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Hello Crush,
You amaze me, CRUSHes. This is my 211th CRUSH Letter and it’s still the case that often it’s the pieces I’d least expect you to get excited about that you link to the most.
Case in point. Last week I wrote a sentiment-infused story about how so many of my friends are going through the same crises as I am with the declining health of their aging parents. I also wrote some initial thoughts on Gwyneth, the biography that’s dominating the media. I wrote about Pamela Anderson and Liam Neeson’s joyful, heartwarming fledgling love affair. I reshared Elisabeth Lamotte’s honest and touching piece Sex & the Single (Menopausal) Girl, as well as reviews of the Diane Arbus exhibit, Keith McNally’s memoir and film The Last Showgirl.
What do you guess that you linked to most?
This:
Finally, in a bit of a left turn: fretting over how to take care of your plants when you go on vacation this summer, but don’t want to give the neighbor’s teenager a key to your house? I thought this solution was brilliant.
It’s a makeshift watering system for your plants using an old plastic water bottle and a pair of chopsticks. Something I just threw in at the last minute on a whim because “hey they might find this useful.” (It got one more click than my Holy Hell - Aging Parents essay.)
You contain multitudes, CRUSHes, which is why I love you. I think sometimes what it boils down to for you (and all of us at this stage) is that while we keep our eyes on the philosophical, the meaningful and amusing things around us, we’re also always keen for a tip make our complex lives easier.
In this case, what keeps our plants alive while we head to the beach with our loved ones.
Thanks for being here. I hope you enjoy this Saturday’s CRUSH Letter.
In This Letter. +They All Came to Barneys: A Book, Then A Television Show. A lot of people referred to it as a “museum of fashion,” but I thought of it as more like an art gallery. +"The Belt Is Metaphorical." A vignette based on my real life first visit to the ’It Girls’ style mecca that was Barney’s on Madison Avenue in 1995. +dishing I never quite dissected all the things I do over the years of trying not too age all that much. +Dear Dish +Social Media I Loved This Week. +Our Song of the Week Everybody’s high on consolation
They All Came to Barney’s: A Book, then a Television Show
The emporium of chic is going up in lights.
Gene Pressman, co-CEO and Creative Director of New York’s legendary department store Barney’s for over 27 years has a memoir coming out September 2nd. It’s “the true story of how we built Barneys into—if I do say so myself—the greatest store in the greatest city in the world." I’m even more excited that I just read in Kirkus Reviews that the memoir is being turned into a television series on Prime Video by the team behind Gossip Girl.
Pressman is credited with redefining high-end fashion in the United States by bringing in brands like Armani, Jil Sander, Prada and Manolo Blahnik. Pressman is the grandson of the Barney Pressman, who started Barneys in 1923 as a men’s discount clothing store on Seventh Avenue and 17th Street.
There were iterations and moves over many decades but in the mid to late 90’s, when I lived in New York and was in my late twenties, Barney’s on Madison and 61st was the epitome of couture shopping. It is where the fashion editors, stylists, photographers, designers and downtown “It” girls and boys examined the goods (and each other), strutted and perhaps even shopped.
It was an impressive 22-stories looking at it from outside as you crossed Madison Avenue. Inside, everything was done in dramatic scale, soaring ceilings, curved staircases, finishes in marble-and-glass. It was furnished in a juxtaposition of sleek and lush, with sharp corners next to sinewy, sensual rounded display cases.
A lot of people referred to it as a “museum of fashion,” but I thought of it as more like an art gallery. Museums are for the masses; the public is welcomed in. Barney’s on Madison Avenue, not so much. Even though I’d lived in New York for a total of six years by then, I was as unlikely to feel welcome at Barney’s as I was a high-end Tribeca art gallery. Part of the reason for that, of course, is that the same kind of people worked at both places: former models, or denizens of the downtown night scene, or aspiring designers or painters or actors or other creatives. Unlike the ingratiating staff at other stores, the sales people at Barney’s were cool and aloof. They were, you were certain (and they made sure you were certain), assessing who you were. Not for the size of your wallet so much, but for something much more subtle, how much innate, true style you had.
I take it that the name of Pressman’s memoir, They All Came To Barneys, isn’t meant to be taken literally since it wasn’t a place where ordinary people shopped. Like an art gallery, it was meant for insiders. If you weren’t an insider, it took nerves of steel to walk in.
I did, eventually. It had been open a year by then and I had read all about it but hadn’t dared to go in. I was a midlevel associate at a large corporate law firm. I was ’stylish curious’ rather stylish, and self-aware enough to realize the difference. I had been around a couple of women in my life who had true personal style and I knew it when I saw it. I didn’t see any of it at the law firm where I worked, which was no doubt owing in part to the fact that our options were limited to Ann Taylor, Talbot’s, Brooks Brothers and maybe Anne Klein, for a slight step up. All of them were still making men’s suits for us with the smallest variations, on the theory that we wanted to look and act like men. I wanted to be a stylish (professional) woman. Not an ‘It Girl,’ but stylish. I wanted to see if, with some inspiration, I could develop my own style.
It was December, I desperately needed a new winter coat. I had just been given a generous year-end bonus. Emboldened, I walked over to Barney’s after work.
The Belt Is Metaphorical, below, is my recollection of the first time I stepped inside Barney’s. It was the start of a relationship that would go on to play a pivotal role in me stepping into myself.
I’ve written it as a television script, just in case there are any CRUSH Readers out there who have a line into the writers/producers of the upcoming Barney’s show. (Feel free to send it over to the team.)There are a lot more Barney’s stories in my life.
"The Belt Is Metaphorical." By Dish Stanley
In Which I Humbly Propose A Script Based on My Own First Visit to Barney’s — for the Writers/Producers of the Upcoming Show About the Legendary Department Store
Dish recalls the first time she dared entering the ‘It Girls’ style Mecca that was Barney’s on Madison Avenue.
[Scene: Women’s designer floor at Barneys Madison, 1995. Early evening. It’s quiet except for the faint ethereal sounds of Love Spirals Downwards’ latest track Cay At Dawn. Claire, mid 50’s, stands next to a blonde wood architectural-looking clothing rack with stiff, clean-lined poise. A tall willowy brunette with straight shiny hair cut in a razor sharp bob, she wears a minimalist black Calvin Klein sheath dress, a holdover from her modeling days decades earlier (before leaving that life for what ended up as a failed marriage). Elegantly worn with a pair of Manolo Blahnik slingbacks that have seen better days. Her lipstick is Chanel “La Fascinante.” Her perfume Comme des Garçons 2. Her make-up? Minalimist, flawless. Her eyes? Withering. Subtly lined with MAC Eye Kohl in Smolder.]
Enter Emily (aka Dish), 26, a midlevel law associate at a large Wall Street law firm. Rushing over from work, she wears a navy Anne Klein pantsuit, pearl earrings and slightly scuffed Etienne Aigner pumps. Her Coach leather tote is stiff and functional. No discernible cosmetics. Her manner? Tired. She hesitates at the entrance just long enough to noticeably take in a deep breath, pull her shoulders back and lift her eyes, as if she were pulling herself together before a tough negotiation.
Emily: (wandering around the floor, nervous to touch any of the clothing — which is hung sparsely, as if they works of art — on clothing racks that were more sculptural than functional)
Hi. …Would you help me find a winter coat please? Something professional… also stylish … and timeless?
Claire: (having watched her from across the floor since she stepped off the escalator ten minutes earlier … now eyes her over discreetly)
Where are you from?
Emily: (smiling nervously)
I’ve lived here for six years. Two before law school, four after. I work at a law firm in midtown.
(beat)
Fourth-year associate.
Claire: (nods)
Of course you are.
Emily: (wry smile)
Should I come back when I’ve made partner?
Claire: No. Better to fix things now. If it’s not too late.
(turns and walks to a rack)
Here.
(pulls a long, narrow-shouldered coat in double-faced black wool—Jil Sander, Almost Black, Fall 1995)
Jil Sander. German. Understated. It's cut like a whisper but wears like steel.
Emily: It’s elegant. It’s beautiful and feels so lovely (running her fingers slowly over the fabric) but, hmmmmmm, does it have buttons?
Claire: (Inhales and exhales deeply through her nose, pauses demonstrably to make it clear that she is composing herself)
It closes with intention, not hardware. Try it on. And please don’t cinch it. The belt is metaphorical.
Continue reading here
dishing
things that are getting me off these days.
I know I got a little sentimental last week over the news of Pamela Anderson and Liam Neeson’s relationship. I’m happy for them. Truly. But this captures my deepest fears, ummm, I mean feelings.
I‘ve only eaten at The Polo Bar once — it is, to my mind, NYC’s snobbiest restaurant. And that one time was only owing to the fact that I had run into friends from Los Angeles earlier that day while at lunch at Fred’s (the restaurant at the former Barney’s on Madison Avenue) and they have the cachet to have snagged a day-of reservation for the three of us. (God knows that I don’t.) (Solid food, eye-popping scene, as they say.) I don’t have a lot to say about how juicy The Polo Bar’s burgers are, but I can say this: the lawsuit just filed by the long-time former server Frank Nobiletti is juicy.
Nobiletti‘s suit is primarily aimed at a pervasive culture of sexual harassment and rampant drug use for the staff, but in setting the stage he uncorks an exhaustive list of abuses aimed at customers that create a ”worst nightmare” scenario. He contends, among other things, that the service staff routinely poured themselves glasses of wine from expensive bottles ordered by and uncorked for patrons (they were held “back stage”), increased tip amounts and participated in a “Rating Game” where servers rated the looks of female patrons (pretty much my worst nightmare). Here’s the first paragraph of the Complaint:
“The Polo Bar, which is well-known for its “buzzy” and “cozy” atmosphere, is the very definition of New York exclusive. For most, it is nearly impossible to get a reservation. The restaurant caters to the most wealthy and famous with a long list of regular celebrity customers, including Drew Barrymore, Oprah Winfrey, Jim Cramer, Jennifer Lopez, Conan O’Brien, Nick Jonas, Tom Hanks, the Clintons, Jon Hamm, Aaron Sorkin, Jonathan Tisch, and Alex Rodriguez, to name only a few. While the restaurant and its hard-working staff do everything they can to ensure that their guests have a first class experience, defendants completely failed toguarantee that their employees had a safe and legal work environment.”
The complaint is full of some untasty allegations for sure. It makes me wonder how all their regular celebrity customers are feeling about the place right about now.
There is no way for me to not pick up the book The Parisian by Isabella Hammond after reading Maris Kreitman’s wonderfully detailed account of the experience of reading it herself. Got rave reviews all around when it was published in 2019.
Emily Nunn has been writing a substack entirely dedicated to salads since 2020, which is about how long I’ve been reading it. It’s not only a tribute to salads, but it offers recipes and creative ideas (because otherwise salads could get boring, right?). From her paid archives, she is sharing a free version of one of her most popular recipes, for her version of gazpacho. I’ve made it and I love it. She calls it: A salad that wants to be a soup.
I’m on a roll where I’m getting the nicest notes from you lately. Thank you. I appreciate them so much. Here’s one from this week.
“Dear Dish,
I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed, laughed at and related to your Birthday, aging, revelations article. Soooooo spot on. I never quite dissected all the things I do over the years of trying not too age all that much 👍🤪. I’m not even all that convinced most of these maintenance hacks are effective yet I have the mindset that it all works!!!
Happy belated birthday Dish. Wishing you a fabulous year ahead of course ❤️.
Be well!
M.
Dearest M:
I know what you mean! There are a lot of women who have consciously opted out of all this. Just a hard, flat no. Like Lyz Lenz, who writes a substack called Men Yell At Me and just published the very smart piece I am not self-optimizing any more. I get all the arguments against the time-consuming burden of my (and evidently, your) daily routine. The bigger points, especially, about being a pawn in a misogynistic world and ALSO a pawn in a consumption culture. I respect all the arguments and I’m glad we’re thinking beings, stepping back with the perspective to see the larger picture. As you point out, it good to occasionally dissect it.
Yet, I like it. I do. I am not a woman who spent a lot of time on my hair or makeup throughout my life. Very little interest, very little time, actually. If it was being pushed on me through out my life, then I’ve been able to resist. Somewhere in the last five years I started to enjoy the indulgence (over-indulgence!) of a care routine that I acknowledge is excessive. I don’t resent it. I like the results. I feel prettier than I ever have, even while I am clearly my age. As long as I enjoy it and am not doing it ‘as a slave’ to any external pressure, I’ll do it.
Thanks so much for writing, and I’d love to hear more about your (and other CRUSH Readers) feelings about their care routines as they age. It’s a conversation worth having. Write to me at Dish@PrimeCrush.com.
CRUSHes: In case you missed it, ‘On Birthdys Now‘ piece is below.
Social Media I Loved This Week
Oddly (or not :-)), since I was thinking and writing about personal style this week, I discovered a few insta’s with some photos of women whose personal style I admire. All the photos that follow are from the instagram of @coolchiclifestyle
Song of the Week
She’s Gone by Hall & Oats (as performed by Yacht Rock Revue)
It may very well be that while you are reading this, I am at the Yacht Rock Revue concert at the Leader Bank Pavilion in Boston. These are not photos of us, but of another one of their shows. The crowd is all middle-aged and up, as is the band (As you can very well see.) I talked a friend into checking it out with me. Two summers ago she dragged me down a long muddy hike through the pouring rain to see Elton John play in his final tour at Gillette Stadium. (Turns out he had multiple final tours after that LOL.)
It’s a beautiful summer night, and I’ll report back.
Listen to it here.
Can you believe how quickly summer is flying by? I can’t.
XO,
Dish
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The Crush Letter is a weekly newsletter from Dish Stanley curating articles & intelligence on everything love & connection - friendship, romance, self-love, sex. If you’d like to take a look at some of our best stories go to Read Us. Want the Dish?
