American Apparel, Dov Charney and Me

January 22, 2024

The first thong I ever bought was at an American Apparel store. I was a freshman in high school and shopping with new friends in Soho. Holding that skimpy piece of white cotton in my hands, I remember feeling both embarrassed and titillated. At fourteen, I wasn’t just buying a few cents worth of fabric, I was buying my way into adulthood.

Or… was it adulthood? The American Apparel bodies in magazine ads and billboards scattered throughout Manhattan seemed both impossibly mature and preternaturally youthful. As an early teen, I was only one of those things: youthful. But it was a youth devoid of sex, filled instead with a near-constant shame and malingering sense of unattractiveness.

After a few more shopping stints and nights of underage drinking at someone’s ‘free crib,’ (i.e an apartment temporarily devoid of parents) I’d grow apart from those friends. In fact, I became increasingly isolated as high school progressed, and graduated with few lasting social connections.

At that point, American Apparel was no more; I vaguely followed the headlines: sexual harassment allegations against a former CEO, mismanagement, bankruptcy… a cultural moment washed away with the tide.

By Lily Lady

I didn’t care. Any thongs that I’d accumulated by then would be replaced with boxers during college. I wasn’t into fashion and the fun-loving, hypersexual atmosphere American Apparel hawked wasn’t reflective of my early experiences of sex.

At 18, the sex I was having was never for pleasure, sometimes for money, and always for power. Most of my partners and all of my early clients were men significantly older than me. I played up my youthfulness by marketing myself via a very specific, barely-legal archetype, one that I found socially and fiscally remunerative.

I started crashing with this guy who worked at a Wall Street hedge fund any time I’d return to New York on college break. What began as me renting his spare room on Airbnb turned into a mutually beneficial relationship: the guy — let’s call him Joey — was closeted and wanted to have a girl on his arm to take to parties. While unspoken, the transaction was clear: Joey got a platonic escort and I got a free place to stay.

One of Joey’s friends gave me her expired ID so I could get into clubs and bars with them. On nights out, I would dress in full femme drag: an old pair of American Apparel jelly heels and spaghetti strap dresses. Joey’s male friends started calling him my ‘uncle.’ I could tell that most of them wanted to sleep with me (a few of them did) but also that my presence as a much-younger addition to the social mix made them uneasy. Seeing them squirm with discomfort turned me on and felt like role play.

This era at Joey’s felt healing, somehow. I was able to capitalize on the power of youth after being bogged down by depression, discomfort and uncertainty during my actual underage years. At college, I was living more ‘authentically’ when it came to gender and sexuality, and then could enact some lighthearted femme role play back in New York.

After college, I got into the writing scene in the city, going to readings at KGB and hosting my own at Honey’s in Brooklyn. I wrote quickie, a collection of short poems and early iPhone photography. The book took me to Los Angeles on a promo tour in 2022. I vaguely considered a limited-run merchandise line, maybe manufactured at the Los Angeles Apparel factory. But mostly I wanted to meet Dov. Or, rather, I thought that Dov would want to meet me.

I sent an out-of-the-blue Instagram Direct Message to Dov and invited myself to the factory. Within an hour, I was in South-Central Los Angeles, pulling into a massive compound of industrial buildings. I was 24, wearing a tiny button-up romper with my hair in braids. A middle-aged man in sweats and an oversized white T-shirt came out to greet me.

He gave me a brief tour of the massive space, talking to everyone he passed and never slowing down. At a sewing station, he opened up the Shazam app on his phone to figure out what song was playing.

“What is this? It’d be great for TikTok!” he exclaimed and kept walking while tapping into his phone. I followed behind him into an office area, towards a door that read DOV CHARNEY. I sat down confidently in the seat facing his desk.

A little brown mutt trotted in, tail wagging.

“That’s Barbara,” he said, with affection.

I scooped her into my lap. She licked my face. I felt Dov watching me.

“So, what can I do for you?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

I looked around at the twin mattress on the floor in the corner. The framed photo of Bill Clinton at a deposition in the Paula Jones case. The Bill Cosby book on the shelf. The walls covered with printouts from his various legal cases.

What immediately came to mind as a response was, “what wouldn’t you do for me?”

This isn’t an article about Dov Charney. The influential individual — whether it be Dov, or Elon, or Ye — is primarily of interest to me symbolically. They serve an opportunity to work discursively, in order to investigate the following question, among others: how do we reckon with complicated figures, especially those who add to the realm of cultural production while at the same time perpetuating harm in and around those sites of production?

Through American Apparel and his current facsimile of a company, Los Angeles Apparel, Dov has entrenched certain forms of femme hypersexuality as the normative expression of both age, race and gender, as accessed through commerce; Dov the individual, on the other hand, symbolizes a certain kind of Ur-Masculine who is unrepentantly tethered to an unbridled id.

"Sleeping with people you work with is unavoidable!" he told reporter Hadley Freeman of the Guardian in 2017. Indeed, Dov’s initial splash in the press was related to his flippant and unapologetic stance on workplace dynamics; he made what seemed like intentionally inflammatory statements about sleeping with his employees. Sexual harassment in the workplace and even sexual assault allegations soon followed, all of which settled out of court.

As someone who has slept with people I’ve worked with in most of the jobs I had, I never really cared about any of Dov’s workplace-related statements. Sure, I was mostly sleeping with restaurant coworkers who worked similar roles as me. Dov’s ability to hire and fire, sponsor visas and the like changed the balance of power. But as I took on other roles — like working on film sets or at a tech startup — I too wanted to sleep with my much-older bosses, because of that very power imbalance. And sometimes I did, for no other reason than to take the taboo to its logical conclusion and see what lay on the other side.

When it comes to the sexual assault allegations against Dov, I find myself returning to the aforementioned question: how do we talk about hard things? How do we keep someone in the cultural fold who is an industry innovator (which Dov arguably is), who might become even more ideologically radicalized if he’s completely ‘canceled,’ who has created numerous jobs with fair wages and health benefits for undocumented immigrants, yet who has still not holistically acknowledged any harms he might have caused within the workplace with regards to sexual assault and harassment?

In the ensuing years since our initial meeting, I did some paralegal work for Los Angeles Apparel. I wrote some copy for the website. A bunch of small things added up to what I’d call a strange but genuine affection for one another.

Later in 2022, I was on a call with Dov and a former investor in American Apparel, who would go on to hire me to write for him. Dov was making the introduction, and at one point he said, “I’ve been dating 20 year olds for 20 years now, and this is the best batch of them yet.”

I remember thinking: what he’s saying is that he thinks I’m smart. And even though we aren’t dating and never have, he’s saying he values the disposition of ‘being smart’ in combination with ‘being young.’

After I hung up the FaceTime, I felt a sense of foreboding. I took a deep breath and recognized a feeling of… jealousy? I couldn’t figure it out. I wasn’t always going to be young, so the anxiety was clear: this market asset would depreciate in value until an inevitable and prolonged period of cultural obsolescence. But my jealousy was harder to explain.

I’ll arrive at jealousy by way of Emily.

Emily. My first girlfriend.

I used to cancel plans on Emily last minute all the time. I was vague with my emotions and made sure she always came over to my place, as I never once made the effort to stay at hers. I was the epitome of a flaky fuck-boy, keeping the upper hand through half-truths, missed calls and just enough attention to keep stringing her along.

One day, Emily sent me a series of texts expressing concern and confusion about my shitty behavior. She ended the text thread with: “Anyway, I really care about you and would love to spend some quality time together sometime this weekend if you’re around. LMK.”

I texted back “Hmm ya, sounds chill. Could work.”

I felt sick with this power I had over Emily… sick with power.

Eventually, I just felt sick.

Photo by Taryn Segal

Years later, I got fitted for my first suit after being invited to my friends Grace and Zoe’s wedding last spring. I dropped over a grand in cash at Brooks Brothers, being catered to by an employee there who kept asking if I wanted the pants tailored in a more feminine way.

My photographer friend Taryn Segal came to document the fitting. I sent a photo to Dov, who responded back, “Young Dov.” I felt elated.

There’s the jealousy.

Do I want to be Dov? I honestly don’t know. I think age gaps are sexy. I think power trips are sexy. What I’m reckoning with now is a (perceived or real) impending loss of power, and a slow recognition that I might not be interested in either side of the dynamic anymore.

It’s the end of 2023 and I’m riding in Dov’s old school Toyota Camry (“These are great, so old school, I bought two of them”). We’re driving west to Brentwood, for a meeting with Ben Kohn, the CEO of Playboy. There's a potential for all of us to work together, and we’re meeting for the first time to discuss it. The previous night, Dov and I spent two hours on FaceTime (Dov from his room at the factory and me from a room in his Silver Lake mansion) to talk it over.

In Brentwood, Ben orders a stack of pancakes and talks about Playboy’s current “capital light” model. Dov and Ben dive into financial specifics for the majority of the first half hour. I chime in here and there, essentially asserting that whatever they spend hosting at Tao in Vegas, for example, could be cut in half and reinvested in underground, invite-only parties with relevant DJs and better locations. And a quarterly zine couldn’t hurt, either.

About 45 minutes into the meeting, Ben gets up to go to the bathroom. Dov turns to me and says, “You’re talking too much.”

I keep going back to the original question. What can I do for you?

Ever since that meeting, Dov feels like a meal eaten right before getting food poisoning. I delighted in the meal and now I delight in it being out of my system.

Maybe what I learned from American Apparel was a lesson in body autonomy that has nothing to do with clothes. Dov is just another piece in a greater praxis of self-discovery. The pattern of aligning myself with powerful men and then feeling enthralled by games of mutual exploitation has served me, and I’ve relished in the years that it’s worked. I’ve taken knocks in the scarier moments when it hasn’t. I’m finally ready to be on neither side of the paradigm.

Culture

The Club Is Coming to the Stage

We enter and make our way to what is approximately front left of the DJ booth, where we’re accustomed to dancing at clubs in New York. “So is this a techno club or a dance performance?” yells an uncertain participant in my boyfriend’s ear. He laughs, bouncing along to Ben UFO, and yells back, “It’s both!” The club has long been a hot topic in European contemporary dance but it is only now making its way into New York performance venues, largely through transatlantic tours. R.O.S.E. follows recent examples like Michele Rizzo’s HIGHER xtn. at MoMA PS1 (May 2024), (LA)HORDE’s Room with a View at NYU Skirball (October 2023), and Gisèle Vienne’s Crowd at BAM (October 2022).

Do these performances compromise the club’s spirit — a space idealized for its anonymity, dark lighting, and thundering music? The notion of the club as a utopian escape is admittedly just that — an ideal — because of how its intense conditions can create barriers to entry. Still, the club remains sacred for many, a place to forge connections and embrace an alternative state of being. Looking at how performances transfer this spirit to new settings reveals what aspects of the club are essential and those that aren’t.

Sharon Eyal, R.O.S.E. 2024. Photography by Stephanie Berger, courtesy of Park Avenue Armory.

Eyal’s dancers make their entrance. The lighting shifts from roving blue to yellow spotlights as Ben UFO’s tracks transition to more melodic beats. Clad in deconstructed lace Dior lingerie with dark red tears painted on their faces, the dancers move cautiously in a tightly maintained pack, slicing paths through the horde with hoof-like steps and jerky leg extensions. After around ten minutes of this controlled choreography, the dancers vanish as the lighting shifts back to blue and Ben UFO picks up his dubby beats. The club, as we knew it, resumes. This cycle of tightly executed movements and free-flowing club-goers repeats several times, each time emboldening the dancers to plunge further into the crowd.

Clubbing in a building once built for the U.S. Army National Guard on Manhattan’s Upper East Side turns out to be surprisingly successful — at least for the audience. What starts as an awkward, scattered group searching for their non existent seats gradually gels into an engaged, bouncing crowd that erupts in cheers each time the dancers enter and exit. Performance patrons who might never step foot in a club find themselves swept up in its potential for communion, moving in unison with fellow ticket holders. But it isn’t until the very end of R.O.S.E. that the dancers finally break free from Eyal’s choreography and join the fired-up audience in a brief moment of improvisatory movement with the music. By keeping her dancers at arm’s length, Eyal seems more interested in the club as a backdrop for her signature movement style than wholly as a space with meaningful stories to be told.

Michele Rizzo, HIGHER xtn. 2024. Photography by Cameron Kelly courtesy of MoMA PS1.

Back in May, I attended Wire Festival, a multiday electronic music event at Knockdown Center that had no shortage of organically united dancefloors. It attracted a crowd of seasoned ravers who were eager to celebrate the start of spring as they danced alongside DJs who played well into the daylight. I left Wire in an afternoon daze to see Michele Rizzo’s HIGHER xtn. at MoMA PS1. My sleepless euphoria only deepened as the performance unfolded, starting with a lone dancer who looked plucked out of the festival.

The dancer, dressed in sneakers, baggy jeans, and a tight tank top, shuffled slowly into the gallery, perfectly in sync with the looping bars of an understated electronic melody. Soon, other dancers, clad in the same staple rave uniform, joined him — each having traveled from Europe for the U.S. museum debut of HIGHER xtn., which premiered at the Stedelijk in Amsterdam in 2018 and quickly became a fixture at kunsthalles and festivals across the continent. As the score’s tempo climbed, the choreography locked into a 16-count sequence, which the dancers executed with precise synchrony. They remained intensely focused, never making eye contact with each other, as they sought release in the endless repetition of synthesized beats. Once the dancers reached their limit, they stopped the sequence and exited the gallery, one by one.

HIGHER xtn. used the focused daylight of the gallery to highlight the meditative release found in the repetitive movements that dominate dark dancefloors. The performance’s restraint brought more consistency and intentionality than Eyal’s all-encompassing club construction in R.O.S.E. Yet both performances offer enticing entry points into club culture for those who may not frequent raves. Rizzo’s ecstatic, hypnotic repetitions reveal how the club can mirror other meditative practices, while Eyal’s interpolation of performance and clubbing helped hesitant audience members blossom by the end. Still, both works overlook one of the most underappreciated aspects of clubbing — its potential for individual expression. HIGHER xtn.’s pristine uniformity especially risks promoting the outdated techno trope that there’s a “right” way to dance to electronic music.

Maybe this shortcoming is, in fact, a benefit. For habitual ravers jaded by one too many sunrise sets, it’s a reminder to return to the club with more intention. If you pause and peer through the darkness, you’ll see hundreds of people moving to the same beat, each with their own subtle variations. This collective choreography is a ready-made spectacle that doesn’t need validation in a theater or museum. And when the music shifts slightly, you can watch the ripple effect sweep through the crowd while feeling the new beat in your body. Maybe this small bit of magic is best left on the dance floor.

Culture

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Shop Psyche Organic at Happier Grocery and Dimes. Coming soon to @citarellagourmetmarket @unionmarket @gourmetgarage @deciccos @fairwaymarket plus many more.

Culture

Porsche SCOPES Brings Art, Music, and Design to Toronto

The festival was a full immersion into Toronto’s dynamic creative energy. Day one set the tone with DJ collective Living Room, followed by an experimental performance by Claire Rousay that captivated the crowd. Jewelry designer Steff Eleoff unveiled her Porsche Taycan 4S art car installation—a bold fusion of automotive and wearable art inspired by her Sedona ring—while OVO Sound’s Naomi Sharon and DVSN wrapped up the night with powerful, genre-defying performances.

We witnessed SCOPES Toronto bridging underground and mainstream with day two’s lineup. DJ Korea Town Acid’s set paved the way for Angelphroot and Dameer’s debut of BASSMATI, a track blending South Asian influences with bass-driven sounds. Chippy Nonstop’s return to Toronto and Richie Hawtin’s extended set were milestones of the evening, proving that the city’s underground scene has a global resonance.

The final day featured standout performances from local pianist Harrison, Indigenous artist Tia Wood, and hip-hop visionary Sean Leon, who elevated his set with a live choir. Moonshine Collective’s film and musical performance explored themes of African utopia, showcasing art’s power to bridge culture and technology. Rising Toronto star SadBoi, who paused her tour to perform at SCOPES, further underscored the festival’s commitment to nurturing local talent.

Throughout the weekend, we experienced installations from artists like Mitsu Mitsu and culinary creations from Bar Mordecai, capturing the multifaceted creativity Porsche SCOPES brought to Toronto. This milestone 10th edition, open to all, allowed Toronto’s vibrant arts scene to thrive, underscoring SCOPES’ mission to celebrate local talent while connecting it to a global audience.

office had the chance to connect with rising star SadBoi ahead of the event. In our conversation, she shared insights into her creative journey and reflected on what performing and growing up in Toronto means to her and her work.

How are you, and where are you at right now? You told me you were traveling.

Um, I’m good, I’m feeling really good right now. I’m traveling back to Salt Lake City. I had a show yesterday in Seattle. I’m on tour right now with Coco and Claire.

How is touring life treating you? Do you like it?

I love being on the road. To be honest, I feel like I don’t know—like I’ve had good experiences and bad ones—but this time it’s really fun, especially with the people I’m surrounded by. It’s also the longest tour I’ve been on; I have about four more weeks to go. I’m trying not to think about how many days I have left.

Do you feel homesick?

Yes, because when I start thinking about how many days are left, I start to miss my dogs. I’ve just been trying to stay in the moment—I don’t even know what day of the week it is, to be honest with you.

Oh, sweet! What are your dogs’ names?

Jillian and Winston. I know, they’re crazy names.

You’ll be performing at SCOPES in Toronto, which is where you grew up. Do you feel like the crowd is different when you perform in Toronto compared to other cities?

Yes, I mean, Toronto just feels different because it’s home. Every time I come back to perform, something in my career has changed. The last time I performed in Toronto, people just wanted to have a good time, and I’m excited to perform back home again to see everyone’s reactions. I know it’s going to be different from the last time. It’s exciting to see your own growth. Toronto is a tough crowd, though. If we’re with you, we’re really with you.

So, they’re super picky? You have to gain their respect, or what is it?

I think Toronto people are in their own world, but when something really connects with them, they’ll lose themselves in the moment. But it takes something to bring them out of that. Toronto crowds are tough because even if they like you, they won’t show it outright until they’re really vibing with you.

It’s like a vibe check, right?

Exactly. They’ll enjoy your performance, but it’s hard to explain. When people visit Toronto, they often say, “Oh, you guys are so nice,” and I’m like, “I don’t think we’re that nice, we’re just polite.” Like, you can walk down the street, and no one will say anything, but it’s just our mannerisms.

You mentioned Toronto can have a moody energy, especially at night, and that the underground night scene there really inspires you. Can you talk more about what makes Toronto's nightlife so influential for you?

Absolutely, Toronto has this unique energy that comes alive at night. Similar to New York, there are the popular clubs everyone knows, but you need to find your niche—the people who know where the real parties are. I remember going to raves in high school yards, sneaking in because I wasn’t old enough. Events like Baby, Jerk!, and Yes Yes Y’all were pivotal, exposing me to DJs blending dancehall with EDM—something I hadn’t seen before. Toronto nightlife is moody and intense, but when everyone’s out, it’s like the whole city is alive.