Avenue Elle: September 2006

Friday, September 29, 2006

Shocker: Britney Fires Publicist

Knowing a thing or two about publicity, I wanted to share a barrel of laughs with you all this fine Friday morning…

Britney Spears has allegedly fired her publicist – Leslie Sloane Zelnik. Let’s all ponder this for a moment…Britney with no publicist…

The thought conjures up many fine images of Starbucks-stained, jersey-knit frocks, smeared lipstick, bulbous breasts pouring over Con-trampo-like mini shirts…and (GASP) town outings sans bra.

My professional opinion…Britney is one baby too crazy to be without a publicist.

Britney claims that she will be better capable to handle her own publicity efforts than her former staff member, but considering that the media coverage for her as of late has been solely focused on her personal life, how in god’s name does she anticipate handling personal questions about her mothering skills (for both babies and husband) with any objectivity? How will she handle her next interview with Matty Lauer? How will she handle trash talk about her hubby?

I think this has disaster written all over it. Britney is a complete train wreck these days. Secretly, I’m interested to see how she will fare…will she crash & burn or become a surprise PR savant? Only time will tell.

Now the bigger question…where the hell is the girl’s stylist?!

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Hello, My Name is Elle and I'm a Wino

I’m having a massive need to revisit my “rules for sanity” that I had instated back in March. I’ve been doing my best to keep them in mind this year, and for the most part it’s been working.

Despite my ability to remain cool, calm and collected by way of taking care of myself, one rule has gone by the way side in a big way in the past two months, and it's completely derailing every other rule on the list.

In a nutshell…I think I am physically turning into a wine bottle. Yes, I’ve been partaking in the enjoyment of grape-varietals quite a bit lately. I’d say nearly every social outing I’ve been on since summer’s end has involved wine.

Wine is a lovely thing, but not in mass quantities…all in one night. You see, my gal pals and I like to get together for gab-fests. On these nights everyone arrives at the hostess’s apartment with a bottle of wine and a hunk of cheese in tow. To give you an example, Monday night there were just three of us, however we managed to polish off four bottles of wine and a bottle of Prosecco to boot. Tuesday was torture.

Furthermore, there are some nights where work is miserable, so arriving home to a glass of wine while I cook myself dinner is a comfort. I probably do this a couple nights a week. Then I noticed something…I was having trouble sleeping at night. Was my weekly wino behavior leading to insomnia? After a little internet searching I have to come to the conclusion that alcohol consumption at night is likely the culprit.

The act of drinking wine is a comforting by nature. It connotates "the good life" and relaxation. It’s about par with curling up on the couch with a cup of tea with more of a social flair. I think my wine drinking has something to do with replacing certain social comforts that are missing from my life…and that is a bad sign.

It's time to clean up my act, therefore I’m going back to my three-drink limit, STAT. I’ve also made another rule for myself, wine is allowed on one weekend day and on one weekday.

I don’t think that these will be a hard rules to follow since the thought of having a glass these days is truly unappealing. I have to put it into perspective of the other rules too - less wine means less fat on my ass, less money spent, more sleep and better work ethic. Just thinking about it makes me feel better already.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

The Girl That Cried GYMNASIUM

I am a choosy gal when it comes to guys. I take impressions from the first few meetings to heart…After all, if a guy can’t be himself right off the bat, then what’s the point?

In my own defense to being choosy, I think I give guys a chance. I’ve gone out on dates and had boyfriends. I’ve been one to claim that “I’m not a serial dater,” rather “I only date guys long term if I’m really interested.”

Well, it’s been brought to my attention that “a chance” in relation to dating me is a blip on the radar. My friends have deemed me damn near unapproachable, and my own sister says I have a problem with deal-breakers. Is this a dating intervention?

OK. Ladies, I get it. I get it!

In an effort to reduce my seventh wheel status and be inducted into the newly formed couples club (or get some serious "tension release"), I must relent some of my pickiness and (GULP) give guys more of a chance.

My pal Downtown now has me on a step-program for meeting eligible bachelors.

Step One: The Girl That Cries Gymnasium!

And what pray-tell does gymnasium mean? Precisely that whenever I’m chatting with a boy (and he collectively rates amongst my friends as a 5 or above on a scale of 1 – 10...I argued for 7, but they wouldn't budge) and a friend cries “GYMNASIUM,” I must immediately reframe my cynical mind and give the guy a fleeting chance.

NOTE: The word gymnasium is arbitrary, of course.

I know my friends only have my best intentions at heart, and are sincere about helping me “overcome” my single gal downfall of being overly choosy. But, but…

OK…no if ands or buts…they’re completely right.

Now it’s just a matter of how many times the girls can cry GYMNASIUM...

Monday, September 18, 2006

One Smart Cabbie

I had been impressed that The Frenchie had gone out of his way to track down my number and ask me out, therefore I was obliged to accept his offer to "take me out." I won't bore you with the details of the date because they were largely unspectacular. It's what happened at the end of the date that solidified his omission from my little black book.

He had picked the restaurant. He ordered the wine. He picked out the appetizers we shared. All were great, however the bill came and I ended up paying for the majority of the tab as indicated by him tossing two $20's across the table.

Strike one.

Since we lived in the same neighborhood, we shared a cab uptown. We chatted more about the same old stuff we just spent the better part of four hours taking about and I began to yawn. As we arrived at his stop, he pulled out a $20...and asked the cabbie for change.

Frenchie: “Do you have two tens?”
Cabbie: “No, I need the change.”
Frenchie: “How can you not have change? Do you have four fives, even ones?”
My Internal Monologue: “Are you fucking kidding me?!?”
Cabbie: “No, I’m sorry. I can’t break your $20”
Me (Irritated and Appalled): “It's ok. Just pay and I’ll get the rest.”

The Frenchie paid and then didn’t tip the cabbie.

Strike two.

As I rode the rest of the way uptown to my apartment I mulled over the behavior of my date. Here was a guy who seemed to be debonair and “with it” when it came to romancing the ladies. Clearly I had the wrong impression. It’s one thing to mutually go dutch, but it’s quite another to stick your date with the bill. It’s just rude.

As I arrived at my stoop, I paid the cabbie and gave him a double tip to accommodate for my cheap date. I stepped out of the cab and shut the door. As I walked away, the cabbie turned to me through his open window and said, “I would have given you the change. I just didn’t like your date.”

Strike three and he’s out.

When the cab driver tells you that he doesn’t like your date, you know it’s time to screen your phone calls!

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Fashionably Cynical

In the world of marketing it’s easy to have a love/hate relationship with one’s job. Hate derives from the grueling hours, constant ass kissing and pulling out the stops to move up the corporate ladder. Love blossoms from the party invites, free loot and tickets to highly sought after events. Today was a day full of love.

Promptly at 9am, I walked up to the crisp white tents at Bryant Park: the epicenter of New York’s Fashion Week. I certainly did not snag tickets by being a blogger. No, that seems to be the cliché of the week. Rather, I merely had to drop my client’s name and POOF!, I’m a potential sponsor (i.e. walking money bags).

As I walked through the tents with my clients, we received white-gloved treatment with full access to the VIP “holding area” and the “back of the house.” Although I appreciated the hospitality, I thought the scene itself was rather comical. It is a scene that would make any tourist drool…true New York celebrity, pretension and status.

To my trained and desensitized PR eyes, I didn’t think anything about the tents were glamorous or special. Yes, I saw celebrities. Yes, I got to go backstage. Yes, I walked through the line of paparazzi. No, they did not want to take my picture.

As a result of my morning escapades, I thought I'd enlighten the masses. If you ever go to an event at fashion week, be sure to keep the following in mind:

Everyone is a people pleaser until they find out you don’t have money. In other words the only people that matter are sponsors, potential sponsors, celebrities/socialites/etc. that wear the clothing, and fashion editors and writers who tell the world that celebrities/socialites/etc. wearing the clothing are cool.
Shocker! Some models are thin, but most models are downright emaciated. Eat something already! Even the garments that models “have to be small enough to fit in” are hanging off their bony shoulders. I happen to think Spain is onto something.
The over saturation of marketing is truly mind-boggling. Everything is branded. Some booths even had brands within a brand. Of course it’s ironic considering I was at fashion week to figure out how my clients could get in on the fun, but good god…there was so much branding that it was easy to turn off to all of it.
Unless you want to look like you’re working at the tents, dress like you work at Vogue. Everyone was decked out in designer duds. As a result, everyone was people watching wondering who was who...even if they happened to be a nobody. Even Nina Garcia looked distracted by the crowd.
Everyone wears sunglasses. Anywhere. Everywhere. Even with the lights off. Apparently it means you are “somebody.”

So I’m not gonna lie, despite my cynicism, it was still a good time. If you take away all the bullshit (see above), it’s hard not to notice what should be the sole focal point of such an extravaganza: the raw talent of the designers.

I was able to see both the Ports 1961 and Peter Som shows. Seeing the simplistic, yet constructed manner of which the beautiful fabrics were patterned together made it hard not to be excited to shop for my spring wardrobe.

If only my meager PR salary could afford such extravagance!

Monday, September 11, 2006

I Take It Back

New conclusion: The slow plan sucks.

Disclaimer: Before you all ridicule me for being a massive hypocrite I will make an admission - I am a total girl and spent the last week rationalizing reasons why a guy doesn’t like me. It’s pathetic and this post intends to own up and take it like a real woman.

Over the last few weeks I took an informal poll amongst my girl friends. When a guy says he wants to “slow things down” what the hell does that mean?

A vast majority of my friends said it means the guy wants to spend more time getting to know someone, in other words - he wants a relationship. The minority said it is a bad sign and means he’s just not that into you.

Is the majority correct or is this just a girl-euphemism for he’s just not that into you?

As someone who enjoys the physical aspects of a relationship, to hear the words “slow down” when it doesn’t seem to go with the flow of things can be disappointing. Although I can see the benefits of actually knowing where a person likes you to put your hand instead of ruining the moment by having to ask. Clearly the latter was my stance on the subject last week. Now, I’m sure I was trying to convince myself that it was ok, when in reality - things just weren't working out.

As of late, I’ve been perplexed by Mr. ESPN, going back and forth wondering if I have completely read the signals wrong, or if I actually do have the right to seem baffled.

Admittedly, it could totally be my own pathetic single-girl-mindedness working against me. Meaning…I met someone who is good on paper, I was attracted to and really wanted to see where things could go. I was blindly optimistic and it backfired.

On the other hand, perhaps the reasoning is all in his court. Did his ex burn him? Is he seeing someone else? Maybe he's gay?! Knowing Downtown’s experience I can’t exactly cross this off the list anymore. Who knows? Anything is possible in New York.

Regardless of the mitigating circumstances, I know two things for sure:

If a guy is truly into me, I won’t have so many damn questions
AND
Any guy (who’s normal) will want to hook up with someone he’s interested in

Therefore, it’s time to stop wasting my own time and start looking for new options.

God, I hate being a cliché!

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Trashing the Timeline

We’ve all talked about it and assume we won’t fall victim to it…but every time we do. As typical urbanites, we fall victim to the dating timeline. It goes like this:

Date #1: Drinks
Date #2: Dinner & a movie
Date #3: Hook up

I could go on, but we all know what I’m talking about. We follow the flow and quickly fall into a physical relationship, even if we don’t necessarily know that person very well. But that’s how it’s supposed to go, right?

The truth is if we deviate from this path, we begin to wonder what is wrong with the relationship. But since when did taking a relationship slowly become a death warrant to any potential? After living in a city where quick hook ups are a normal weekend occurrence to anyone single and under the age of 35, seems that more emphasis has been put on the physical, leaving mutual respect in the dust.

There is nothing wrong with a quick hook up. I’ve done it. You’ve done it. We’ve ALL done it. But where we go wrong is assuming anything meaningful will come out of that without time spent getting to know one another. Physical attraction does not translate into a successful relationship overnight people.

I had this epiphany last week handed to me on a silver platter. Why was I expecting to rush into a physical relationship? All of my last boyfriends “blossomed” out of one-night stands and they turned out just fantastically (read: extreme sarcasm), so why was I clinging to my pattern so desperately? Is it expectations from my friends? Is it a societal assumption? Is it a personal hang up?

Why was I so disappointed and worried that slamming on the breaks was a bad thing?

I can’t answer that question, but I do know I think I was wrong to stick to this theory for so long. Being on the “fast” side hasn’t gotten me anywhere and I’m not getting any younger. So in the name of changing it up, I’m going to give slow a chance (and by slow I do not mean prude. I don't do prude).

Besides, with all this footsie and cuddling going on it’s obvious the dating days of junior high are making a comeback. Therefore I'll chalk it up to being trendy...

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Decision

It turned out to be a rather easy decision in the end, me staying in NYC. I didn’t feel like I was losing anything by not accepting the London office’s “offer.” In fact, I felt that I was averting a royal screw over. I still want to go to London…badly, but what the company offered me just wasn’t up to par with the very basics of my expectations.

I’ve done a lot of research about transferring, not to mention talking to friends that already live and work there. In short, after 9 months of digging I felt very educated. After mulling over the simple facts of what a move would (and should) entail, I came to a conclusion of what my bottom line was.

The offer I got wasn’t even near that bottom line.

What was my bottom line, you ask?

I refused to be poor in a big city - again.

To be blunt, if I’m going to haul ass across the big blue pond to live and work, then it better be for a better offer than the equivalent of moving to Jersey City and living in a flat share with potentially crazy people.

Been there, done that, and I really am not up for doing it again. Especially after working so hard to get where I am today.

For the foreseeable future, all bets are off with London. I hope someday I’ll have an opportunity to go over, but when I'm offered a position that is a strategic move for my career and a financial package that doesn’t require parental assistance.

I have no regrets about staying in New York. How could I? This city has been my dream since I was 10 years old. It would have been heartbreaking to leave...

Avenue Elle