So I use these tiny digital clocks to time my transcendental meditation. I use this as body soap. I get it in the huge containers and then I put some soap in old Necessaire bottles. It has the most zing to it and is almost, like, thicker or something.
I figured this out after much market research and personal sampling sessions. I drink a lot of water. I force myself to drink it directly from a bottle. I have a Korken at my dining room table — which has been my desk during the pandemic — and I swig water out of it all day long.
My bedroom is downstairs and my kitchen is upstairs. I got the Move about two months into the pandemic. I got it because it looked chic and used it like twice before the pandemic started.
I want to wear a fucking big hoodie right now! His six employees plus a couple of web developers sit outside, plugging away for the launch. It is indeed an unlikely office. But it also fits—the new line is all about finding joy in the basic. I get the sense that he wants Entireworld to run in that vein—not churning out vintage IBM tees, but rather as a clothing company that can operate like an IBM, creating systems of dress with taste and flexibility.
Because Entireworld, of course, is also the answer to another question: What happened to Scott Sternberg, and to Band of Outsiders? Entireworld is the answer to a simpler, possibly more difficult, question, too, that Sternberg, in gold wire-rim glasses and with a splash of gray in his scruff, poses in his office.
Zod—an eerily human Brussels Griffon, the dog George Lucas reportedly modeled the Ewoks on—putters around under his desk. What happens when you put the love into the simple stuff? And on that very day, Sternberg says, he knew things were heading south. His neighbor, a stylist, eats next to us with her daughter and mother, a picture of east-side chic the likes of which Sternberg used to gin up for Band.
We didn't raise enough money, and I didn't have the right people to really initiate a growth plan. But it just felt like, well, to what end? What am I promoting here?
This seems a little indulgent. Band of Outsiders launched in , back before boot-cut jeans had ended their reign. The origin story is menswear lore by now: Sternberg, fresh off a gig as a junior agent at CAA, made up a small line of super-skinny, retro-patterned ties.
Sternberg did it all from the margins, setting up shop in the then fashion backwater of Los Angeles. It had taken him two years of scratching away by himself on it, figuring out how to produce samples of shirts and neckties, and then he started building a team, and then there were runway shows, and surrealist anti—runway show scavenger hunts, and meetings with the biggest names in the industry.
It just sort of happened. He was early to just about everything. Again, this was the early aughts. The whole thing felt like Instagram before Instagram—and then Instagram showed up in time to become a natural home for those photos, now featuring up-and-comers like Frank Ocean and Greta Gerwig. He collaborated widely and frequently, now a prerequisite for any designer. He can often be found around Los Angeles with his dog, General Zod.
Here, he discusses how self-isolation has impacted his life and his team of 10 employees at Entireworld. I just started self-isolating on Saturday, really. I think leading up to then, I was just my sort of normal, slightly antisocial, hermit self. We closed the office on Friday, and I started hunkering down.
He is always with me. He comes to work with me and has been the office dog for years, at this company and the last. I mean, does he smell another dog? Do I let that person pet him? At this point, Zod has had his back and beard rubbed with a Purell wipe so many times! He held up a pair of cropped twill trousers.
He fondled a dark-green hoodie. Not insane. It feels special but anonymous. He grabbed a white lineny dress by Jonathan Anderson. He stared down the Gucci rack.
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