Pretty Dapper: January 2011

Ciao, cinema!

I do not remember the last film I saw that struck the ol'entertainment chord just as strongly as the 'it's beautiful to watch' chord, but I saw one today. The Tourist may have received flak from some corners, but not mine. It is not a perfect film, but it doesn't need to be. It is a sumptuous delight for the eyes and anyone whose escapist reservoirs have run dry will find in the film a refreshing downpour of fun.

The film stars the inimitable Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie, who happen to both be high in my good books. Both are fine and mighty actors, and they're gorgeous to boot, so put them on a screen and what is not to like? And they are in fine form in the film, playing a mysterious woman (that would be Jolie) and the tourist who mistakenly encounters her (that's Depp) en route from Paris to Venice. The locales are stunning, the clothes and world of the film a luxuriously European delight. Plus, the story is a light spy-ish thriller that's low on gratuitous violence and high on fast-paced intrigue. One of many reasons (there's a key one I can't divulge, but you won't see it coming) I cannot wait to see it again.

Riki Tiki... Tavi?

I'm not going to say I'm an ageist-- but maybe I am. Let's just say there are not many people I look up to who are still a few years from qualifying from a driver's permit. There is one, however, and I am not the only one to feel this way about Tavi Gevinson.

Who is Tavi Gevinson? She's a 14-year-old fashion blogger. Big whoop, you say? Well, so said I, until I actually paid attention-- she's been at this for a few years and she's got more style chops than most people two, three, four (or more) times her age.

Her style is quirky, not always in the highest of taste, but constantly inventive. The thing I admire most in fashion and style is not text-book coherency, but rather confident boldness. This is why I look up to people like Schiaparelli and, despite his serious lapses in appealing aesthetics, Karl Lagerfeld.

Plus, and this is what impresses me most, I'll admit (for this quality I am afraid is rarer than dressing well, and much more precious), is her excellence in writing. She is hilarious. I wonder if there is some fifty-year-old English professor-cum-comedy writer editing Tavi's pieces, but I suspect it really is just her little middle school self blasting away gaping holes of amusement and intelligence in the English language.

Okay, so maybe she's not the wiliest wizard writing has ever known, but it's damn impressive. Most fashion bloggers reek of self-interested mediocrity crying for attention from an elitist industry accelerated by the world wide web (hypocrisy? perhaps, exaggeration? not so much), but Tavi exudes a pure and innocent joy in the wonders of sartorial experimentation and personal expression. Not to mention, her knowledge of obscure fashion history (most of which she was not remotely alive for, more so than even infantile wee me) is extensive and admirable. She knows her Japanese avant-garde and nineties red carpet references just as much as her vintage Dior and 1930's headgear. Top notch, really.

You can read Tavi's blog, The Style Rookie, here.

Annual Review

There is a lot more to be said (and shown) about my trip to NY, but in light of the yearly change of, um, year, I would like to share some various odd moments my camera captured in the past year-- and what a year it has been. Intermittently I'll bore with a written summary, I apologize.

Took a detour on the way back from school one afternoon.

The road to my house back home.

I began 2010 fresh off the boat from my European escapades, having lived several months in Canterbury, England, and jetted about to places like Brighton, Oslo, Bruges, Amsterdam, and mon grand amour, Paris. I flew from Heathrow in the direst of spirits, an un-American sentiment I tragically carried for the following six months. You see, home, however wonderful, was far less wonderful than Europe... I realize this probably had a lot to do with the infantile state of low responsibility I blundered about in during my study abroad, as when you are isolated temporarily from everything you every knew, you do not feel a lot of pressure about, really, anything.

The commute from home to school.

The other side of the mountains.

So this time last year I was surly and disillusioned with America's linguistic naivete, sartorial disabilities, and existent J-walking laws. Plus, horror of horrors, I turned 20. That, my friends, is a double digit that starts with, not 'one', but 'two'. It is halfway to 40. It is 25% of 80. Too much. Much, much, too much. I was forcibly struck by the very few things I had achieved upon reaching this ripe old age-- I had not published a novel, started an international nonprofit, and I still could not afford multi-million dollar real estate. Tragic, I know. Despite my fabulous life split between mountains, sea, and city, my good fortunate in school, friends, and family, and my exquisite activities calendar that generally included beach-side dining, vintage shopping, and traveling the country, I was inconsolably down.

An afternoon stroll to the harbour.

However, the year began in earnest sans my well-wishes and carried on, through torturously dull busy work at school and a general malaise I enjoyed simmering in, until summer-- when things started to look up whether I liked it or not. See, I do not really get depressed-- ever (thank goodness), so my post-Paris disillusionment was both novel and, as such, rather appreciated. I was nevertheless grateful when I found myself cast in an exciting role in an independent feature film with a cast and crew I was excited to work with. It is called "Anacapa" and it has now been sent to various festivals, so more on that as it develops. It was wicked good fun to work on, and found me spending the days of my summer on mountain tops, windswept beaches, and sailboats. Well, I was splitting my time between the film, summer school (all the better to graduate early with), and another top notch development: an internship.

Big Sur, May 2010.

I sort of stumbled into my internship at Back Stage upon the advice of a professor of mine, who also writes for the publication. Little did I know (having not lived as of yet as a NY or LA or anywhere based working actor) that Back Stage was a marvelous place and that my boss was the loveliest and most accommodating of bosses I have yet heard tell of in the world of Hollywood internships. I have interviewed a small collection of actors, directors, writers, casting directors, etc, some well-known, and others on their way up. I have written reviews and other pieces, attended and helped at screenings and acting conventions, and I have put my eye up to the keyhole of Hollywood. All I need to do now is find the key.

Pier, Cayucos, CA.

Me and a new friend at the Santa Barbara French Festival, July 2010.

A sandwich from Kohnen's Bakery, Tehachapi, CA.

So that was truly something to look forward to, which was, well, awesome. I also managed to fall into a free ticket to see one of my favorite bands, The Dead Weather, at the Hollywood Palladium in July. Fantastic concert (all of Jack White's projects are fabulous live), which tragically culminated in a bout with something close to pneumonia that left me in shoddy shape for months. It was worth every cough.

The silhouette of Jack White, July 2010.

I was stylist Rachel Zoe for Halloween.

Fields in the Santa Ynez Valley, Spring 2010.

After summer school and the film, I snuck all the way up to Portland, Oregon in a couple-week-long coastal road trip of delightful proportions. This was the maturation of the earlier trip I had taken through Big Sur (camping tentless as we had forgotten said tent) in May, and I have now made it all the length of Highway 1 from L.A. nearly to Washington. I have taken a lot of trips-- I cannot stand staying in one place for long, and the weekly (or bi-weekly) jaunts to L.A. barely touch my insatiable natural quota for wanderings. As the new school year loomed I was, for the first time in my life, not excited to go back... c'est la vie. I did it anyway. I am nearly done, which is the meekest consolation, despite the fruitful promises of winter quarter. I proceed myself:

Fall found me and various companions (family, friends-- not the other kind) in Yosemite, Disneyland, Las Vegas, Orange County, Bakersfield, Buellton, San Luis Obispo, all over Southern California generally, and finally, New York City. The place where I spend the longest continuous amount of time in the past four months has been, I believe, New York. And now I sit, after a delightful Christmas (presents included My Booky Wook II, flameless candles, and a sheepskin rug) and fun-filled New Year's Eve and Day, in the snow-covered forest wherein my house sits. It's threatening to snow me in outside, so my return to the grind of mundane academic bureaucracy may or may not be on schedule for Tuesday morning, but there are worse things than sitting by a fire with an entire batch of cookies purring at my fingertips.