Straight Trippin: To Berlin Or Not To Berlin

Since last post, I have hopped down to Atlantic City, steeped for a week in the Midwest, and bolted to Baltimore--all the while cycling memories of Hong Kong in my head like Viewmaster slides. Not to mention the fact that I have taken on more responsa-blog-bility. 

And again I am off...or so I hope, if I win my battle with booking websites. There is simply nothing more frustrating than to watch airfares drop, form a cozy budget in your head, find fares that match or undercut it, and then have those fares disappear or return with "sold out" just before confirmation. Am I perhaps getting what I deserve for snagging that bargain-basement Cathay direct to HKG earlier this year?

My tendency to follow fares, like a broker eagerly watching a stock ticker, both causes and solves many problems. Currently, the mercurial nature of travel sites flaunting Memorial Day pricing is driving me to drink (Red Bull for the first time in many years, even though I was handed it on the street). 

To the point: Am I or am I not flying to Berlin in exactly a week? Having already covered nearly 80% of southern Germany, it's about time I pay attention to what lurks north of Frankfurt; I hear they even have German food up there! (ha)

On one hand, if I go, I drop down into that pit of "perhaps I can pawn this," from which I have just recovered after HK. This is the only downside, for the rewards of risking quality of life for time abroad are too many to count, but here are a few: soaking in the city, its architecture, street art, design, food, new German phrases, the style of the locals and how they go about mundane activities like ordering a cut of meat from the butcher. 

These are the details I absorb, to the end that I can easily chameleon into them and make of Berlin another home port--another stepping stone in my global garden, if you will. 

Is it not extremely fulfilling to learn how to use and navigate another city's public transportation? How could one not relish pronouncing a new word, and not just saying it, but saying it correctly and knowing its meaning and usage, and knowing that you'll now always remember it. That even 40 years from now, you'll be sitting down to a bowl of minestrone in your kitchen and suddenly a word like "Überraschung" comes to your lips, and you smirk with the dusty memory it elicits, of buying Kinder eggs at FRA and wondering what's inside and then never finding out becase you will give them all away back in the States. And you're old, and eating unremarkable soup in your average kitchen, but no--for a moment you are back in the airport and remembering the sweet anxiety that comes with powerwalking to your gate for a transatlantic. 

I digress. 

As for Berlin, it is now a matter of cost versus culture, and as always I'm choosing culture. And beer.

[Photo via Flickr]

In Gotham: A Hearty Helping of Brunch 2.0

Take 8 young NYC creatives of different ethnicities, sexualities and um...absurdities, and dump them into a circular white pleather booth for Sunday brunch at Perry St. Stir. Simmer for a few hours and serve while snarky. 

This is what I have taken to calling "the brunch club;" banal as the name may be, our weekly gatherings continue to grow in size as well as Michelin star rating of the destination. I may be a starving member of the "emerging media," but I will never deny an invitation to nosh on fancy-pants pancakes. 

Aside from the excuse to drink 4-5 cups of coffee in a row, these meals serve as a good sounding rod for opinions on current hot topics and exchange of inside jokes. You'd do well to eavesdrop on us, marketing peoples, with recent topics such as these:

• What's the first song that alphabetically appears on your iTunes? Consensus says: Aaliyah "Are You That Somebody?"
  
• What've you got lingering in your Netflix queue? Me: La Vie en Rose
  
• If you had to pitch an infomercial product to everyone at the table right now, what could you sell the pants off of? Me: the Yuletide Fireplace DVD
  
• Did anyone get around to making New Years resolutions? Answer: no. But what about New York resolutions? Answer: yes. (get out to Flushing this year, avoid the NRQW, etc)

Ah, the lazy conversations of the creative class. One day I shall look back and scoff at that term and these topics. 

Straight Trippin': Atlantic City and Endorphins

I am in Atlantic City. In March. On a Tuesday. Deduce what you will from that, but one thing's for certain about my brief jaunt here: I'm thinking up a storm. 

The wittiest quips and true clarity of thought usually come to me during brisk walks around urban environments, and although I was encased in a glass dome today, hitting the hotel fitness center on full power caused a vortex of vision. I had several treadmill revelations: my average walking speed is classified as "valley jog," I enjoy random judo-chopping, and running in striped pajamas is just as good as in spandex. I experienced stationary bicycle inner peace: damn, I'm good at this. And lap pool nirvana: why are they taunting me by playing only the music of "Rock the Casbah?" Whatever, I'm down.

Ever since my own personal recession set in the second I set foot in NYC, I banished my old Crunch membership and their 3-story atrium tube slides and Vitra furniture from my memory. Then I said a temporary goodbye to my big bike, which had for several years been carried up and down 3 stories of stairs by me on a daily basis, and which has successfully pedaled me through two marathons and given me the endurance to complete the "Hustle Up the Hancock." Now, with the exercise endorphins racing, I resolve to return. Chicago, I will see you in July for L.A.T.E. Ride.  

[Image via Flickr/bluedonkey]

My Fashion Aesthetic, In Summary

So it all began in Hong Kong. While my friend J and I perused the eccentric and awesome wares at Joyce, I came across a pair of Rick Owens S/S 2009 Foldover boots and was immediately struck dumb. They. were. everything. I've. ever. dreamed. of. and. more. If it weren't for the price (about $1,250), I'd be clodding all over town right now in these babies. 

This kind of shopping experience, where I fall so hard for a single item, happens so rarely that it required some reflection. J and I tried to peg our individual styles down to a few designers, and I had some definite favorites named right off the bat. So for my pleasure just as much as yours (not like you really care), behold my five favorite designers whose designs I would actually wear:

Yohji Yamamoto and Y-3: I already own quite a few Y-3 pieces, but I hunger for YY
Rick Owens: Damn. Just damn. I covet it all.
Diane von Furstenberg: Already own some, but have to admit the "Foreign Affairs" Collection to be most me.
Donna Karan: Gorgeous, fantastic, sexy, chic...blah blah blah
Comme des Garcons/Rei Kawakubo: This is for when I let my freak flag fly. 

[Rick Owens boots image via Browns Fashion; All other images via Style.com]

Remembering A Most/Least Glamorous Fashion Week

Ah, Fashion Week. Now that you are over, I feel that my thoughts have settled enough to write a little in remembrance of you. As it was, I practically stepped off of my flight back from Hong Kong and straight into the Bryant Park Tents, so the last 3 weeks were as hectic as they were intriguing. And I wouldn't have had it any other way. So let us skip the collection reviews and various other stories, which I've already covered to death over at Racked, and instead get a little more personal with My Top 10 Most/Least Glamorous Fashion Week Moments.

Most/Least

10: Grabbing a town car to take me from the Tents to the Rag & Bone show / Grabbing a spicy cod roe kimbap roll at Kinokuniya, only to have it stink up the inside of my bag.

9: Hitting the McQueen for Target Preview Party / Being hit on at the McQueen for Target Preview Party

8: Knowing that the dresses I'm seeing will be on magazine covers yet months from now / Knowing that my boobs will never fit into said dresses

7: During small talk, saying "Oh yes, I just got back from Hong Kong" / Being back from Hong Kong

6: Actually being recognized as a blogger and getting assigned seats this Fashion Week / Sitting in the 9th or 10th row while magazines like Cookie and CN Traveler get on the runway.

5: Spending entire days in my rare pieces of designer clothing / Spending entire days hiking up my underwear as my leggings had unnatural control over them

4: Walking down the steps in front of the Tent in my Costume Nationals and hearing a bystander call out: "Now those are some heels!" / Going around the corner and ashamedly switching to flats

3: Sharing an elevator up to Leifsdottir with [VP of Bergdorf Goodman] Linda Fargo / Sharing a long wait at a Chelsea Starbucks with Linda Fargo

2: Sitting front row at Carlos Campos / Sitting front row at Carlos Campos

1: Chatting with Jason Wu at Band of Outsiders / Being accidentally caught in the background of a Sartorialist snap

Thank you, Thank you. At least I avoided any porta-pottie mishaps, unlike some other unfortunate fashionistas. Until September, I'm signing off on #NYFW.

Live From HK: "I Could Do This Everyday"

Hong Kong is outside my window, beneath my feet, and in my head. I am in freaking love with this metropolis (can't call it a city because it's so much more than that). Everything from the elevated network of sidewalks--you could go about your normal daily business for a while without having to touch the ground--to the supremely clean and efficient public transportation is delightful. 

I freely admit to being a "city person," and yet I am often disillusioned with many aspects of Chicago, New York, etc. In Hong Kong this past week, however, I have only been uncomfortable with one thing: how slowly everyone walks. I know I know...trivial crap. BUT I've been all around these islands and seen all sorts of areas and even the cow hearts freely being touched by shoppers in the meat markets, and for some reason I cannot reconcile this bustling capital with its slow-moving population. OK, enough with the negative. 

I want to move here. Like faster than now. Only another trivial thing stops me from putting the cogs into motion: the horrible heat and typhoon season of summer. The only other time I've been to HK, which was for 8 hours during a layover and I actually did manage to go outside, the humidity was stifling and it was only April. Nonetheless, upon my return to NYC in a few days, I know that I will not be able to shake the feeling that I belong in HK, and so if there are any employers looking for a fall-winter HK employee or an expat guy who wouldn't mind having an extremely independent and seasonal girlfriend...you know where to find me.

The only slight bit of "engrish" I've found

Straight Trippin': BRB, I'm Heading to HKG

It's hard to believe that it's almost been one year since my last trek overseas to Asia. That time, I spent over two weeks getting acquainted with the cities of Seoul and Shanghai, whose awesome urban heartbeats have kept me daydreaming since. So - I've all of sudden randomly decided to hop back. The difference is that this time I'm heading to Hong Kong and Macau for slightly more than a week and attempting to envelop myself in the culture. 

If anyone lives in HK or has friends in HK who are down from some dim sum or water crab congee with a stranger, then absolutely hit me up. Until I return for Fashion Week (if only I didn't have to return), you can always catch my updates from the Orient here and here. 

What New York Needs Is a Freelancer Salon

This city does not have the infrastructure to support the recent glut of mobile freelancers. There are simply too few coffeeshops with free wifi, too few solo tabletops, and way too few outlets around New York City. At 2pm on a Wednesday, I found myself having to skip from cafe to cafe, desperately searching for a nook where I could file some posts. 

I understand that, like myself, much of the city's creative underclass has turned to freelance and left their heat off in their apartments this winter, but there is no reason that one should have to spend precious time trekking to five or more coffeeshops before giving in to a wifi McDonald's. We need a place; a place that is not Starbucks or Think. Somewhere that is calm, comfortable and inspirational; we need a salon.

It would take the focused atmosphere of an Ivy League library and combine it with the furnishings of a Hungarian confectionary and the refreshments of a Mediterranean passenger ferry. Oh yes, we're talking liquor license and arancini; I am so sick of yogurt parfaits. 

Settling into the clean banquettes could be New York's young and expansive minds. Far too often, they are the ones living in hovels in Bed-Stuy, spending their days editing and twittering from the last available chair (the one right next to the bathroom) at a mega-Starbucks. The salon would hold select events, but very few and none musical; it's not the local college coffee roaster's amateur hour.

Inevitably, the salon would be something of a secret in order to keep the tourist families (the ones who drag tables together at coffeeshops as they rest from their Century 21 spree) and bums out. It should have a password (emailed monthly to members) entry and outlets galore. Patrons can fill out a simple application online and pay a monthly fee (like $20 to cover costs) and never feel harassed for staying and working six consecutive hours.

But how will it make money? By not trying to. Sadly, the world has no more Peggy Guggenheims, but a philanthropist's support would be essential for the space. A successful salon would function almost on its own; refreshments need not be expensive because so many would sell anyways, and a grateful member base could generate beneficial projects and hopefully remember the salon after achieving their goals. 

The Think Coffee on Mercer by Washington Square Park comes closest to this ideal, except that it plays really loud music and the place is always packed with NYU journalism majors who could just as easily be in the NYU library. If only Mercury Dime wasn't so diminutive. 

Starbucks' concept of being a "third place," something between work and home, doesn't work for freelancers. New York needs to foment the idea of a "free place," somewhere between home and play, where people can develop their unconventional careers and connect in person with others whom they already follow on social networks. I know I need this, and I'm pretty sure the legions of furious typists I see cowering in coffeeshop corners do too. Create the space and the creatives will come.