Fritinancy

Get Thee to a Dictionary

If you're going to go churchy on us, watch thy pronouns.

Thou: subject ("Thou said WHAT?")

Thee: object ("Yeah, I'm talkin' to thee.")

Thy: possessive ("I see by thy outfit that thou art a cowboy.")¹

For shame!

___

¹ Update: As the Rev. Michael Penn Moore pointed out in an e-mail, that sentence should begin "I see by thine outfit..."Thy becomes thine in front of an open vowel. Aren't you glad English dropped the second person informal several centuries ago?

(Photo taken at Bay Street shopping center, Emeryville.)

No Title

Another reason to love Zappos:

Fred Mossler

No Title

Fred joined Zappos.com in 1999 and was recently promoted to the position of "No Title" from Senior VP of Merchandising because we couldn't think of a title for him. His "No Title" position enables him to oversee a variety of departments at Zappos, including merchandising, marketing, creative services, product presentation, Zappos University, help desk, and outlet operations.

Prior to Zappos, Fred spent over 8 years at Nordstrom.

This Is Not a Shoe

No, says Sruli Recht, its creator: it is the Hvalsforhúðsskór Dorks, a men's boot made of "minke dork" in "caramel sandstone" with a 2" raw leather Cuban heel.

And here is the descriptive copy:

hunter and hunted, charred end cycles of left over limits.
holes in these things less for the breathing,
chasing that whale, too late in the evening,
"It's the new dolphin - a stand in for the ozone, and that hole itself? is just the next blackman".

Also excellent for achieving the Sarkozy Effect.

Mr. Recht, who calls himself  "a European nomad," was born in Jerusalem in 1979 and eventually settled in Reykjavik, Iceland, where he now dreams up and produces his surrealistic footwear and clothing. The prose, I am willing to bet, is likewise all his own.

Take this item, described as:

The Bullet-proof Handkerchief

For the Promiscuous Idealist whom

Lives in Elegant Danger

Whom? Yes, youm.

Or Death Sequence, about which Recht writes:

This is a seal skin dress. Put away your adopted social morals and enjoy it.

Go. Read. (Especially the About page.) Send an admiring e-mail. But don't attempt to place an order. This is not a store.

(Via Jon Carroll, who paid tribute to Recht in his column last month.)

Cintra and the Red Soles

Cintra Wilson on the impossible shoes of Christian Louboutin:

The Christian Louboutin boutique is a small, low-key spectacle, dominating a black-and-chrome storefront on Madison Avenue. Imagine the footwear wing of Frederick’s of Hollywood, if it had tottered away to seduce the Wonka factory: wall-to-wall red carpet, mirrors, disco sequins and modular Lucite cubbies all showcasing a loopy series of variations on lickably shiny, nosebleed-high hooker pumps (the cheap American cousin of which is commonly known, in fetishistic eBay galleries, as “the Pleaser”).

Hence, the mystique: Louboutin pumps look right at home in the rarefied air betwixt chrome poles and mirrored ceilings, only they are around $900. This makes them not hooker shoes, but merely French.

I have mentioned the fabulous Cintra before. She just keeps getting better. Any week in which one of her "Critical Shopper" pieces appears in the Times Thursday Styles section is a good week in which to be alive.

Photo of Christian Louboutin pumps from Kuwait-Style.com.

Names in the News: Fashion Week Edition

Stupa: I've written previously about mystifying shoe names and descriptive copy. Now behold the Arche Stupa in ambre nubuck (photo on the left) and consider a name that is both mystifying and, well, stupid. A stupa (Sanskrit for "heap") is a mound containing the relics of a Buddha or a saint. In other words, it's a tomb. With sacred overtones. So we've got a death association and a sacrilegious connotation and--at least to speakers of English, Spanish, and Italian--a "stupid" soundalike. Three strikes. Arche shoes in general are beautifully crafted (in France) and very comfortable, and the Stupa is nice enough to look at, but, given the bad name, I can't say I'm surprised that it's currently on sale for almost half its original price. By the way, what is up with Arche calling the material of its soles "milk-fed Havea rubber"? First of all, the Latin name of the rubber tree is Hevea brasiliensis, not "Havea." And no matter how much milk you "feed" it, nothing magical will happen. It's the sap that's milky, not the fertilizer.

YOOX: They sell some top-drawer discounted designer duds at YOOX: Donna Karan, Martin Margiela, Dries Van Noten, Alexander McQueen, Prada. And they probably have a few yuks around the water cooler. But that doesn't save "YOOX" from being one of the silliest, ugliest names in fashion history. At least it wasn't randomly selected, according to the (God help us) DNA page:

The name itself reveals the personality of YOOX.COM: Y and X, the male and female chromosomes, flank the ‘zero’ from the binary code, the fundamental language of the digital age.

So logical! And yet so dumb!

YOOX is headquartered in Bologna, and the names of its "team" members (no CEO or president in evidence) are largely Italian, so I'm wondering whether "YOOX" sounds hip or American or something to people named Paolo and Giancarlo and Valentina. A certain distance from English fluency, and indeed from reality itself, might account for prose like this:

Once inside YOOX.COM you experience the alchemy of a creative cyberspace, where technology meets women and men to explore a new concept of entertainment via shopping. 

Theality: Speaking of alternate realities, take a look at this brand's landing page on Zappos (the manufacturer's About Us copy is slightly different):

Theality was conceived in 2005 to meet the needs of fashionable pregnant women and it is unlike any other maternity clothes on the market. With unique designs, high quality stretch fabrics, and detail-oriented embellishments, theality has leaped to the forefront of maternity fashion.

The word "theality" is the fusion of the words "theory" and "reality", which is the philosophy behind the line. Theality clothing is the fusion of what designers are showing on the runway and making it the reality for the pregnant woman.

Theality clothing is a must for any pregnant woman who is concerned with comfort as well as maintaining her sense of style. With the strong belief that moo-moos [sic!] and unflattering prints should be universally banned from maternity fashion, theality has designed a line of clothing that begs the question, "What's your theality?"

Where to begin with this? Let's just leap to the forefront. For starters, some words--like "theory" and "reality"--just shouldn't be blended. The sense of neither word is retained, and the resulting blend is confusing. I saw it as "The Ality" (what's an Ality?); others may try to pronounce it as "theel-tee." Second, there's already a successful Theory fashion brand. Third, the Theality logo (which I've been unable to reproduce here) for no apparent reason highlights the "e," the "a," and the "i." My brain's been on infinite loop trying to crack that code.

Then there's the copy, which is painful when it isn't laughable; I suspect it was written by a non-native English speaker and never copyedited or proofread. A few of the lowlights:

• "It is unlike any maternity clothes on the market." Clumsy and ungrammatical. And the use of "and" to connect the two clauses in that sentence is a dead giveaway of an amateur writer.
• "A fusion of the words 'theory' and 'reality,' which is the philosophy behind the line." How can "a fusion of the words" be "a philosophy"?
• "And making it the reality for the pregnant woman." Awkward.
• FYI, the Hawaiian garment is a muu-muu, not a "moo-moo."
• "...begs the question, 'What's your theality?'" Everyone gets "begs the question" wrong, but that's no excuse to use it here to mean "asks the question." And the question being asked is a pointless one.

Bonus bad-name link: Read about Acne Jeans at Beauty Marks.

Every Woman a Queen

Patricia Hearst Shaw--remember her? with the Symbionese Liberation Army? and the roles in the John Waters movies?--was in the spotlight once again this week, this time in the genteel environs of the 132nd Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, where her champion French bulldog took home the Best of Opposite Sex prize.

But enough about Patty. Let's talk about the dog. Specifically, the dog's name. On paper she's "Shann's Legally Blonde." But she picks up her ears and smiles a doggy smile when you call her "Diva."

Then again, who doesn't? Once upon a time, the term (which means "goddess" in Italian) was applied highly selectively, and with all due respect, to opera megastars such as Maria Callas. These days, everyone with a pair of X chromosomes is a diva. We're so democratic! Divacratic, even.

Consider this selective sampling from the brand-o-sphere:

Diva Cup®--"not a tampon, not a pad"--is a reusable silicone "menstrual solution," and without being overly graphic, I'll just say it's the least diva-esque product imaginable. (Full disclosure: I have used a similar product, and ladies, it truly is the answer to your prayers. Go get one.)

Divabetic wants to "makeover [sic] your diabetes." The organization sponsors events that are "your gateway to finding answers, feeling inspired and learning new ways to live well with diabetes while enjoying an exciting mix of free beauty and fashion services." The name was one of those coup de foudre things that happens when divas walk among us: "While attending a tribute concert to Luther Vandross ... [organization co-founder] Max [Szadek] coined the word 'divabetic' after watching Ms.Patti LaBelle reveal in her own sassy way that she was living with diabetes." Sign me up, girlfriend!

DIVA is "Europe's only mainstream lesbian magazine."

Hotel Diva, in San Francisco's theater district, calls itself a "Sexy Boutique Hotel" (caps sic). According to the hotel's designer, "hotels are about ... sleeping in a new bed, great linens, using as much hot water as you want, room service, getting up late, and having sex in the middle of the day." Now that's direct marketing.

Zappos, the online shoe store, features four pages of shoes code-named Diva, including the Gel-Dirt Diva 2 running shoe and the Diaper Dude Divas Diaper Bag. (Divas do diapers?)

"The Diva" is Old Navy's name for its lowest-rise jeans.

Diva Furniture sells furniture in Los Angeles and Seattle.

Viva Diva, a clothing boutique not far from where I live, gets points for rhyming.

Diva Espresso, which has four Seattle locations, gets points for referring to itself as "she" ("Diva paid her growing-pains dues...").

Surf Diva offers surfing lessons in San Diego.

Then there's the sisterhood of blogging divas: Cooking Diva, Techie Diva (pink! pink! pink!), Retail Design Diva (which had a nice post a few months ago on why store mannequins no longer smile).

Autism Diva hasn't posted in a while. I hope everything's OK.

And oh so much more: Diva Limousine (but of course!), Diva cooktops (divas cook?), Diva jewelry...

Still not quite sure about this diva thing? Take the Blogthings "Are You a Diva?" quiz (sample question: "Do you often cancel plans at whim?"). Then fine-tune the picture with the "What Decade Diva Are You?" test.

Finally, in honor of Patty Hearst and her champion canine companion: not one, not two, not three, but four "Diva Dog" brands on just the first page of a Google search: the Diva Dog collar collection, The Diva Dog "celebrity dog clothes," The Diva-Dog Bowtique, and Diva Dogs (UK).

P.S.: You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll roll around in something ripe when you see Diva Dog: Pit Bull on Wheels. From the plot synopsis:

The story of Coral, who was left permanently paralyzed by a hit-and-run driver. She touched and inspired people wherever she went, and now her legacy lives on as the official spokesdog for disabled animals everywhere.

Happy Valentine's Day, all you divas, human and otherwise. And smooches to you dudes, too.

Hat tip for the title of this post: Huey P. Long and Randy Newman.

Photo: Union Street clothing boutique, San Francisco.

Flinching from Fashion

"Oooohh, cute boots," I said covetously as I spotted the Macy's ad on page A3 of today's New York Times. Then I read the copy:

New! Cringe covered wedge ankle boot with buckle detail.

I shrank back in alarm. Cringe covered?

Now, I know a thing or two about the language of footwear. I've been writing copy for a San Francisco shoe retailer for 15 years or so, and I can blabber with some authority about breasted heels, bicycle toes, and D'Orsay pumps. (I also know where highly esteemed cordovan leather comes from: the hindquarters of a horse.) And I know that shoe designers are prone to flights of fancy in naming and describing their creations. (See also what the Manolo has to say about shoe naming.)

But I'd never heard "cringe" applied to shoes. Ever.

I do have a theory, though.

First, what exactly does "cringe" mean?

My Shorter Oxford English Dictionary says it comes from an Old English word that meant "yield" or "fall in battle." The most common contemporary meaning is "to shrink the muscles of the body involuntarily; shrink; cower." It has overtones of "behaving in an obsequious or fawning manner."

No doubt technology journalist Mark Stephens had all those squirmy meanings in mind when he chose the nom de nerd Robert X. Cringely.

Back to the Times ad. The Biviel boot depicted is a Macy's Herald Square exclusive, so I can't show you what it looks like. But take a look at the heel of this similar Biviel boot (from Zappos):

 

See how a single piece of leather envelops both the shaft and the heel? I suspect that some sort of leather-shrinking process was involved. And that, in attempting to describe the style, the Macy's copywriter had an issue with the word shrink, or thought it sounded too pedestrian for this rather unusual feature, and so reached for the thesaurus. And came up with what must have seemed like a logical, even Frenchy-looking, synonym: cringe.

But while shrink can be either neutral ("reduce in size") or negative ("shrink in fear," "shrink in disgust"), cringe is always negative. Unpleasant, even.

This reminds me of my first secretarial job. I was told I would be taking minutes of our group's meetings, and I thought "minutes" lacked a certain je ne sais quoi. So I titled my first report "Moments."

Of course, I was 7 years old, and the group was my Brownie troop. Since then, I've learned (a) that secretarial "minutes" comes from "minutiae," not the unit of time, and (b) that the thesaurus is sometimes my friend ... and sometimes it needs to stay on the bookshelf.

How the Croc Got Its Name

Yes, they're hideous. ("But they're so comfortable!") Yes, web sites and newspaper columns have been devoted to deploring them. Yes, America's world image slipped several additional notches when the Vacationer-in-Chief was photographed wearing them. With dark socks, no less.

And yet, the foamy, perforated footwear known as Crocs are a retail phenomenon ($200 million in sales in 2006). It's a mystery I can't explain. But I can tell you why they're called Crocs, now that I've read Megan O'Rourke on "The Croc Epidemic" in Slate.com:

Crocs was conceived by three friends—Scott Seamans, George Boedecker, and Lyndon Hanson—on a trip in the Caribbean, when Seaman showed his friends the extraordinary slip-resistant clog he was wearing; learning that it was made by a Canadian company called "Foam Creations," the friends spotted an opportunity. Soon they had licensed and were trying to "develop" the shoe (by adding a strap to the back); the name was the first thing that had to go. They realized the tops looked like crocodile snouts from the side. Presto! Crocs was born.

Crocs are made from a material called Croslite, a "proprietary closed-cell resin" that is neither plastic nor rubber and was developed by Crocs predecessor Foam Creations. How Croslite got its name is harder to suss out; the Cros- prefix may be a scrambling of "closed-cell resin."

The PR gods are certainly with Crocs this week. Rob Walker devoted his Consumed column in the Sunday New York Times Magazine to the Crocs business story and to the fervent sentiments, pro and con, they inspire. Walker observes:

Aspiring lifestyle brands are a dime a dozen, but Crocs have trod an unusual path. The shoes caught on first in Middle America, then migrated toward the more trend-centric coasts, possibly aided by the most significant marketing campaign in the company’s brief history: ads in Vanity Fair and other magazines carried the theme “Ugly can be beautiful.”

Strange Name of the Week

Most of the time, mid-price comfort brand Naturalizer sticks to predictable, even insipid, naming conventions: Christa, Bella, Enya, Kelsey. So what got into the coffee the day they decided to name this shoe style "Weirda"?

I'm trying to imagine the sales pitch:

"It's from Old English wyrd, meaning fate or destiny, and, you know, you're just destined to buy them."

"It's the feminine form of Weirdo, and that's so uncool it's cool."

"It's We plus da, with ir in the middle, which is the Spanish verb to go."

Uh-huh.

Read more about shoe names.

Best FAQ Ever?

John Fluevog is a Canadian designer of shoes for men and women, but really, he's so much more: “I’m an armchair philosopher, and artist and a style monger, my shoes and messages are quite simply a part of me.” (He's also a comma splicer, but we'll forgive him this once.) Those messages appear on the rubber soles of his fanciful yet comfortable footwear: "To love or hate, the choice is yours," "Your sole will direct your future," "Be perfect." (Click on the hubcap to read more.)

But I really want to write about "About." Fluevog's "About" page reveals a fearless creativity the likes of which is in sadly short supply on corporate websites. Yes, the Frequently Asked Questions include the predictable "Where can I find a Fluevog store near me?" and "Can your shoes be resoled?" but they also feature the following:

• What is the capital of Uruguay?
• Are John Fluevog Angels really Satan resistant?
• Do you have special Fluevog elves that do shoe repairs?
• Who played vibes with Benny Goodman's band between 1936 and 1940?

You want to know, don't you? So read the answers.

Pictured: The Lady Ophelia, "a sensible yet edgy slip on pump with the classic 3" Signature Rococo heel and oblique toe shape." (US$269)