In New York, a cultural mélange of punk, highbrow, and hippie has long called the industrial lofts, tenements, and cottages of old New Amsterdam home. Now haute fashion joins the fray. Since the economy took a spill, the fashion industry has been migrating south, leaving its midtown Manhattan epicenter in favor of offices in a grittier new garment district, where pretty young things roam. Even publishing juggernaut Condé Nast is claiming new floors in the rising 1 World Trade Center, and wise designers are setting up headquarters in its shadow.
The war is on. Last week, Lonely Planet fueled the fire with a little friendly competition between SF and NYC. The two cities have always had a friendly rivalry, but this time you get to be the judge. So stop whatever it is you're doing—that report can wait a few minutes—and cast your votes ASAP.
Right now, it's neck and neck, and I have to admit, that as a former New Yorker, I had to choose the Big Apple on some of these (there is just something about The Strand that Green Apple can't match). But come on people—we can't let Central Park beat out the Golden Gate Bridge!
As you might know, I was in NYC last week on an eating binge. My hit list:
If San Francisco’s most fashionable enclaves seemed a little deserted over the last two weeks, it’s for good reason. Not a few fashion-minded Left Coasters flocked east for New York Fashion Week, and we’ve been eating up their electronic missives from under the tents ever since.
For a Fashion Week redux with a San Francisco perspective, we turn to a few of our favorite local fashion sources for the skinny:
Jennie of Going West had a whirlwind spin through New York, which culminated in a photo shoot at Bryant Park and the discovery of two new bags she didn’t know she had – too bad they were under her eyes.
One of the things I've noticed over the past seven years that I have been in San Francisco is the clear differences between foodie culture here versus New York City—my hometown. Since I’m just finishing up a visit (snowed-in as we speak), I thought I’d weigh the benefits of two cities dear to my heart.
How does one begin to approach Synecdoche, New York, first-time director Charlie Kaufman’s tortured and often brilliant tale of an artist paralyzed by his insecurities and haunted by opportunities missed?
It’s not so much that his film defies description as that none could adequately prepare you for the experience of watching it. Kaufman’s existential musings on life, death and the pursuit of love are sometimes messy and maddeningly self-indulgent, and they're stuffed into a sprawling, surreal narrative that unfolds like a dream. But they are also heartfelt, painfully honest and wickedly funny.