Thursday, August 27, 2009

Fail II

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"outfit post"

The outfit post; a common phenomenon in today's "blogosphere," kiddies, not just a western frontier trade center for all of your tack, rifle, and jerky needs. Most often seen in the blogs of young women between the ages of 17-29, in which the designer "steals" (? Should clothing really be so expensive and fetishized that finding something which does not break the figurative or literal bank feel like stealing?!?!) are matched with the token awkward-chic thrift store/random vintage "finds" to create a visually interesting, although not entirely original, style.

Haha, just kidding there, I really do love reading fashion blogs because, let's face it, all my clothes are black and navy and inconspicuous; after an extended flirtation with wild, crazy clothes (crazy prints, leggings, weird shoes, etc.), I just felt costumey and uncomfortable and bad. So now all I wear is like, black skinny jeans and tee shirts every day. Add a scarf, docs, and dad sweater in the winter; subtract these and add flip flops in the summer. That's basically it.

OCD can be manifested as discomfort in clothing, particularly for children. Because obsessive compulsive disorder affects issues relevant to one's age, a seven year old will probably not harbor excessive worries about contracting AIDS or being hit by a car. Rather, as in my case, a kid can fixate on bumps in shoes, wrinkled socks, itchy tights, etc. I remember dressing up to go to church in white stockings, a floral dress, and patent shoes, then RIPPING off the tights, literally, the moment I left the building. I would go to buy shoes and try on fifteen or sixteen pairs, feeling gargantuan bumps and lumps in every pair. I've basically gotten over this, but I still prefer my clothing to be simple and relaxed.

One of my biggest pet peeves is complicated outfits - clothes that don't quite fit, blazers that constrict movement, leggings that fall off your butt. I absolutely adore scarves because having that something around your neck is so comforting - it's like being in a private cocoon, somehow.

Jeans are far and away the only thing I will put on my lower half, except the occasional pencil skirt. They are just the only thing that suits my roof-climbing, pool-hopping, adventure-seeking lifestyle. Who wants to climb anything in a skirt, or leggings, or khakis? The pair I like the most are these Kill City jeans I got on sale at Urban Outfitters, although I'm pretty adept at pegging the legs of regular jeans with the old sewing machine.

American Apparel tee shirts. Do I have to say any more? The tri-blend raglan (although its a pain to wash because it shrinks if you're not careful) in tri-black; the Sebastian Tellier Sexualitee shirt, size +1, in black; the viscose dolman sleeve tee, in, you guessed it, black. That's what I'm comfortable in, because the fabrics are soft, the shapes are sexy and more flattering than a basic shirt, and because I know they are made with fair labor.

Doc Martens - I wanted these for ages but I couldn't deal with the prices, especially because a lot of the new ones aren't made in England anymore and aren't the best quality. I hung in there and got a pair of construction-style ones at No Relation Vintage in New York City (1st street between 12th and 13th - or is it 11th and 12th?). They were 20 bucks, they were made in England, and they are legit. Other than that, I have a pair of gladiator sandals, a pair of converse, and these wonderful but shameful Jessica Simpson black leather studded flats.

Scarves - I have two moroccan cotton ones originally used for turbans, an Hermes silk one (a wonderful graduation present), and a ton of old ones from my grandparents, mother, and thrift/garage sales. I can knit now as well, so hopefully I'll have a chunky red knit one soon.

DAD SWEATERS - this is the most integral, important item in my entire wardrobe. This is the piece de resistance. Brooks Brothers, or any other random dad brand, men's pullovers. My dad started giving his to me when they got holes, because he knew I was weird and wouldn't care. In a small, they are slightly baggy. Mediums and larges, however, dwarf a diminutive female form and take on the drapey, architectural bagginess of Ann Demeulemeester or Margiela. I can't even explain these. Just get one black or grey man's pullover sweater, with a three-button neck and a collar, and you'll see what I mean. With a low-necked tee shirt, a scarf, skinny jeans, and boots, they are incredibly warm, comfortable, versatile, and amazing.

Purses - I get bags at thrift stores and random places. I have a grey hobo that's falling apart that I got for five dollars, a marc jacobs knockoff that I got for 14 dollars, a little long-strapped bow bag that I got in London, an "As Seen on TV" leather satchel with 20,000 pockets, a bow bag from Delias, and an american apparel fanny pack, all in black (except for the hobo and pieces of the MJ knockoff). A bag for me has to be functional - that's basically it. I never really like carrying bags, too easy to lose stuff, but I carry around my wallet, camera, a folding mancala board, a notebook or two, keys, pens, and other various and sundry items.

Makeup and Beauty -

I do not wear makeup for the same reason I don't wear heels, strange clothes, and things that don't fit well; it both requires an upkeep and causes a vague sense of discomfort, which makes me uneasy and uncomfortable and flustered. I used to wear red lipstick all the time in my ska days, and it made me so paranoid that I couldn't handle it. Makeup should really only be worn by those willing to perform the upkeep anyway - I always ended up looking like a deranged clown by the end of the day. If I have zits, the opinion generally is, who cares - not I, certainly.

Manicures and Pedicures - a waste of time. People who spend that much energy being grossed out by someone else's feet aren't worth your time. And manicures chip off in about thirty seconds anyway.

Hair - Mine is in good condition, because I went through a long and scarring phase where it was damaged and ugly. Now I just use some random, awful shampoo - I don't use conditioner right now, because this shampoo makes my hair greasy enough. Right now I use either Axe body wash or some other manly brand, because I like gender-bending and because it smells delicious. That's it.

Glasses. I wear them. Always have. Contacts just... don't go in my eyes. Plus, glasses kind of give off a "Get Lost" vibe - I once read an article that suggested glasses serve as a buffer to keep men from staring at your body - they seem serious and make you seem like you could kick some ass if you had to. This is assuming you wear serious glasses.


I am decidedly not into most feminine things, but by god, JEWELRY. I make a lot of my own necklaces with soda tabs, found washers, chains, subway tokens, etc., and I buy a ton of cheap earrings at this great boutique in town. There is something so, so incredible about adorning oneself with jewelry. I wear skinny chain necklaces with one small charm, sleek modern post earrings, ghetto hoops (like everyone), and jewelry with meaning.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Is Inglourious Basterds Bad for Jews?

This popped up when I was searching "Is Inglourious Basterds bad?" After consulting with those in the know* (*willing to shell out 10+ dollars for Mr. Tarantino), it appears that it may not only be bad for Jews, but also for the rest of mankind. Great, Quentin, you made a satire of spaghetti westerns. You also, apparently, were able to achieve YET ANOTHER great piece of desensitization propaganda. When are we going to realize that cinema is just another word for double think? War is peace, slavery is freedom... Revenge is Righteous? Violence is Justified? Please. Stop appealing to the basest human emotions and stop telling people that it's ok to murder to appease one's own sense of justice. I fail to understand Tarantino's popularity... or rather, I refuse to understand it, because I refuse to believe that his use of completely gratuitous, explicit, and disgusting violence could appeal to so many people. I am choosing to believe that his success is largely due to Weinstein Bros. insider deals. When are people going to realize that movies like Hostel, Saw, and Inglourious Basterds are centered on making us feel that murder is a justifiable act?

Wednesday, August 19, 2009


However, the Tower of Babel was not built for the worship and praise of God, but was instead dedicated to the glory of man, to "make a name" for the builders: "Then they said, 'Come, let us build ourselves a city, and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves; otherwise we shall be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.'" (Genesis 11:4).
(This stolen directly from Wikipedia - paraphrasing doesn't seem necessary.)

"And the Lord came down to see the city and the tower, which the children of men builded. And the Lord said, Behold, the people is one, and they have all one language; and this they begin to do; and now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do. Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech."

Genesis 11:5-7

How many people have been murdered because of our differences and our pitiful, weak inability to let go of brutal evolutionary devices? Perhaps the Lord could have saved some more of his flock by allowing us to share a unity and common heritage instead of scattering us via language to fight and kill each other for centuries. 

I'm no atheist, but, more and more frequently, God's desire for humans to be sniveling, helpless worms disgusts me. I truly fail to see how these humans' building a tower for themselves is in any way immoral or against God. Perhaps the Great Lord was having a fat day and felt insecure...

Sunday, August 16, 2009





Sunday, August 9, 2009


Just finished the Rodarte-ripoff shawl I've been toiling on for a week, and I have to say, I'm pleased as punch.

Went to a party last night where I was the only sober person. My friend Amy lent me a copy of Dancer in the Dark, which I began watching today out of desperation (I haven't been this bored in, oh, twenty minutes).

What is it about Sundays? I wake up, completely disoriented as to the day, my clothes or hair reeking of leftover Newport smoke, and somehow, the pallid light and weak, bleating air and generally pathetic aura immediately alert me: Sunday. Allow me to free associate: Roman-Catholic churches, homework, early bedtime, boredom.

Me and Mr. Facts are kaput, unfortunately; however, I can't say it wasn't a timely ending.