Zeitgeist zoom-ins

My obsession with understanding people's obsessions, cont'd..

My mother came across this weird show in the 90s on the tiny, fuzzy old TV she kept behind the toaster in the kitchen. She says she’d devour the show while making us dinner, then quickly zap it off when we came downstairs.

Susan was hooked immediately. It was just so silly and unusual in its random pointlessness, with off-kilter jokes that made her clutch the counter with laughter and even look forward to making us broccoli and pork chops (she, like me, was never a passionate cook.)

When she finally told her friends she’d developed a years-long secret passion for this obscure program they demanded to know what it was called.

Seinfeld, she told them shiftily.

I’m not sure she ever lived this down at dinner parties.

But I love the story of Susan’s secret relationship with Jerry and Elaine because it’s a reminder of just how personal a fan relationship can be. How it can feel like you are the only person in the world to have discovered this brilliant thing that speaks to your soul so specifically. Even if, unbeknownst to you, in a phase where you have, say, three young children and don't get out that much, the rest of the world is in fact similarly enthralled.

I myself have an obsession with working out why people get obsessed with certain things. Other than Seinfeld. This is evident, to me anyway. (Side note: I’ve never begun to work out why the French don’t get Seinfeld. They generally love dry, verging-on politically incorrect humour. And sitcoms. Friends is officially how people my age in Paris learnt English, and when I introduce myself, they say “ah oui, like Gellar!”

Jerry Seinfeld by Herb Ritts

By the way, if you are a Seinfeld fan, I enjoyed his interview with David Remnick on New Yorker Radio Hour last week immensely, and am hella psyched for his new movie about the invention of the Pop Tart.

So. You may remember I embarked on part one of this “stuff everyone apparently loves” journey last summer and came out wondering why the heck I hadn’t looked into bouncy castles and lip-liner sooner.

A new cohort of doo-dahs, distractions and “daily lifestyle changes” have since made themselves apparent to me. Thus, per my nosy nature, I had to deep dive on the following. Below are my findings so far.

HIGH SPORT PANTS

The existence of these passion-inducing 900-dollar bottoms first donned on me in a fancy flash at the Roots party in Toronto last summer, with the appearance of my magnificent friend Sophie Green, on whom I’ve harboured a girl crush for decades. Sophie rocked up in a pair of red stretchy kick-flare trousers paired perfectly with her vintage Roots baseball jacket. We were dancing so hard I forgot to ask her for details on her bottom-huggers but I must have stashed them away in my subconscious because when High Sport pants were described to me, over six months later, their form-flattering appeal rang a bell. Though I couldn’t quite place where I’d seen them. Which drove me nuts until Sophie mercifully reminded me the other day that she had been wearing them.

Sophie on her way out in the ensemble in question

The next person to bring up High Sport was my sister with whom I generally dissect all forthcoming trends. Emma and I like to do everything at the same time in a sort of deranged 30-something version of a 90s twin movie: we got married the same summer, had our first babies the same year, get lowkey freaked out when our hairstyles are too different and are currently tandem-testing capri pants.

Luckily our jobs couldn’t be more different or it would just be weird. Anyway Emma was like, why do I want this ridiculously expensive yoga-business pant hybrid? And then of course, I started wanting them too.

Pandora Sykes snapped me out this recurring (and potentially financially damaging) thought process without prompting in her pithy Fashion Proust Questionnaire the other day, stating unequivocally that this was not a reasonable price for any pair of trousers. I should build a bridge and forego them, I thought after reading her, convinced, as I always am, after reading her on anything.

But thennnn, my phone having obviously deep-state spied on the whole situation, I kept seeing these frickin pants everywhere I went on the internet. So I decided to ask my followers for their thoughts.

My DMs went wild with feedback, including a message from High Sport themselves: “We do!” ( A point in their favour. A rare sense of humour being close to godliness in the world of fashun).

One lady replied. “Very comfortable. I could wear pregnant and postpartum in the same size but they never stretch out. Can wear all day and don’t lose their shape. Look great with a sweatshirt at the playground or dresses up for dinner.” I began sweating with envy. Until I saw the conundrum in the next message:

“I have the red ones. So annoyingly cool and chic I stopped wearing them. Basically they told me I could wash them, instead of dry cleaning, and I feel it washes them out a little. So I don’t want to use them too much to fade out the colour. Planning on buying a pair of navy ones. (I live in a small Swiss town and all the dry cleaners have destroyed something hence I only dry clean very special pieces when abroad. Ridiculous I know.)”

A third testimonial read: “I bought one full price and bit the bullet bc I loved so much and now have all the alerts possible for the resale ones in my size. They are honestly so beautiful.”

Then Sophie appeared, reminded me that she was wearing them at the Roots party, and that was it. Now I am trolling RealReel for my size. Maybe I’m a sucker. Maybe these are the Pop Tarts of luxury fashion. Stay tuned.

TAYLOR SWIFT

I had a little video reportage about TayTay assigned to me by Reel Media a month ago (out next week—they’ve begun carting me in as their “expert” analyser of odd North American phenomenon the French can’t quite get their heads around lol, waiting for Seinfeld) and ended up going way deeper in my research than intended or necessary. The video is only a couple minutes long but I spent two whole weeks immersed in a pool of proverbial plastic friendship beads.

Guess what. I emerged a Swiftie. Well…not the hardcore kind… but I will say ‘Down Bad’ is everything a pop song should be, plus I can’t help but admire Taylor’s work ethic. She’s the definition of prolific.

Also, I think I now get one one of the things I used to find most annoying about her. This sort of pseudo-goofy, dressed-up but not particularly well-styled thing actually works in her favour when you listen to her music more carefully and work out how utterly laid-bare her lyrics are. Taylor openly criticises her own follies, even outright mocking herself on occasion. “Now I’m down bad crying at the gym/ Everything comes out, teenage petulance/ Fuck it if I can’t have him.”

I honestly think she knows she isn’t cool and her dancing on stage is, I feel, reminiscent of a teenage girl dancing alone in the mirror in her bedroom.

Her entire existence, as many critics have explained better than I am, is a sort of celebration of girlhood. The bracelets, the berserk shiny dresses, the over-dissection of doomed flings she should just get over. Maybe this is a marketing ploy, maybe it’s genuine, maybe (I think) it’s some combination of the two. Either way, it works, and Taylor has successfully made herself into the first pop billionaire ever, for reasons entirely unrelated to random side-businesses or making herself particularly attractive to men. She just isn’t for men. Sexiness is not the point of her. Neither is a Beyonce-style cool-factor, which comes with a certain aloofness. Taylor is her fans’ imaginary friend. She’s the Seinfeld to your Susan. The Jane Austen to your Kathleen Kelly. She’s basically a niche dweeb who sells like crazy all over the world. I respect that.

(Big thanks to the discerning Swifies and Swiftie-analysts who helped me with my research for the video, especially Ana, Amanda and Mia.)

MESH FLATS

These seem pretty impractical right? What if it rains.

But this is another example of the kind of trendy item that if you search one pair once they’ll be stomping all over your recommended page on Insta for months.

I decided to go in entry level with the Mango ballerina pair below and was blown away by their comfort, versatility and dainty-foot shaping capabilities.

(Mango’s Version)

I now have a slip on version en route from Dear Frances and it’s everything in my power not to order these bad boys from Le Monde Beryl. Seems excessive to have three pairs but the red ones from Dear Frances were sold out and it also seems wrong not to have a colourful pair for those long hot June evenings I have idealised to the point of near-constant outfit fantasies. Please can it stop raining.

Le Monde Beryl Luna Slipper

Here’s a photo I took of my friend the photographer Adeline Mai wearing them while taking a photo of me.

Meta.

PROBIOTICS

People have been banging on to me about probiotics for years, and with my newfound mid-thirties acne drama, I thought I’d give them a try. Except when I take them I feel like WWIII has broken out in my digestive system.

Is everyone else just grinning and baring this? Are they secretly farting their way through daily life, figuring it’s worth it for exemplary gut status? I know beauty is pain etc but I have tried over five different brands and I’m just not on board. Convince me otherwise.

EMFACE

Guys this is kinda wild. So Innerskin, a tres chic 360 skincare clinic in Paris, invited me to try an eccentric new treatment I’d been hearing about, where they hook you up to a machine that sends electrodes through your face muscles, and tightens, lifts and chisels your face by giving its muscles a proper workout.

I have done two sessions so far and must say, I caught my reflection in the mirror at a restaurant immediately after my last session and had a real you go Glen Coco moment with myself. Cheekbones looked distinctly more chiseled, and I had a general healthy flush about me (didn’t get close enough for an impromptu meeting with my enflamed zit frenemies. No difference there.)

Apparently this is a spinoff on EmSculpt which does the same for your body. I didn’t know about it but word is people are obsessed because it can like, give you abs without you having to do a single situp.

So now they’ve developed a way of similarly stimulating the muscles in your face. You go in, they hook you up, it tickles A LOT but is bearable, and you come out with, well, an EmFace. Non invasive, nothing injected, instant results, I’m into it (and so, apparently, is TikTok.)

GATEKEEPING

“Gatekeeping” was (hilariously) Vogue’s word of the year in 2022. I must say (speaking of TikTok trends), gatekeeping, for influencers, is a little counter-intuitive. Isn’t your entire raison' d’être to share?

Apparently not. I’ve noticed some pretty iconic fashion ladies pointedly not to tagging their looks even though they’re clearly been gifted them etc. Keeping your cards close to your chest apparently ups your street cred and your interactions. Admittedly I sometimes can’t be bothered to tag everything—and don’t want to create an ad out of something that is absolutely not one— but if you ask I am obviously going to tell you what I’m wearing.

Then again, after coming across this piece in The Cut, I’ve realised the subject, like almost all internet phenomenon, is more complex (/potentially lucrative) than one immediately realises.

I’ll be keeping my fashion finds free willy for now. I love interacting with you all. Though you’ll surely understand I gotta keep gatekeeping those sneaky Paris insights. Insupportable! You can sign up below.