I Am Woman, Hear Me...Cry?

In preparation for Hillary Clinton's landslide win on election day, I choreographed "I Am Woman" by Helen Reddy for my Zumba class. In searching for this feminist anthem on iTunes, I flashed back to my first rock concert (with my divorced-and-discovering-her-power mom), and then stumbled on this generation's version.

When you compare the lyrics to Jordin Sparks' (yes, highly dance-able) "empowering female anthem" from 2011 to those from the song that hit #1 on the Billboard pop charts in 1972, it's easy to see how today's women could have voted for an unapologetic misogynist.

Her lyrics, It ain't easy walkin' in stilettos/But somebody gotta do it; It's so rigorous
Doing what I do / Always on point / Always on cue; Don't need to talk / I speak with actions / I've perfected the laws of attraction / I'm the whole package plus satisfaction, bespeak the traps of perfection that today's young women find themselves in, always under someone's gaze, someone's judgment, with no deep self-connection. Trump's women—wives, daughters, hangers-on—are to a one shaped like Barbie, with hair-commercial locks, dresses over smooth bellies and teetering high heels. You get the feeling they'd better look like that or they're fired.

Reddy's lyrics "from the olden days" spoke of connection ("standing toe-to-toe") with other women, of wisdom, pain, and strength, and the incredible, generous heart of mothers and lovers, ready to "spread my loving arms across the land." Also, it politely acknowledged the impossible struggle women have with politics and with men, "With a long, long way to go/Until I make my brother understand." It is women seeing women from the inside.

Today, many women are crying. Our hardworking but unfuckable heroine was smeared by lying Russian trolls and a candidate who made bullying cool (for some), tapping into the vast community of voters who are suspicious of women (and anyone different from themselves).

 There will be another cry, coming very soon. And it will not be one of sadness. It will be a roar. 

Is it hot in here? Or is it just me?

This spring, I became a fashion writer when the editor of The Sophisticate invited me to do the feature piece on local Deco designers and vintage stores. It was fun to write. Every dress tells a story, and if you can't wear them all, at least you can read about them. Click here to read the article...

The huz was very enouraging, sending me the "Lady in Red" Bouquet for Valentine's day, and patiently sitting through endless repetitions of the Busby Berkeley version of the song.

The article was intended to promote this year's Art Deco Preservation Ball, which had a Spanish theme, "La Fiesta Grande." I got to attend wearing a gown I borrowed from Barbara Grigg of Vintage Vogue, a fa-habulous vintage store in Calistoga. It was this amazing gown that could only be worn to something called "La Fiesta Grande." It should have made it into the article. This the sales copy I would have written:

"Vesuvius" by Kristen Caven

In the 1980s, Diane Freis designed this volcano of a dress that embraces the classic Spanish styles of the past, makes a statement of style that will never look dated, and will stand out at any future fiesta.

The fabric, a sumptuous flame-red satin, is appliquéd with black velvet fretwork in a wide cracquelure, and painted with metallic gold to evoke glowing hot lava. Three layers of flounce flow from the shoulders, and a gathered elastic bodice flatters any waist from 8 to 18. A long, red-reversed sash creates a generous bow at the bustle and holds the dress firmly in place, while layers of sensuous black silk and netting swish and rustle about the legs. The petticoats give an abundant flare to the double-tiered skirt, which swirls six feet wide when dancing in the moonlight.

"Vesuvius," for all its designer detail, is well-constructed and unfussy, and the stretchy rows of elastic that form the bodice make it easy to wear. Plus, the molten mamacita who models it will whisper to the buyer her steamy secret: this gown is also easy to get off!

Deconstructing "Deconstructing the Deco Diet"

It's true I like to make fun food, but I found a way to make fun of it, as well. One night I popped a frozen pizza in the oven and sat down to read an old cookbook. Next thing I knew, I was writing about the old musty thing for The Sophisticate, the journal of the Art Deco Society of California. Well, someone in Miami Beach, (a.k.a. Mecca) liked it so much he invited me to speak to the Miami Design Preservation League.

What a whirlwind! I flew all day last Monday, and all day Wednesday, 4000 miles in 20 hours, give or take a few time zones. Tuesday was a kaleiedoscope of hairpins, curious food, and Art Deco Design! There are hundreds of hotels along the lush, palm-lined beach down there, all designed within 20 imaginative years, competing to tell their stories and out-stylize each other. Here's me with my buddy Scott Timm outside the Sherbrooke hotel, where I stayed:


I started out my morning painting my nails in the car and balancing a cake-like "Luncheon Loaf" on my knees on the way to a TV studio, for the food segment of "South Florida Today." While struggling to pin my unhappy hair into place, I disturbed a snoring Cheech Marin in the green room, who had also flown out from the Bay Area, and was promoting an art exhibit on Latino art. We discussed vintage weddings (I had just read in Nancy Eaton's "Your Vintage Wedding" that he performed one on Treasure Island). He teased me for running around without my 4" red snakeskin vintage peekaboo-toe pumps, calling me "The Barefoot Contessa."

No, Cheech, you're quite mistaken. All I can seem to make is luncheon loaf. (And yes, that's *parsley* in the green layer...)


I also met a fabulous celebrity event planner and designer of glamorous retro aprons!

Ironically, while thinking about, talking about food so much, I was starving most of the time. While enjoying a picnic breakfast on the beach at sunrise, I was assaulted, Tippi Hedren-style, by evil seagulls who plucked my fried egg sandwich right out of my hand, and threw it in the sand! But here's the gastronomic experience that truly made my day: South Florida STONE CRAB claws! Aren't they adorable?
The beauty of this delicacy is that the crabs are not killed in the harvest. Fishermen just rip their fattest arm off and toss the creatures back to grow a new one for next year. Nauseating? Yes. Comforting? That, too. Above all, delicious enough to want to go back next crab season.

If you're interested, here's the article about my lecture in the Miami Herald.

Do I look a little like a Stepford wife here? Read "The Cook's Creed" (Meta Given, 1942) and you'll understand why.


Just look at this luscious layered luncheon loaf!:


Here's the iTunes soundtrack of songs about food from the era:


If you're not tired of this story yet, check out the "official" web page for links to the article, TV spot, and suspicious menu suggestions from the era.

If you want to see more photos, check out my album!

Special thanks to Laurie Gordon for the vintage bathing suit (alas, unworn...I'll have to go back) and Theresa LaQuey for coaching and the Luncheon Loaf recipe.

"A Return to Glamour"

I was as amused as Jon Stewart at this year's Oscar theme: "A Return to Glamour."

"What a relief," he said. "After last year's theme of 'sweatpants and jeans' it will be a real treat."

And of course, everyone looked properly gorgeous and well-groomed. If there was a hair out of place, it was put there deliberately by a high-paid stylist who was aware all the other stylists were doing it in the same way. Every gown was tasteful, every tux was pressed.

Yawn. Same old glamour.

I did appreciate Charlize Theron's attempt to recapture an "old Hollywood" style with her beehive hairdo and oversized shoulder-bow, but it came off as more of a costume than an homage. But no risks were taken (probably because people are still making fun of Bjork and Cher) and there was little fun to be found. Necklines plunged, but nowhere near as far as J.Lo's did a few years back. Naomi Watts wore a torn-up confection suitable for a gal who's been in the fist of an ape, but even that seemed a little last-year. Or maybe next year? But not this year -- this year was mostly about taffeta. Here we are, it's ot-six, and we're halfway through the decade, when the themes of fashion settle. So what's the 00's style? Maybe it's so settled now I don't even notice it.

There was something new: some big-skirted dresses (Sandra Bullock and Amy Adams) had pockets. Who wouldn't want pockets in an evening gown? And there was something missing, too: the rocks. What was that all about? If we're returning to glamour, doesn't that mean a carat or two--or ten? Harry Winston hates a natural beauty.

But look at me complaining. I had a marvelous time, sitting on my couch in my sweatpants (so last year!) eating buttered popcorn -- and the gold-dusted chocolate Oscar from last year's basket, courtesy of my friend Abby Letteri and her Oscar™-winning husband Joe Letteri™, animator of Andy Serkis™, who got the props he deserved but no statues. I sat there appreciating all those beautiful people who worked so hard to get where they are, and then worked so hard to look as good as they did last night. Pedicures, peels, polishes, (I got tired just thinking of it). All just to entertain little old me.

God bless the Oscars. God bless America. And God bless Hollywood for gay cowboys, happy pimps, and making glamour seem normal.

Dreaming of Glamour

A photographer approached me at a ball and asked if he could photograph me in my home, wearing my gown. He was German, doing a book on Americans and our whimsical ways of costuming. I wish I could remember his name!

Just before the shoot, I decided there should be cherry blossoms in the picture. I went out to pluck a branch from the trees blooming on the street, my high heels giving me the reach I needed.

My neighbor came home at that moment and saw me in my big fluffy dress. He thought I'd finally cracked, running around in the middle of the day, while other people worked for a living, lost to my fantasy life.

The photo has become a favorite of mine, just for this reason. The dress is a Mark Jones reproduction of a Ginger Rogers dance dress. I modeled it a few times in vintage fashion shows, then my husband (my prince) surprised me with it for Christmas one year.

In my dreams I am wearing this dress to the Oscars for a screenplay I've written about Old Hollywood couture.