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