It has been just four days 

since my encounter with Emily 
Blumenthal, and I’ve already 
ordered new business cards.

“You should always have a 

business card, regardless,” she 
advised me from our table in 
Espresso Royale last Friday. A 
gold nameplate necklace reading 
“Handbag 
Designer” 
dangled 

from her neck. “No matter what.”

That’s just a mere glimpse into 

the tenacity and altruism that 
comprise Blumenthal’s character. 
Perhaps better known by her alter 
ego (and book title), Handbag 
Designer 
101, 
the 
University 

alum is the founder of New York 
City’s 
Independent 
Handbag 

Designer Awards, a one-of-a-
kind event dedicated to providing 
opportunities 
to 
upcoming 

handbag designers from around 
the globe.

“I had my handbag line, I had a 

licensing deal that was going south, 
but I had written a template for the 
book, ‘Handbag Designer 101,’ and 
I said to my agent: ‘When’s this 
book deal gonna happen?’” she 
said of the IHDA’s origins. “She 
said: ‘You don’t get a book deal just 
because you started a template 
for a book,’ and I said: ‘But I have 
all this time!’ So I said: OK, what 
about an awards show for handbag 
designers? Because people have 
tried to put handbags in a bucket 
of accessories, and anybody who 
knows anything about fashion or 
even retail, knows handbags are 
very much their own category ... 
I went around to the people who 
I had worked with in the past and 
started saying: ‘Would you be a 
part of this? We’d create a category 
around a specific qualification 
within handbags.’ And everyone 
said yes. It was funny.”

In conversation, Blumenthal 

referred to herself as “garmento 
offspring,” meaning her family 
hails from the garment center. 
According to her, growing up 
in that environment shaped her 
future in fashion.

“It’s funny because I don’t 

think, necessarily, when you fall 
into something, it may not actually 
be your passion, but it seems to be 
your path,” she said. “I think once 
you fall upon that path you realize: 
‘I think this is what I’m supposed 

to be doing because this might 
be what I’m good at.’ Now, are 
handbags, per say, what I’m good 
at? No. I wouldn’t say so. I never 
had formal training, but I can 
look at a handbag, I can identify 
its strengths, its weaknesses, I 
can see why it worked, why it 
won’t work, and then from there, 
after time, you really learn how 
to reverse engineer a process to 
see where the success will lie in 
the item itself. And I think that, 
and then in terms of teaching, 
entrepreneurship, 
that 
has 

become my passion.”

Blumenthal made it clear that 

the IHDA is grounded in high 
moral standards. It is not her 
intent to swindle young designers 
out of what little they have. She 
explained: “I, myself, was an 
independent designer for seven 
years, and after that is when I 
started the Awards. I had applied 
to different competitions, any 
way to get known, and it always 
bothered me that you had to pay 
to apply because I thought, first 
of all, then the authenticity comes 
up to be challenged. And then it 
comes down to, do I really have 
an opportunity to be discovered? 
There’s no pay for play. If we’re 
able to have someone be able 
to create a livelihood or have a 
passion or create a reason to be 
happy about this, and to do it 
smart so they feel that they have 
no regrets, then that’s a complete 
(return on investment) for us.”

Outside 
of 
her 
handbag-

oriented work, Blumenthal has 
an extensive teacher’s résumé. 
She has taught at the Laboratory 
Institute 
of 
Merchandising, 

Parsons School of Design and the 
Fashion Institute of Technology, 
where she currently leads a class 
on entrepreneurship.

“Teaching, to me, considering 

how much I do already, is a lot like 
working out,” she said.

“You never really like it, 

much like as a student you don’t 
really feel like going. You know, 
whatever homework I give, I have 
to grade. But then at the end of 
class you feel so good that you’ve 
been able to have a dialogue with 
other people and really, at the end 
of the day, have an impact to try 
and, in my personal case, make 
sure if anybody is going to start 
a brand or business, that they 
have the opportunity to do it in 

a smart way. You have to look at 
everything you do in terms of 
giving back, even on a small scale, 
so if you’ve helped one student be 
able to look at things in a more 
analytical and strategic sense, 
then it was absolutely worth it. It’s 
totally a workout,” she laughed.

New York fashion schools are 

all well and good, but how can 
University students, who don’t 
have the luxury of attending class 
in America’s fashion mecca, break 
into the industry?

“Reach out to Michigan alum, 

first and foremost, and keep 
your communication as short as 
possible,” 
Blumenthal 
offered. 

“And do your homework. And 
whatever 
communication 
you 

have, don’t make it about yourself. 
Make it about what you can 
contribute.”

With a sly smile, she added: 

“Keep to yourself that you went to 
the best school that ever existed.”

Now would be a good time to 

mention that Blumenthal was 
once a staff member at The Daily, 
working within the advertising 
department. When I asked about 
her tenure, her eyes lit up.

“Working at The Daily was 

kind of the entire framework 
of my career,” she said. “I think 
learning to go door to door at such 
a young age and having to manage 
people’s businesses, and that 
people’s sales were tied to an ad 
that I was responsible for selling 
to them, I think that taught me 
early on that this is business, this 
is what it’s about. And it showed 
me I was good at it. I think you’re 
always trying to find something 
that you’re good at, and I realized, 
I can sell. There was something 
about working there that made 
you feel adult. And it made you feel 
grown up, and it made you feel like 
you were empowered and that you 
could make a difference, that you 
could really do something and that 
you had value. It was the first real 
validating experience I had as an 
adult, and for that I am eternally 
grateful.”

I am grateful to you, Emily, 

for being the reason I finally got 
off my butt and ordered those 
business cards.

For more information about 

the 2018 Independent Handbag 
Designer 
Awards, 
visit 
their 

website. Applications close April 
28.

Alum Emily Blumenthal 
talks fashion and IDHA

TESS GARCIA
Daily Style Editor

Last Jan. on a crisp, Mich. 

winter evening, I arrived at El Club 
in Southwest Detroit to find a line 
outside, stretching around the 
corner. Isaiah Rashad — the B-list 
hip-hop star who the crowd had 
come out for — wasn’t scheduled 
to perform for another three hours. 
Yet hundreds of fans were already 
lingering at the club’s entrance, 
eager to be among the first inside. 
Despite having never been to the 
venue before, I rushed to its doors 
wearing a costume of confidence 
and tried to imply that waiting 
would, for me, be unacceptable. 
Despite having never attended a 
concert as a member of the press 
before, I announced myself to the 
bouncers through my best veteran 
impression and tried to imply that I 
was actually somebody.

“Salvatore DiGioia. Michigan 

Daily. Press list.”

As a music journalist, the 

first time you enter a concert 
without paying admission is a 
benchmark moment. It catalyzes 
your 
metamorphosis 
into 
a 

legitimate 
professional 
and 

validates your participation in 
the culture. I arrived at El Club 
last Jan. as a well-experienced 
consumer, having spent more 
than a decade purchasing my 
way into rap concerts. However, 
after being approved by bouncers 
and subsequently strutting into 
the venue, I felt myself cross 
an industry threshold. It had 
long been a dream of mine to be 
expected at such a function — for 
a rapper or publicist to be aware 
of my presence. So, when Isaiah 
Rashad thanked me for coming, 
shook my hand and said, honestly, 
“I hope you enjoy the show,” it 
instantly seemed to validate the 
countless hours I’d spent honing 
my craft.

My love for reading developed 

like that of most of my peers — 
through the adventures of fictional 
heroes like Harry Potter and 
Captain Underpants. Yet I quickly 
transitioned my attention from 
bookshelves to the internet, an 
editorial landscape with fewer 
boundaries and more dimensions. 
Having inherited an obsession 
with hip hop from older siblings, I 
relied on the lifestyle to help shape 
my online experience, seeking 
out fan forums and niche news 
sources. I spent much of my middle 

school years worshipping lifestyle 
mags Hypebeast and Complex 
as cultural canon or skimming 
through Rolling Stone’s “Best Of” 
lists for extra context. Eventually, 
I decided I wanted to write 
about music myself. A handful of 
decisions later, I arrived at The 
Daily.

In autumn of my sophomore 

year, I was denied a place on The 
Daily Arts section and encouraged 
to re-apply in the future. It was 
a humbling setback, particularly 
since my application was the 
first piece of music writing that 
I’d ever shared. Yet it sparked a 
competitive streak within me 
that soon led to a major growth 
spurt. In wake of my denial, I 
became jealous of The Daily’s 
fully-operative 
infrastructure 

and semi-professional status. I 
longed to prove myself as equally 
committed to the craft as their 
staff, to have a reason to care 
about music as much as I did. So, I 
enrolled in essay-writing courses 
and published work in Consider; 
I subscribed to The New Yorker 
and started reading multiple arts 
publications daily; I identified my 
favorite critics and began following 
their careers intently. Inspired by a 
door in the face from The Daily, I 
set out to learn how to think, listen 
and write like a music critic. One 
year later, I was accepted as an Arts 
writer.

The first article I published in 

The Daily was a review of Kanye 
West’s Saint Pablo Tour. My 
admission to the show was not 
free and my recap of it had not 
been organized by a publicist, but 
I was excited to see the story in 
print nonetheless. Some relatives 
even requested copies via mail. 
On the morning of the story’s 
release, I rose early and rushed 
straight to the business school, 
eager to grab a handful of papers 
and post a Snapchat. There’s a 
numbing ecstasy that comes with 
the publishing of a new article 
and for your first, it is utterly 
overwhelming. It doesn’t matter if 
anyone even reads the damn thing. 
For writers, the act of contributing 
to the rhetoric is fulfilling in itself.

After 
meeting 
Isaiah 

Rashad, things changed for me 
professionally. At the disposal of my 
editors, I became The Daily’s go-to 
designation for Detroit’s hip-hop 
scene and went on to cover concerts 
by DRAM, A$AP Rocky and more. 
At the disposal of Def Jam Records, 
I attended the world premiere of 

Big Sean’s fourth album, I Decided., 
and reviewed the LP before most 
national publications. Shortly after, 
I had opportunities to interview 
Lil Yachty and A Boogie Wit Da 
Hoodie. 
Finally, 
having 
fully 

realized the weight of The Daily’s 
prestige, I upped my bets to earn 
press access for shows in Paris 
and Los Angeles. The old saying 
is “Wherever you go, ‘Go Blue!’” 
Wherever I went, I wrote for The 
Daily.

In two weeks, I will graduate 

from college and depart from 
Ann Arbor. I won’t ever again 
introduce myself as: “Salvatore 
DiGioia. Michigan Daily. Press 
list.” In fact, I may never again 
direct any bouncer to any “press 
list” whatsoever. Instead, I expect 
to spend the upcoming festival 
season, once again, as a consumer, 
diminished into buying my way 
into excited scenes. Come the 
fall, when summer’s buzziest acts 
inevitably set out on theater tours, 
I don’t expect to be offered free 
admission. I still plan to obsess 
over hip hop and attend concerts 
routinely, but long gone are my 
days of being expected at such 
functions.

For a while, thanks to The Daily, 

I had just big enough of a platform to 
convince myself that I was actually 
somebody. I analyzed art under 
the presumption that someone 
cared I was doing so and, on a few 
occasions, directly conversed with 
my favorite musicians. Lil Yachty 
sang along to Playboi Carti’s “Let 
It Go” with me; A Boogie laughed 
at my name. I will always long 
to stand in those rooms, write 
those stories and be that guy. (In 
fact, if anyone from Rolling Stone 
or Pitchfork is reading, track 
me down!). However, upon my 
graduation from The Daily, such 
work will once again be a just 
hobby, such access to talent but a 
dream. At least for now.

Like an athlete who’s graduating 

without obvious draft potential, I 
am hyper-aware that this could be 
the last team I ever play for. Should 
it be, I would not have wanted to 
learn how to think, listen and write 
like a music critic from any other 
teammates.

***

“I’m not always going to say 

things the perfect way, the right 
way, but I’m going to say how I 
feel.”

-Kanye West

The ecstasy of critiquing: 
Thank you Daily Music

ARTIST PROFILE

“Wyatt Cenac’s 
Problem Areas”

Series Premiere

HBO

Fridays @ 11:30 p.m.

In the era of Trump, late night 

TV has become saturated with 
talking heads putting out segments 
and quick, worn-out jokes about the 
most talked-about man in America, 
but comedian Wyatt Cenac (“People 
of Earth”) is here to change that.

A three-time Emmy winner and 

former correspondent and writer 
for “The Daily Show,” Cenac is 
no stranger to the art of satirical 
television. 
Generally 
a 
writer 

hidden behind the scenes, Cenac’s 
new HBO docu-series “Problem 
Areas” puts him right in front of 
the camera. But “Problem Areas” 
isn’t another “Daily Show” or 
“Colbert Report.” From the first 

episode alone, the show develops a 
clear personality of its own. There 
are some obvious departures from 
classic late night TV — Cenac does 
not sit behind a desk to deliver 
his lines, but rather walks around 
on a set, which looks like a cross 
between a mature version of “Blue’s 
Clues” and a ’70s community 
center. There’s no studio audience 
either, leaving the focus on Cenac 
and not the laughs or applause he 
might draw. Yet the most pointed 
change from late night isn’t the lack 
of a desk or an audience, but rather 
the omission of late night’s favorite 
topic: Trump.

Cenac 
promised 
that 
his 

10-episode series would be pretty 
much 
Trump-free, 
and 
focus 

instead on the stories that get lost 
in the shadow of the president. 

After his opening dialogue on the 
problem with billionaires and space, 
it becomes apparent that “Problem 
Areas” isn’t just another late night 
show hosted by a star trying their 
chance at becoming the next big 
voice in entertainment’s brigade 
against Trump. It is less a comedian 
trying to convince you with their 
side of the argument and more 
your educated, left-leaning friend 
discussing the world’s problems 
with you over coffee.

With 
some 
smaller 
issues 

scattered throughout, Cenac will 
be focusing on one major issue in 
America: policing. A Black man 
arrested at age 19 for inciting a riot is 
an issue not just vital to discuss, but 
pertinent to Cenac’s own life. The 
most impressive part of “Problem 
Areas” is the show’s ability to 

educate without promoting a single 
agenda. After admitting he’s not an 
expert on the topic of policing in 
America, Cenac strolls over to a TV 
where a cast of people — including 
activists, police chiefs and New 
York City mayor Bill De Blasio — 
pop up to discuss the topic in more 
depth.

Towards the end of the episode, 

Cenac ventures into communities 
to talk with the citizens and 
administrators that feel the real-
life fall out from problems with 
policing. He goes to Falcon Heights, 
Minn., a midwestern town that 
made national headlines after the 
brutal killing of Philando Castile 
during a traffic stop. Unlike late 
night hosts who talk about these 

things from the comfort of their 
New York studio, Cenac manages 

to imbue faces and feelings into the 
headlines. He doesn’t try to add a 
contrived comedic twist or give a 
monologue about what this says 
about America. Instead, Cenac tries 
to figure out what it is that got the 
country to this low point, and how it 
could be pulled out of it.

In the excitement of late night’s 

comedic breakdown of Trump, 
other important stories get left 
behind. Comedy has become an 
important medium in educating 
people 
about 
contemporary 

issues in a way that will actually 
make them pay attention and 
understand. Cenac recognizes this, 
but capitalizes on the opportunity 
to shed light on the stories nobody 
else is telling. In doing so, he 
challenges others to reach beyond 
the low-hanging fruit of Trump-
bashing. Cenac doesn’t examine 
the man, but rather the reasons 
he was able to assume power, and 
within half an hour, he’s giving us 
the information and the will to do 
the same.

‘Problem Areas’ tackles 
tropes of late night TV

SAMANTHA DELLA FERA

Daily Arts Writer

TV REVIEW

COURTESY OF THE ARTIST

HBO

SALVATORE DIGIOIA

Daily Arts Writer

MUSIC NOTEBOOK

5 — Tuesday, April 17, 2018
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

