Rogan Gregory hates me / by laurel


Welcome to yet another episode of Dining Out Dailey, the one where Laurel eats her words, yet again, this time with a side of organic ketchup.

A few weeks ago, Target debuted the press shots of the looks from its collaboration with Rogan, the eleventh Go International designer to design a diffusion line with everyone's favorite cheap chic non-Walmart. The previous collaborations (Luella, Jovovich-Hawk, Proenza Schouler, et al) were mostly enjoyable, with a few standout styles and nothing too glaring or terrible. And then came Rogan Gregory. 

Upon viewing the images of his line, I promptly went on an e-tirade to the long-suffering Jen, who endured my manic proclamations of mid-90's hackery with aplomb. By the sounds of things, you'd have thought perhaps I was the Cobrasnake and that I'd just been informed that not only is Polaroid quitting production, but yeah. That Cory girl? She's totally still in high school, man.

Yeah, it was a freakout of epic proportions. Not ONLY is the clothing ugly, I posited, but the styling reeks of washed up Wet Seal rejects and--AND! AND? And the photography is shoddy as well. EXCLAMATION POINT! 

To illustrate my point, here are the two worst offenders--the $154 barrel of oil that fuels my holy fire:


The latest look from Talbots: Gaye in Gingham! 

Are those bells sleeves in 2008? Don't MAKE me get all Quasimodo on your arm.

Yeah. And the Candy's-style heels and slicked back 'do don't really make me want to drop my hard earned bucks at Target, you know what I mean? On top of everything else, I went ahead and made it personal; not only was the clothing offensive, but designer Rogan Gregory was on my personal List Of Things That I Dislike (to be fair, he was in good company nestled between melon and pleated dress pants).

So imagine my total and utter shock when I stopped by my local Target this afternoon and saw the line in person. It was...not offensive. Glancing over my shoulder, to make sure nobody was watching (nobody at ALL), I took a closer look. Wait a second...not only was it inoffensive, it was...sort of cute. Well, I'm sure the fit would be all wrong, I reasoned, as I loaded my arms with 9 different styles and made off to the fitting room. 

But the fit wasn't all wrong. In fact, it was perfect, and with my foot firmly planted in mah mouf, I schlumped off to the register with two dresses, and two shirts. Rogan Gregory, you evil rascal. You not only made me eat my words, but you made me spend all my hard earned cash as well.

What'd I ever do to you, huh?