I Can't Stop: Listening to Desire

I can't stop listening to this song by Desire. Signed on the Italians do it Better record label. Black and white photos of their travels and gigs on their blog.

Inspiration: DIY

"Do yourself a favor, become your own savior" -Daniel Johnston

When inspiration is in short supply, do it yourself! I love these looks by Louise Gray, courtesy of Disneyrollergirl, a very gravy fashion blog (that is always an inspiration). And here's an interview by Dazed Digital.

I will have to make some shoes like these to go out some night! Reminds me of the dress I made from trash bags, below, although it's hard to see through all the champagne...

Bourgeoisie Pie

It was a very busy weekend so dinner was in a box come Friday night. Vegan potpie and cheap beer. It was not tres regale, but it was very I'm-only-a-vegan-when-I-want-to hipster of me, non? I read 10 Magazine and poured a PBR into a wine glass.



I also received a care package from my mum in San Francisco. Chock full of ANTIQUES, including an old-timey thermos, a set of plaid placemats with napkins and coasters, piles of 1st edition kid-detective books, vintage pink equestrian ribbons, and this little card. I am preparing a care package for my friend Jackie O who also happens to be in San Francisco, I may include this card; I like the idea of the little adventurous puppy who flies 6,000 miles and warms lonely hearts.

Who is Ann Demeuleester?

A pair of Ann Demeuleester boots, size 8.5, has found me. Black, premium leather, subtle roundness. A thick strap with some hardware wraps around your ankle, so you are free to STOMP AROUND LIKE A BABY ELEPHANT. They are very urban, but like everything Ann Demeuleester designs, they are highly intellectual; there's a story behind them. They are vaguely familiar to the type of boots humans have worn for centuries for, like, labor. Which makes them all the better to play in, my dear.

So who is Ann Demeuleester?, my friend asks me. Because while she has a substantial cult following, and while she is compared to designers such as LANVIN, GIVENCHY AND DRIES VAN NOTEN, she is not exactly well-known. She is, well, Belgian.

Best leave it to the pics. Here is Fall/Winter 2009:






Why she has a host of loyals is clear; her design is an eternal return, charged with the energy of sacred places. And if we could travel through time, wouldn't it be a dream to do so in gothic black and white, all hides and poet blouses and ELABORATE STRAPPING! I am certainly influenced by her design, and this collection in particular, in the way I'm styling my finds online.

Also check out the men's slideshow, an all-black show which ends with 5 elderly men wearing her designs in stark whites--symbolizing that as we age we get closer to the angels. See, intellectual.



This guy actually exists, via The Sartorialist:

I can't stop: reading oldish books about the good old days!

It all started when mother found us a copy of Poor Little Rich Girl (1983, by C. David Heyman), a biography of Barbara Hutton.

Yes, this book was so delicious to read, it became like our BREAD AND BUTTER; we were immersed in the grand and luxurious lifestyle of this Society Girl, not to mention intrigued by the precious reminder that there ever was such a thing as SOCIETY.



"Moderation is a bore," she would say, traipsing about in Marie Antoinette's pearls and Catherine the Great's tiara...her resplendent taste (in jewels, antique French and Oriental design, art and poetry) was an inspiration and her dramatic flair was addictive...We felt our identities merging as we poured over her legend, so much so that conversation (in "REAL LIFE") would depend on the chapter:

Boyfriend/boss/mother/friend: "How are you?"
Us: "Barbara is on her 4th husband, it will never last!"
Them: "Who is Barbara? What are you talking about?"
Us: "Alright, you can go now, I'm bored of you."

Mais non! A book has to end, and in this case, reading of Ms. Hutton's death was like reading about our own end...

xxx

What luck then, when treasure-hunting yesterday we found another book to feed our hunger for oldish books about the good old days! What a promising title: Bring on the Empty Horses (1975, by David Niven).



This little trophy presages to "add a little firsthand light and shadow" to Lotus Land, Hollywood from 1935-1960. We've already peaked a little ahead and seen that there's a chapter on Cary Grant, Barbara Hutton's 3rd husband...So the party may go on! AREN'T WE TICKLED!


(Does Harlow feed horses to her bear?)

Tell me a story

The futility of it all: Juergen Teller "Paradis" exhibit, NYC

"Gentle and soft as she appears, it will be as difficult to win her heart, as to entice down a white bird from its sunny freedom in the sky."*



"Side by side with the massiveness of the Roman Past, all matter, that we handle or dream of, now-a-days, look evanescent and visionary alike."*





"...Cleopatra had sunk down out of the fever and turmoil of her life, and, for one instant--as it were, between two pulsethrobs--had relinquished all activity, and was resting throughout every vein and muscle."*


In a downmarket, art and marketing and music can all become a little blurry around the edges, ironically in the attempt to appear edgier. Just look at Urban Outfitters' latest catalogue, which is clear as mud. My lord, they sell LOMO CAMERAS. It might be a phase, a whif of nostalgia when things stink. But photographer Juergen Teller has had a raw, overexposed style since The Face was the magazine of the 80's. Now, from September 10 through October 17, Teller is showing works commissioned from Paradis Magazine at the Lehmann Maupin Gallery in NYC.
Of the pics here, the top is one from Teller's long-standing (10 year) collaboration with Marc Jacobs. The rest are from Paradis. What I love about his work is the way that through the photographic lense, he so captures the ephemeral and umbrageous quality of a woman's beauty. One is so aware of the artist and his medium that his subject is comparable to a dainty butterfly, flying carefree in his net.

* Words by Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Marble Faun (1860)