Thirteen-year-old Thylane Blondeau has recently been touted as “la nouvelle Kate Moss" on her recent cover of Jalouse Magazine, where she looks pretty well exactly like a 13-year-old girl should.
Blondeau is no fashion modeling newbie, though—at 10 (when I was playing Barbies and probably picking my nose with scabbed knees and heavily-tangled hair), she very controversially appeared in the Tom For edited issue of Vogue Paris wearing gold heels and posing on an animal rug on top of a bed.
The accusations of sexualizing children came fast and furious — not surprisingly — and sparked a debate about how young is too young to model. But, for the record, she had already posed "topless" for Enfants magazine. So, there's also that...
The “New Kate Moss” label might seem fitting, especially when considering that Blondeau has starred in campaigns for Lacoste and walked the runway for Jean Paul Gaultier, but hailing her as the “next” something implies that she’s a model we all need to watch.
And it’s a little bit creepy to all be “watching” a 13-year-old.
The fashion industry certainly makes no apologies for the use of youth and underage models. Rome Beckham modeled for Burberry at age 10, Mark Jacobs continues to cast teen models in his runways chows, and Chanel used 15-year-old Ondria Hardin as the face of their new brand last year.
There’s no doubt this little girl is beautiful, and while I suspect she has more than a little bit of coaching, she certainly seems to have a presence in front of the camera. We don't berate child athletes for devoting themselves to sport, but we're all a little bit touchy when it comes to seeing kids in fashion spreads and walking the runways. What do you think? Is 13 too young to model, or simply too young to be modeling as an adult?
Speaking of controversy... have you seen the latest in American Apparel ads? The good news is there's one place we can always go for happy, positive, fashion inspiration... and you can find this most fabulous muppet on the big screen right. this. second.
In news that will surprise exactly zero people, clothing retailer American Apparel has entered the realm of controversy once again.
And, as per usual, this controversy is stemming from a sexualized ad featuring a half-naked female model. But, why stop there? you may ask, and apparently American Apparel did too because they decided to throw in a dash of race and two scoops of religion to really make you cringe.
In case you haven't spotted the whole thing in all its glory, here ya go:
The model in the advertisement is Maks, a 22-year-old American Apparel merchandiser born in Dhaka, who would later move to California at age four. In case you can’t see the image above, the words “Made in Bangladesh” are emblazoned across her naked breasts.
It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that this is (most likely) a direct shot at the Bangladeshi garment industry — where employees of garment factories are underpaid, have very few rights and are sometimes forced to work in dangerous conditions… and I get this. I applaud American Apparel for being different in this regard, with their garments manufactured by “skilled American workers in Downtown Los Angeles, all of whom are paid a fair wage and have access to basic benefits such as healthcare” (taken from small print in ad).
But that’s not why this ad is making people uncomfortable (which seems to me one of American Apparel’s strong suits, might I add).
If you get down to the small print at the bottom of the ad, you’ll see that American Apparel has gone out of its way to tell the consumer that Maks grew up in a Muslim household. Because you, the consumer, needed to know that a Muslim woman is baring her breasts so that you can buy American Apparel’s High Waisted Jeans.
Or something. And we all know this isn’t the first of their many advertisements to leave people shaking their heads.
In an even more confusion twist, the ad might actually make you think that the American Apparel clothing was made in Bangladesh — that perhaps AA is taking a leaf out of the books of some other labels like SoleRebels to ensure that workers receive fair wages and safe working conditions — but nope! Their clothes are still made in America. Only Maks is made in Bangladesh, which is cool because heritage and ancestry and family history but classless because SHE IS A PERSON NOT A TEE SHIRT.
And maybe she’s totally into it, I don’t know her deal, but do we really need to start bringing race and religion into the mix? Is it necessary? What do you think? Are you sick of the hyper-sexualized, bizarre and maybe even obscene and risqué advertisements and imagery American Apparel is slinging?
Personally, I think they’re officially into WTF territory with this latest of ad fails (as if they weren’t before).
I am what you might call “attached” to my hair.
And I mean that in every sense of the word. I love my hair when I don’t hate it, obviously, because I am a girl and I do that thing that almost every girl does where I hate on my hair for absolutely no reason other than it isn’t something different. All that said, I take my hair *pretty seriously* and I’m quite particular about who touches it. So you can imagine my dismay to get a call that my stylist had left the salon and a new stylist was taking care of her clients.
So I asked, straight up, if this stylist was a novice. She wasn’t. So then, I Google-searched the shit out of her, discovered she went to school with some of my friends, talked to them, found out she was a good stylist and then realized that I am nothing shy of a psychopath-stalker. Ahem. I knew *exactly* what I wanted done to my hair, I had photos, it was going to be beautiful.
The stylist was running almost 20 minutes behind schedule as she finished up a cut-colour and I breathed an enormous sigh of relief when I saw a gorgeous head of hair sauntering up to the cash. This girl is good, I thought until I didn’t anymore. I asked her not to shampoo so I wouldn’t feel any reason to not work out (I don’t like messing up pretty hair), so she spritzed me down, trimmed the length and I told her I wanted her to finish the cut dry. Because it’s my hair. Also: I am a psychopath.
I don’t know how my brain fooled me into thinking that my hair was OK — much less nice… I think I even said “perfect” — but I’m beginning to realize it’s a stage of grief called “denial.” I got in my car, texted Mr Hockey Coach and said “I hate my hair,” but the truth is I had nooooooooooooooooooo idea the disaster that was my head.
There was an fucking rat tail, you guys. A RAT TAIL. RATTAIL. R.A.T.T.A.I.L. (Are you understanding the seriousness of this? ITWASONMYGODDAMNHEAD!)
Then there was this:
In case you can’t tell, ONE SIDE IS ALMOST AN INCH LONGER THAN THE OTHER. The back of my hair was totally lopsided. So, then, I did what any self-respecting, hair-obsessed, psychopath would do and I went on a search for my kitchen scissors. If I can colour at home and wax my own legs and shoot laser beams at my bikini line from the comfort of my bed, then dammit I can cut my own hair too. Even the back. Which I can’t see.
It took an hour of teary-eyed snipping with an enormous pair of kitchen shears but I managed to even it up to an “asymmetrical but it looks like it’s on purpose” bob and will likely never recover from the shock and despair that was realizing my hair was ruined.
A smarter woman would have called the salon and demanded it be fixed — and probably her money back — but because of the whole friend of a friend bologna, I decided to take it into my own (apparently quite capable) hands. I sort of wish I'd photographed the rat tail, but the image of it will forever be burned onto my mind's eye and will likely cause nightmare so I probably did you all a favour.
Once the short side grows long enough to touch my shoulders, I’ll go and have it all fixed. But before that, I’ll probably try to go blonder at home and maybe I’ll see you here again soon. Cripes. (Also — I think I need to Windex my mirror after seeing these photos. Oops)
I used to think that a haircut was cheaper than therapy but I dunno any more you guys.
Now, spill it: what’s YOUR worst hair story?