What the FK

Friday, November 16th 2012

What the FK: Let’s Talk About Sex(y Clothes)


My friend Marissa is a boy magnet. She constantly encourages me to show more skin and wear tighter clothes—I constantly buy oversize sweater dresses and opaque tights. If this were The Babysitter's Club, she would be the pro flirt Stacy, and I'd be the kooky art girl Claudia. But I don't believe in dressing for anyone but myself—guys included—and even the self-proclaimed Man Repeller is often photographed looking pretty dishy. So I figured, whatever, I'll wear what I want. 

Then I showed up to a dinner party uptown. My friend—a dude who swore up-and-down to me, often, that he'd rather choke on bad sushi than be in a relationship—arrived with - surprise! - a new girlfriend. She was lovely and fun and the perfect supper table chatterbox. But OMG, she was wearing a crop top that turned her torso into a billboard for midday sex.  To a dinner party.  At a friend of a friend's house.  (One more time: OMG.)

"No relationships, huh?" I teased my friend in the kitchen. The guy shrugged and gave a hopeless smile, as if to say, "How could I resist?"

I left after dessert, feeling a little rattled. Not because I wanted this guy—at least, I don't think I did; I'd always been crushing on someone else. But this girl's outfit did leave me wondering, "What if I tried that sexpot vibe, just for fun? Would guys change their ways at the mere sight of my belly button?" The answer is no, because I only go to Pilates once a week. But still, I figured, what's the harm in trying Melissa's advice and going a little sexier with my look?

READ MORE What the FK: Let’s Talk About Sex(y Clothes)

Friday, November 2nd 2012

What The FK: Your Desert Island Item - No, Really


Magazines like to ask celebs, "What would you take to a desert island?"

They always say mascara.  

I always say, "I'd rather hear about that time you married a rock star. Especially since, really, when are we going to be on a desert island?"

But here's the thing: I'm on a desert island right now because I live in Lower Manhattan, which—thanks to Hurricane Sandy—has turned into a First World purgatory: We've been spared the terror of total destruction, but we're still displaced with no electricity, heat, or running water. (That last part's ironic, since we're also dealing with major flood damage.)

So on Monday afternoon, I threw some things into my backpack, miraculously hailed a cab, and found refuge in Brooklyn. And even though I packed in a hurry, the clothes I chose to take are definitely, totally, 100% my desert island items—the things I wear every day that honestly make me feel better, even when I'm panicked about my apartment / friends / city / universe. (Also, BK is home to style stars like Valentino muse Anne Hathaway, Stella McCartney fan Maggie Gyllenhaal, and maybe most important, Madewell goddess Alexa Chung. So, you know, when in Rome...)

Here's what I crammed in my bag:

1. A shrunken leather hoodie jacket. Looks good with everything, warm but not bulky, and the hood is brilliant for hiding unwashed, I-live-in-Zone-A hair.

2. An oversize ribbed Vince sweater. Warm, chic, and comforting—sort of my grown-up version of a teddy bear. (Okay, I have one of those too, but it didn't fit in my backpack...)

3. Super-skinny, super-stretchy blue jeans. They fit into my rain boots, they fit under giant sweaters, they don't take up too much space, and they're really warm.  

4. T-Shirts by Sophomore NYC and tanks by Tucker NYC.  My friends Chrissy Miller and Gaby Basora make them locally, and they're soooo soft.

5. My favorite Wildfox Couture sweatshirt. Because ponies make everything better.

6. Lace underwear. I know, but look, it's not because of a guy I like, it's because they were the last clean pairs in my apartment. Although I did see a guy I liked, right before I left for Brooklyn, but alas, he didn't get a peek at anything. His loss, blah blah, moving on. 

7. Sneakers. These Superga ones are practical and pink, and therefore awesome.

And yes, Gwyneth / Beyonce, I also packed mascara. Okay?

PS: The only thing I love as much as clothes is New York. If you feel the same, head to Gothamist and see their list of volunteer opportunities. You can (and should!) also donate to the relief effort at RedCross.org.

Friday, October 19th 2012

What The FK: Who Runs the World? Girls.


I don't get nervous around cute guys. Never have. But cool girls scare the crap out of me, and make me believe—right or wrong—that I'm doomed to the back corner table at the Cafeteria of Life. (Yes, I should be over this by now. No, I am not—although, unlike my high school days, I can now successfully execute a three-point turn. And mix a martini without using Kool Aid, which actually happened once, in 11th grade.  Anyway…)

Last week, I had a Cool Girl marathon, starting at The Top of the Standard Hotel. If you've never been there, imagine being inside a glass snow globe on top of Manhattan. Now imagine that whenever someone shakes the globe, it doesn't rain snow or glitter—just famous people. (Regular sightings include Courtney Love, Scarlett Johansson, and Erin Wasson. And one time when I was up there, a Jonas Brother asked me to dance, but I still couldn't tell you which one.)

This time, I arrived at Boom Boom Charlotte Ronson's latest party, a bash to celebrate Solange Knowles and Absolut Vodka. (Which means there were plenty of martinis, without the Kool Aid Mix.) And despite the fact that I've known Charlotte for years—since I moved to New York, actually—she's still kind of intimidating, in the usual way that super-pretty/super-successful girls with super-perfect hair tend to be. But in the name of hardcore investigative journalism, I teetered my way up to the designer and demanded (demanded!) to know her latest fashion secret. "Um, wanna see my new bags?" she asked. I did and they're awesome—classic marble box clutches with clasps that say "MINE" in silver nameplate writing. Unfortunately, I have to wait until 2013 to make one of them mine—they don't hit stores until February.

Friday, October 5th 2012

What the FK: Love is a Battlefield, Dress Accordingly


Let's talk about Breakup Buys.   

For those pretending you've never done it, here's what I mean: you've just heard yet another "It's not you, it's just that I'm cheating on you" speech. You refuse to change out of your favorite Rag & Bone sweater. You refuse to stop watching episodes of Dance Academy on Netflix. You think of slipping on some UGG boots and heading out for a pint of Haagen Daz and then you realize—you'll feel way better buying a new outfit instead.

The Breakup Buy isn't as crucial to recovery as The Breakup Dance Party (where you go crazy to '90s remixes with your friends—People of the World, Spice Up Your Life!) or The Breakup 5k run (where you imagine beating him to a pulp while sprinting up a hill). Still, it's a pretty good release, and a nice segue into the whole Brand New You mindset that often comes when you're newly single. (If you do it right, it's also a handy tool of revenge, because looking better than ever is often way more fulfilling than a boyfriend.)

The trick is to do it right. That means—as always—shop for the style you have, not the one you think your loser ex-boyfriend wants. (Although if you really want a new Calvin Klein push-up bra, then by all means…)

You might also want to study some badass heroines, which could lend you both inner strength and fall 2013 trend appeal. For example, I like to channel Margot Tennenbaum when I know I'll run into a certain guy. (Or as I like to call him, The Disappointment.) Thick black eyeliner, a simple sheath dress, and a faux leopard coat (like this one from Alice + Olivia), and boom—suddenly I am mysterious, unapproachable, and already the ruler of Luke Wilson's heart. (Also, I get to keep my finger, which is good news, because I have a serious crush on this Made Her Think ring.)

Of course, owning more clothes won't put your heart back together—but until that happens, you can hide behind this one if you want.

--Faran Krentcil

Thursday, September 20th 2012

What the FK: Confessions of a Fashion Fan Girl

Faran_Headshot_300Hi, I’m Faran Krentcil—The “FK” in the title—and I bleed for fashion. 

This is not a metaphor. I’m literally burrowed in a cab, pressing the underside of my Marc by Marc dress into a gushing wound. (You say, “Ew.”  I say, “Come on, this is nothing. Haven’t you seen Hunger Games?”)  

The annoying thing is, it’s not even a cool injury. I could have at least been skateboarding… or snowboarding… or fighting for space at a Kills concert. Instead, I decided that just once I’d dress up for Fashion Week. Like, really dress up, you know? Like Man Repeller dress up. Like street style bloggers chase me, Beatlemania-style, down an alley. That kind of dress up. So I pick out this Marc dressAnd this Dannijo necklace. And a pair of hot pink designer stilettos that I really thought would be okay. Then I try to grab a cab in Soho and trip on a cobblestone.

Actually, “trip” is an understatement. Really, this is how it goes:  Somehow, my five-inch heel locks into a groove on the street and my body basically catapults across Sixth Avenue. I look like my school cafeteria nightmare: one of “those girls” who’s such a poser, she can’t walk in her own shoes. I feel even worse—like my bones just snapped in half.  And when I press myself up to a standing position, my big accessory is no longer a Phillip Lim bag. It’s a steady stream of blood running down my knees. Awesome. 

The good news: my cab driver has Band-Aids in his glove compartment. (It would be cooler if he had actual gloves, but not as helpful.) The better news: I somehow slipped into the show on time, with miraculously few black-and-blue marks. And I guess it’s a good thing, because I’m supposed to be reporting on my adventures in fashion for you guys.  

I suspect it’ll be more like misadventures—otherwise known as total disasters—but we’ll see how it goes. Especially since I can definitely run in these new shoes without having an ambulance on standby. 

In the meantime, here’s some fun stuff I saw at NYFW…

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