This week, Deadspin and Jezebel swap beats to celebrate America’s most dangerous and controversial pastimes: football and fashion, two sports that have far more in common than you think.
Some people are fans of the Tory Burch label. But many, many more people are NOT fans of the Tory Burch label. This 2018 Jezebel Fashion Week review is for those in the latter group.
Your label: Tory Burch
Your 2018 estimated value: $3.5 billion. Jesus Christ. How many Upper East Side moms ARE there?
Your CEO: Tory Burch, whose rise to fashion dominance is the classic American success story of an entrepreneur who pulled herself up by her bootstraps and built her business up from NOTHING thanks to a whole lot of grit… and a little bit of money inherited from a father who was, himself, heir to a fucking paper cup fortune.
Her father lined his suit jackets with Hermès scarves; her mother favored the easy patrician chic of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.
Such easy chic! All that look will cost you is $7,800 a day! Just your standard, all-American mom and pop operation: selling Dixie cups by the shipload, traveling the world at leisure, and enjoying a walk-in closet for all their caftans. Old money will forever continue to astound me. On any given day, you might walk past a fellow American who has $3 billion in offshore accounts all because their Nana designed the first cereal box liner bag.
But, of course, Burch is more than a mere designer or industry titan. At the heart of everything, the woman is a STORYTELLER:
Last February, Tory Burch got a gift from her staff to mark the 10th anniversary of her first store: a coffee-table book chronicling the company’s first decade. Every detail was perfectly on-brand, from the volume’s cloth cover (in a blue hue called “Tory Navy” that appears in every collection) to the numerous photos of family and friends. Though it contained few words, the book illustrated perfectly the cornerstone of Burch’s success: “It’s all about storytelling.”
So true. And that story of this clothing goes something like this: “I’m an angry mom living in Potomac and I don’t know how to park a fucking car properly.”
Your Aesthetic: Something called “Preppy-Boho,” which is a combination of the worst possible things, nearly as lethal as the Kerry/Edwards presidential ticket. I love the Boho shorthand, by the way. Literally no one described as “Boho” has ever had Bohemian tendencies. Dancing barefoot at Coachella that one time doesn’t make count. Oh, you took a pottery class? My kids take pottery classes. They don’t mean shit. I paid $22 for a Spiderman candy dish and we never use it.
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