Notes, Transcripts, and What I Wore V.1
guess who's back
Hey hey heyyyyyy hopefully you haven’t relegated me to some dank corner of your inbox, though I wouldn’t blame you if you had. Consider me that little bag of ready-to-eat marinated artichokes that you bought from Trader Joe’s a year ago and just happened to discover in the back of your pantry. The shelf life of those things!
I’ll detail the reasons for YFOTG’s hiatus at a later date. Suffice it to say that the present felt as good a time as any to launch a series that I’ve been thinking about for some time.
In movies and such, journalists are often pictured conducting interviews in natty outfits — suits, ties, shirtsleeves pushed up and ink-stained, but at least the shirtsleeves are there as opposed to, say, a bathrobe.
(I’m willing to bet that since the advent of the telephone, one hundred percent of journalists have, at some point, conducted an interview in a bathrobe — or less!)
In real life, those of us who are privileged enough to get out into the field and interview our subjects face to face often do not dress like the cast of Anchorman or The Morning Show or The Devil Wears Prada (though, gosh, I wish). I wore my first and last skirt suit in 2005 (Theory, via Filene’s Basement) to interview for a job that I do not recall getting. Since then, I’ve theorized
that suiting oneself to the subject and situation at hand is as important as the questions and conversation.
For example, in June, I set out to interview the fine art photographer Gray Malin for The New Yorker.
The plan: to meet at his office in Brentwood and drive up to Montecito for a party at a vacation home he had spruced up in his signature style. This called for a day to night outfit that could withstand the bracing temperature swings of Southern California and footwear that would not succumb to grass. Option one:
While the Lily Pulitzer slip dress (via Rent the Runway) matched Malin’s Norman Rockwell meets Neiman Marcus vibe, the forecast called for clouds and a high of 65°F. The Kurt Cobain sweater (Nikhil’s, from Tokyo, if you’re really curious LMK in the comments and I’ll track down the source) would keep me warm but felt sartorially off given the NR X NM vibe. Perhaps a blazer? (Hugo Boss, also via RTR).
Perhaps if we were in St. Barth’s. I felt like I’d be tugging at the hem of this dress all day, worrying that I might flash someone. Can’t make intelligent conversation when you’re worried that you might flash someone!
The blazer with this Toccin midi (RTR, again) checked every box.
As for the shoes: Loewe. It was always going to be Loewe. I bought them for the Friends in Napa book tour and told myself I’d wear them enough to justify the cost. Mission accomplished.
Now, a June 2017 interview conducted on a similarly rarified patch of Southern California grass called for an entirely different outfit. The subject: DJ Khaled. The situation: gardening.
“He loves to garden,” his publicist told me. “He’ll give you a whole tour of his yard, you’ll get into the weeds.” She made no mention of a pun so I arrived in my most “garden professional” ensemble, a Blank NYC jumpsuit (like this) bought from the email newsletter Stella Spoils and studded Kenneth Cole slip ons (similar) with no socks. (I had yet to subscribe to Rent the Runway or — perhaps it goes without saying — garden in any capacity, professional or otherwise.)
I need not have fret. Khaled fielded my questions with his shirt open and while getting a haircut in his on-site salon (not pictured).
Were I to conduct this interview again, I would wear A) jeans, B) sneakers WITH SOCKS, and C) a hat. I would probably also remove my phone from its novelty case.
Then again, I miss that thing, there’s something to be said for a conversation piece, and the story turned out just fine.
‘Till next time. Promise it won’t be so long!