Word: manhattanization
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Like so many other Americans who work 100-hour weeks, Fitzgerald was born to immigrants. Patrick Sr. and Tillie Fitzgerald, both of County Clare, Ireland, raised four children in Flatbush, Brooklyn. Patrick Sr. was a doorman in Manhattan at a building on East 75th Street, just off Madison Avenue, and he rarely missed a day of work. In the summer, Fitzgerald worked as a doorman too, a few blocks south of his father. But from a young age, Fitzgerald was on track to join the crowds of Upper East Siders swishing past him. He attended Regis High School, a scholarship...
Some wonder if the backbiting tide won't recede as blogs grow up. The trend now is for more prominent sites to be commercialized. A Manhattan entrepreneur named Nick Denton runs a small stable of bloggers as a business by selling advertising on their sites. So far they aren't showing detectible signs of editorial corruption by their corporate masters--two of Denton's blogs, gawker.com and wonkette.com are among the most corrosively witty sites on the Web--but they've lost their amateur status forever...
...Ramaz School in upper Manhattan, ties are part of the mandatory school uniform. At the age of 15, one student decided to spruce up the required garb by making his own. Now in Lionel, dress codes have been relaxed, but Baruch Y. Shemtov ’09 still designs and produces his own line of high-fashion neckties. In 2003, Shemtov spotted a light blue bandanna in his bedroom and decided to sew it into a crude but striking skinny tie. A novice at sewing, he sealed his loose stitches with iron-on name-tags leftover from camp...
Remele, who took design classes at Parsons School of Design in Manhattan and concentrates in the History of Art and Architecture, is full of intellectual and artistic allusions about his collection. Art Deco, Russian Constructivism, even the design of the Chrysler hood ornament, all come into play. He has fanciful names for colors: cream, thistle, champagne, dove...
...allure of foreign-language films was twofold: they had class and they had sex. Ritzy Manhattan soirees were spiced with debates about what was real and what fantasy in Resnais's Last Year at Marienbad or Fellini's 8 1/2, about Antonioni's seductive use of existential ennui. And when foreign films didn't tax the brain, they stirred the loins. In pouty Brigitte Bardot, in statuesque peasant Sophia Loren, in the knowing rapture of Jeanne Moreau, Americans saw ideals of glamour more complex than Jayne Mansfield. Even Bergman gave you bosoms along with the angst. These films were invitations...