Frankensuit

     I never thought it'd happen, but I'm actually living in my room again; that is, my things are in my room, in the places they ought to be rather than crammed into plastic trash bags. For those of you in the know, this is an absolute wonder, since my bedbug infestation has left me paralyzed with fear for both my both and my closet. But it's a lot like terrorism — if I live in fear of the bedbugs, then the bedbugs have won. Or something.     Reclaiming my wardrobe has made me dive back into pieces that I have touched in months, most noticeably any of my more structured and formal jackets and pants. And it got me wondering why, exactly, don't I wear slacks and jackets more often. I suppose the main problem lies in the practicality of it: how worthwhile is it to stuff myself into a pair of slacks and a suit jacket and a shirt if I'm just going to sit on my ass all day in class? But that's a cop out; you can be dressed and be comfortable. Hell, I'm usually just as, if not more, comfortable when I'm wearing more structured and formal clothing than otherwise. The lines of a jacket make a man stand taller, straighter.

     And now a series of 300 pixel wide images of men that I like/want to have sex with/would enjoy a sandwich with/could learn a lot from/never be able to match/wish were real.

     I swear to god that I did not intentionally pick all black and white photos, they were just the first nice ones that turned up on my Google Image Search. Seriously.

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     Jennifer 8. Lee would be one of my favorite writers even if she didn't write about food, one of my favorite things. But she does and she does it damn well, with the same keen and childish curiosity that deftly straddles the edge between cheeky and puerile. Intellectual girl crush status.

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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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