Where The Wild Souls Are.


We all have a little bit of a wild within our souls. We like to tend to that wild side every so often with a little bit of risky behavior, a crazy night out, a funky addition to our wardrobe, etc.  Sometimes, however, we forget to feed the most important part: our souls.

Wild Soul sunglasses are helping Generation-Y cater to both our wild sides and our souls. How? This eyewear company sells stylish sunglasses and donates a percentage of the proceeds to charitable causes. Now you may think, “I’ve already seen a million fashion companies that give back to the community.” However, Wild Soul is unlike any other. This company goes the extra mile by letting their shoppers choose which cause they wish to support (health, society, environment) and which specific foundation they wish to donate to.

The Wild Soul brand is the brainchild of college friends Marc Battipaglia and Andres Beker. After graduating from Emory, the two friends knew they wanted to start a sunglass company, but felt their fashion dreams could not be completely fulfilled without giving back.


“Our aim is to change the way people approach shopping for material products,” says Beker, “I think it’s very important to include the social aspect into a brand.” This is how they came up with the brand’s slogan: “Choose your sunglasses, choose your cause.”

Beker says they chose to design eyewear because, as a charitable company, putting something on your face goes that extra step to make a statement. So what better way to show that you’re helping out your community, than by advertising it on your face?

In case you’re wondering where the “wild” aspect comes in, each model of eyewear is named after a different animal, and the designers aimed to create a resemblance between the sunglasses and their namesake. There are currently four different styles, and each come in three different colors. Wild Soul sunglasses can be found on their website www.wildsoul.org or at selected Cohen’s Optical store locations.

All My Exes Live In Texts.

Original article published on New York Magazine.

Why the social-media generation never breaks up.


I have 700 friends on Facebook, 36 of whom I consider exes. Not all are ex-boyfriends—in the eleven years that “boyfriend” has been a name for men in my life, I have referred to nine as “boyfriends.” The rest are men I dated casually, guys I dated disastrously, make-out buddies, one-night stands, vacation flings, and a few boys I never touched but flirted with so heavily they can no longer be categorized as “just friends.” These people aren’t ex-boyfriends but they’re ex-something, weighted with enough personal history to make my stomach drop when they message me or pop up in social-media feeds. Which is pretty often.

There was a time, I am told, when exes lived in Texas and you could avoid them by moving to Tennessee. Cutting ties is no longer so easy—nor, I guess, do we really want it to be. We gorge ourselves on information about the lives of our exes. We can’t help ourselves. There’s the ex who “likes” everything you post. The ex who appears in automated birthday reminders. The ex who appears in your OkCupid matches. The ex whose musical taste you heed on Spotify. The ex whose new girlfriend sent a friend request. The ex you follow so you know how to win him back. The ex you follow so you know how to avoid her in person. The ex you watched deteriorate after the breakup. (Are you guilty or proud?) The ex who finally took your advice, after the breakup. (Are you frustrated or proud?) The ex whose new partner is exactly like you. (Are you flattered or creeped out?) The ex whose name appears as an autocorrection in your phone. (Are you sure you don’t talk about him incessantly? Word recognition suggests otherwise.) The ex whose new partner blogs about their sex life. The ex who still has your naked pictures. The ex who untagged every picture from your relationship. The ex you suspect is reading your e-mail. The ex you watch lead the life you’d dreamed of having together, but seeing it now, you’re so glad you didn’t.

My peers and I have all these exes, in part because we have more time to rack them up before later marriages, because we’re freer about sleeping around, because we’re more comfortable with cross-gender friendships and blurring sexual boundaries, because not committing means keeping more love interests around as possibilities, and because the digital age enables us to never truly break up. We don’t have to shut the door on anything. Which is good, because shutting the door on something is not something we ever want to do.

Alarmists fret that casual sex discourages intimacy. But in my experience, the opposite is true. When you share your bed, your toothbrush, your sexual hang-ups, and the topography of the ­cellulite on your butt with a stranger, the intimacy is real. It just happened before familiarity did. You are privy to information his family and friends are not; you know what he sounds like when he orgasms and when he snores. You may never see this person again, but he will always be your ex.  

But more often than not, you will see him again. Like “dialing” a cell phone or “filming” a digital video, “one-night stand” is an anachronism. Even if you only have sex once, you will spend time with your hookup when he finds you on Facebook, appears in a mutual friend’s Instagram, or texts about a weird bump he found on his penis. Older generations didn’t have a word for this kind of thing—they couldn’t have. But these are, in fact, relationships. Even casual dates have expansive biographies to plow through and life narratives you can follow for years. You hear about their hangovers when you check Twitter for the morning news. You see their new apartments when you browse Facebook at work. They can jump into your pants whenever they want by sending text messages that land in your pocket. Online, you watch your exes’ lives unfold parallel to yours—living, shifting digital portraits of roads not taken with partners you did not keep.

There was also a time, I am told, when staying in touch was difficult. Exes were characters from a foreclosed past, symbols from former and forgone lives. Now they are part of the permanent present. I was a college freshman when Facebook launched. All my exes live online, and so do their exes, and so do their exes, too. I carry the population of a metaphorical Texas in a cell phone on my person at all times. Etiquette can’t keep up with us—not that we would honor it anyway—so ex relationships run on lust and impulse and nosiness and envy alternating with fantasy. It’s a dozen soap operas playing at the same time on a dozen different screens, and you are the star of them all. It’s both as thrilling and as sickening as it sounds.

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The New Front Row.




Another Fashion Week has come and gone. Wipe the lipstick off the champagne glasses, fold up the chairs, catch up on the prettiest Instagram feeds, and read yet another story about howfashion bloggers took over the front row. The same story has been recycled since 2009 when Gawker declared ‘I hereby declare the fashion bloggers’ ‘front row’ trend piece over.’ Clearly, the media world did not heed Gawker’s call.

There is a story here. Fashion is an influence-driven industry where the opinions of a handful of connected writers and designers in New York, Paris and Milan drive billions of dollars in product. It used to be that those writers resided exclusively at the headquarters of magazines like VogueW and Elle.

As we all know from reading regular stories about the new power center emerging online, things have changed. Digital denizens are gaining access, collaborating on designs and influencing purchase decisions in a meaningful way. They’ve brought welcome new perspectives into what was once a cloistered industry.

But, things haven’t changed that much and the rise of a very select few online-only creators hasn’t replaced the traditional influencers. Anna Wintour, Caroline Roitfeld and Robbie Myers are still front and center. The ones sitting next to them is what’s new. The arrival of these newcomers has created new stakeholders that brands must cater to in order to reach their targeted audiences consuming fashion news on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter and blogs.

To reach those audiences, brands should be careful not to lump all fashion bloggers together. In the past five years, fashion blogging has split between the front row and the peanut gallery.

The ones actually sitting front row represent less than 0.1 percent of fashion bloggers.This is rarified air. They might be represented by Next Management, which was primarily a modeling agency until it started taking on bloggers such as Andy Torrest of StyleScrapbook, Rumi Neel of FashionToast and Chiara Ferragni of The Blonde Salad. They might be part ofNowManifest, the Conde Nast-owned blog and ad platform for creators such as Elin Kling and Neel. They might be the upper crust of a larger grouping of bloggers represented by Say Media, which reps Tavi Gevinson of Rookie, or DBA, which reps Jamie Beck of Ann Street Studio.

For most of these top fashion bloggers, their blogs have become an afterthought. It’s how they started but is now just a means to the invitations, junkets, free swag, product collaborations, speaking gigs, book contracts, paid social and content placements, television shows, and front row seats, of course. With a few notable exceptions such as Emily Weiss’ Into The Gloss, Tavi’s Rookie or Erin Kleinberg and Stephanie Mark’s The Coveteur, this top-tier creator class is not trying to build the next great digital publication. Instead, they’re using their sizable social channels as a more powerful distribution method than their site-based one and accepting the creative constraints inherent in social channels in exchange for the lower overhead.

In truth, 99.9 percent of fashion bloggers get nowhere near the front row. The closest this group gets to the celebrities and big magazine editors is what they see Man Repeller post to Instagram each September. These bloggers – which comprise the longtail – are passionate, authentic writers and photographers who love clothes, accessories and shoes. They have small but rabid followings. On their own, they don’t move the needle for a brand. But, taken together, they can be a potent complement to a campaign seeking a social component or niche targeting. To address this need, platforms such as Fohr Card have emerged to aggregate and organize fashion bloggers and then connect them to brands.

A few will graduate to the front row in the coming years. A small handful may launch sustainable digital publications. Most bloggers, however, will write for a few more years before moving on to something else. But, don’t fear. Another passionate and literate fashionista will emerge to take their spot. You see, in the world of high-fashion, everything eventually comes back into style.

Original article retrieved from Saymedia.com

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