Salon.com > Adrienne Crew

Reruns on the runway

Fri, 19 Sep 2003 18:07:00 +0000

Doesn't anyone believe in the future anymore?

Apparently not, since the Spring 2004 fashion collections, wrapping up this week in New York and moving on to Europe next month, were once again awash in nostalgic designs and accessories: Marc Jacobs gave us gold lamé trench coats and pale gauzy dresses inspired by the Cockettes' '70s-era thrift-store-lovin' acid queens; Diane von Furstenberg channeled Gatsby with her flapper dresses and head scarves; Jennifer Nicholson (daughter of Jack) peppered her collection with '60s-era pastel baby-doll dresses; and Narciso Rodriguez showcased '50s-style slim skirts and trapeze jackets. This year's fashions are played out like an oldies station: nothing but a parade of greatest hits from the '20s through the '80s. I'd complain that we've run out of decades to mine, but the Onion beat me to it, more than five years ago.

Geek reads

Fri, 27 Jun 2003 19:00:00 +0000

In 1972 I found myself in the children's summer reading program at the local public library. My mother thought the program would amuse me -- an advanced reader by the age of 8 -- while she taught summer school. She couldn't have been more wrong. I was so bored. I wanted to read material from the adult book stacks, but I wasn't allowed to wander them unaccompanied by a grownup. So, stuck in the kiddie room, I decided to read every children's book in the library in alphabetical order.

What I didn't realize was that I was also on a mission. Books were certainly an escape for me that summer -- an escape from boredom, an escape from my mother's nagging about being more sociable, an escape from the smoggy heat of Los Angeles. But I was looking for more than a window on the world to distract me from my resentments and worries. I was also looking for a mirror to affirm my experiences as a bright middle-class black child living in a white suburb.

I couldn't have articulated my need in those terms at the time, but I could tell that my experience didn't fit the norm. So I became a misanthropic bookworm. I hated parties so much that I'd bring a book with me just in case I found a chance to slip off to a quiet corner to read in peace.

Can “Farscape” fans reinvent TV?

Thu, 13 Mar 2003 21:00:00 +0000

Like so many stories, this one begins with an ending. Or, rather, the announcement of an ending.

Early last September, thousands of fans of the science fiction television series "Farscape" logged in to a chat room maintained by the Sci Fi Channel, which distributes the series in the United States. The Jim Henson Co. actually produces the series, mainly with licensing fees paid by Sci Fi, although Henson also syndicates the show in Britain, Germany and other countries.

"Farscape's" fans (and I'm among them) consider it one of the most innovative and best-written things on TV. The show follows the adventures of astronaut John Crichton (Ben Browder), who is marooned in space after an aeronautical accident. Buff, brainy and kinda goofy, John allies himself with a band of outlaw aliens aboard a sentient spaceship that's being pursued by the military arm of a totalitarian regime.

When fans logged on in September, Sci Fi had just broadcast the first 11 episodes of the show's fourth season, with the balance to come in the spring after a short break. "Farscape's" staffers and actors celebrate the end of each season's production schedule by communicating online with the fans -- from Australia, where the show is produced -- to discuss upcoming episodes and drop "spoilers" about the season finale.

“BAP Like Me”

Fri, 06 Dec 2002 19:51:00 +0000

This is an audio adaptation of the article "BAP Like Me," which I recorded for "On Point Radio" (produced by WBUR, the NPR affiliate in Boston).

I received many letters from readers -- some complimentary and others very, very angry. It's fitting that my piece triggered such emotion since I conceived it out of my anger on reading Nicholas Lemann's profile of Condaleezza Rice in the 10/14-10/21/02 issue of the New Yorker.

Before the fur starts flying again, I'd like to say a few things:

1) I've learned to never make jokes about Oprah Winfrey. Mea culpa. I solemnly swear to never do it again.

2) I wrote the piece to shed light on the invidious classism and internalized racism of the black upper middle class.

I'm happy to debate the finer points of who and who is not a BAP, but I feel there's significant elitism, classism and unearned entitlement involved with being a BAP, and am, therefore, not surprised that Condoleezza Rice feels comfortable advocating on behalf of a presidency that supports the ruling class.

BAP like me

Tue, 26 Nov 2002 20:38:00 +0000

Condoleezza Rice is a cypher -- for most people. Press profiles portray the tough-minded national security advisor as some sort of preternatural mystery. Writers consistently marvel at her articulateness and speculate about her unflappable demeanor. In a review of "The Lives of the Muses: Nine Women & the Artists They Inspired" in the New York Observer, Benjamin Anastas wrote:

"First, a confession: Sometimes I think that Clio, the muse of history, has come to earth in the human form of Condoleezza Rice. Consider her utter certainty, the eerie, distant quality of her voice, and the strange calm she projects at the margins of White House photographs. And I can think of no other explanation -- save, perhaps, the puppy's eagerness to chew on rawhide -- for the exuberance she inspires in President Bush the Younger, her artist ... Just what exactly did happen behind closed doors during the famous 'education process' that resulted in our nation's foreign policy?"

“My job is to choreograph chaos”

Wed, 13 Mar 2002 21:00:00 +0000

Indian filmmaker Mira Nair originally left her home in New Delhi to study sociology at Harvard, and her subsequent career continues to probe the boundaries of social interactions. In her films, Nair displays a fascination with the ways human beings adapt their cultural traditions to changing environments: Bombay street urchins in "Salaam Bombay!," exiled Cubans in "The Perez Family," African-born Indians resettled in the American South in "Mississippi Masala."

In her latest film, "Monsoon Wedding," Nair shifts her attention back to India to focus on her own Punjabi background. The film follows an upper-middle-class Delhi family gathered for an elaborate weeklong wedding celebration, filled with singing and dancing, during the monsoon season. It captures the paradoxes and pleasures of contemporary urban Indian society, a combustible marriage of ancient traditions, global consumer culture and high-tech communications.

A viewer’s guide to “Monsoon Wedding”

Wed, 13 Mar 2002 20:00:00 +0000

The fictional Verma family of "Monsoon Wedding" originally lived in the north Indian state of Punjab, but probably joined the mass migration of people across the border to Delhi after the 1947 partition between India and Pakistan. The Punjabi middle class has the reputation for being boisterous and fun-loving. Weddings are the most prominent occasion for exhibiting the culture's love of song, dance and elaborate decoration. Here are some of the traditional elements of the Punjabi wedding ritual depicted in "Monsoon Wedding":

Chunni Chadana The engagement meeting between prospective bride and groom.

Mehendi The bride's female relatives gather to adorn her and paint a pattern on her feet and hands with henna dye; the bride's family gathers to perform traditional Punjabi wedding songs and dances.

Sangeet (also spelled "Sanjeet") An occasion for both sides of the couple's families to meet and dance to traditional folk song. Often the families develop a rivalry and try to outdo one another in the singing and dancing.

Chuda A ceremony on the morning of the wedding in which the bride's maternal uncle places a set of cream and red ivory bangles on her wrist. The bride does not see the bangles until after the ceremony, but the guests touch them as a blessing.

In the year of the (fake) snake

Thu, 19 Oct 2000 15:41:00 +0000

You wouldn't know it from looking at my wardrobe, but I love to read fashion magazines. They're my escape from reality. But lately, I've been avoiding my beloved Vogue because, inevitably, I come across a picture of some woman sheathed in reptile skins. I just can't seem to escape that Calvin Klein ad featuring a lissome brunet model wearing a dark brown skirt made of crocodile hide. Eww. All my girlie squeamishness comes up when I see that picture, but nothing makes my skin crawl more than contemplating clothes resembling snakeskin.

Now, I'm tolerant of spiders, rats and smelly dogs. Hell, I've even kissed a few frogs, but I know I'm not the only woman who shivers with revulsion at the thought of touching a snake. I don't suffer from ophidiophobia, but I'm sure many people do, especially women. Visit any zoo's snake house or pet store selling snakes and you'll find women walking around, shoulders hunched around their ears, noses wrinkled in pained disdain for the slithering creatures kept in those glass cases.