or merely absurd?

What is the point of fashion? Self-expression? Creativity? Individuality? According to one blogger, fashion is about repelling men. Oh. Okay. Darn.

The blogger in question is named Leandra Medine. Here is her fashion "thing", as described by the New York Times:

Since April 2010, Ms. Medine, 21, has been publishing photos of herself on her blog, the Man Repeller, as well as shots of similarly challenging recent runway looks: fashions that, though promoted by designers and adored by women, most likely confuse - or worse, repulse - the average straight man. These include turbans, harem pants, jewelry that looks like a torture instrument, jumpsuits, ponchos, furry garments resembling large unidentified animals, boyfriend jeans, clogs and formal sweatpants.

Medine's blog is a tongue-in-cheek chronicle of her adventures in these bewildering articles of clothing. A quick examination shows her in suspenders, argyle socks with pony hair sandals, and drop-crotch pants, posing for photographers with other slovenly-chic high-profile fashion bloggers. She argues that now, more than ever, designers are producing clothes which push the boundaries of fashion so far that they turn off (and repel) the average man.

The fashion world has taken notice. Medine's blog won top honors in last month's Bloglovin' Awards. And fans have begun to use her blog name as a verb, as in, “I am totally man-repelling today.” (Warning: This might have to become part of my vernacular from now on. I think I'll start today. My belt is totes man-repelling. Uh, yeah.)

On first glance, The Man Repeller seems very similar to other blogs I read: a young, coltish woman mixes thrift, discount and runway pieces in a haphazard way that somehow looks chic in the end (while these pieces would transform me into a schizophrenic hobo.) However, I truly believe that this girl doesn't understand men. On average, men do not care what you wear. If you're that concerned about repelling men with your outfit, ask yourself these questions first:

1. Have you showered in the last 24 hours?
2. Do you have a vagina?
3. Are you single?

If you can answer yes to any or all 3 of these questions you will fail to repel men. An outfit composed of six types of material might confuse them, sure. Bizarre as they might be, most of the clothes Medine wears only underscores that she is slim and elegant, albeit in a quirky, offbeat sort of way. Even in a homemade dress constructed from office supply paper and a body stocking, Medine looks charming and sort of cute.

Furthermore, I don't believe women's fashion is about attracting men. As far as I'm concerned, fashion is about self-expression. There's freedom in being creatively attired and wearing pieces that communicate your individual sense of style. Shopping for the perfect heels, the sharpest tailored blazer, and the ultimate red lipstick is a uniquely individual, personally rewarding experience. Choosing an outfit is even more so. When I get dressed in the morning, it's always from the perspective of what I want to wear, what I find comfortable and appealing, and what message I want to send to the world. I really could care less about what men think.

Despite its name and the running joke Medine has about not getting action because of the ridiculous things she wears, The Man Repeller isn't really about men. It's about the absurdity of 'high' fashion - stuff that is just plain ugly and confusing. Medine is funny, and her advice regarding how to be featured on fashion blogs like The Sartorialist was totally accurate and literally made me chortle out loud. Hint: wear as many different types of fabric as possible in multiple clashing pieces. Add heinous lipstick, an affected snarl, sky-high clogs, and you're in.

According to my husband, I am not man-repelling in this outfit today at all. Actually, he described it as "hot". So I suppose I need to work on my skills a little bit more. Maybe if I added a turban, leg warmers and suspenders I'd make the cut.

Thrifted Gap sweater; thrifted Loft skirt; Target belt; We Love Colors tights; Kate Spade boots; thrifted vintage crocodile bag; Fossil earrings

Getting over it.

So I have this coat.

This coat doesn't makes much sense in the context of the rest of my wardrobe. I own very few things with similar bold prints. The last time I wore something so vibrant was back in 1987 when neon and obnoxious floral prints were in fashion, Can't Buy Me Love was playing in theaters (the original, Patrick Dempsey version), and I stored my homework in a Trapper Keeper. I also had a rather unfortunate perm, watched Growing Pains, and read Teen Beat. A lot.

I was introduced to this coat during a random visit to a thrift store. It was in perfect condition, in my size, and the material felt lush and luxurious. I admired the piping along the hems, the bold colors, the silver embossed buttons, and the fully lined interior. It was gorgeous. And yet I wasn't convinced it was for me. Mostly because I knew wearing this coat would garner quite a few looks from the general public. Looks of the evil side eye what-was-she-thinking variety. So I decided to leave the coat on the rack and continue browsing.

While walking through the aisles, I thought about a recent conversation I had with my hairdresser. You should know that I hate making small talk while getting my hair cut. I want to relax, enjoy my scalp massage, and avoid awkward chatter about the weather and celebrities and other trivial crap. On this visit my usually quiet hairdresser shared some trouble she's having with her boyfriend. She's an unusually mature 21 year-old, and has dated a slackerish younger guy for three years. She's outgrown her relationship and wants to settle down with someone more serious and stable. But she hasn't broken up with him, largely because she's afraid of what her friends will think. She confessed that they think she's too serious. They tease her for being responsible and focused while they do beer bongs and stay up all night watching Gossip Girl on DVD. She worries there's something wrong with her because she's so different from her friends. Their judgment causes her to question her feelings, and to doubt what she really wants.

I could really relate to her. I spent years second-guessing my personal style, tailoring my appearance to better fit in with my friends and family. It's hard to be true to yourself when everyone around you seems to be in opposition. When I was younger, I often felt different and unusual when I compared myself to my friends. I put a lot of energy into oppressing who I was in order to please those around me and avoid rocking the boat.

Oppression is defined as "something that oppresses, especially in being an unjust or excessive exercise of power." It is also "a sense of being weighed down in body or mind." Psychology Today recently posted an article called The Oppressor In The Mirror, addressing the link between the power given to weight and self-loathing. But I can easily see a connection between dressing for the comfort of others and overwhelming self-doubt. The feeling that you're being controlled by the wishes of other people can lead to some pretty severe self-doubt and loathing. When you prioritize being liked over accepting who you really are, that's oppressive. When you spend more time worrying about protecting the feelings of someone else rather than making yourself happy, that's oppressive. And when you feel forced to wear argyle and oxfords instead of your Doc Martens and miniskirts, that's oppressive.

It takes a pretty brave and courageous person to go against the grain, whether it be through relationships or body acceptance or clothes. It took me a long time to understand that there is nothing wrong with putting my own happiness first. If people don't accept me as I am, they're just going to have to get over it. How I express myself through what I wear is my choice. Clothing (and cosmetics, hair color, and body modification) is an wonderful venue for self-expression. I like my unique look. I feel happy in bright colors and thrifted pieces. And I love my tattoos. So I'm proud that I bought this coat. And even prouder that I wore it in public.

Evil side-eye be dammed.

Have you ever felt the need to oppress your personal style to appease others? Have you made adjustments to your wardrobe in order to make others more comfortable?

Thrifted Sigrid Olsen coat; J Crew sweater; thrifted white cotton-down tunic; Gap Outlet jeggings; Kate Spade boots; Anthropologie necklace

Suit yourself: How do you stay true to your personal sense of style?

Have you ever seen the TV show Dharma and Greg? It revolves around an extremely mismatched couple - quirky, free-spirited, yoga-teaching Dharma, and conservative, old-money, silver-spoon lawyer Greg. When my husband and I were dating, Dharma and Greg was one of the few shows we enjoyed watching together, primarily because we could relate to the lead characters so well. Like Dharma, I was eclectic, liberal, and Jewish. I came from a performing arts background and had wildly colored hair. My husband, meanwhile, was a young lawyer working at a midtown Manhattan boutique law firm. He wore lots of Ralph Lauren, read Wine Spectator Magazine, and was president of his college's Young Republicans club.

As our marriage has evolved, we've both somehow managed to retain our individuality. I've gotten tattooed, remain fiercely independent, and spend at least two days a week digging through the dollar bin at the Goodwill. My husband, meanwhile, is employed at a large, extremely conservative insurance company, where he sports expensive cuff links and rep striped ties and enjoys conversations about residuary charitable bequests.

Yesterday afternoon I met him for lunch at R&D Kitchen, near his office in University Park. R&D is the kind of place visited by old-money Dallasites who wear couture purchased at Stanley Korchack and own private yachts. It is also where you dine on food like this:

That's my $16 rainbow sushi roll, and my husband's sea salt and parsley french fries.

Visiting a restaurant like this always causes a bit of a crisis concerning the need to dress appropriately, and my desire to remain true to myself. I am extremely hesitate to sacrifice my personal style in order to appease those around me. It has taken me a good long time to fully accept who I am, and embrace all the qualities that make me unique. That includes my weight, my nose, my proclivity towards vintage clothing, and my loud girlish laugh. I truly appreciate who I am, and am proud that I don't blend in with the crowd. Furthermore, due to the large tattoo on my neck and my red hair, I am undeniably noticeable and unique. I couldn't blend in if I tried. And that's perfectly fine with me. Life is too short to be anyone other than who I am.

Yves Saint Laurent said, “Fashion fades but style is eternal.”  My personal style is here to stay. It is forever. I believe that too often women downplay their personal style because they are either too busy to refine it, lack the confidence to reflect it, or fall into the trap of dressing as they believe they're "supposed to." It isn't easy to be courageous and embrace who you are. You have to be brave and authentic, and take risks. That's what dressing with courage is all about. I realized years ago that I was never going to be the glamazon my mother wanted me to be, or the romantic woman dolled up in ruffles and lace. I am only comfortable dressing as me.

However, there are occasions where it becomes necessary to reign in my personal style in order to be respectful. Dressing respectfully often means "doing as the Romans do." In an establishment like the one I visited, that translates to subtle jewelry, covered shoulders and subdued make-up. I personally have no problem trading in my 1970's beaded sheer blouse for a simple crewneck sweater, if that's what the occasion merits. Furthermore, I understand that my value as an individual is not defined by what I do or do not wear. Just because I outfit myself in long-sleeves and simpler styles does not mean that I have abandoned my own beliefs to take on that of those surrounding me.

Respecting other people's beliefs does not mean you have to give up your own. It also does not change who you are.

This morning, I actually found it rather easy to dress respectfully while remaining true to myself. My entire outfit is thrifted aside from my accessories. I'm covered up, yet fully comfortable, and feel my personal sense of style is well represented.

And my lunch was delicious.

Vintage thrifted mink cape; thrifted Gap black sweater; thrifted Urban Renewel faux leather skirt; Forever21 belt; Target tights; Kate Spade boots; Louis Vuiton Speedy bag; Betsey Johnson gold watch

Like this post? Become a follower, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook. I love my followers!!!

Some kind of wonderful

One of my earliest memories is of the backyard birthday party my parents gave me when I was five. We lived in a two family house in a crowded neighborhood of Queens, and were extremely fortunate to have possession of the backyard. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can remember almost every single detail of that precious outdoor space.  In the summer I'd emerge from our side door, walk through a rose covered trellis, and enter a private, sweet-smelling world. Shaded by a gigantic crab apple tree, and protected from intruders by a chain link fence, the backyard would bloom with orange day lilies in summer. My family spent many afternoons picnicking, playing, and barbecuing in that backyard. We also hosted quite a few parties, my birthday being one of them.


I'm amazed at how much I remember from that day. My dad fired up the grill and made hot dogs and burgers. We ate ice cream cake from Carvel (if you grew up or live in the Northeast, you'll understand the thrill a trip to Carvel incites. Their soft serve is legendary.) Records by Carol King, Blondie, and Simon and Garfunkel spun on the stereo. My grandfather stretched out on a lounge chair, smoked his pipe and worked on his tan. At the urging of my cousins and friends, my dad plucked an apple from the tree, sliced it in half with his pen knife, and revealed a fat, dissected, still squirming worm, which both horrified and fascinated me.


However, when I flash back to that day, the first thing that comes to mind is the dress I wore to the party. Oh, how I loved that dress. It was white, with a full pink and white striped underskirt and puffed white sleeves. The front of the dress was adorned with a pink, yellow and green floral applique (it was 1979, after all.) I felt amazing in that dress. I spent hours twirling in front of the mirror, watching the skirt swish around me. That dress made me feel sweet, girly, confident and joyful.


The outfit I wore to dinner last night incited the same feelings. What article of clothing makes you feel great? Do you have any special memories attached to an outfit?

Forever 21 denim jacket, Muise ikiat dress, American Eagle black tee, J Crew tights; Kate Spade boots; Frye clutch; Forever 21 necklace; Forever 21 bracelets; Target pyramid studs

There is a light that never goes out

In the year 1990, on a cold November evening, my best friend Elizabeth and I made a momentous trek into Manhattan. We had gotten dressed in our finest attire - green Doc Martins, knee socks, and a vintage schoolgirl plaid skirt for me I would be very popular within today's eighties-obsessed trends); and jeans and (I think) a black top for Elizabeth. We rode the subway in jittery anticipation, playing it cool but entirely unsure of what to expect. How many people would be there? Would the crowd be rowdy, I hoped? Would we have a decent view of the stage? And, most importantly, would I blend in with what I was certain would be the upper echelon of young Manhattan?

This was a pivotal moment in my life. I was about to attend my first rock concert. As a classical musician in training, I had attended many mostly uneventful school-sponsored performances. Catching a cello concertos or opera at Lincoln Center was part of my monthly routine. However, pop music was somewhat out of my realm. First of all, I wasn't much into the music played on the radio at the time. (And thank God for that, because pop music was dominated by MC Hammer and Bell Biv Devoe.) My taste ran towards The Beatles, The Smiths, Led Zeppelin, and The Who. And secondly, no matter how much babysitting I did, I didn't have the money to attend concerts. Hearing my classmates talk about the amazing show they caught at CBGB or Madison Square Garden caused a bit of jealousy, but it wasn't something I lost sleep over. Nevertheless, when Elizabeth called offering me a ticket to see Erasure (forgive me... it was 1990, and English synthpop was big) I jumped at the chance. 

Here's what I remember about the concert:  We sat way, way up in the rafters. At some point during the show one of the singers pranced around the stage in a pink tutu and combat boots. One of the male singers, I should add. A girl sitting in front of me wore a skirt made entirely out of men's ties, a skirt I continue to covet to this day. And the music was so loud that my ears pounded the entire subway ride home.

I've attended quite a few concerts since then. But none of them can replicate the excitement I felt that first time..

Vintage blazer; Hot Topic Morrissey tee; Gap long-sleeved tee; Old Navy jeggings; Kate Spade boots; Target pyramid studs; Forever 21 rhinestone bracelets.