Review of“The Real Housewives of New York City”: Jenna Lyons and Scarcity
Like many penny loaf-wearing prepsters, the highlight of my month was the arrival of the J.Crew catalogue. Every 7th period in high school I would distract myself from the casualties of World War II to analyze the brand’s neon tissue tanks and glass sequins. It was 2009. Jenna Lyons was the executive creative director and President of J.Crew and lauded as one of the industry’s top voices. Lyons was awarded a coveted mention in Time Magazine’s Most Influential List. A decade later, she is a feature of Real Housewives of New York. Why? According to an interview with Jimmy Kimmel, she doesn’t have a job. Her presence on the reality show is a stern warning about the fragility of women’s positionality in society.
Lyons was the ultimate girl-boss. I worked for J.Crew through both high school and college and watched as she commanded the company from the ground up. Women came pouring into the storefront in search of Michelle Obama’s frocks. While style directors worked in obscurity, we played drinking games with Jenna’s name. Lyons was self-made, having worked through the corporate ranks since she was 21. Tall and with average features that she played up, she reminded me of the girl next door. Lyons was known for showing up at celebrity events and the bunking conventional wear for women by wearing a tailored chambray J.Crew top.
With the perpetual hue of lipstick and big oversized tortoise frames from Celine, her public appearance was refined and studious in a time where daring cutouts ruled the runway. Jenna’s Picks, a curated collection of Ms. Lyons’ favorite items, frequently sold out at J.Crew. I bought the peach lipstick shade too-long studded belt — not because of their utility, but their symbolic worth as powerful woman essentials. To match an oxford with a Crayola-bright wool a la Lyons was to walk in the world of possibility, for, to Lyons “style changed how you walked in the world”. I wasn’t alone. In an article for the New York Times, Vanessa Friedman writes, “But because, with its bright colors and shiny, pedestal-kicking promise, J.Crew connected to the myths of American heritage, bootstrapping and independence, as embodied by its designer, Jenna Lyons.”
Lyons defied the myth that a female leader couldn’t be both feminine and respected. Famously, she showed up at the Met Gala in a casual white t-shirt and a feathered white skirt that seemed to come directly from one of the late Queen’s deflocked swans. Harvard Business Review points out, “To manage the competence-likability trade-off — the seeming choice between being respected and being liked — women are taught to downplay femininity, or to soften a hard-charging style, or to try to strike a perfect balance between the two.” Just like her catalogue-perfect ensembles of sequins and camouflage, Lyons chose the latter option. But the sequins soon lost their luster.
In 2018, Jenna’s reputation was dashed. The brand reported a loss of $120 million after going public. Faulty designs, the decline of shopping malls, high-ticket items, and a loss of brand identity were to blame. In an article for New Yorker, Jonathan Rothman writes of the brand, “it tried to create a daring, post-prep aesthetic and overreached.” Sure, J.Crew did go a little crazy with the neons and sparkly blouses. Indeed, the company’s customer base was not ready to invest at couture prices. Lyons Whenever I see a chambray shirt, I look at what Lyons has been up to since leaving J.Crew. Until recently, the answer is “not much”. She briefly starred in HBO show “Stylish”. She started a lash company for women with alopecia which is uncomfortably advertised at most public appearances. Now, she the first queer personality on “Real Housewives of New York.”
Jenna Lyon’s presence on the Bravo show terrifies me. While style shaped the way you walked in the world, it didn’t shape the world that Jenna and women inhabit. While other male business leaders, including Mickey Drexler moved on, Lyons did not have a job. “As women become more successful and famous, their media coverage becomes increasingly more negative, while for men the coverage sentiment remains stable, regardless of their level of fame,” sociologist and professor Eran Shor points out. “As women’s fame increases, rather than celebrating their achievements with favorable coverage, media scrutinize them more closely, ready to find blemishes and faults in their performance.” In turn, this affects future viability and employability. While J.Crew’s host of recent CEOs, simply moved on, Lyons is pigeon-held in temporal positions that are rife in comparing to her former role. Despite her business acumen, Lyons is relegated to being a “desperate housewife.” For to be a woman is to indeed be a friend to scarcity.
Scarcity. That is the plot of Desperate Housewives. Please hear me out, this is not a critique of Lyons. I think Lyons is excellent and talented — I’d be delighted to share a cup of coffee with her. But the culture that eagerly awaited her demise and promotes reality television resurgence is based on scarcity. There is not enough opportunity. There are not enough roles. There are no second chances. Make the wrong move and we’ll be waiting for you here on Bravo. I cannot help but worry that one day I am going to slip, no matter my accomplishments and successes only to be demoted to a desperate housewife like Jenna.
If I don’t make it…
If I take a break and stay at home with my son…
If I fail at my job…
If opportunity is scarce…
… I will be a desperate housewife.
Viva Lyons. Get out of the “house.”
