to move up and down
ZZZzzZz... If you were perfect,
I'd be bored out of my mind.
Maison Martin Margiela
TUESDAY. FEBRUARY 7, 2012. 8:30 PM
Brief synopsis.
1. Margiela studied at Antwerp’s Royal Academy of Fine Arts
4. Worldwide, store salespeople wear white lab coats. 9970 South Santa Monica Blvd. Beverly Hills, CA. 90212
6. Antwerp Six.
3. All redisigned/deconstructed/collection garments for men and women are designated numbers 0-23.
5. In October 2009, “… This is really Margiela for the year 2015.”
2. All media contact is done via fax.
7. 1985-1987. Worked for Jean Paul Gaultier.
8. 1980’s. Japanese avantgardists. Rei Kawakubo/Comme des Garcons.
9. 1997-2003. Creative director of Hermes women’s line.
11. Left the business.
MICKEY MOUSE x JOY DIVISION… ??
TUESDAY. JANUARY 31, 2012. 5:48 PM
Last week, Disney made available for purchase a “Waves Mickey Mouse Tee for Adults”. A clear homage to Joy Division’s 1979 Unknown Pleasures release. This caused my heart to flutter in the best of ways, as I love both of these conflicting ideas equally. Disney; the ultimate hallmark of imagination, good old-fashioned wholesomeness, The Little Mermaid, and “The Happiest Place on Earth”. Joy Division; a symbol of post-punk sonic broodiness which I would pine away for those solitary nights as a teenager in the San Fernando Valley. A match made in representational heaven.
It’s really quite genius. Obvs. Also, apparently highly upsetting to many people. According to Rollingstone.com and a billion other internet news sources, Joy Division’s “fans didn’t have much of a sense of humor” about the whole thing, even citing “outrage”. Stereogum goes as far as to call it “utterly bizarre and inexplicable”. What’s the big deal?
Is anyone really that shocked and surprised anyway? Yes, Joy Division’s story is heavy with tragedy. Although on the surface Disney’s m.o. is squeaky clean, they’ve flirted with the subversive for decades. Heck, I went to one of the best art schools in the country founded by the will of Walt Disney. It is an environment that champions critical thought and going against the grain. People walked around naked, took dumps in student gallery spaces for the sake of performance art, and found comfort in a makeshift triage area equipped with a nurse and ambulance in case of accidental alcohol poisoning during our school parties. Supposedly. Allegedly. For any legal opposition. In my opinion, this graphic designer deserves some sort of award and probably went to CalArts (hah).
All the publicity has inadvertently sparked a possible Joy Division/New Order reunion. The shirt is sold out. Or “pulled from the shelves”. Either way, I still want one.
Jeffrey Campbell x The Damned
SUNDAY. JANUARY 22, 2012. 10:12 PM
S/S 2012. Yeah. Wouldn’t It Be Nice. This studded Shadow is awfully beautiful. Kinda like a blowfish.
I’ll have you know that 95 percent of the world’s ocean currently remains unexplored. Unseen by human eyes. For shame. I would assume those underwater, deep sea dwellers are really quite cute. Or scary.
GERLAN JEANS
MONDAY. NOVEMBER 14, 2011. 1:41 PM
Spring/ Summer 2012. Nickelodeon Mall Goth. Sign me up.
FRIDAY. NOVEMBER 11, 2011. 10:56 PM
I have been *in love* with this photo since the 10th grade and simply by happenstance, we meet again. A twinkle in the darknesss of biography reports for Mrs. Gordon’s Honors English Lit class, my heart skipped a beat. bum bum, bum… bum.
I do not care for you disrespectful Neanderthals that litter this world. My heart belongs to a man with as much style, poise and magnetism as this. Present and/or future.
(via montrealstreetfashion)
Manolo Blahnik x Damien Hirst
THURSDAY. NOVEMBER 10, 2011. 9:55 AM
“Dot” Boots, 2002. White cotton canvas with polychrome polka-dot print.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
FLATTERY WILL GET YOU EVERYWHERE.
SATURDAY. AUGUST 13, 2011. 12:25 AM
Someone yelled at me on the street today and said, “HEY! Annabella Lwin! I loved you in Bow Wow Wow.” Hmmm, hot. Of course, this excited the homely, teenage science nerd in me with a punk rock heart that grew up to be slightly less nerdy, just with better fashion accessories. Random fellow, I appreciate that you appreciate my appearance.
Here you go:
p.s. BWW, your guitarist’s shirt is majorly major.
Do you believe in Rock ‘n Roll?
THURSDAY. AUGUST 11, 2011. 11:14 PM
Can music save your mortal soul?
And can you teach me how to dance reaaalllllllll slow?
I kinda have a thing for any material that belongs on EVERYTHING IS TERRIBLE!. Check this out. All my romantic notions of what is, was, and could ever be; existing in this tiny cross-section, an informational cornucopia of visual delight.
Who do you think wins? I vote for the first couple, “MIKE/KELLY” (Insert proud chuckle here because you feel so clever and went to CalArts, then slip into a silent bashfulness when you realize no one else gets it.) The side of PISCES’ head makes him a really strong competitor, though. I’m torn.
Hyper-Feminism x ContraSexuality
SUNDAY. AUGUST 7, 2011. 11:53 PM
ALEXANDER McQUEEN
FALL/WINTER 2009
L’esprit de l’escalier
MONDAY. AUGUST 1, 2011. 11:32 AM
I am surprisingly chipper for someone who was brutally awoken by intrusive visions of floating croissants, gliding through the rivers of life. I can only hope they were chocolate ones.
Growing more curious of my dazzling hallucinations by the minute, I called up Jacques and we decided to meet at a location ideal of Monet. Sitting in that bubble, in a skin-tight outfit a la Brigitte Bardot, the vintage Chanel jacket of my dreams, and my hair a hue Yves Klein would eagerly jump off a building for, I couldn’t help but realize that my baguette left much to be desired. ”Let them eat cake!” or Eat The Rich. Not sure which one.
After an hour, the air was getting stale. So we headed over to Clifton’s, downtown, where we dove into a choreographed coolness; rivaled exclusively by Jean-Luc Godard’s ”Bande a Part”. The day progressed and he commented on my peculiarities with the eloquence of Victor Hugo and brought me to heights of emotional ecstasy only Rameau could incite. Suddenly, an unexplainable rush comes over me and I sheepishly find that the fellow across from me is Jacques-Yves Cousteau who has rescued me from Twenty Thousand Leagues, now explaining that I have been underwater the whole time.
Wait a minute. Is this a Cronenberg film? Of course not. He’s not French.
That being said, although I have the urge, I don’t think I can conjure up a French fantasy as good as my Italian one. At least, not at the moment.
