What is up ding dong Magoos? I was going to post this on our nation's blessed half birthday because it is so utterly prescient to my life at the mo' but got hung up on Pre-Fall Céline dreams and outlet shopping. Seriously ladies, GO BUY SWEATERS NOW. It seems antithetical to what your crazy rhythms are portending but DO IT. You won't regret having 25 dollar cashmere in your closet ever. I don't care that your ovaries are pining for an unmade baby to birth in two months, don't listen to them, your brains are in charge! Smart moms know. Glove up, et.al.
A word about cardigans, they're pretty much ruined right? If you're anything like me there's a definite queen-y factor that is hard to get around but if you buy a size larger and wear them backwards it puts you on a bullet train to Kinski-town. Win! Another tip from the internet into my life and onto yours. Even if you're chesty, this is attainable, just make sure you find a nice silk camisole that covers your busted t-shirt bra.
If you were wondering where I've been, so has the universe. The radio, it speaks to me. And if you don't know André Cymone, you can look him up. The video remains on trend because it does every trend ever in less than five minutes. And how about a little mid-aughts revivalism? I mean really, The Hold Steady are speaking my language.
The internet could probably use more (read: a lot more) more quasi-autistic slavish devotion to getting to the bottom of things. So I appreciate when I recognize that in others. So when I saw this I felt I owed it to the world to share. This 12" sleeve was posted on AnOtherLoves but neglected to burrow like a hedgehog to the meat of this situation. All surface and no substance, but oh what a surface it is.
What? How many times have I heard this song without the advantage three extra minutes of isolated drum, bass and hand claps courtesy of Sly and Robbie? Work your endorphins to the remix kids, you won't regret it.
I had a really great conversation last night about the 90s and Prada and schizophrenic boutique buyers versus medicated megastore buyers and it all interrelated and was great and I came to a few conclusions.
There are a lot of girls out there in skinny jeans, bitch shoes, and sloppy tops and they are running boutiques. There's enough out there for that many-headed cliche to bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan, so I shouldn't worry about my various aspirations and why they will not work. America is a horn o' plenty and I need to take a bite.
I totally get Prada S/S 2011 now, thanks Missy. This needs to happen again, its time is due. Why isn't Da Brat's blackberry lip making a comeback as well as Missy's aubergine lipliner. So essential. I like that small sliver of the 90s when lady rappers were transitioning from MC Lyteism into whatever real doll rapper is popular now. Nicki Minajism? They all look like sex toys, so whatever. I know chickenheaded hoes existed back then, but they weren't so yielding to a generic male fantasy. Foxy Brown was sassy and had a slight muffin top. Awesome. And also, the dance moves. I can't stop watching those super louche robot leans. "REMEMBER THE TIME" - MJ
My aspirational 90s and the current aspirational 90s look are two completely different things. I stopped reading teen magazines in 1992 and subscribed to Bazaar just as Liz Tilberis came on as E-i-C. What was available to me for purchase back then wasn't dreamy, it was a lot of affordable thrift and pilfered from my parents college wardrobes. I didn't even dream of owning real Miu Miu, but a resonable vintage facsimile of the new facsimile of the original vintage. I developed the sense to recognize that fashion is the biggest Ouroboros through the reading and studying of fashion magazines, and tapped the trend at the source without the internet telling me how to do it in three easy steps. And while that democratization is great, it sidesteps the old gatekeepers, so you have to deal with a lot of shitty micro-trends like pantlessness and shredded t-shirts. And then the olds get worried about not remaining on top of fashion and Carine and AdR are running around, panties on parade, even though they're 50ish and dancing as fast as they can. It's heartbreaking to witness. I'm sure Gavin would tell me to shut up and stop being old about it, but it's there and transitory and gets a platform before it even knows what to do with itself. Everyone is a cultural ambassador for a brand nowadays and it makes everything less special. Also young rich girls dressing up in expensive clothes is such an epic snooze to me. I am staking my claim in old Vreelandia, thank you. Vive la jolie laide.
I wish the quality of this video were better because I am having a serious Jones for the full on Rolston color explosion right now. If you had a subscription to Us Magazine before it became Us Weekly you'd know what I was talking about.
I like how the 90s version of the 60s, the 90s version of Fosse, and the 90s version of a Minelli musical all reside in this video. Even the 90s version En Vogue resides within it because they've become the Lady Temptations with a bunch of new members I've never seen before and who are younger than the group itself. This is your OG En Vogue.
My feeling is, you can't be one of the Temps and not have at least been born in the 60s. I feel crazy for even having to make that statement. So to see some En Vogue member who probably wasn't even old enough to have been considered age appropriate for the Destiny's Child upheaval (circa 1999-2000) is distressing to my old oves (that's short for ovaries). It's like old balls but for ladies.
I like revisiting old movies with costumes from even older times. One of my favorite old movies doing an even older time is The Gene Krupa Story starring Sal Mineo and a strain of ganj that is apparently as desperate making as heroin. The costumes are laughably bad, extras look like they showed up after school and were escorted directly onto set. There is a lot of Mad Men season 1 style clothing boppin' around all that swing music. It's pretty great if you adjust your expections and boy did I. Give it a try. You might like it too.
Every version I like of this song has been going through my head all day and a certain bummer anniversary is coming up so it's probably going to continue to idle in my brain for another week. First up, The Band. Oh boy, Eric Clapton is the worst. Skip past him. I do not know if this Bulgarian bootleg is of The Grammys or what but it is live and good and Levon Helm + Rick Danko are crushing it 25 years after The Last Waltz.
Here is the plain version if your computer loads slow as molasses and you need the semi-OG Cahoots version.
Then Elliott Smith (and Sam C.!) are doing it back in the 90s.
I am staunchly in favor of covers. I love them. I love when musicians I love do covers of songs I love. It validates your love of an artist through a mutuality of taste; it's like the best sort of present from the best kind of boyfriend/girlfriend. The ones that are true surprises and exactly what you wanted but did not know you wanted. Not the kind of gift you mention wanting and then get, but them knowing you so well and extrapolating your likes, your inner (corny) essence, into something beyond your own (generally pretty low) expectations. It's actually a double gift because you're getting the gift of being understanding too. Whoa, double rainbow all the way.
They feel very rare these kinds of gifts. Even if rock stars are strangers, them doing a cover of a song you love feels like a sliver of that perfect gift feeling. And if on top of all that pent-up love for covers, you go and make it a Bob Dylan cover well fuck me, I'm plotzed.
Have this Sloan song internet. It is from a Japanese import, very rare. It is my first offering of the new equinox. Jesus fuck it's 4 am and I am wired for sound and watching Suspect, starring Cher and Dennis Quaid.
Words cannot express how much I want to see this. But like everything I like, I have to shit on it first. I'm not sure if that's some pathological desire to keep others from wanting it or assuaging my own guilt about wanting it. Probably both!
I went and saw Easy A yesterday and this was one of the previews for it. I feel that some of my excitement stems from the fact that the internet doesn't understand statistical outliers. There are about 6 of my statistical outliers all crammed into this film. The internet did not present this to me in any form before seeing it on a 40 foot screen. It was so nice to be organically introduced to something in this age of everything-as-soon-as-it-is-available. Viral marketing be damned, I like an old school surprise and to be reminded that the internet doesn't know everything about me.
At any rate, in the movie Stanley Tucci essentially played Nigel as Emma Stone's dad. He's sadly fallen into some gay Hollywood sidekick mobius strip of casting. There were an awful lot of jokes about being a confused bisexual for a teen movie. None of them were funny. The whole movie wasn't funny? Emma Stone is better than that movie? Stanley Tucci is definitely better than this movie. Having the Vans Warped Tour redo all the songs from every John Hughes movie you ever loved does not get the beneficent blessing from Sir John Hughes up in heaven either. Having some generic indie folk duo that went to college with Zach Braff on your soundtrack doing a Thompson Twins cover is a total boner massacre to one of my formative filmic fantasies. All I'm left with is an angry inch. But back to my point, Stanley Tucci needs to broaden his range or he'll forever be known as the toothless George Sanders of the early 21st century. Think more Big Night and less, "I'm redoing my kitchen." Maybe it's not his fault? Wait, did you see The Lovely Bones? Nice wig dude.
Ok, I love Cher movies. Name one you don't love. And while I don't actively listen to Christina Aguilera or own any of her albums I do appreciate her pipes. I love that someone else is in charge of her make up application for a good solid 90 minutes too. They dial back the spackle to the "Genie in a Bottle" days. She looks a decade younger. Hello 1999!
If those three weren't enough reason to see this movie, Alan Cumming pops up reminding us of his Cabaret revival days too. Kristen Bell must have a voice double because there's no way anyone who saw this or this thought she could stand up to Xtina, three plus years at Tisch or not, bitch please. I love you Veronica! The whole thing is directed by an Antin that is neither a hair dresser nor a Pussycat Doll. I know it looks a little too McG-y but it is modern burlesque, it's supposed to look over the top, right? No one is doing fucked up retro perv like Fosse these days, everything looks like a plastic playboy pictoral so when there are a bunch of things that you love involved and only a couple that you actively hate, a girl has got to take what she can get.
It is autumn weather and I've got my autumn sweater. I am transitioning easily out of my summer jams into fall drones such as this. I listen to albums in the cold months and singles in the hot ones. How do you do it? This fall feels like a Jason Pierce fall doesn't it?
p.s. Secret project. Taking Georgia Hubley's apparent(?) lack of dress sense and trying to repurpose it into something awesome. Her proportions are ALWAYS wrong. It's like she's doing some sly Margiela thing because no one wears mom jeans for 20 years straight without once hitting on a trend, any trend at the right time. It is totally self-aware. Always being off is being done on purpose, I promise.
your generation sucks
I had a really great conversation last night about the 90s and Prada and schizophrenic boutique buyers versus medicated megastore buyers and it all interrelated and was great and I came to a few conclusions.
Posted at 01:42 PM in Brevity Is The Soul Of Wit, Fashion Commentary, Inspiration, Interview, Music, Oh Yeah, That., Shit Only I Care About | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)
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