Currently viewing the tag: "Marc by Marc Jacobs"

“Marc Jacobs International is known for its commitment to charity in the communities in which it operates…” From an interview I did last Spring with Marc Jacobs International President & Cofounder Robert Duffy. Yeah, I just quoted myself. Isn’t that cool? NAWT…

What is cool, however, is that Marc Jacobs has started a special promotion to support one of Boston’s greatest cultural institutions, the Boston Ballet. In all seriousness, two programs from last year’s season at the Boston Ballet had me in tears, and, as you’ve probably surmised from reading my misanthropic tomes, I don’t much fancy crying. The dancers and the repertoire are really just that good. James Whiteside + Lia Cirio = OTHERWORDLY AND BREATHTAKING AND OMGWHATAMIWATCHINGTHISCAN’TBEREAL AND WAAAATAMICRYINGDAMNYOUDAMNYOUDAMNYOU. And of course we all already know that Marc is dope.

Want to do your part? Marc Jacobs is making it easy-peasy for you. Through December 31st, all you have to do is:

1) Go see the Boston Ballet’s Nutcracker because a) it’s incredible and b) this is the last year the ballet will perform the now decade-running production. It will be revamped next year.
2) Keep your ticket stubs.
3) Take said ticket stubs to Marc Jacobs at 81 Newbury Street, Boston, MA.
4) Be super proud of yourself because…

Marc Jacobs is donating a crisp dollar bill to the Boston Ballet for every ticket stub submitted. Basically, you enrich yourself by seeing the Ballet (Hi, you’re a cultural noob, get on it) and then, without doing anything except exercising your way to MJ, you support the Ballet alongside, you know, Marc Jacobs and his crew of übercool, acid-washed-denim-wearing, tattoo-having, always-smiling-because-they’re-cooler-than-you-but-still-somehow-unnervingly-nice cats. (I realize saying übercool cats = me not being cool at all. TOTALLY AWARE KTHX.)

If that weren’t enough, a submitted ticket stub means you’ll also be entered into a raffle that could result in you being $350 of Marc Jacobs richer. Which is like $1278931287312381237123 richer in regular dollars. OBVIOUSLY.

You read that right. So…. go do it. And STAT.

Some hop in bathtubs when earthquakes hit. Others seek open spaces. My initial instinct when the recent 5.8 earthquake hit was to run to my closet.

As the door of my Back Bay brownstone started to shake I asked myself, if this was the end of the world, what would I want to wear? The answer was not the fashionable Nike running shorts and cotton v-neck t-shirt I was then sporting.

Granted, by the time I opened my closet doors the rumblings of the earthquake were long over. Either way, a three-hour long session of dress up within the deep, dark hole of my closet still ensued. I decided that if Madonna and JT only had four seconds to save the world, I’d want to be last seen in my vintage houndstooth cropped jacket over my beloved Marc by Marc sleeveless magenta wool dress. And even though it is still August, I’d pair the winter-esque ensemble with white tights and my soft and my brown leather cowboy boots for practicality- in case I am running from a collapsing building. (For the record, this outfit is much cuter than my vocabulary can convey)

No, I wouldn’t run to Saks in the last minutes of my life and spend all $255.15 in my savings account on a new, chic outfit. Of course, I still want my gravestone to read: “Here lies the well-dressed wife of Robert Pattinson ” but I want the last outfit I wear to be filled with sentimental value and a true indicator of who I am. No, I’m not a cowboy nor do I have a southern drawl. But I’ve walked countless miles on the concrete sidewalks of this city in that pair of worn-in cowboy boots. And, that comfortable Marc by Marc dress is forever embedded with the mixed scent of Ralph by Ralph Lauren and spilled vodka tonics from my long-time dive bar of choice, Daisy Buchanan’s.

The point of my three hour dress up date is two fold: one-don’t wait to the end of the world to re-wear your favorite, most prized pieces- especially if you look good in them. After all, clothes are to be worn. And two, if you find yourself wearing Nike running shorts and you are not on an elliptical, either change your outfit or stop delaying your workout session and head to the gym pronto.

 

As promised, the results of my impromptu, avoidthisgoddamned heat photoshoot…

Many thanks to the team at Marc by Marc Jacobs (Dani, my wifey; Connor, nicest guy evahhhh; and to the sales associate whose name I cannot remember but who pointed out the dart necklace, I love you and you’re awesome and no, I’m not just saying that because I cannot remember your name..), and to Brian James and Matt Atwater for sweatin’ to the oldies with me to get some crisp, cool images.

If you cannot already tell, this Mattwater kid is becoming a bit of a muse for me. But don’t tell him that. Homegirl doesn’t need a big ego. Leave that to me…

Yes, I realize how many people have used this tagline before. I don’t care.

The blistering heat of late inspired my latest impromptu shoot, focusing on easy, summer pieces with enough interest to keep you from the t-shirt doldrums, even when you feel like your skin is melting off.

Not feeling particularly up to trolling Newbury for an afternoon, I pulled exclusively from Marc by Marc Jacobs. 1) I was lazy and hot and sticky and miserable and hated everythingeveryoneGODDAMNITGETMEOUTOFNEWENGLAND, 2) they always have dope ish, and 3) their team is always super helpful and super goodlooking.  Legit, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an ugly person in that store, which only further confounds me because they are always so NICE. The combination makes me vaguely uncomfortable. I’ll let you speculate as to why. [Also, special thanks to Connor for somehow always tolerating my frantic visits. You’re a gentleman and a scholar and I like your shorts, but I told you that already.]

ALL THAT SAID (with nothing actually being said…), I’ll have the images up Friday morning. Just in time for you to run to the store, grab some ish, and get yourself to the nearest beach.

Teaser: I may or may not have included a pair of electric pink speedo boyshorts. If that’s not a reason to check back then I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

I have not, regrettably, spent altogether too much time in Provincetown since my move to Boston about three years ago (read: I HAVE NOT BEEN, WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?), so you may or may not find me at Marc Jacobs today drooling over the photographs in the compendium.

Whether I decide to have my copy autographed will pivot more on to what extent I can contain my aforementioned drooling. Historically speaking, not so good.

The real point of my blathering? COME TODAY. OBVIOUSLY. I’ll be the one in the corner furiously attempting to clear my schedule, book a room, and order my friends around via text. Yeah, THAT guy.

As if a book signing and an opportunity to turn my penchant for mocking myself into a group activity were not enough, ALL Proceeds from the sale of the book are going toward the Provincetown Art Association and Museum.  SO COME. AND BUY A BOOK. Or, actually, BUY SIX and tell them I PAID FOR FIVE.

* The title of this post has been lovingly pilfered from the poetry of my lord and savior Adrienne Rich.

For our FASHION FORWARD segment this past weekend, we focused on the best and brightest (quite literally) of the Resort and Spring collections. And, as a nod to these interim months, we brought you a few of our favorites from the local haunts to keep you warm until, finally, we can all shed a few layers and declare it Spring.