+1 For Androgyny

Excellent, simply excellent.

Knicker Knackers

PART I

My hometown is small. I ran into my kindergarten teacher at the salon this morning small... I went to lunch afterward and our waitress played volleyball with me AND was in Junior Miss the year after me small... in the parking lot afterwards we were right next to a woman we've known for at least fifteen years small... we just got more than one traffic light small. I am currently in my hometown.

It is kind of a culture shock, a little bubble of the South almost in the West. We have more churches than any other public establishment, closely followed in number by Mexican restaurants and tanning salons. The word 'liberal' is profanity, some people do not think gay men or women actually exist, and Glenn Beck is a God. Some people think England is a city in London and Joe Biden is black. Louis Vuitton, for those who know it, is pronounced 'Loo-iss Vitton'. Football is the king of activities, and Kmart the only store.

It's not all that bad though. I mean, lots of people love Glenn Beck, and Kmart carries Maybelline products just the same as Target. But really, it's great. It's wonderful that such a place, a genuine Mayberry in fact, can exist in an isolated mountain island just beyond Los Angeles. People here know each other, for better or worse, and when you walk down the street even those you don't know say 'hello'. People value each other. Most people are real, and if they're not, they were probably raised that way at least. It is a lot like the South, where hospitality is warm and friendly even if I do not agree with the reigning ideology. You know the same people from kindergarten to graduation, and the cashier at the grocery store met you when you were still in your mother's stomach as she made late-night store runs to quash those pickle & chocolate pregnancy cravings. The whole town is your family.

Not only is community a word here stronger than the stitches in the local quilt faire, but people are in touch with nature. I fall asleep here, not to the sound of traffic, neighbours' dogs, or drunken college students, but rather to the sound of the fountain under my window. The bubbling water is literally the only sound. It's not a loud fountain, either, but it pierces the natural silence with peaceful water sounds. If it stops, you can sometimes here the train on the other side of the valley, or maybe the stray car, but only if it's very, very, loud. Sometimes you can hear coyotes on the hill next to my house, or stray creatures nestling about the forest. Sometimes terrifying sounds as bobcats fight each other or fall out of trees or whatever it is they do. But it's just like falling asleep in the middle of the forest, from the safety of my second storey bedroom.

It's awfully nice place, really, and the most ideal of homes to call your own and come back to.

PART II

I have been told recently ( a few times no less) that I look like Roisin Murphy.

I think I'm quite all right with that. As if I could change it if I wanted to. But I don't. Bah, You see anyway?

PART III

I recently took a trip up the coast to relax and enjoy that glorious irresponsible activity enigma that is Spring Break. As demonstrated below, the trip included, amongst other things, french fries (originally written here 'french friends'... a Freudian slip I may not understand), gelato (split in two flavours, coconut macadamia nut and blackberry cabernet, yes I know, delish), beautiful scenery.... and an impromptu headlight repair. Yes, I do fix cars in a leather jacket and heels. If you are going to bother doing something, why not A. do it well, and B. look like you are going to a rock show? I ask you, jeesh.

I did not eat all those fries personally. Just sayin'.

It melted like a mother, but was it ever delicious.

No, that is not a postcard, or a painting. I did not fabricate or alter that image. It was just picturesque. Just so.

I totally knew what I was doing. Totally. Cars are my specialty. Along with petty couture commentary and obscure international music knowledge. Obviously.

"Why hello there, you leather-ridden vixen, you." (What my current self says to my past self to increase all selves' self esteem. Try it.)

Current Events

I found the cord... just in time for a new camera. A very pretty new camera.

 

I need to mail my Census form.

Or, rather, I am a huge proponent of leather pants.

I Want A [Hershey's] Pot of Gold

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait... you have to see this. It's a blog entitled 'Should Be On The Nanny'. And we though Fran Drescher just could not be any cooler. We were wrong. She is now, thanks to photoshop, also couture.

http://shouldbeonthenanny.blogspot.com/

Hahahaha ahhhh. I am cooking corned beef, potatoes, and cabbage for dinner because I am unerringly creative. Actually, though, it's one of my favourite meals. I just do not get the chance to eat it often enough. And I have never had the opportunity to cook it myself. I have a feeling I am going to butcher it. And not in a promising pre-cooking post-living animal sort of way. In fact, if anything, overcooking is on my mind. Oh dear.

I did not wear green at all today. I did write two essays, however. Pertinent and fascinating.

I have a hunch you have probably already indulged in the below video, but in the even that you have not yet lived....

Well, I'm not sure this is going to define that, but it is quite a chuckle.

Happy St. Patrick's Day. Dress well and prosper.

Right In Line

Well, another evening, another essay I am certainly not doing in as temporally responsible a manner as I ought to. I really cannot wait for this quarter to be over... what is it with Winter Quarter being a designated 2.5 months of hellishness? For no good reason, no less. It just is. Here's hoping next year's January-March are as cheery as Dolly Parton, but less... er... full. Agenda-wise, of course.

My camera cord is vacationing somewhere nice. So nice it still hasn't returned. On second thought, perhaps it is in Mexico? Maybe it has become a victim of cocaine trade wars. Oh dear.

Until it, or its remains, are recovered by me and/or the CIA I offer some very crap examples of personal ensembles.

If for some reason you are reading this for sartorial advice via my example, this post may not be for you. Not in picture quality anyway.

This is the outfit I wore most of today, sans the ankle booties (they are very clogs-ish) with slouchy beige socks. I just cooked dinner, you see, and for once did not wear heels to accompany that.

 

Pleated high waisted black vintage polyester skirt (a dollar if you add another qualifier to that), khaki safari shirt with military detailing from GAP, my dad's old leather braid belt, and a weird elephant necklace I made a year or so ago. I really enjoy long skirts because I am tall, and they make me taller. As do the heels. It's like being the only giraffe on the sidewalk. In vintage.

Ensemble Dos stems from a few days ago. Very simple, clearly, and in line with what I've been doing for better part of the past eight months or so: Black, leggings, and basics. American Apparel high waist nylon tricot leggings, American Apparel white dolman sleeve top, and a black and white beaded necklace from Urban Outfitters. Tres bon.

Back to academia. Until later darlings.

"Extremely Smart" In Chiffons

My my let's take a look at these vintage vixens. The word on the street kiddies is that the forties are back... don't fret by Fall they'll be on their way out (in with the fifties silhouette and Celine's New Minimalism? Contradictory but that seems to the way the wind blows). Before they fly the way the Dodo walked, have some fun with this charming demonstration. Isn't it nice that there was a time that mass fashions appreciated quality over the inexpensive mass sweat shop garmentry that is the modern American mall? Swell stuff.

In other news, my loves, I studied on the bus for my final this morning. I'll let you know if that's an advisable academic strategy. Two essays and an extra credit assignment tonight... I have a feeling I'll be on here more than once today, which might be irritating to your news feed, but its keeping me afloat amidst the detritus of 'real' responsibility.

If you yourself are hungering for something to do and famished for random and potentially ineffective home athletics, I recommend trying this one:

http://pilates.about.com/od/pilatesmat/ht/ThighLift.htm

If that's not fun enough, try speaking in another language to someone who doesn't understand it. Or frying bacon. I have done both to nice effect this morning. Also, if you google 'Dirty Dancing Velociraptor' nothing promising appears. Damn.

Gradients

Yes, you are right, I do have several essays to write and an exam to study for. And yet I find myself inextricably drawn, as per usual, towards things which do not remotely involve what I should be doing.

Code: Check out what I did learn today.

Prodigies have a way of making me feel inferior as quickly as it takes butter to melt on a Riverside sidewalk in August. I have never tried that, but I assume it's similarly fast. At any rate, it's a heck of a lot faster since I outgrew the legal age of childhood and hence lost all chances of adding 'child prodigy' to my resume. Damn labels.

His name is Pedro Laurenco and he's been designing 'professionally' since the age of 12. I am sure it helps that his parents are designers, but still, he's 19 now and cites as the influences for his most recent collection, which has been making waves bigger than those in Farah Fawcett's hair, "Diana the huntress, and also the architect Oscar Niemeyer", according to the Huffington Post. What is this nonsense? Let's go with 'genius' (or 'pretentious douchebag' if he's not nice). And as if being that talented and culturally savvy weren't enough, he's Brazilian. Which might actually explain a lot...

Me and my 20-year-old self have literally not stepped foot outside once today. I heard it was hot, but have been unable to verify this personally. However, to my unending credit, I have changed my 'outfit' several times today. Striped white/blue underwear AND a various assortment of tee-shirts, sweaters, and a satin nightgown from Kmart? This might be the classiest Ides of March, ever.

Well then...

I took a funny picture earlier I wanted to share.

The camera cord is apparently too  good for me and went to spend the night somewhere else. Skank.

Soooo instead I'll put up an old one that never ceases to make me chuckle. Me, and me alone? I don't know, I can't see you.

I'm watching High Society about Tinsley Mortimer. I find myself asking... why? Just why?

Life is full of questions.

Have a classy weekend. Finals are ending, things are looking up, and Easter means chocolate. Hip-hip-hoorah my comrades.

Decisions Don't Get Graded

I think I should talk about more than just fashion. I have three blogs and they are all very specifically created with a directed intent as to content (intent. content. ha.). This one is about fashion. Basically. But there is more I have to say, and I mean, there's no rules are there? I don't even know. I think it's the caffeine talking. It does that.

There are enough coffee grounds at the bottom of the cup to build a life-size snowman.

Not really, but they were really gritty and they all swooped down on me at once from their nestled perch inside the cup. Ugh.

Check out what's below. I didn't take that video, but I was there. Little Boots at the El Rey! Yeah! She reminds me of a little cat. But I'm not sure that would be as catchy and sell as many ablums. Little Cat... might as well say 'Kitten'. Yeah, see?

Also, there was a startling and alarming development at the Louis Vuitton Fall 2010 show. The models... I don't know if I want to admit it... but they... had.... ..... ..... ..... breasts. I KNOW. What is this? This does not bode well for me at all. If curves come back into fashion, I'm out. And not by choice.

Honestly, though, I feel obligated to believe that it is a good thing. A healthy, accepting, realistic thing. And it is. I just don't think boobs are as edgy in large quantities. Not that I know personally, but I just like the possibility of androgyny in dressing as well as unrestricted movement and no back problems. This is a personal issue, because from what I hear they are also really useful at getting into clubs and getting free drinks and the like. At any rate, way to be bold Marc Jacobs! (Except over at Prada they were working along similar, and rather curvy, lines)

SUPERFICIAL CONCERN OF THE DAY: American Apparel costs too much. (Read: I am too poor.)

ADVICE OF THE DAY: If steaming potstickers... remember sometimes they do.

Hey Hi Ho Ha

Exciting news: Recently posted shows on style.com include Fall 2010 RTW collections from McQueen (sadness, but genius work) and Chanel. I have much to say about these, which will have to wait to come to fruition until after my research paper presentation is finished. An analysis of historical perceptions of Soviet-era Afghanistan in relation to women? Yes, that's it.

Anyway . . . just a hint . . . looks like the vintage traditional wool jacket I bought in Norway is going to fit right in with Lagerfeld's theme this Fall. What a fortuitous coincidence, especially as I have developed such an interest in all things Nordic and Scandinavian since my visit to Oslo in November.

The above is thoroughly off topic but it made me smile yesterday. As does Rebel Without A Cause (1955) on another off-topic. I watched it on a big screen and thoroughly paid attention for once... and it was better than I have ever remembered it being. Fantastic, nuanced, and incredibly profound. Also, bringing around to relevance, Natalie Wood's outfits are excellent, though her make-up in the opening scene is strongly reminiscent of a sock monkey. Just saying.

Also, James Dean (and for that matter his doppelganger James Franco) is like human male equivalent of the best ice cream sundae you could ever imagine, assembled by the same mystical genius woman who fostered Brad Pitt and Lord Byron.

More on that later. As for today my darlings I present to you below a few photographs a friend and I recently took in the desert not far from my hometown (which is not in the desert, fyi, but much more hospitable). They literally filmed Blazing Saddles on the other side of these hills. Not while we were there, obviously, as all we experienced was wind that would blow Donald Trump's topee off his head before he could open his mouth (which is saying something). Just a few for now . . . as I hear the Soviets and the mujahideen calling my name. "Coming! Jeesh, academia is so demanding."

The one below makes me laugh.

Lung Ching Dragonwell

I couldn't think of a better title, and honestly 'Lung Ching Dragonwell' ought to get some points for creativity. Even though really I just looked at what I was holding in my right hand, which at the time was a cup of loose leaf Lung Ching Dragonwell tea. Tasty, and full of anti-oxidants.

Now, I cannot say that I am going to try and throw stuff up here (oh dear, that is not meant how it sounds. I am sorry) on a daily basis, but lately I've been inspired. (READ: Finding ways to avoid research papers.)

Inspiration comes not only from dodging responsibility, but other things too. Say, the ocean for instance. I took a walk along the beach yesterday for quite a while. . . wearing my white puff-sleeve Ralph Lauren T-shirt dress and my Indiana Jones hat, of course. Everyone else was either a transient or a jogger, so I felt a little out of place. I don't exercise, for one thing, and being around people who do when they are doing it always makes me feel alien and guilty. Anyway, it was a lovely walk. The sky was swirly and bold and dramatic, and the 10:30 am light was filtered in an ominous way that indicated impending downpours. Hence, I wore the hat.

I'm not sure these are sartorially inspiring per se, but they are lovely attempts to capture how gorgeous le monde naturel was at the time.

On a fashionish note, this was taken a couple weeks ago. It turned out all crazy on accident BUT you can see the line of the shoulders on that jacket. I bought it at the thrift store for, er, $3 I think. It is one of many in a long line of secondhand blazers and tuxedo jackets I have collected... you can also see the purse a friend bought for me in Paris. It's very 1950's Dior. Not literally, but who's to know?

And finally, I capped off my walk with a stint at American Apparel, where I tried on the beautiful number below. I took pictures in the dressing room (lame? yes, but I do that), however given the er transparency levels I don't think I'll share. However, this piece will be my RECOMMENDATION OF THE WEEK. That's right folks, I thoroughly support this garment, because I believe in 1. black, 2. lace, and 3. bold statements. Wearing this, depending on what you do, or do not, wear with it, could certainly be a bold statement...

http://store.americanapparel.net/rsals309.html?cid=29

Oh, last last thing, I changed the name of my blog to something easier to remember, simpler to spell, and not readily confused with Biblical excerpts.

This Ought to Be A History Essay. It's Not.

If I started a segment on here dedicated solely to documenting the fashion atrocities I see everyday as I wander the sidewalks, would I be an elitist bitch? 'Kind of', I think, is the answer. So I won't do it. But it's tempting.

It's just . . . I mean, there was a guy today with a rugby stripe shirt (stripes as wide as the Mississippi, mind you), which he er, creatively, paired with plaid shorts of an awkward mid-way non-commital sort of length and an entirely different colour scheme. This beauty was topped (well, bottomed) off with a pair of slip on Nike sandals in a blue semi-plastic. I am not saying he is a bad person, or any less of a worthwhile individual human being than anyone else, or that his sense of fashion is right or wrong... I just thought it was worth comment. Sadly, I thought it was worth derisive comment. Does this make me a bad person? Perhaps I should dress like that one day and teach myself a lesson.

Anyway, I am deftly avoiding the slings and arrows of academic responsibility by honoring today a woman whose style and bad-ass-ery currently have a lot of influence on my own aspirations. Her name is Alison Mosshart, and she is the only female musician I think is sexy. Yes, yes, I am sure many will disagree, and I respect that. I just personally have this thing where I usually don't like women in rock and roll, or most any genre, except perhaps select Celtic ballads. It's just a personal flaw. Lily Allen is close, a few others perhaps... Jefferson Airplane, Janis Joplin, Amanda Palmer, Cat Power... respectable, certainly appreciated from time to time, but I just don't find myself jealously and zealously fawning over them as I do every time I encounter Miss Mosshart. Oh, I lie, Mosshart and Lady Gaga. I'll write more on my surprising and unprecedented Gaga love later, but for now, I would like to pay homage to a woman of fabulous style who positively oozes edgy, sexy, rock.

Maybe I am so fascinated with her because she works with Jack White, who I think might secretly be a god. Maybe. But maybe it is just that, introduced to her work via my obsession with Mr. White, I found in her a woman I could aspire to be. In some ways. Few women are so shamelessly, well, cool. The men of rock run around all the time in tight black clothing with leather and a devil-may-care attitude, but it seems that most women supply arm candy or just fleeting shadows of these figures. Not Alison Mosshart. 

I saw her live with the Dead Weather a few months back and felt every tendril of my white upper-middle class youth repressed self boil with rebellious zeal and envy for that kind of unadulterated soul. Her stage presence is delightful-- brooding, dark, passionate, edgy (that word again, but it works), doing it for her own sake but willingly drawing the audience in with her awesome vocal tones and excellent 'I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-looking-like-a-sexed-out-rock-goddess' style.

I also saw with the Kills, her other band, a while back. I was there at the time for the Raconteurs and only vaguely familiar with the Kills. I discounted them a bit, as I was blindingly dedicated to the notion that no female vocalist could entrance me like Robert Plant or Mr. White. The show was fun, but it wasn't until later that the true talent and gravity of Ms. Mosshart hit me.

In the picture below, there she is on the street (ooer) with Kate Moss, girlfriend of her Kills bandmate Jamie Cullum. She's like the yin to Kate's Yang, chocolate to her vanilla, and both have worked with Jack White (see Sophia Coppola's 'I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself Video' or your life is bizarrely incomplete).

I realize this has been kind of an admiring ramble with arguably repressed homosexual undertones (not the case, Americans, open your minds and stop judging, jeesh), but mostly she just proves to me that women can be that strong, that, well, awesome in a field generally dominated in the strong and sexy category by cracked-out men in overtly effeminate garb. I hope the pictures I am including speak as to her distinctive style, which is not overtly original per se, but is pulled off with such panache that she is a real style icon in my book, and hopefully one day in yours. Today can be that day. Rock on.

VIDEOS- SEE HER IN ACTION

Sequins Vs. Pirates!

Today was the first day in much too long that I had leisure time. Well, leisure time all to myself. I laid in bed reading Harper's Bazaar this morning. . . well, until this afternoon, in an attempt to overcome a lingering cold. Then I pulled myself up from the grips of high fashion and hegemonic feminine discourse and decided to trek to Peet's coffee for some internet usage. What would you wear on such an expedition? This is what I chose:

For more info- http://lookbook.nu/look/538153-Checking-My-Emails

I love this jacket. I wore it a while back, at night on Christmas Eve actually, as I stumbled around Paris and The Champs Elysees in a rainstorm after a good deal of red wine, cheese, and chocolate. And it there wasn't a bit of wear on it, nor a bead or sequin gone. Not bad considering I found it in an off-the-beaten track Goodwill in San Luis Obispo, California for $25. Take that, Topshop.

Honestly, though, at the last second I switched it for my red wool Norwegian sweater-jacket. Bad choice? The jury is still out. At Peet's. With me, as I type.

Right in line with my, and the current vogue's, lust for all things gold or shiny, however, I was blown away (willingly to be sure) by Christophe Decarnin's most recent addition to the world's closets. As if his Spring 2010 collection did not set the highest bar of the season's desires, he has gone and done it again.

One might think, given the less-than-golden state of the economy, that overtly filling up on glamour, glitz, gold, and sartorial hedonism until it floods over the fashion rim in waves of lame (lamay, people, come on), brocade, and giant fur would not be a popular or wise choice. His last collection seemed to stop that assumption in its little camel coloured minimalist tracks, however, and he seems to have run with it for Fall.

What if Marie Antoinette kidnapped Jimi Hendrix, threw him into some of her husband's clothes, and snuck off with him to live a life of piracy on a boat with 1930's M.G.M. designer Adrian? This collection is a snapshot of that story, the style incarnation of the love-child which would inevitably stem from the bizarre orgy I just described. I love it. Frock coats, luxurious fabrics, fur, and rock & roll all reside at the top of my list of favourite things ever, and Decarnin, that cheeky genius, has put them all together.

I wish everyone could pull off brocade pants. No, actually, I lie. I wish I could.

Gorgeous fabric, lines 'in line' (ha) with previous seasons, especially the shoulders . . . and it gets even better, if you would please give your attention to the bottom hem. Brilliant.

It is a good thing I do not own this, because I might never get out of it. Admire the fabric, the lines, the slit AND draping 'up to there', and the low cut, very low cut, front. I adore a 'revealing' decolletage, probably for the ironic reason that it has such little effect on me. The gown reminds of some of Adrian's designs for Hepburn, Crawford, and even Garbo. I apologize for all the Adrian, but I just wrote a paper on him. Look him up if you don't know his ground-breaking work. Anyway, I feel like doing dishes and vacuuming in this dress might be a little outrageous. So yes, wait, I would do that. Everyone should do that. They would look amazing. Desperate housewives no longer, that entryway runner is your red carpet.

Possibly my favourite, I tried to pull this look off in high school. Given my limited closet, poor hair style, and the fact that I actually had a pair of legs, it did not look so damn sexy. This, however, in inspiration to keep trying. Buccaneer or rock goddess? Give me both, and what the hell, throw some gold lame in with those skinny jeans.