Last night's hottie-filled fashion show debuting Hasidic Levi Okunov's spring collection was, despite the shvitzing of a hundred Heebs packed into an auditorium, very cool. Kudos to Andy Ingall and the JuMu staff for turning what is often a highly un-cool space into a place where it seemed like something new and sexy was actually happening in real time. Kudos to Melissa Shiff for trancing us out to digital mandalas made of Hebrew letters and sacred objects. And kudos to whoever bought the free vodka.

But mostly, kudos to Levi Okunov himself, interviewed elsewhere on this site, and ably profiled by Jennifer Bleyer on Nextbook, who fused his Hasidic background and his audo-didactic fashion sensibility to create work that could've been novelty, could've been irony, but actually was art. Would that the vanity projects of some absurdly-funded Jewish narcissists were as careful to avoid the easy temptations of kitsch. What's the difference? Whereas aint-it-cool cultural kitsch is just a snide in-joke, Levi Okunov is actually trying to say something, to make something new.

To back up a little -- the Sabbatean heresy, which lasted from about 1665 to around 1820 (though there are still hidden Sabbateans today, some of whom are on Facebook) -- was, in large part, a secret mystical movement which laid the groundwork for Hasidism and preserved the antinomian ecstasy of Jewish messianism for over a century and a half. As the name implies, their central object of devotion was Sabbetai Sevi, who in 1666 counted 1/3 of all European Jews as his followers -- but who lost most of them when he converted to Islam rather than die at the hands of the Turkish sultan.

But devotion to Sabbetai was not the only point of the movement, especially after Sevi's death. Many Sabbateans believed that the redemption had come, and our job was to experience it now, by deliberately transgressing the laws of the old regime -- especially regarding sex. One of their notorious rituals involved having a young girl dress as the Torah, her breasts exposed, while (male) devotees danced around her kissing her breasts. This was, in a sense, a recorporealization. The Torah is itself a stand in for the Shechinah, the feminine aspect of God (a/k/a the Goddess): She wears a beautiful velour dress and a crown, and then at a special time, we take the dress off, open her parchment legs, and with our phallic pointer open her to reveal the secrets that lie between them.

Many of Okunov's designs are quite similar, placing the garments of the Torah upon a (half-undressed) beautiful woman. I know that Okunov isn't deliberately referencing the Sabbatean ritual (he told me so last night), but I'm struck by the similarity of inspiration. In a sense, both Okunov and the Sabbateans are simply responding to the feminine iconography of the Torah H/herself. But I think there is something more interesting going on in both cases, which is the re-universalizing of the particular, the transcription of the mythic into a realm that is deeper than myth and which underlies the Torah, the Sabbateans, contemporary fashion, and all the other iterations of eros which spiritual and aesthetic souls have devised.

Sabbateans, after all, are not just finding excuses to have sex; like all heretics, they are believers. Like Okunov, they are moved by beauty and eroticism, see them as gifts from God no less holy than the Torah itself. Okunov's post-Hasidic theology finds God everywhere (he told me that too), not just within the bounds of orthodoxy, and indeed, quite often in exactly those places which traditional law is so afraid of. In the hands of a lesser artist, dressing a woman up in the Torah's clothes would be an act of puerile rebellion. Oh boy, what a thrill, a woman in a Torah crown. But in the hands of a mystic, it is to take seriously the power of sexuality that makes religion worth doing in the first place -- and worth stealing back from the pious. (Not coincidentally, Sabbateanism extended its defiance of gender roles well beyond sexuality; women were in positions of leadership and power in the movement, and were as learned as men, even in the 18th century. Mysticism and liberation don't always go together, but here they did.)

In an essay called "Renewal is not Heresy," Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, like Okunov a renegade ex-Chabadnik, tried to explain why his form of de-orthodoxed Hasidism was not Sabbateanism. To many of us, he never quite succeeded. Who knows, maybe a kind of neo-Sabbateanism -- here as a stand-in for celebrating the erotic, visceral essence of true religion outside the bounds of traditional law -- is the Jewish renewal that many of us have been looking for. If so, I hope Levi Okunov's designing the costumes. Or lack thereof.

Our post earlier this week about No Sweat, the sweatshop-free apparel company creating jobs for Palestinians in Bethlehem, set off quite the debate. Whatever your stance on the work Adam Neiman and company are doing, one thing is for certain: A number of their organic, Bethlehem-made T-shirts are must haves. Here are a few of our faves:

Organic Bethlehem Green Menorah Tee, $18: "The Shalom Center of Philadelphia does remarkable interfaith work with an integrated approach to the issues of peace, justice and environmental responsibility. Their new green menorah covenant campaign is focused on climate change. It's an especially good fit on our Palestinian produced organic t-shirts from Bethlehem, West Bank. $4 per t-shirt goes to support the Shalom Center's climate change campaign."

Organic Bethlehem Vision in Action Tee, $18: "There’s only one symbol in the holy land that’s embraced by Jews, Christians & Muslims & this is it, the eye of Fatima (or Miriam), encircled by a Japanese proverb that fits the moment to a T: Vision without action is a daydream. Action without vision is a nightmare. Fatima was Mohammed’s daughter, Miriam, Moses’ sister. It is said that the symbol actually represents the hidden female aspect of the deity and is used as a talisman to ward off the evil eye. For us the placement of the eye in the hand implies vision in action - what we strive to provide every day."

Organic Bethlehem Musicians Against Sweatshops Tee, $20: "Musicians Against Sweat Shops™ official tee is here, and only here! Support this initiative to help wipe sweatshops out of the music merchandising business while raising awareness of the issue. $5 on every T goes to MASS."

Previous: Alternative Jewish Grooves for Passover

Two weeks ago we showed you photos of the Jewish Museum's Off the Wall exhibit under construction. Now that the exhibit is in full swing, take a look at the results. These photos feature fashions from Chassidic designer Levi Okunov. For more on Okunov, check out the interview below, in which the designer talks about his inspirations, Chassidic teachings, spirituality, and the Jewish Museum.

Levi Okunov discusses his residency at the Jewish Museum from mobius1ski on Vimeo.

Last week: Bagels with a Side of Art

Totally fierce: KashouForget the presidential election. Up until last week, the most interesting—you might even say fierce—competition on TV was the battle to win Season 4 of Bravo TV's hit series “Project Runway.” Would it be Christian “Young, Fierce, and Talented” Siriano, Jillian “I Can Make Twizzlers Look Sexy” Lewis, or Rami “Drapery” Kashou?

Last Wednesday Christian emerged as the winner, but Ramallah-born Rami was a close second, and the judges praised his talent, vision, and drive. Rami didn’t talk much about his background on the show, leading many Jewish viewers to wonder if he was a member of the tribe (though his big crucifix suggested otherwise). In fact, he grew up as a Catholic on the West Bank, leaving the country for the U.S. after high school to pursue his fashion dreams. Prior to appearing on the show, he ran a small successful line worn by Hollywood stars like Jessica Alba, Tyra Banks, and even Paris Hilton.

During the show, the judges often worried that you relied too much on your talent for drapery. Did your background inspire your style as a designer?

I am the son of a mother who was a lover of fashion. My mother, who died when I was five, was Miss Jordan. She had all these amazing pieces in her closest, all these cocktail dresses. I guess because I saw women who wore veils with drapery, I liked the beauty of the fabric and the way it fell. So I guess maybe subconsciously that led to the draping in my designs on the show.

When ["Project Runway" mentor] Tim Gunn visited me right before Fashion Week, he looked at my collection and asked, “Where's the drapery?” That was when I realized I don't care what the judges say. I'm happy with my final collection for Fashion Week and that's all that matters. I'm finding my own voice and I'm glad they 'got it' in the end.

Mellow yellow: A typical Rami Kashou designYou already have a store and a studio in Los Angeles. Would you consider opening one in New York?

Yes! I'd love to, are you kidding me? I was in New York for a few days recently and what I love is that in New York, everything is so compact. There are so many people in small spaces—it's kind of like being shoved in an elevator--and all these people were coming up to me, and you never know who you'll meet next. It's easier to network in N.Y. than L.A. because of that.

What about in your home country?

I'd love to open up in more than one country, but with checkpoints in the Middle East, it could be hard. But it would be nice to have my work in different countries, to make it more accessible.

Do you think your previous fashion experience worked against you?

Honestly? Yes. You know, Jillian said something to me during the show that I thought was interesting. She said to me, “Rami, we want the career you already have.” But I don’t think people realize that I was doing it all on my own before the show. OK, I already had a label, but I wanted to win the money, not really the title, because the money would help my business. I do all of the dirty work for my label, which in a way takes away from the creative process sometimes. I deal with all the business stuff, all the bounced checks, arranging of events, everything. I just happen to be lucky that some celebrities liked my work.

Good sports: Rami and Chris MarchSpeaking of Jillian, what was your relationship with her like?

She was my BFF on the show and after the show.

When it came time to pick the three final contestants, the "Project Runway" judges had so much trouble choosing between you and Chris March that they ultimately asked you to compete in a separate contest. What was that like?

I'm sure it was really stressful for Chris, too, but when the judges said that both Chris and I had to design three outfits for them and then they'd choose between us, I thought, “Oh, great.” It kind of took the fun out of show—I felt like they cuffed our hands behind our backs and said, “Go design.” I used this analogy before, but to me, when the judges said they had to choose between Chris and me, it felt like I was handed a birthday cake without the candles...like, great, I don't get to make a wish?

How did you decide to audition for the show? I’ve heard previous contestants Nick Verroes and Santino Rice inspired you to sign up.

I was acquaintances with Santino, but I knew Nick from the same social setting and he said more good comes out of the show than bad.

Do you think your season was as gossipy as it’s been in past years?

Because I watched the previous seasons, I expected some gossip. However, I did learn after that there was a lot of editing done. People do say things and they get mashed up or get taken out of context. But other seasons were a LOT worse, I'll tell you that.

Grecian earn: A stunner from episode 11Did it bother you to see how you’d been edited?

Well, one thing they didn’t show is that I made all the shoes, hats, and pocketbooks the models wore. Only once I used a pair of Bluefly.com shoes because I needed a certain size. I liked working with Bluefly.com, but I wished the show acknowledged that I did all the etching and sewing and designing for the model's shoes, hats, and handbags—and I'd never designed handbags before. The chains were all custom-made, as was the quilting. I sewed all the bags and I'm happy with how the bags came out.

What's next for Rami Kashou now that the show is over?

Back to business! I just shipped out the Spring/Summer 2008 collection which you can find in NY at the store Big Drop. I’ll also be selling a design on the Home Shopping Network. And in mid-March, I’m flying back to the East Coast to attend an event for Seeds of Peace, which aims to improve relations and encourage peace in the Middle East. I'll be a guest there—it's a big deal. In the past they've had Susan Sarandon and Zac Posen as guests. It will be nice to move beyond fashion for this because I believe in the cause.

[[Correction: Rami initially said his work would be sold at Intermix, but it's actually Big Drop.  We regret the error.]]

What's in a Name?: The Riviera Scarf, by AlloyNot too long ago, Cameron Diaz stumbled from her shining path with a fashion faux pas that took the form of a messenger bag. The olive green accessory bore a red star and declared "Serve the People" in Chinese lettering. Sounds nice enough, but oops. Unfortunately for Cameron, that was one of Mao Zedong's most famous political slogans, and the tote turned an innocent jaunt through Peru into a fashion (and PR) disaster. After all, most of us are familiar with the classic lyric from the Beatles song, "Revolution": But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao, you ain't gonna make it with anyone anyhow. Here's a general rule of thumb for public figures: If you don't know what it says, don't wear it. I have a good amount of sympathy for Cameron Diaz. I mean, shoot--I don't speak Chinese, either, and could easily have made the same mistake.

It's different when the same "mistake" is repeated again and again by large corporations who should (and do) know better. I realize that at this point, the ongoing popularity of the keffiyeh in fashion forward, alternateen circles is old hat--or old scarf, as it were--but that doesn't diminish my overwhelming sense of incredulity that yet another retailer is marketing this "breezy, global-chic" symbol of hatred and terror to tweens, teens, college students, and "young independents." Back in January, Urban Outfitters briefly offered and quickly assassinated what they called an "anti-war woven scarf." In March it was Ark Clothing with their "Arafat Scarf" (way to be upfront, guys!). Then we had Delia's who first called it a "Peace Scarf," but later changed its name to "Euro Scarf" in response to complaints and protest.

If You Like That: ...You'll Love These!Delia's, as it happens, is where this trend turns from annoying to disturbing. See, I realize that "radical chic" is nothing new. From Berkeley college students to British hipsters, the keffiyeh has been around the necks of wannabe-revolutionaries and misguided-mutineers for decades.

What's creepy is that the most recent marketer of the keffiyeh is Alloy. Why creepy? Because Alloy owns Delia's.

Now, I'm not really the paranoid, conspiracy-theorist type, but this is no mere coincidence. Having already gone through this with their Delia's brand, Alloy can't plead ignorance about the symbolism of said scarf. Alloy, a multi-faceted advertising, clothing, publishing, film, and television company, bills itself as "a widely recognized pioneer in nontraditional marketing." Nontraditional marketing, eh? I'll say. The company is calling its unique brand of keffiyeh the "Riviera Scarf," because, um, that's where all the terrorists go on holiday?

Oh, and by the way, Cameron: you got a "Get Out of Jail Free" card for the Mao thing, but sporting a keffiyeh is not gonna fly.

Better than you: This bag recently convinced Dick Cheney to buy a PriusIf you follow fashion, you’ll understand the power of the phrase “I am not a plastic bag.” Yesterday, in less than an hour, New Yorkers snapped up 2000 canvas totes labeled with those words at a Manhattan Whole Foods. The bags, which cost around $15, have been snapped up all over Britian and are nearly causing riots in the States. Why? Because fashionistas currently like being eco-friendly, but they’ll always love being cutting edge, and Anya Hindmarch’s creation is the status symbol of the summer.

Being an organ of many opinions, Jewcy is divided about whether or not this is a positive development. Editor Joey Kurtzman has said before that he likes the idea of tying good deeds to status. Since people put so much time and money into showing off, he reasons, why not harness that energy and attach it to a worthy cause? After all, when a soulless, shriveled trendwhore totes vegetables in her “I am not a plastic bag” bag simply to make her BFFs feel like lesser human beings because their bags aren’t quite so de trop, she’s still conserving resources. One less petroleum product will wind up in one less landfill even if the bag’s owner’s intentions are utterly rotten and black of heart.

Then again, unlike philanthropy, bag ownership isn’t immediately a good deed. Rumor has it that some department stores in England were actually bagging the Hindmarch bags in plastic, which is both hilarious and terrifying in its implications about the depths of human stupidity. Jewcy contributer Rebecca Diliberto has made her own critique at Café Press, and she’s donating all proceeds to charity. Anya Hindmarch seems like a cool, well-intentioned lady; I think Diliberto’s “I am not a douchebag” would amuse her more than anything else. After all, it can carry vegetables home from the supermarket too.

They May Look Harmless: But these Bok Choy can kill me.Someone is punishing me for my skeptical attitude toward Urban Zen. By someone, I guess I mean God, in the way my mother says “God is punishing you” when I trip after making fun of someone, or rip my pants after ridiculing the tightness of someone else’s.

I was famished when lunch arrived on our table during the break yesterday. A dashing waiter came bearing a beautiful wooden tray stacked with bowls of “living” food—the kind of stuff rich, enlightened, skinny fashionistas are served at every meal. The people at my table—three yoga teachers, an internist, two nurse practitioners and an administrator at the American Cancer Society—snapped them up immediately.

I reached for my bowl with hesitancy, because I have to be extremely careful about what I eat outside my own kitchen. I have severe food allergies to seafood and pine nuts; they make my throat swell and cause what I will refer to delicately as “gastrointestinal distress.”

I knew I didn’t have to worry about seafood. “Living food” is vegan. (I hope!) I unwrapped my chopsticks and started poking around in the little bowl. Beautifully wilted bright green bok choy and dark grey pieces of eggplant lay on top of a bed of black grains, which seemed wild-rice-ish. No pine nuts in sight, seemed safe. I dug in.

“I’m surprised there’s eggplant in here,” I say, trying to make conversation, because I want to kill myself with anxiety when stuck in a silent group of strangers, “It’s a nightshade, right? I thought macrobiotic people didn’t eat it.” I looked around for a response but my tablemates ignored the comment and continued eating. Oh-kay. I am a dork.

I take a bite, avoiding the eggplant as I know some people get a scratchy throat from eggplant that isn’t cooked properly and I don’t want to mistake a scratchy throat for an on-the-verge-of-closing throat as I am not holding any Xanax. The bok choy is all right but it isn’t all that. Everyone is talking about how “incredibly delicious” and “refreshing” the food at this conference has been, how they wish someone would post the recipes on the website. The food reminds me of those little plastic containers of seaweedy mystery you find under the water bottles in a health food store, but I am done commenting on it. I eat a few bites and pass my near-full bowl to a waiter, who looks at me as if I were throwing away a little bowl of gold.

As we work through our lunch—brainstorming strategies for improving the experience of dying in America’s hospitals—I feel myself growing spacier and spacier. My writing is getting messy. Is it hot in here? My forehead is beading sweat.

I know what is coming. The back of my throat is swelling; my epiglottis is irritated too, so enlarged that if I were to breathe in deep and quick you could hear it flutter. I eat a few grapes to try to clear out the bitter taste of histamine from my mouth, test my swallowing reflex.
Michael Beckwith: The fox from The Secret was there. In real life. But even he couldn't save me from myself.
Michael Bernard Beckwith—the handsome African American guy with dreads from The Secret video—is leading a meditation.

He intones, “So that which is eternally going on becomes the object of our awareness…”

The object of my awareness right now is that I might go into anaphylactic shock and barf in front of Donna Karan, Christy Turlington, and Uma Thurman’s dad.

“The realm of everything good is revealing itself through this panel, this conference, this gathering…”

But not through this lunch!

I open my eyes to locate the nearest bathroom. It is located right off the main meeting room, and were I to retch inside it, everyone would hear me. No question embarrasses me more than “Are you OK?” when I am sick, so falling apart in front of this crowd is not an option. Though if I were to fall apart, now would be the time to do it, while they’re all on planet meditation.

“Allow us to become more and never less than our true self…”

I am about to be one lunch less than myself if I don’t get out of here…

I gather up my huge bag and coat and weave through the legs surrounding our table, saying, “Bye! Thank you! I have to run!” Until this moment I haven’t noticed that I’ve essentially lost my voice due to throat swelling. What if I leave and asphyxiate on the fringes of the far West Village? No one will discover me for at least an hour—the conference is scheduled to run until 3 p.m!

Walking outside, the fresh air helps for a second. I run toward the nearest Starbucks, which is two blocks away. Outside, three weird guys yell at me, “Save your receipt for a two dollar Metrocard!” What?

I pray for no line. There’s a line. There’s a woman with a massive wheelie suitcase who has obviously popped in to do her post-flight grooming. Think of something undisgusting. Vanilla ice cream. Disgusting! What if someone asks me if I’m OK? Morning sickness, that’s a good answer. But then they’ll ask when the baby is due. How depressing. If I ever come back to this Starbucks I’ll have to come up with a miscarriage story.Starbucks Bathroom: Worth my $4.50 any day of the week.

Come on, lady. I consider throwing up in my coat. I could turn away from the baristas and just hide my face in the black wool, wrap the whole mess up, and toss it neatly into the dumpster outside. But I really like this coat. Once, after a similar anaphylactic experience which, coincidentally, also occurred in the West Village, I threw up into my favorite shawl and tossed it out the window on the West Side Highway. The cab driver didn’t even notice.

Mercifully, the post-flight girl is finished rather quickly. Her makeup looks good. I run inside and no matter how hard I push I can’t get the spring-loaded door closed quickly enough. I do so in just enough time to rid myself of a gallon of black mess—caponata!—and feel better instantly. I splash water on my face, put my sunglasses on, and crash into another Urban Zen participant as I career out of the bathroom. She looks at me sympathetically. Probably thinks I’m bulimic.

I run out of the Starbucks and the weird guys yell, “Didja save your receipt? We’ve got your Metrocard!”

“I didn’t buy anything!” I scream at them in my underwater swollen Disney villain voice. They are frightened of me.

Bounding toward the Christopher Street station I pop into another Starbucks and repeat the experience. For goodness sake, I only ate one bite!

OK, God, I promise to be more openhearted when it comes to Zen fashionistas. I’ve learned my lesson.

But tomorrow I’m going on a purifying fast.

Getting into the first panel I attend, “Doctors, Embracing a New Way of Thinking,” isn’t easy. After I arrive at the Stephan Weiss studio, deep in the West Village, I get in line to check in with one of many frazzled-looking event coordinators in black headsets. While another writer and I languish at the entrance—“The problem is the PR people have never given us a list of press!” growls a pretty blonde—women carrying bags made of ostrich, lizard and snakeskin are waved in right and left.

I am not particularly bothered by what some might consider a snub—this scene is no different from waiting for backstage access to a fashion show, which I did for years covering beauty and fashion trends for glossy magazines. The VIPS there and here came from the same guest list—in order to attend this series of panels and workshops, one has to be a patron of the Urban Zen initiative; sponsorships range from $6000 to $250000, roughly the same price range as a piece of couture. According to the Urban Zen website, sponsors help fund the attendance of nurses, medical students, and other healing practitioners who would otherwise not be able to attend.

After about ten minutes of waiting outside, my fellow press buddy and I are ushered inside the building to wait some more in the gallery, where a silent auction of serene art photographs is being displayed. In this corral with all the other seatless people I have a good view of the audience, who seem to be getting to know one another, eager for the panel to start.

“I am meeting with Donna next week to discuss strategy,” says the woman I met outside, who is getting anxious that everyone seems to be getting seats but us, “They obviously don’t know who I am.” She is the publisher of an established alternative medicine newsletter, and her sense of entitlement is sort of charming. She may have been to Washington to lobby for universal healthcare, but she’s obviously never been to an NYC PR extravaganza.

Harboring no delusions about my own importance in this crowd, I settle into a conversation with another woman who’s waiting to be seated, a doctor of Chinese medicine. She is in her mid-thirties, Asian-American, and so fashionable and pretty I might have mistaken her for someone from the W magazine society page. She tells me she left corporate America to practice Chinese medicine and I second-guess my assessments of the other people I saw whiz past me at the door. Maybe they were all in the healing arts, too?

Five minutes after the scheduled beginning, we’re still not seated, but a hush comes over the crowd as the panel moves toward the stage, the actor Michael J. Fox, who is living with Parkinson's Disease, at its tail end. Everyone is trying to stare out of the corner of their eye. He is magnetic. With the layout of the room—the stage at the very front, mics, photographers—it is easy to pretend we are attending a press conference for some new TV show. But this is not TV, it’s real. Fox’s gait is a little shaky. And when he gets to the stage, he’s seated next to his neurologist and a melanoma survivor and the head of integrative medicine at Beth Israel medical center—not Meredith Baxter Birney or Justine Bateman. This is real.

No matter how hard we try to convince ourselves that celebrities are regular people, it’s deeply disturbing when they become sick. I could offer some pat explanation about the secret sense of satisfaction we feel when the mighty fall, but I don’t think it’s that simple—or that heartless. Once illness or trauma penetrates the placenta of celebrity, affecting those who dwell in our fantasy worlds, it seems, ironically, much more real and threatening to the rest of us. Plus our sense of empathy for them is artificially inflated. We feel as though we know them, so it’s like a good friend or relative is in danger.

Because of this, celebrities can—and should—bring awareness to their diseases by speaking openly about them. This can lead directly to progress, both medical and sociological. Think what Christopher Reeve did for paralysis—he humanized it, brought a real sense of strength and dignity to the wheelchair, and he did more for stem cell research than any other individual.

So why does this who’s who of Hollywood healthcare at the Urban Zen Initiative make me a little uneasy? Why, when the session opens with a moving film featuring Donna Karan, her husband (who passed away), and other famous cancer patients such as Edie Falco, do I catch myself doing an inner eye-roll?

More on this later.

[Native New York Jewess and longtime art-world resident Sara Rosen (“Miss Rosen” to her fans) knows more about the downtown avant garde than pretty much anyone. As publicity director for powerHouse Books, she’s overseen Autograf (about contemporary graffiti), Martha Cooper’s 70’s-nostalgic We B*Girlz, and a host of other impressive visual offerings. Every so often, Miss Rosen will be sending in shamelessly promotional dispatches about her talented clients. Expect loads of insight into the who, what and where of the downtown scene. Just don't expect objectivity.]

There are two women on the planet I would rather be; Claw Money is one of them. The other? Well, honey, to find out you’ll just have to keep reading my column. I love a good mystery, although that does not justify the piles of Nancy Drew novels on my shelf. Those would almost be embarrassing—if I had any shame.

Which I don’t, as you will soon learn. Life is too short to worry about ignominy. Dignity, darling, is all in the mind, as I’ve learned in my years as Publicity Director of powerHouse Books, an independent art publishing house. Whatever I am hustling, you better believe I won’t blush.

Recently, I launched my own imprint, Miss Rosen Editions—making me both publisher and publicist. And though I promote over 40 books a year, art-direct and edit my own line, curate exhibitions, and run powerHouse Magazine, when Jewcy offered me a column, I couldn’t say no. The idea is simple: I get to profileInter-borough woman of mystery: Claw's secret identity is safe in Queens my favorite people on the planet—the artists, writers, designers, and performers whose originality inspires me to new heights of style and design. Even though I am publishing the aforementioned Claw Money’s first monograph, Bombshell, this April, I don’t see a conflict. These days, the boundaries between critic and participant have collapsed entirely—believe you me, a girl can be publicist and journalist, publisher and party planner, all at one time.

A leader at the School of Killer Bitches, Claw is an F.I.T. drop-out turned Swindle magazine fashion director; a vintage aficionado whose latest creations combine the bedazzled delights of Ronkonkoma with the edge of Avenue D; and a graffiti bomber who is now tagging t-shirts, tote bags, and panties with her signature icon—a carefree cartoon paw with three lusty talons. Born in Queens, and escaped from Long Island, Miss Claw, whose last name you will never know, is so proud of her heritage she shouts out “Shalom” when she throws up an icon. The rarest of all street art breeds, the female Graff King, Claw has transformed from vandal and scandal to diva with feva. She’s the ultimate Downtown Girl; I’m just waiting for Billy Joel to pen an ode.

For Bombshell, her monograph, Claw delved deep into her archives (a set of shoeboxes carefully preserved in someone else’s storage facility) to unearth a collection of ephemera illustrating her high-toned style and the down and dirty doings that inspired it. We spent months nosing through the boxes, carefully selecting baby photos, fashion spreads, love letters, postcards, stickers, patches, pins, jewels, sunglasses, spray paint cans, markers, black book pages, graff flicks, mix tapes, boomboxes, action figures, and foreign currency for this once-in-a-lifetime look at her one-in-a-million lifestyle. Who else could co-opt Chanel, open a show at colette, and still shop at Victoria’s Secret—for clothes, mind you?

Whenever I enter the vaults contained in her East Village office, I am sure to stick my paws into her drawers. Don’t get any ideas there, kids—she’s got a fiancé. What I mean to say is that unlike everyone else on the planet, she lets me snoop through her stuff, checking out the latest accessories and accoutrements left lying around or hiding in bags under her desk. It is a fiesta of all things sequined, a bedazzler’s palace, a madhouse of passion for fashion. And by fashion I do not mean Seventh Avenue. Not even close. Claw Money Couture is not for mere runways; the New York City sidewalks are the real catwalk. It never fails: I’ll be rocking a Claw garment, and some young buck will come on up, a little giddy and nervous, asking me, “Are you her? Do you know her? What do you write?” to which I answer, “Press releases, darling.”

In fact, it was at a press event in 2004 that we first met. I was working on Autograf: New York City’s Graffiti Writers, the first photography book by Colorado-bred Peter Sutherland, who sought out some of the most notorious vandals in the city. Convinced that his subjects all had their own motives for going out cloaked in the darkness of night to leave their mark on the city’s streets, I pestered Sutherland into giving me their contact information. To flatter myself with a cliché, great minds think alike: Peter Edidin, an editor at The New York Times, asked if I could set up interviews for a feature on the book in the City section. I invited numerous writers, including Claw.

Sutherland had warned me: Claw is a loud talker. Little did I understand just what this meant until she entered our former offices on Charlton Street, in full hit-‘em-high style with the wife beater and white Cazals, fly kicks, and sparkling presence. I was astounded by the quality of the accent (Lawn Guyland, dawling) and the reverberations in the room when she started speaking (like Carole King, I could feel the earth move under my feet). Needless to say, once we began chatting, it was impossible to shut either of us up.

Which reminds me of one of my all-time favorite Claw stories. She was standing in the Los Angeles restaurant, yelling at her boyfriend, when a woman walked up to her and gushed, “Ohh myyy gawwwdd! Your accent! I haven’t heard that voice in years. Where are you from?”

Claw told me this story slowly, building the anticipation. “It was Fran Drescher!” she declared. “I can’t believe it! I don’t sound like her!” she avowed loudly, unmistakable nasal intonations trilling through her sinus cavity. I nodded in disbelief.

Being a publicist as well as a columnist, I forwarded this piece to Claw for review. Though she loved the story, there was one item that seemed to shock her. “I’m a loud tawker?” she said in hushed tones, dark hair slipping over her face as though to shield her from the truth. “I’m soooooooo embarrassed! Do you know, two people have told me I’m a loud tawker since I read this story? I can’t believe it. I never knew.”

“Girl!” I exclaimed in abject disbelief, before catching myself. I switched into one of my favorite accents and said, in the voice of The Nanny, “Don’t worry, dawling. It’s genetic.”

[All images from BOMBSHELL: THE LIFE AND CRIMES OF CLAW MONEY, published by powerHouse Books.]

Is God in the details? If so maybe Anna Wintour is in search of God, and not the devil incarnate!

I just read that the famous for being devilish editor is looking for a new word for 'blog'. The item implied that this was just another thing that made Anna Wintour soo evil. "The word 'blog' is ugly", she reportedly said, and so she's ordered her staffers to come up with a new word ASAPest!

Personally I like the word blog. It is to writing what clogs are to other shoes. Something uniquely shaped. A shoe but not a shoe. Then again Ms. Wintour may also loathe clogs. I respect that. I loathe flats. Whenever I see a girl in ballet slippers I stare the way drivers stare at car wrecks. Please never let that happen to me!

But what I love about Anna Wintour's desire for a new word is that it reveals a love of language, a demand for precision about language. A love of detail. And after all isn't God in the details? I suggest the word cournal to Ms. Wintour. If you happen to know her please pass it along. Cournal is for: computer journal. Also for kernel, as in kernel of an idea. Which is what a good blog is. (I'm always tempted to go for the whole ear of corn.) But if you do tell it to her and she likes it and she uses it, please tell her it is from me and that I would really would like to meet her. Now more than ever.

Because I am still trying to figure out "The Devil Wears Prada". She didn't seem that evil. I began to worry maybe there was something wrong with me. According to the Kabbalah worry is the devil. But of course you shouldn't worry about it, or the devil wins. And in this case the devil did. For me the devil often does.

Is it me or is it being Jewish? Is it possible to be a Jew and not worry? I am an optimist and so I say yes. And I have spent most of my so-called adult life working at converting my worrier nature into warrior nature. Every now and then I feel I've gotten it. A triumph! And always when I am feeling truimphant I start to worry that I am feeling triumphant and I will lose it all, which means that I have lost it all and I must begin again. High heels can be emotionally as well as physically uplifting at this point.

And so can yoga. Where I was yesterday. First, lots of warriors. Warrior 1, 2, reverse 2's. All good. Then I was laying in shavasana, corpse pose, (I consider it a great victory that I can even lay there and not worry about dying) and I noticed a great ball of worry. Despite my chanting to remove all negativity. Somehow I was able to really focus on it though. And my worry felt "fat". Hunh. I looked more closely and it was a fat old woman in a housedress. Wirey hair. Smoking. Her name was Bertha. I have always tried to be one of those people who name the parts of themselves. Never been able to. Well, ok. Results are not always immediate.

And here was big old fat Bertha. Literally sitting on my shoulder. Worrying. She was my devil. Wearing an awful shmata! My devil wears shamatas! I released her but like an ex-con committing crimes to get back in prison here she still is today. Maybe if I buy her some Prada she will behave.

For attending a Seder at a hotel: Look as seductive as possible. Don't actually drink the wine.As we all know, come Pesach, we're expected to adorn new clothes to mark our Exodus long ago from Egypt. In this spirit, Ynet has an interesting photo montage of different outfits to wear at the Passover Seder depending on where you are going. Of course, facial expressions and poses also differ depending on environment as the pictures relay.

For example, when going to your in-laws, force a sudued smile, carry some flowers, and dress like you were just plucked off a farm in Scandavia. Similarly, when going to your parents, dump the smile (no one would believe you anways), and dress in a casual long-sleeved shirt and respectably A-line skirt. Then plant yourself on an armchair and hope you can fade into the 70s lime green shag rug the ottoman is situated on. For the Seder at a hotel, dress a bit skanky, with a lace or sheer top over a camisole. You're not fooling anyone here either. Venue trumps dress code here. And lastly, when going to friends for your Passover Seder, dress at your finest because this is the premiere opportunity you have to show off all your new Spring styles to people who might actually notice and hold you accountable in years to come.

That's all for Passover Fashion 101. Etiquette lessons to follow. No one fancies a chicken soup slurper.

From code to pret-a-porter: Alice + Olivia co-founder Stacey BendetGossip columnist and debut novelist Deborah Schoeneman talks to Alice + Olivia fashion designer Stacey Bendet about starting a hip couture business, the nightlife as day job, and getting booted from Soho House for throwing "mini-explosives" at people.

Real estate heiress Jamie Lefrak introduced me to Stacey Bendet, 28, six years ago, back when she was Stacey Weiner. She didn't get married; she just got famous as a fashion designer and decided her mom's maiden name was more chic.

We met at the now-defunct nightclub Suite Sixteen. At the time, Stacey was wearing a ton of eye makeup (she still does) and I didn't take her too seriously. Then she started talking about graduating from Wharton and writing computer code.

When she eventually gave up UNIX for fashion, she invited me to her first show, at the Russian Tea Room. (All the naughty young socialites were strutting around holding flowers to cover their naked tops while they modeled her pants. I think Paris Hilton was in the show).

Since then, we've hit many Manhattan nightspots together, all of which have cooled off or died during the years. But Stacey remains red hot. Just ask any of the guys I've set her up with.

What was the first thing you ever designed?

My bedroom, when I was five. My mother made me live with the lavender carpet for about 15 years. I hate the color lavender to this day.

How'd you get started?

I started designing clothes for myself in college, sexy tops with hand-beaded straps, wrap skirts—almost bohemian in style. Right after school I was building websites, and one of the companies I was working for was a startup that housed four different clothing lines. I was in the office every day and was inadvertently learning a lot about starting a clothing line. I decided I wanted to make my own pants in the cut of a jean but with fun graphic fabrics. I researched some pattern makers, built some crazy upholstery fabrics, and had my first samples made.

When did you start your business?

I started making pants in the fall of 2001, and then officially launched at Barney's in January of 2002. They placed their first order after one of the buyers attended my “Just Pants” show at the Russian Tea Room. I had models walking in pants carrying coordinating bouquets of flowers over their breasts.

How did you finance it?

My ex-partner and I were financing it. I had built around 20 websites over the course of a year or so and was using the money from that. She had her dad's credit card. The initial investment was relatively small: I leveraged my website development skills and bartered to get a lot of things done for free/trade.

Were any designers your inspiration?

I mostly wear my own clothes and vintage stuff, but I am always inspired by 1970s YSL and Ossie Clark. There's also a small store down on Howard Street called Opening Ceremony that I shop at for inspiration sometimes.

Where are your clothes sold?

The collection is sold in around 500 stores around the world, in addition to our alice + olivia stores in Los Angeles, East Hampton, and Manhattan.

Which celebs wear them?

Janet Jones (Wayne Gretsky's wife) bought one of our Grateful Dead hockey player dresses over the weekend. We have a ton of celebs in our clothes: Mena Suvari, Alanis Morrissette, Cameron Diaz, Mischa Barton, Charlize Theron.

How much money does your company make?

We will do approximately $12 million in sales for 2006.

What are some of your most popular items, and what do they cost?

Our pants are definitely our best-selling item although, for spring we have been selling tons of leggings. Hello, ’80s.

What's your daily schedule like?

During the week I try to go to bed by 11. I wake up at 4:45 and have some cereal and head down to Eddie's Ashtanga class on Broome Street. I have a car pick me up at 7:20, and I run home, shower, and get to the office by 7:45. I am usually at the office until 7 or 8 and then have dinner with friends or go out for a bit.

You used to frequent Soho House until you got kicked out for throwing mini-explosives on guests. Do you miss the place?

They weren't exactly explosives, they were bang snaps. Legal noisemakers often found in party supply stores or on random streets in Chinatown. And I will go out on a limb and say that it is one of the more innocent substances to enter Soho House. I still go once in a while. I am just a suspended member or something.

Is having a nightlife a job or a pleasure at this point?

Totally depends on the night. There are definitively evenings when I am out because I have to be, but there are also nights when I find myself at Bungalow 8 at 3 a.m. and I'm pretty sure it is not having any sort of favorable effect on pant designs.

I was having a conversation yesterday about when Hiro first opened and it was just the small upstairs bar with great rock ’n’ roll music and a cool crowd. There's nothing really like that right now. Or maybe I am just getting old. I dunno.

Is there such thing as bad publicity?

I think there is, but it's only really bad if you harp on it. Most press is pretty ephemeral, people forget. One time I was quoted as saying I don't make pants for big girls. I got a lot of shit from that, but I didn't say anything untrue.

What other bad press have you gotten?

One time the [New York] Post had a picture of me in a pineapple bikini saying I looked like an off-the-boat Russian model in need of a meal. Whatever.

You travel to Hong Kong alone to check on your factories and buy great designer knockoff bags one week; you're on the benefit circuit a day later; the following week you're climbing up the sea bluffs in Montauk at a beach bonfire and beating all the boys to the top. You're kind of an urban superhero.

I love Hong Kong. I think it's because it's the most productive city in the world. You can make anything, start anything. There is such a buzz there, an entrepreneurial energy. My L.A. boyfriend asked me what I would do the other day if I sold my company. I said open a great Ashtanga Yoga studio in L.A. And he said, "Nah, you'd open 20." Sitting on the beach to me is boring. I like making things.

So you've got a boyfriend?

Yes. Michael Eisner's son Eric.

Do you have any enemies or rivals?

Rivals? Totally. This guy Spiros in my yoga class. He's kicking my ass in 3rd series Ashtanga.

Paris or Nicole?

Nicole.

Zac Posen's out. We're serious. Read about the rise of hottest new Jewish designer: Alexandre Herchcovitch and try to comprehend how his "Shmatte Chic" style trend is taking the fashion world by storm. I think Jewlicious said it best with their, "Not since the days of Madonna wearing Jean-Paul Gauthier’s hasidic garb has tznius been so hot. Hipster t-shirts are one story, and the rise of shmatte chic is another." Slate's Alana Newhouse also put in her two cents.

Nice Hat: Sexy is as sexy does.Today I want to talk a little bit about modesty, which is a traditional Jewish issue that seems particularly incongruous in our world today.

But in fact, it's that incongruity that makes it especially interesting to me. The contrarian in me finds it pleasing that observant Jews stand in opposition to this big naked slutty world I no longer even notice most of the time.

Why be modest?

God wanted us to enjoy an existence in which our physicality wouldn't stand in the way of defining ourselves internally. God therefore gave the first man and woman a great gift: the inborn ability to see each other in their totality.

With this perfect vision, man and woman saw each other's outer self and inner self as one inseparable unit. When man looked at woman, he simultaneously saw her mind, heart, and spirit. At the same moment that woman appreciated man's appearance, she appreciated who he really was.

Which makes a lot of sense in a "yeah, that's how we should all be" kind of way, but I'm not sure that's how it plays out. And it doesn't make much sense out of why there's a whole world of fashion surrounding Jewish modesty. A veritable industry (however unappealing).

In any case, it's not a Jewish choice I take issue with on a feminist level, since it's not like observant Jewish men are out there running around in speedos or anything. But I find myself thinking about the Amish and the Mennonites. Doctrinal differences aside, the superficial divide between the Amish and the Mennonites is that the former wear startlingly odd clothes that set them apart from the rest of us, and the latter are just a little dorky. A Mennonite girl in a longish skirt and Walmart T-shirt is unlikely to attract the same kind of notice as her iron-clad Amish counterpart.

Which makes me wonder whether modesty serves the purpose of concealing the surface/body, or simply separating Jews from others in an obvious way. Or both...

This is a nice little site on the subject.

Who ever thought Christy Turlington, Ed Burns, and Steven Spielberg would be teaming up to collaborate on a drama set in NYC's fashion industry? Ok, so maybe Christy gets Haute Couture in the same way Heidi Klum does or doesn't, but Spielberg? Given that Burns and Spielberg have been chums since the last movie that Spielberg directed that didn't totally blow ("Saving Private Ryan") and Christy's pretty much just doing yoga videos these days, I guess a pet project was in order to make the marital union ever more blissful.

For more on the show's inspiration:

The couple are attached to write a drama series set in the fashion world and based on an idea from Spielberg, who came up with the concept after attending New York's fashion week. The storyline will focus on five twentysomethings with fashion jobs such as photographer, designer, makeup artist and model.

Sounds like an Aaron Spelling/Darren Star show gone terribly wrong.

Madonna in an H&M Tracksuit: Like a virgin.Despite the less-than-successful attempt on the part of H&M to market a tracksuit fronted by the Material girl herself, it seems that Hennes & Mauritz are willing to take another chance on Madonna and are sitting down with her to work on a fashion line for a second time. From The Showbuzz:

Madonna has teamed up with Margareta van den Bosch, H&M's head of design, to create the "M by Madonna" women's wear collection, scheduled to be launched globally in March, the company said Thursday. This is the second time the 48-year-old pop singer has collaborated with the Swedish clothing chain. H&M supplied Madonna and her entourage with an offstage wardrobe for her "Confessions" world tour. "I've made no secret of my love for fashion and trends," Madonna said in a statement. "Working with Margareta and H&M was an exciting and new creative challenge for me. I'm really happy with the results and look forward to wearing 'M by Madonna' along with the rest of the world."

Personally, I miss the old Madonna who hardly wore anything. Or if she did, it was really inappropriate.

H&M To Sell 2nd Madonna Fashion Line [The ShowBuzz]

Matthew McConaughey at We Are Marshall Press Junket: A vision in plaidSee, this is what happens when we consistently rag on Matthew and tell him that although we appreciate his shirtless appearance, he might want to try wearing a full-outfit once in a while. Sigh.

In any case, I hope his chess team emerges victorious from the tournament he's clearly on his way to attending.

We are Marshall press junket [Splash News Online]

Image Source (Splash News)

Does the Isaiah Berlin g-string come in black?Dress British, think Yiddish. It was either Benjamin Disraeli or Gene Simmons who coined that maxim, but it applies naturally to Gytha Mander, the first haute couture label to fuse Savile Row tailoring with Hebraic sensibility. The Fall 2006 collection, “The Urim and Thummin,” named for a verse from Exodus, is an elegant if provocative tribute to Diaspora, with wood ties, high-collared women’s trench coats, and crocodile "Ben-Gurion" holsters. Where else might you worry that your "Maimonides" dress shirt clashes with your "Buber" blazer?

Casey Berman and Michael Moskowitz founded Gytha Mander—Old English for “a gift from me”—two years ago in San Francisco. Moskowitz says he first fell into the industry in another time zone, and in a menacing way. He was a yarmulke-wearing student of Israeli foreign policy living in London at a particularly fraught moment during the second intifada. One day, a car drove past and Moskowitz heard shouts. He thought he was in for some casual anti-Semitism, but it wasn't the skullcap that had stopped traffic. A comely passenger emerged and asked –where on earth did he get his fabulous sports jacket. Well, that was it for international relations. Moskowitz promptly set off to rule the runways as the lead dandy of rootless cosmopolitanism.

Jewcy: You’ve led a pretty eclectic life so far. In addition to Gytha Mander, you started up a hip monthly guide mag for San Francisco (TODO), which you still edit. Before that, you went to an ultra-prestigious school for international relations and spent most of your time thinking about Israel. What’s the next slated self-reinvention?

Michael Moskowitz: I don’t anticipate a career transition or reinvention, as you characterized it, for at least several years. To be sure, there are a number of things I first hope to accomplish: (1) persuade Saks Fifth Avenue to feature Winona Ryder in their fall catalog; (2) further agrarian reform in rural Kazakhstan; (3) design a platinum chalice for Lil Jon and teaching him the basics of Pirkei Avot; (4) pilot a pilotless drone. You know, the basics.

Jewcy: Why did you stop wearing a kippah? Also, what’s your attitude on Israel and the Middle East right now, and how has it changed since you gave up statecraft as a profession?

Michael Moskowitz: I stopped wearing a kippah because God told me I was a jive turkey and He wanted to see more of my scalp. So I was like, “Whatever you want, Dawg.” As far as Israel is concerned, I think they [Israelis] should all start calling themselves Druze. It’s close enough to Jews. And then we’d have special powers.

Jewcy: When did you first discover an interest in fashion? Did a particularly stylish person or style of duds catalyze a desire to get into the biz?

Michael Moskowitz: I took one look at Blossom and knew that something had to be done.

Jewcy: Who’s the best-dressed celebrity Jew? Worst?

Michael Moskowitz: Sarah Silverman should never wear clothes. At all, really. Not that she’s a schlump, but there’s no way she’s as hairy as she claims to be, and I, for one, would like to see her in the buck. Best dressed? Probably the Lauder girls, but they’re rich, so lauding their fashion is applauding night for darkness. I might have to go with the Chassidim on this one. Those brothers look sharp all the time. They could use a little Gytha Mander and some lighter materials in summer, but they’re doing better than most of the Gap quaffs on the Upper West Side. Worst dressed: I try to avoid lashon hara but I’m going with Aviv Geffen. He looks like Tim Curry in The Rocky Horror Picture Show or Brandon Lee in The Raven, post excessum (or is it ex post nihilo?).

Yemenite coolJewcy: When girls find out you’re straight, they must slice each other’s throats to get with you. A guy not just into fashion, but in fashion…. Are you getting laid every night of the week or what?

Michael Moskowitz: My personal assistants Kristin and Heidi schedule me in for at least 14 rounds a day—I like to call myself The Punisher. I punish. All sorts of girls. I don’t discriminate. Let me tell you, it can be a punishing routine, particularly for someone with a weak constitution, but I believe it’s important for Am Yisrael. I stick mostly to shiksas and rationalize it as revenge—nekama b’goyim. It also helps that I was a go-go dancer in Israel for a year.

Jewcy: When asked why rock stars date supermodels, Simon LeBon from Duran Duran said, “Because they can.” Who do fashion designers date?

Michael Moskowitz: Fashion designers date boring, unknown models because they’re always around. They also date high school girls because, in the words of Borat, they’re “nice.” And designers can get away with it. Personally, I date divorcées—they’re needy, experienced, and grateful.

Jewcy: Our friend Noah once told me a story about how the two of you went club-hopping on Chicago's South Side and you managed to finagle your way into an all-black nightclub by complimenting the hostess on her outfit. Even if I knew Versace from Gucci, I’d never have the instinct or presence of mind to do that. Are you just naturally social? You seem like the ultimate "connector."

Michael Moskowitz: To be frank for the first time in this interview, I’m actually quite shy and tend like most introverted, self-conscious, perennially awkward Jews to overcompensate by being garrulous. In terms of Chicago and any number of other stories, flattery, sycophantism, and obsequiousness go a long way—just look at Harvard’s graduating class. In terms of being a connector, I often feel more like an agent than a friend. I enjoy celebrating other people’s talents and gifts. Sigh.

Jewcy: How the fuck did you get liquor companies to sponsor your private house parties?

Michael Moskowitz: Salons are like mosh pits for the unapologetically pretentious. You’d be surprised how interested liquor companies are in that demographic—discriminating, opinionated, intelligent consumers, loyal to particular brands, and willing to influence others. I wish I could do the same with Etro or BP. I’d dress better or drive for free.

Jewcy: I bet you've got discriminating tastes in music, film, and literature. I want a favorite band, flick, and album growing up. And now.

Michael Moskowitz: I had very “childish” taste growing up. I liked Shel Silverstein, Robert Pirsig, and J.D. Salinger; I loved Guns n’ Roses, and went through a long-hair, metal phase. I’ve since undergone therapy. These days, my favorites are: music—Erik Satie, Serge Gainsbourg, Jacques Dutronc, Peaches; literature—Mikhail Bulgakov (The Master and Marguerite), Umberto Eco (Foucault’s Pendulum), William Gaddis (The Recognitions), Barbara Tuchman (The Proud Tower), and anything by Edward Dahlberg, maybe the most underrated author in the English language for the past 50 years; movies—The Big Lebowski, Love and Death, The Professional, Dr. Strangelove, Dobermann (1997), Chungking Express, and Salah Shabati.

Jewcy: The gun holster strikes me as an accessory someone would have thought of already. What else in this vein have you been working on? Are Jabotinsky nipple-clamps up next?

Michael Moskowitz: Jabotinsky was a fucking ninja. He would have put Ben-Gurion in nipple clamps, hung him from a clothesline, and called him a piñata. I am working on other novelties.

N E X T

Do: Pretty stylish duds, huh? Or no? Let us know in the Comments section.
Go: For store locations where Gytha Mander clothing is sold, please visit the label’s website.
Read: Daily Candy plotzed over the casual tees, and The Thrillist dug the holster.

I feel like I've been covering the Thin Beat lately with my three recent shvitz posts on the topic of overly thin models (Banning Skinny Minnies, News Flash:  Models Too Thin, and The Thin Beat:  Israel Makes More Strides). But it's a topic I have a personal connection to:  I've known too many girls with eating disorders and have experienced the problem myself.  To any model agent or designer that insists 5'10" models who weigh 115 pounds are not contributing to a rising number of eating disorders among young girls, I say, go to hell.  They do, and I guarantee I can easily find 100 suffering anorexic or bulimic girls to agree with me.

This is the last time I'll shvitz on overly thin models. But it's worth emphasizing once again that the world should follow Israel's example in this arena. Reuters reported yesterday that Israeli fashion photographer Adi Barkan secured commitments from advertising firms in Israel to not employ models with a BMI lower than 18.

Furthermore:

"Legislation that would enforce the BMI threshold throughout Israel's fashion industry has passed a first reading in parliament and could be ratified by year's end, Barkan said."

Way to go Israel. And way to go Barkan.