Twilight Ode to Yogurt

I love you so fucking much, yogurt.

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WANT WANT WANT: Babies

     Walter Van Beirendonck makes kid's clothes? What the fuck? This is the most awesome thing ever. I need to have a bajillion babies right now, just so I can dress them in this shit. I already go nuts whenever I pass by the baby/kids section at Target, so this is nearly unbearable. I am ready to grow an ovary just to feel it explode in maternal need.

     These tights are unbelievable. Smiles? Eyes? Smiley eyes? God damn. And contrast heel and toe? Ridiculous.

     And let's not forget that this is translated from his last menswear collection; entitled "eXplicit" and presented at Pitti Uomo. That leaf skirt began as some mask on a random model's face. Let's not forget how that girl on the right is fucking working that pout for everything she has got. Bitch knows how hard the economy is and wants to prove her worth as a model.

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Well.

     I have no ambitions other than to finish.

     That's pretty much it.

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How Am I Supposed to Feel?

     Catching up with Return to Cookie Mountain in a spartan room. Recently stripped walls and empty halls and not much else. There's also the knowledge that I'm going to be living out of a motley collection of trash and Ziploc bags for two weeks. And the unrelenting sensation that there is a swarm of insects within my mattress and that the only thing stopping them from greedily feasting on my veins is a few sheets of plastic.

     I told Connie that I didn't experience my usual post-purchase bliss after picking up some Fiorentini + Baker boots in the city. It was a bad sign. Anytime that shopping fails to evoke some sensation of joy/elation/nigh-orgasmic happiness typically indicates that something is very wrong. And I still can't quite wrap my head around the series of events that have been so very unfortunate. I'm relying upon my recent aid to a could-have-been fatal car not-quite-accident and my forbearance with this current trial as some sort of good karma orgy; that is to say, I am in the thick of so much shitty shit that the cosmos probably — indeed, must — cut me some slack in the future. I'm thinking about this whole ordeal as a sort of karmic investment.

     My Thanksgiving is not going to be a Thanksgiving. It's going to be me sitting in old clothes on an old couch in an old apartment that just won't let me go. Angry letters and lawyer threats have failed to extricate me from my landlord's grip and all I really want to do is eat an entire pizza by myself. Oh wait, I already did that.

    Nothing in the recent past has done nearly as much to convince me that I absolutely, positively must leave this place by any and means necessary. The faceplates stuck to the wall with a lazy slash of paint, the circuit breaks that break at the slightest provocation, the dishwasher that fails to wash dishes. It's like Godot designed my apartment to be the least livable space possible. It's only by sheer effort that the three of us had managed to transform this place into something even remotely resembling an apartment.

     There's nothing cathartic about this. This is why people get old. This is why people have high blood pressure. This is why people grow cynical. This is why people get into credit card debt. This is why people dream of buying, not renting. Just when you've dug to the bottom of the barrel, past the first three layers of frustration, dissatisfaction, and complete, mind-numbing anger, then you realize that there's actually a wormhole that leads to a whole parallel dimension of bullshit. Of bullshit apartments and bullshit building managers and bullshit things like bedbugs. I remember somebody telling me this was adulthood or something. Yeah, right.

     This is just bad luck.

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Smells Like...

Vintage eau de toilette by John Varvatos

     ...passing by a carpenter, the quiet whirr of a saw like a reassurance of activity. Pulling out a well-worn dollar bill from a wallet. A mild shower after a run through the brisk fall breeze. How your favorite leather chair squeaks ever so comfortingly when you rest in it. The melting of ice cubes in a glass of scotch.

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The Truth Is

     So, apparently, I'm a big, blustering vagina that cries at just about everything. Also, Changeling is good. Please go see it.

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WANT WANT WANT: Nau Mélange Knit Sweater

As times get leaner and pursestrings grow tighter, I've found myself getting pickier and pickier with my purchases. But pieces like Nau's variegated V-neck sweater ($235) in several shades of mélange cashmere/angora blends. Produced in accordance with the strictest environmental, sustainability, and performance standards around, it's hard not to see pieces like this as a genuine investment. I'm glad the folks at Nau (after a fortunate re-injection of capital) have come back in full force with their trademark blend of sporty, chic, and super smart.

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"She's beautiful"

Yes, some men come to ogle the candidate, too. “She’s beautiful,” said a man wearing a John Deere T-shirt in Weirs Beach. “I came here to look at her,” he said, and his admiration for Ms. Palin’s appearance became more and more animated. Sheepish over his ogling, he declined to give his real name (“Just call me ‘John Deere’ ”).

-The New York Times

Welcome to the modern American political discourse.

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Wherein I Fulfill One Promise

     I told you that drastic changes were in the works. After a long period of servitude to the massive mane that kept me weighted down, I decided to rebel with a shorter razor cut. I still wanted some shape and movement, so we left it kind of long. I'm still playing with it.

     And yes, I know that I look like a little boy. I'm okay with that.

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Dramatics

     A show, hastily cobbled together, and frenetically staged. I paid little attention to myself, resolving to pick clothing that was easy more than anything else. All craziness aside, it was extremely satisfying. All about that hustle, son.

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WANT WANT WANT: Manly Jewelry

Giles & Brother leather wrap bracelet with hook, $122 @ Oak

     I'd like to think that in our day and age, we're past the point where men find the idea of jewelry too inherently feminine. There was an era (the landscape of memory is dominated by DIESEL and D&G stamped on an endless sea of dogtags and big watches and bracelets) when men felt the need to overly display their masculinity, needing something big and shiny and sharp, as though to make their jewelry anti-jewelry. In recent years, menswear has opened itself to a much larger notion of what men can wear. The spectrum from dandy to derelict (as espoused by everyone from Paul Smith to Rick Owens) has also brought a sense of refinement; the fashionable teens of the 90s have turned into the tasteful, restrained men of the 2000s. How else can I explain the emergence of such sophisticated work like Philip Crangi's collaboration with his sister Giles — Giles & Brother? Their ability to marry different materials, ideas, and aesthetics into one distinctly masculine vision of jewelry has got me itching for an excuse to blow a wad of cash on some new trinkets..

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Smells Like...

Endymion by Penhaligon's

     ...a quiet day in a café. The stirring of a latte matches the revolutions of the lazy fan overhead. Newspapers, folded and refolded, haphazardly lie on a table. Worn leather chairs quietly protest as warm bodies leave for another cup of coffee. Occasionally, the steam wand hisses. A silent, comfortable sort of romance.

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The Rise of the Douche

     Since when did you have to be a total douchebag to be cool? What happened here? Skimming over the Internets, I've noticed several trends, but most of them can be considered a subset of the ultimate trend: being a douchebag. The Oakland Art Museum recently had an exhibit on the birth of "cool"; that is, the concept of "cool" and how it was first defined, how it began to spread, and finally how it came to be commercially packaged. I think I've hit upon a similar notion. In mathematical terms:

American Apparel

+

some form of irony

+

alcohol

+

affected androgyny

+

douchebag behavior

=

cool

     How did we let this happen? I use "we" in a very loose sense, seeing as how I would like to think that I've done nothing contribute to the creation of this soul-sucking scene. I guess you can say that there's always been an attempt by every burgeoning generation to define itself, to set itself apart from the loins that birthed it, but this is just getting out of hand. The namechecks, the gratuitous drunkenness, the LA-manufactured uniform, the refusal to acknowledge the 80s as the vortex of tacky costume that it was — it's just too much.

     Some folks would like to say that I'm talking about "hipsters" (Adbusters has gone to great lengths discussing the word), but I don't know what exactly I'm talking about. There are some folks that I see, that I sense, that I can practically smell who would fall very much into this categorization, but it's more than just what people have been wearing. Flipping through any catalog, any channel, or any product geared towards youth and you don't see anything of any real value, in either social, intellectual, or aesthetic terms. To borrow a phrase, they all "rook arike".

     Am I part of the problem? Maybe. The problem with discussing the problem is that to engage in any dialogue about the subject requires you to employ the vernacular involved. So even if I were to use the word "hipster", and I don't necessarily always do, but if I were, I would have to talk about it in terms of my own role within the greater orbit of hipsterdom. This doesn't change the fact, however, that the majority of people who are being tagged "cool", for better or for worse, behave in a way that unequivocally demands the label "douchebag".

     This certainly isn't the most articulate polemic issued about the topic. In fact, I'm not very sure what my topic really is. But I do know that there's something going wrong here. When you need to guzzle as much alcohol as possible, make out with as many members of the same sex (despite your oft-repeated love of the opposite one), restrict your wardrobe to a narrow set of ideas, and simultaneously befriend and alienate everyone you see in order to prove your "cool" factor, then there's something wrong with "cool", you douchebag, you.

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Lumiere

Swoon.

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Play on Gray

     I enjoy dressing up. Comparing my time spent in shirts and slacks to my time in tee and jeans reveals a noticeable dearth of energy and money spent towards defining how I like to dress when I'm supposed to dress. Now that I've passed the halfway point, I feel like it's time to start gearing up for what's next (knowing what's next is an entirely separate matter).

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Jonathan Saunders for Target

     A friend recently noted the dearth of discussion about womenswear and I blame school work, magazine work, and work work for my inability to muster up anything worth saying. But while helping Connie pack for her trip to Fashion Week, we wound up talking a lot about high-end designers and their low-end collaborations. Succeeding Richard Chai as the latest Target Go International Designer, British colorblocking extraordinaire Jonathan Saunders has created a whole range of looks that take his signature aesthetic and tones it down a little.

     This isn't to say that it's watered-down Saunders; the prints on some of these pieces are definitely out of the mainstream tastes. But with more manageable silhouettes and a quite a few separates, I'm sure everyone is going to find something they like. What really interests me, though, are those boots that the model is wearing. What can I say, I obviously have a thing for strapped boots. Now if only I could find a pair that would work for me...

(Images from Nylon and NYMag)

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I BOUGHT THIS / I WANT THAT

     And so the vicious cycle continues. The influx of black continues even as the sun refuses to turn it down a notch. But when it does decide to scale it back a little, I'm definitely going to be prepared. I've been on a big multi-function sort of kick lately, so this sleeveless top with attached scarves from Diet Butcher Slim Skin was a natural draw. Add cashmere and silk and you've got one sold customer. For brisk fall days, I've got this Lad Musician jacket with a roll-away hood if I'm in a pinch. These April 77 Chelsea slacks are actually intended for a super secret event next week, but if I said what it was, then it wouldn't be so secret, now would it?

     But with every itch you scratch, you always wind up with another. And some of these itches are not easy to scratch. Maybe for a reason? Fiscal responsibility notwithstanding, I've still get my eyes peeled for what's next and — surprise, surprise — it's more black. I'm don't usually consider myself a big sneaker head, but these canvas high-tops from Diet Butcher Slim Skin's fall collection ($390 @ Blackbird) would give anyone reason to pause.

     As great as my current bag is, I can't help but feel the need for something a bit more professional. I'm not any big proponent of the green fashion movement, but I don't see any reason to pooh-pooh something just because it's vegan leather or anything. And the Jobs briefcase from Matt & Nat ($258 @ Alter) might make me turn over a new leaf. Everything from the zippers to the handle to the subtle branding certainly makes a persuasive argument for eco-friendly consumerism.

     Also, the jewelry hunt goes on (does it every really end, though?) and this acrylic feather pendant from Alex & Chloe ($48 @ Alex & Chloe) is just the touch of light humor that my slowly darkening wardrobe could use. Who knows? Maybe I'll really step outside the box and try it in fluorescent pink? Well. Definitely not. But I'd give the white version a chance. See? I'm trying to be adventurous.

     So maybe I lied. Maybe this isn't all black. This grey, high collar, double-breasted jacket from Endovanera has positively set my knees a shaking. I tried it on at Acrimony the other day and had a really hard time taking it off. Sharon, I blame you for any and all future calamity that befalls my checking account.

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So...

I promise that things are going to start changing. And then it'll get really interesting.

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Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Please stop chiding me. It's not like I haven't been desperately trying to book an appointment to get my hair cut. Because I have.

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Things On My Mind

     I guess the sparse sounds of Blank Dogs go well while I ruminate on this funnel-neck hoodie from B. Son's collaboration with Urban Outfitters. Both give me pause. On Two Sides sounds like a lot of things you've heard already; it's easy to draw the line between Blank Dogs and New Order, Sonic Youth, and Soft Cell. It's New Wave, but not. It's raw, but the production values show some deliberate polish. It dips its toe into noise rock, but then some dance-y pop hooks show up. If anything, the original unoriginality of On Two Sides reads like a very appropriate and thought-out approach. The album's inherent tensions — between songwriting and dance-compelling — provokes a mixed reaction. Part of me hates it, because I could just turn on some Sonic Youth and listen to this done much better. But then part of me loves it, because if Sonic Youth had made this album, it wouldn't have been so willfully different.

     Likewise, I can't decide whether I'm repulsed or enamored by B. Son's B100 line, produced specifically for Urban Outfitters. When the first word about this hit the Internet, I was expecting some watered-down, over-designed garbage. The problem with so many of these BLANK x BLANK x BLANK endeavors wind up being attempts to produce something very high design at a much lower price point, but the lower manufacturing/material options make that intrinsically impossible. It's a retail reach-around; sure, you're getting to play with someone else's junk, but all you can think about is how the other guy doesn't know how to use your junk like you do. You can't squeeze a larger, more sophisticated and costly aesthetic within retail and design constraints that simply make your original design irrelevant.

     The folks who run B. Son sure are sharp, though. They've avoided this problem by designing for Urban Outfitters. Now, I realize the label already says B100 by B. Son for Urban Outfitters. The preposition isn't what I'm really talking about. I'm talking about intention. But trimming down the B. Son aesthetic to its core components and trashing the rest, B. Son has managed to produce a collaboration that looks like it was designed by B. Son, but doesn't look like fake B. Son or B. Son-lite. Granted, the silhouettes and construction may be taken straight from previous season's collections, but the overall feel of the B100 stuff is pared down enough from the original that it feels like something different.

     Or maybe I'm just trying to justify buying a hoodie that I initially wrote off and now kind of like how it fits, but don't really want to admit to making an error in judgment. Or something.

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I shower as a means of preparing myself for daily engagement with the world around me.

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Buying Time

     In some attempt to curb my spending, I had resolved to completely stop buying things impetuously. After (almost magically) spending money that I really didn't have any right to spend on a couple of items, I found myself wanting to wean myself off my bad habits and to try and stick to some sort of plan — a financial diet, if you will.

     But the problem of the impulse purchase kept arising. Whether I was trying to casually stroll through the streets of the city ("Oh, just look at Barneys displays!") or through the Internet ("Oh, look, the Julian Red sale is on!"), I kept finding myself drawn further and further into the maelstrom even as I was trying to put more and more distance between myself and my temptations. My Macbook Pro did little to ease the situation as it kept filling in those damn forms for me, making my purchases require that much less thought.

     My solution is no solution at all. Creating a list of fall must-haves (black trousers, new coat, et cetera) has focused my shopping into a product-oriented process. This isn't to say that I don't flip endlessly through catalogues and magazines and websites; far from it. Indeed, I'm doing as much, if not more, random shopping than ever before. What I have been doing is actually buying less. The more and more I deliberate, the less likely I've found myself actually purchasing anything. Perhaps my problem lies in the "impulse" part of "impulse purchase". I enjoyed the fantastical feeling of new-ness that every purchase imparted. But as I have required myself to think and analyze each item more, the true flaws of both the garment and my reasoning eventually show through and casts a rather unflattering light on both my habits and my would-be purchases.

     One luxury, if you could call it that, has been magazines. I arrived at Michael's doorstep last night and was greeted by the latest issue of VMan. That in addition to Antenna, V Magazine, Details, Men's Vogue, and Vanity Fair have been clogging up my reading time. Truth be told, purchasing the magazines is really just a proxy for my more voracious and less fiscally responsible desires. A Lanvin ad is hardly a Lanvin suit. Hardly.

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New School

(Raf Simons x Eastpak padded bag, £89 @ oki-ni)

     I honestly don't know what to think now that I'm entering my second half of my undergraduate education. Am I supposed to be more serious? More sure about what I want to do for the rest of my life? Because I don't. The only thing I do know is that I need more Raf Simons in my life, and it might as well be on my back.

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FORGET GUILT.

FORGET EVERYTHING

HEDONISM IS KING.

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Dressed for Dining

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Ate My Fill

Low-res food porn from my birthday dinner at Bushi-Tei? Why yes, I can do that.

Wine-cured mackerel over green zebra tomato gazpacho with purselime and turnip

Ahi tartare with tobiko caviar, wasabi-crème fraiche, coriander seed, and herb oil

Venison prosciutto with galia balls, galia sorbet, baby frisée over montbriac

Foie gras over kabocha pot de crème with pistachios and red onion marmalade

Fukko seabass over rockshrimp polenta and lobster nage

Intermezzo of yuzu sorbet

Grilled day boat sea scallop and saffron dumpling over yukon potato chowder

Antelope loin with chanterelles over potato mousseline with port wine reduction

Lobster and hand-made Italian parsley gnocchi with shaved truffle and tarragon lobster nage
Flourless chocolate souffle with roasted strawberries and organic ice cream

Black sesame blancmange with pineapple-strawberry salsa and coconut milk reduction

Lemon gâteau with yuzu-infused mascarpone mousse

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It works because you want it to.

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Youth is over-rated.

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On a Journey

A: You look like a rockstar.

!: I'm just a skinny immigrant Asian kid staring at a green Aztec dragon.

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Not Giving Up

So this still stands. And I do, too. This is actually last night, but who's really trying to keep track. Everything has become so much more interesting now that I've sloughed off a lot of random existential baggage. Whatever that means.

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I gave in and made one.

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WANT WANT WANT: Pierre Hardy for Gap

     The ladies had their fun with Pierre Hardy's first collaboration with Gap, resulting in some wonderfully sleek and minimalist shoes. And now the French accessory designer extraordinaire has got two slick new pieces for the guys to drool over. Available starting September 15 at select Gap stores, the combat boots will go for $298 and the desert boots will cost you $178. While these are certainly an elevation above the usual Gap price point, affixing Hardy's name and his eye for shoe design carries a hefty premium. Although these aren't anywhere in the same ballpark as Hardy's mainline shoes (even those cool primary  color sneakers are still $500 some on sale now), I think it's something I'll definitely be interested in.

     All in all, I'd have to say that the Patrick Robinson revamp of the brand has been successfully aesthetically; we'll have to see whether or not his work can do anything to revive such a sluggish market.

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Admit One

     Never has the term "rock out with your cock out" been more timely or applicable. My ticket to the Treasure Island Music Festival came in the mail today. And now my entire summer is going to be reduced to a count down until September. Great. Assuming that everyone's properly clicked on that link (go on and do it if you haven't), it's easy to understand why I'm so god damned psyched for this. I know for a fact that Jon is coming with me and I think Alex and Des might come, too. The only thing that I'm certain about is that it will be awesome.

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     So things here have quickly devolved into me just throwing up pictures of myself rather than any actual commentary. For reals, I promise to actually put up something of real substance. You know, other than my skinny ass.

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     So I have this complete hard-on for Rick Owens. But I can't afford Rick Owens, you see? So what am I to do? Well, then I remembered that he also makes a great diffusion line. So now I've got a total hard-on for that. Um, so if someone is willing to give me a couple hundred dollars for a kick-ass denim jacket, I'd be willing to take fabulous pictures of myself wearing it.

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Black, black, black

     Don't know if there's any actual demand to see this shit, but there are the boots. Also, my Alfredo Bannisters came in today. Fit is a bit loose, so I need some nice insoles. Both need to get re-soled anyway, though.

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     I'm supposed to be doing something, but I wound up sitting around the house instead. Summer tends to do that to my motivation.

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He Said, She Said | Vol. I

"I get so confused. Everyone in Condé [Nast] dresses so fucking well...except the girls at Glamour."

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     Somewhere along the line, someone told you that chic is about being fashionable, about being trendy. And that is a boldfaced lie. When someone is chic, they are not fashionable, they resist the very notion of fashion. When someone is chic, they declare independence from the tyranny of fashion. What does fashion have to do with being chic? Fashion is our need for newness, for luster. But being chic is our need for constancy, for definition.

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TRANSFORM

I started out like this:
But a rush of customers, needing to put up a sign, dusting, and changing window displays meant I wound up like this:

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Bored and boring.

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As Told by Dior

     I snagged a copy of Christian Dior ... Man of the Century from the library and have been voraciously consuming it. Published in conjunction with the centenary of M. Dior in 2005, the book was a complement to the exhibit at the Dior Museum, housed in his original home in Granville. But this book is more than just a side dish to a museum exhibit, it also contains a copy of Je suis couterier, Dior's famous autobiography.

     More than anything else, I'm struck my Dior's sense of humility – there are pages upon pages of his thanks for his friends and business partners whom he obviously treasured – and his earnest desire to create something beautiful. His descriptions of his aesthetic dreams (women with waists like reeds, skirts blooming like flowers) showcase a mind obsessed with the perfection of form, the construction of beauty.

     I'd recommend anyone to check it out, but my searches online have yielded nothing (hence the lack of cover art or link to a bookstore), but if you ever get your hands on this, it's an absolute dream to just flip through; Bar Suit here, embroidered gown there, gorgeous sketch somewhere else. Long live, Dior!

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Animal skins have just been popping into my imagination and the Fates of Fashion have sent a couple lovely pieces to the forefront. This Natalia Brilli studded wristband ($310) is just the coolest execution of studs, one of the most played-out looks in recent memory; thanks, Hot Topic. Topman's LTD 100 series features designers from the London College of Fashion and Maria Sheremeteva made a fantastic drapey, one-size sheepskin coat ($757). The ragged edges and drapey construction just add such a great dimension to shearling outwerwear. This Rick Owens two-tone leather jacket ($2,365) was part of the surprisingly sporty Spring/Summer '08 collection and having seen it on plenty of people around town, I can say that I genuinely covet this piece. Oh for want of cooler weather to make such things reasonable.

Oh who am I kidding? Since when has that ever gotten in my way?

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~The principle aspect of my personality.~

Over-indulgence in my own interpretation of the universe.

~The quality that I desire in a man.~

An appreciation of the need for weakness.

~The quality that I desire in a woman.~

Zeal for independent thinking and living.

~What I appreciate most about my friends.~

Their patience.

~My main fault.~

My lack of understanding about my own impact on others.

~My favorite occupation.~

Exploring.

~My dream of happiness.~

A new city every year.

~What would be my greatest misfortune?~

Blindness. I would miss the sight of letters and the warmth of colors.

~What I should like to be.~

A man consulted for his opinions.

~The country where I should like to live.~

France, Hong Kong, or America. I need to be in a place that feels self-important.

~My favorite color.~

Grey.

~The flower that I like.~

The bud. I'm enamored less by the flower than by the promise of the flower.

~My favorite prose authors.~

The ones that make me believe they are more right than I am. The ones that make me doubt my interpretation of things. A few off the top of my head: Hesse, Woolf, Ishiguro.

~My favorite poets.~

Those unafraid to speak as they wish to be heard. Whitman, Pope, Eliot.

~My heroes in fictions.~

Batman. The repressed sexuality of it counts for a lot.

~My favorite heroines in fiction.~

Electra. I think she's a concept of feminine heroism that is completely foreign to my universe. And I can't help but be entranced by it.

~My favorite composers.~

Philip Glass, Mozart, Mendelssohn, and those guys who did the Safety Dance.

~My heroes in real life.~

My mother and father, for their courage in seeking a home on the other side of the globe.

~My heroines in history.~

Marie Curie.

~My favorite names.~

Malarcus. A butchered rendition more genius than the original.

~What I hate most of all.~

Willful ignorance.

~Historical figures that I despise the most.~

Traitors, although you don't see much of that nowadays.

~The military event that I admire the most.~

A soldier's first step into a war-zone.

~The gift of nature that I would like to have.~

The ability to draw. I'm always frustrated by my inability to translate my mind's eye into my hand's pen.

~How I want to die.~

Surrounded by a small, but close circle of people.

~My present state of mind.~

Restlessness.

~Faults for which I have the most indulgence.~

Vanity and pride.

~My motto.~

None of the ones I've tried to stick to have worked for me yet, so I'm still looking.

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