Metrograph, with Tavi Gevinson + Hilton Als

Last Sunday I specifically went into the city to see a screening of Klute, a film I (sheepishly) only knew by reputation (for the fashion) but never actually watched. Now was a good time as any to finally add it to the repertoire; plus, Tavi Gevinson and Hilton Als (!)—both of whom I admire immensely—would be there to introduce the movie. And I, being a fan of the two writers and a fangirl of Jane Fonda (Barbarella forever!), wasted no time purchasing a ticket for one.

But first, I’d explore.

At the risk of sounding like every other girl who lived and breathed Sex and the City (native New Yorkers, you may want to skip ahead; else, paper bags are stowed directly in front of your seat), the city has always been magical to me. Before SATC and after. As a book-hungry child and as a more jaded adult. New York, to me, is the epicenter for all: a home for the intellectual and a mecca for the hedonist. There’s never a shortage of adventure or discovery; even people-watching is enthralling on this island. Had I not been pressed for time I would’ve stopped everywhere.

Instead, I limited myself to a few places along the way. Cha Cha Matcha first, because a girl needs a hot boost of caffeine before trekking to Ludlow St. in 30-degree weather. Fishs Eddy was irresistible—and if one pauses for kitschy homeware, one can make time for ABC Carpet & Home if just to ogle browse, not buy. All roads, though—no matter where I’m headed—somehow lead to The Strand, where 18 miles of books are housed but I’m still making my way through the basement floor. Like all good things, Strand purchases always come in threes. I walked out with a trio to add to my growing library: an out-of-print Erica Jong, The Fun Stuff, and a third I can’t remember* but is already safely tucked onto a shelf. I had exactly 15 minutes to make it to Metrograph for the 4pm show.

Metrograph pulled exactly the kind of crowd you’d expect of a place that screened old films in the Lower East Side. The place could be an iconic New York fixture and I wouldn’t know. All I knew was that it looked exactly like I expected, and that as soon as I stepped foot into the lobby, I was no longer on Ludlow Street. Metrograph is where you escape back in time. The only tell is the strawberry-flavored Pocky sticks amongst the classic boxed candies in the concession area.

Like said Pocky sticks—and not because we both have an inextricable Asian appearance—I felt equal parts the new girl and a fraud. Here was a crowd who seemed to be regulars: film buffs, intellectuals, the type who wear fingerless gloves and double-breasted wool coats in 30-degree weather like it was nothing, and slung vintage leather bags across their shoulder. I, ever fearful of the cold, zipped my very un-chic puffer coat ’til it reached right under my nose. Everyone around me seemed taller, even (or was it because I was in sneakers for the first time nearly a year?), sure of where they were going, what snacks they wanted to eat, all while rolling the entire credit roll of obscure-to-me movies off the tip of their tongues. My baker boy cap all but screamed “INTRUDER:” It was clear I came for the clothes, for Ann Roth, for Tavi, and of course, for Hilton Als.

I was relieved to be ushered into the theater at last. It was no AMC, but it was cozy, and I was grateful to finally plant myself in one area after wandering from commissary to concession stand trying to get a lay of the land. When Tavi and Hilton finally appeared in the corner of the room ready to introduce the film, all uneasiness subsided. Als was kind, easy to listen to; his story of profiling Jane Fonda—a woman as big as the roles she has played—charming and delightful. Gevinson read her piece off her phone and felt relatable if just for that small act—because then, she went through Ann Roth’s extensive (and incredibly influential) costume design credits before sharing her experience in working with Roth on This is Our Youth.

I wish the introduction wasn’t so short. I wanted more. The rest of the audience, however, came for the movie. (Presumably.)

Klute was as darling as any 70s mystery film. Everything was exaggerated and predictable, but it’s not to say one couldn’t draw an underlying feminist theme. I didn’t come for that, and I didn’t watch Klute for the analysis: Like I disclaimed right at the beginning, I came for the authors and the styling. Roth was genius, still is. Every Fonda outfit, though indisputably characteristic of the 70s, has seen some iteration on the runway and in mainstream fashion at least a few times over the last four decades.

The mullet I could do without, but the high-waisted boots I lived for. (Coincidentally, Stuart Weitzman was having a massive sale and still is.) I, too, wanted to swathe myself in a giant red kaftan to lounge around the house, then swap the sweeping muumuu for a leather-trimmed camel trench. For whatever reason, 70s clothing always felt right to me, on me; I just can’t believe I’ve been so ignorant to have missed such an iconic film.

Since then, I’ve spent any free time hunting down 70s sweaters or its inspired iterations. I’ll soon share what I’ve picked up along the way.

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xx

(*Editors Note: I checked, it was the 50th-anniversary edition of Valley of the Dolls. This was the first time I purchased a book specifically for its cover.)