So...

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

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

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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'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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~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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Misadventures in Fashion #1

(Scene opens on an Ann Taylor; track lighting, sales racks, 40-something sale associates and all. L. diligently browses the racks while I absentmindedly flip through a couple of marked down shirtdresses.)

Me: (looking around) You notice anything, L.?

Her: (not looking up) No...what?

Me: You're the youngest person in here by about...30 years.

Her: (turns away from rack and looks around) Oh shut up.

(The two stand around while L. continues going through the racks. She stops abruptly.)

Her: Let's get the fuck out.

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It's hot.

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Who's Next?

     As I recently observed over at the BARE blog, there's pretty universal acknowledgement that Yves Saint Laurent's passing marked the end of something significant. As Christian Dior's successor and a ceaseless innovator with his own label, Saint Laurent was the pivotal figure in shifting the commercial focus of fashion from haute couture to ready-to-wear. But with his passing and the continued march of time, maybe it's time to look at who is forming the new vanguard, who are forces that are shaping the boundaries of our creative landscape? My list, in no particular order:

• Helmut Lang, for making simple beautiful again.
• Alber Elbaz, for making me smile. Always.
• Raf Simons, for thought-provoking, forward-minded collections.
• Yohji Yamamoto, for exploring every frontier, as well as making some up on his own.
• Hedi Slimane, for bringing danger back to sex.
• Christian Lacroix, for reminding us of craft.
• Martin Margiela, for four white stitches.

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Today is the Day Before Tomorrow

So, according to the weatherman, summer has started. But with the blustering wind outside and the random mix of clouds/sun that I've seen in the past few days, I highly doubt the veracity of that claim. Now that school's out, I've been at a loss for how to while away all my extra hours, but maybe I'll be better about posting to this thing (for reals?). On a completely unrelated note, the much-talked-about bag is finally mine and I must say that I love it more than I thought I would. The abundance of pockets and the detachable shoulder strap makes this the ideal replacement for my slowly decaying Ben Sherman number.
I actually have a few goals for the summer:

• Work out. No. Seriously. I will.
• Build a serious summer wardrobe. The dearth of shorts, boat shoes, lightweight button-ups, and whatnot are going to be a serious problem once the real heat kicks in. And unlike my last job, my current one has no air conditioning.
• Get a few more recipes under my belt and in my noggin. It's easier to cook for one than three, and the summertime gives me access to a plethroa of veggies and time. Farmer's market, here I come.
• Read more. I've got quite a list building up of things to read (Ishiguro, Purple Fashion) and re-read (Eggers, Rand) and my bus commute is the perfect place for it.
• Spend less. It's high time that I start actually saving money. As enjoyable as spending it can be, the lack of safety net/emergency funds is definitely a problem that needs to be addressed. (Happy now, Angela?)
• Learn another language. Maybe French. Is this a totally crazy idea? I think it might be, but it's worth putting it down.

That ought to be enough for me to say I'll do, wind up not doing, and regret later. But if I need more, I'm sure there are a few infectious diseases that require my inattention, as well.

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Lowbrow Moment

      Not my fault if I'm hopelessly addicted to this song (despite its obvious artistic shortcomings and the fact that it's months old), but the near constant replay of it on the mix at work has slowly drilled it into my skull.

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Things On My Mind

     Recently, things have begun to fill my brain and stay there. This does not include any of my real responsibilities—of course—but just random junk that's trickled in through various channels.

     The first thing is that I got the Crystal Castles CD and really, really liked it. It gets a bit rough about some spots, but it's really fun and is just really engaging. Likewise, the HEALTH album is really a lot of sound to deal with, but it's rewarding if you take the time and listen. It's not an easy album and it certainly lacks the upfront hooks that Crystal Castles use, but it's still a well-produced, finely-tuned piece of work. I hate agreeing with Pitchfork (because everyone does), but the album's tendency to delve into the self-indulgent certainly is a problem. At moments, the allusions to Liars and Deerhoof stopped being allusions and became HEALTH writing a Liars or Deerhoof piece. But saying that something sounds as energetic as Liars or as arresting as Deerhoof doesn't really constitute any negative critique about the album's quality. Even if we're hearing the same noise, it's not really the same sound.

     On a more visceral note involving victuals (And yes, I would actually say that in real life), asparagus is in season, so I made some scallops and asparagus for dinner a few nights ago. I had a few spears left and couldn't resist encasing them in some pork-based goodness. The grease was everywhere. I loved it.

     And I would try to formulate a smooth transition into discusses these Palladium boots, but I fail to see a reason why. Since when do I ever need a reason to talk about shoes? At $120, they're certainly not the cheapest pair, but they certainly aren't a frightful burden, either. The grey would certainly help me kick my all-black habit. And those new PF Flyers coming into the store won't hurt, either. Damn it. I was supposed to stop shopping. Ugh. I'm hopeless.

     Another day, another shamble.

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Red Sun Rising

     My head's been buzzing ever since the temperature shift has forced me to ditch fall coats in favor of spring shirts. Jeremy Scott's collaboration with Ksubi has definitely been on my mind (late for the bandwagon, much?) and I don't remember how, but Mondrain's name has been tossed back and forth for random reasons. And when my new April 77 Colordrives came in (and my alarm didn't go off), everything sort of just fell into place.

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What's it Worth To You?

     You know, I don't often make "rules". It's too easy to be proven wrong. It's less stressful to set vague boundaries for yourself. I am referring mostly to dress, but you can apply it to pretty much anything.

     But after recent developments, I think I've come up with something that I can comfortably adopt as a rule in life. Be clear about value. Don't treat a t-shirt like it's a mink. Likewise, don't act like fur coats grow on trees. Acknowledge and respect the value of a given thing and say nothing more or less than it deserves. Do I love my April 77 coat? Fuck yeah. That thing is my most worn piece of outerwear. It's cut great, the color is deep, and the details are fantastic. And as much as I love it, I don't feel like it's necessary to parade it about, to act like French vegetarian labels are the most common thing in the world.

     Similarly, when I buy cheap shit, I say "I am going to buy cheap shit." I feel no need to defend or praise my ability to find and/or buy cheap shit, as my ability is completely immaterial when gauging the value of the item. Is it of lesser value? If so, then I treat it as such. I'm avoiding really delving into this "value" thing, because I know (from experience) that it's the forays into specifics that get you. You know what? The bigger the hole, the less likely you are to find a peg that won't fit.

     Ambiguous? Sure. But something I can actually call a "rule for living"? I think that's some kind of existential headway, no?

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WAYWT: Running Late

(Fink seersucker jacket, French Connection skull t-shirt, April 77 grey Colourdrives, Gram 406g sneakers)

     So this whole day started off rather strange, but I think it's going to wind up pretty okay. I wound up oversleeping (damn you, alarm clock), but my professor e-mailed me the test, so I'm going to just turn it in tomorrow. He didn't say if I was going to automatically receive less credit or anything, but I'm already taking this pass/no pass, so it's not much of a big deal. The real happy moment was finally turning in that damned paper that I spent all of yesterday/today writing. Now I just have to tackle a summary and this test and I'm free. Free, I say.

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Eyes Peeled

     I just managed to grueling (nearly) non-stop writing session and managed to pump seven pages out of my rear end for an English paper. I'm going to try and grab myself a couple hours before scrambling off to my Journalism midterm. Gazing into my crystal ball, I see a few things in my future:

• Mystery boots in a nice, big box from the postman (when I manage to save up the dough)
• Sending Connie off to Uniqlo and snatching things for me
• Getting some sleep
• The feel of a cheap, but freshly laundered pool towel
• Working hard for the money
• Michael Bastian shirts at Gap

    And I promise, my doppelgänger, I will see you at some point tomorrow.

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What Am I Doing Again?

     Reading? No. Studying? No. Finishing the magazine? No. Eating a proper breakfast? No. It was more like a hurried mélange of everything I was trying to/should/wanting to do. But not enough time to actually complete anything in any meaningful way.

     At this point, I'm just really hoping that the weekend can redeem my life.

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Gainful Employment

     Landed me a job, bitches. Expect plenty of whoring out for Dapper, especially whenever I get a chance to to unbox stuff. Updates forthcoming.

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