beautiful lady freaks aren't always ladies

After an intense 48 hours of shooting I already have more photos to share.  This time the styling was heavier on the glam rock and lighter on the french aristocracy.  These folks aren't french royalty, they're rock royalty.

The models enjoyed helping to create their looks.

I am very proud of that dress.

For more photos from this series, check out my art and design blog, The Lunatic & The Swan.

beautiful lady freaks at the glam rock opera

After hiding in my cave and devouring all the videos from FTW 2010 on style.com, I got the overwhelming urge to start hand working textiles again, arthritis be damned.  So I have been making dresses for my current photographic project:

Beautiful Lady Freaks at the Glam Rock Opera.

Almost all the materials are salvaged, upcycled, recycled, or in some way reborn.

All styling, photography, and editing done by me.

Check my art & design blog or my flickr account for more photos from the shoot.

Rest in peace, Alexander McQueen...

I never liked your clothes but I always liked your style.

Feature in an Etsy Treasury

I was featured in an Etsy Treasury by CricketsCreations.

These earrings were selected because they were vintage and fit a blue and yellow color scheme.

Pretty lady warriors.

After the first 7 looks, I thought Jean Paul Gaultier’s latest collection was ugly. After 9 I thought it was genius.

Only a portion of it was wearable; what qualified ranged from the effortlessly elegant to the eagerly eccentric. I hang out in some pretty artsy circles so I might have an easier time wearing an arm of full metal armor than most folks. And I imagine some of the woven silk strip dresses would be more at ease on a red carpet than amongst my peers.

There were “pantless” outfits for those of us who roll ballsy like Lady Gaga, and then there were some genuinely pretty separates waiting to be pried loose from the collage of madness and slipped comfortably into the wardrobe of a normal woman.

The color scheme was simultaneously earthy and exciting. The elements at play were not ethereal like the gossamer and air we see in some collections these days. No this was a primal wedding of earth and fire. Warrior ladies ran rampant down that cat walk and it was quite glorious, if I might say so myself.

Photos from Style.com's complete coverage of the collection.

White Anglo Saxon Protestants... from the future!

Though Karl Lagerfield might’ve been trying something new with Chanel’s Spring Couture collection, I have to admit I was a bit bored. The best parts were the feet (the heels!) the legs (those sparkly tights!) and of course the hair (that volume!) but personally none of those things should be the memory from a collection. Maybe it’s that the two large influences of the collection fall flat for me; neither sixties W.A.S.P.s nor futuristic stewardesses pull at my heart strings and the combination of the two falls flat for me. Karl is still one of my favorite madmen running around the fashion scene today, simply for his own unique and unflappable style. And the collection did start to pick up around the second third. But I guess I was looking for more in a couture collection than pastel church clothes with tin foil trim.

The good news is there was some chiffon, some lace, and some fierce organic alien appliqués. Yes there was maybe a teeny bit too much duchess satin (a few of the draped pieces looked like Halloween costumes). Though I have to admit I could be wrong about the fabric type specifically, there was definitely a slipperiness to the collection which added to the science fiction fantasy and therefore detracted from my enjoyment.

Maybe I’m thinking about this collection all wrong. Perhaps it was an homage to a special kind of deep pop nerd craving. Perhaps it is a hybrid of desires inspired by TV’s golden age of Leave It To Beaver domestic bliss and Captain Kirk’s inter-galactic conquests. Imagining each piece as a unique kind of cultural fetish does make it more palatable, and I wouldn’t put it past ol’ Karl Lagerfield. He did arrange for a threesome on his runway.

This was my favorite piece from the collection and it didn't really fit with the rest of it.

Photo from Style.com's complete coverage of the collection.

Leather and lace...

Well, thank the fashion gods that I didn’t have to wait until the Fall 2010 collections came out to get my John Galliano fix.
The gothic fantasy of his Haute Couture was quite elegant and his point of view was fairly focused in this collection. It definitely tickled my fancy since I’ve been immersed in a similar aesthetic for a wedding I am planning (more about that on my other blog).

The combining of Victorian, Edwardian, forties, and fifties elements was admirably well done (but I’d expect nothing less from John Galliano) and I couldn’t be more enamored of his use of leather and lace.

Even though I can’t walk a yard in them, I do have a fetish for tall shoes, and the gothic Victorian riding boots were delicious. The matching full length black leather gloves were pretty scrumptious as well. Though the riding outfit pieces weren’t generally my favorites (I preferred the seemingly endless gowns) I was drooling over one particular gray riding coat with a full bustle in the back.

As for the hair and makeup, I was particularly fond of the Victorian up-do’s; the long braids dripping from the explosive and yet ethereal hats were particularly Art Nouveau (looking into the girls faces made me think of a Mucha print).

In the end I maintain my undying devotion to John Galliano’s seasonal reveries of madness and beauty. And in heaven, I’ll wear nothing but Dior.

Photo from Style.com.

One piece to rule them all...

I am sure this happens to every good fashion lover. It was probably inevitable that some piece, some artful rearrangement of raw materials into some object, perhaps a coat...  It was probably predestined that some coat would finally drive a nail between my love for fashion and my love for thriftiness. Of course, my thin wallet shall always ensure victory for my thrift store hunting ways, but today designer lust at least makes a stand.

I dream of a coat by Balmain, it lingers in my thoughts as I lay on the brink of nightly unconscious, it peers at me from within complicated collages in glossy spreads, it boldly announces itself from one advertisement in my favorite fashion magazine. It is something I’ll never own, probably never wear even for an instant. But it’s like a Mona Lisa, with a wry smile, charming me, haunting me.  One wry, nine thousand dollar smile.

A handsome man...

My boyfriend is more stylish than I am...

He saw those glasses in a store window late one night and went back for them.  They are actually women's sun glasses with the lenses replaced with his prescription.  They are one of a kind titanium frames made by a belgian designer.

Missed Connections, except with objects instead of people

Holiday season poverty combined with the shift in shopping mentality from decorating my home to filling the empty space beneath my grandmother's tree has resulted in a lot more covert shopping photography.  Looking at this batch of photographs definitely caused me to think a few times, "Wait, why didn't I buy that?  Oh that's right, I can't afford a dollar thrift store hat because it's Christmas."

My friend Andrew, who is holding this picture, was terrified by it.

We had these exact same mugs in my house growing up.

I collect elephants and it was really hard to walk away without buying this whole batch.  I almost bought a few, but they were too expensive.

Ditto for this Collection of saints!  Apparently one of this store's donors collect all the same things as I do.  Ultimately the male saints were deemed too large, as a way of limiting what I took home.

I've been thinking about beautiful serving wear for my friend Emily's wedding, which I am planning!

And I have been thinking about owls for my friend Mark's apartment, which I have been hired to decorate!

This hat must have been simply too small for an adult head, or I most certaintly would've bought it.

Why didn't I buy this?

What a great combination of art; how appropriate it's the window display.

This guy seemed so lonely and holy in this dirty corner.

I love that couch!

After my last blog entry about unpurchased thrift store goodies, I ended up going back and buying the kitchy rose pattern knee high rain boots!  Maybe something from this batch of photos will be gone back for...

Fox Skylight Antiques Gallery

I've been once again curbing my appetite to shop by photographing the merchandise rather than buying it.  This requires extensive use of the deliciously covert iPhone camera.  These photographs were taken at an antique mall near my house, and so I had to be extra careful.  Antique dealers always think you're some sort of spy when you walk around snapping shots left and right.  So it looks like I'm one of those teen age technophiles texting constantly, and occassionally lifting my cell phone above my head to make sure I get a good angle, err, I mean better reception.

I was with an out of town guest so we spent more time wandering around than I'm used to, leaving plenty of time to find compositions hiding amongst all the pretty things.  It didn't hurt that the antique gallery seemed to be some kind of refurbished factory.  Three floors of pretty things!  And funny things...  and strange... and expensive...

For self portraits taken in mirrors for sale at Fox Skylight Antiques gallery, check out my art blog: The Lunatic and the Swan.

A stylish presidency.

During our last presidential primaries, I was ostracized on more than one occasion for my lack of Obama fever. I had admired his eloquence since first spotting him on C-Span as a junior senator, when presidential aspirations were a distant twinkle in his eye. But when he announced his candidacy, I didn’t tape photos of him on my wall like glossy idols ripped out of a Teen Beat Magazine. And my facebook status wasn’t a perpetual homage to my conjectures of his potential greatness. And I didn’t vote for him in the primaries. I didn’t vote in the primaries at all.

This is where I received the greatest criticism. How dare I? But I was faced with two awesome possibilities (first woman president versus first black president), neither of which would’ve disappointed me in the least. Even John McCain (before he announced his vice presidential candidate) seemed like a reasonable fellow.

But of course, I celebrated when Obama won. I watched his acceptance speech and cried. And I felt a deep sense of American pride.

And now I read the news with the kind of bias that befits a liberal democratic middle class college educated female in her mid twenties. But this blog isn’t about politics. I’m writing today because the Obama industry provided me with something special last week. Something that I relish, something upon which I gorge often: style. Buckets and buckets of style.

The White House's state dinner honoring India's Prime Minister Singh was absolutely gorgeous. Browsing the photographs was a chance to enjoy beautiful tablescapes and elegant formal wear. And reading some of the major news websites coverage of the event seemed more like an article from Martha Stewart’s magazine. CNN highlighted the fact that the menu included “greens from the White House garden, honey from White House bees.” They also pointed out that State Dinners are the most coveted invitations in Washington. I can imagine.

Photo from msnbc.com.  Charles Dharapak / AP

Photo from cbsnews.com.

Waifish little whisps living the dream...

While gorging on Style.com's video footage of New York Fashion Week in September, I kept noticing this waifish little whisp of a thing that could’ve been a girl or a boy, I couldn’t tell. This fresh faced imp was getting interviewed from the front row of dozens of runway shows. At the bottom of the screen, instead of the usual title of “Fashion Journalist” or “Fashion Designer” it just said “Fashion Rookie”. Then when I decided to go back and figure this iddy biddy enigma out, I couldn’t remember the kid’s name or figure out which videos the moppet had appeared in.

So when I accidentally ended up on the Teen Vogue site today (after clicking the wrong link on a blog I follow) I was pretty excited to see the prodigal child (a girl, apparently) with her name on the front page. Mystery solved.

So her name is Tavi Gevinson and she’s 13, and she writes a blog called Style Rookie. Apparently the Mulleavy sisters of the Rodarte label discovered her and whisked her away into a fairy tale world of fashion. And now, according to the article on Teen Vogue, she’s the new face of Target.

So naturally, needing to overwhelm envy with awe, I browsed her blog. It is obviously written by a 13 year old, albeit a very intelligent and culturally literate 13 year old. She’s all at once confident and self-deprecating. I see the appeal; she reminds me of myself at that age and I imagine a lot of people feel the same way. Still, the self consciousness palpable in her writing has clearly been tinged by her 15 minutes. So I went further back into her blog archives, and I found an effortlessness that was probably what attracted all of her readers in the first place. Not to mention her early self-portraits lack the “deer in headlights” look inherent to so many of the shots of her taken at shows.

So this pre-teen is definitely pretty cool although still entirely mysterious.  I hope the fashion industry doesn’t make a habit of this. Whatever makes this weird girl anomaly cute and quaint will make the next one trite. Kudos to this one, though. I’m jealous as hell, but equally impressed.

Unpurchased and unpurchaseable thrift store finds...

When I am thrift store shopping, and I want something that I cannot reasonably justify buying I take a picture of it with my handy dandy iPhone.  I also photograph things that amuse me that I would have no earthly business buying.  Here's a few examples from the last few months...

I wish I collected this technicolor kitsch stuff, I find so much of it.

Seeing all this jewelry excites me...

A pile of panties...

That's a lot of knives for not a lot of money.

Only a thrift store would have such a hilarious combination on the shelf.

Is it just me, or is this Virgin Mary wearing too much makeup?

I would've bought this in a heart beat if it wasn't stained.

These are so awesome, but they were too big!  I may go back and get them anyway.

Wouldn't it be nice to have a use for Lincoln...

A Fancier to a Fault

I am a collector, also known as a pack rat, a hoarder, an accumulator, a gatherer, and according to my thesaurus, a fancier. Occasionally a specific collection will become so large and unwieldy that I have to make a conscious effort to stop adding to it. This happened with vintage buttons after hitting the mother-load at an estate sale last summer. I am starting to get this feeling with vintage earrings. My Etsy shop has only a small selection of what I am currently storing. And I’m honest with myself, no matter how many I post only so many will be sold.

I’ve always been a sucker for bright colors and cheap prices, and I doubt I’ll completely stop buying vintage earrings. But I am the kind of thrift store junkie that gets withdrawl symptoms after three days away from the dusty house ware shelves, the endless clothing racks, and the color coded price tags. If I bought every bargain bauble that caught my eye from inside a jewelry case, well let’s just say I couldn’t afford an apartment large enough to store them all. I’m going to have to steer clear from the accessories and continue on my recent hunt for microwave safe vintage plates. Not to mention contact paper, clip-on ties, and jewelry boxes.

Some clip-on earrings from my collection.

Good ol' fashioned dadaism.

During my internet wanderings I was delighted to discover a little bit of dadaistic lovelines on the blog Little Brown Pen.  It's a calendar available for download for free!

I started reading the quips before noticing the title or description.  I began to get suspicious that some surrealism might be afoot, and alas!  I was right.

If you're a poet and/or you have a sense of humor, then go check it out.  And if you have a printer, then I suggest making yourself a gift!

A woman in a man's store.

I visited "Gander Mountain" and posted an entry on my other blog.  It serves as an interesting follow up to my thoughts on “glamping”.

Apiece Apart? Apiece of crap.

I was eating a pile of fried chicken while browsing some of the videos on Style.com when I discovered a short film embedded in their blog. The description sounded promising, an intellectual smoothie of cultural references including Lawrence of Arabia and color theory.

Now, I took a few film classes in college and have consumed my fair share of bite sized film chunks dripping with text book examples of “good” cinematography and seasoned by cheap metaphors.  Those experiences did make me grateful for one aspect of Apiece Apart’s “spring short”: that it was short.

My first instinct is to make a comment like “the fashion industry should stick to fashion”. But you know, that’s not the problem here. Fashion definitely influences other art forms. As an “artistic” photographer I have always listed fashion photography among my primary influences. And fashion incorporates many artistic mediums, from music to painting. Besides, a fashion designer didn’t make that film. Clearly there was a legitimate director being credited at the end. Of course there’s the chance that the director was merely a patsy, carrying out the brand’s desire to manifest its’ own convoluted self images.

But all this is besides the point. That video was the most cliché, contrived, artsy-fartsy piece of crap that I have seen in a very very long time. I know pathologically lazy college drop-out stoners who could’ve whipped up something better using the video capabilities of their cell phones. In fact, lower production quality might have actually improved the film by giving it some texture and character. It was so trite and conceited it could’ve passed as one of those fake commercials on Saturday Night Live. It’s like someone put a metaphorical tree up the metaphorical butt of that film.

If you don’t believe me, watch it for yourself.

Hick-Chic in Milan?

If I were living my perfect life I would’ve spent all of September gorging on front row runway footage and blogging from my living room about my excitement and delight.  Sadly I work a real job, and get distracted by real problems, so my observations trail behind.  But I can’t let this season pass by without rambling on about what Dsquared² did for hick-chic.

I am going to start with a personal diatribe.  I am from Wisconsin, a state best known for its football team and its dairy products. I live in its’ largest city, but I grew up in its second/third largest: Green Bay. Green Bay is a big town trying to be a little city. It is a middle class oasis of suburban sprawl amongst an Eden of verdant fields and healthy soil. Green Bay dutifully provides the rural population of northern Wisconsin with cultural services like shopping malls and stadiums. But despite a university, more than one performing art center, and handfulls of appropriately trendy coffee shops and used book stores, the only people who think Green Bay is a big city are people who live on farms.

I want to get the politically incorrect terms out of the way, because I can’t write this without them: hicks, rednecks, and white trash. In my youth I tried to reclaim the term “white trash” as a term of pride, like some feminists did for bitch, and my gay friends did to fag. And although my clique of clever adolescent friends appreciated the irony, my mother definitely did not. It was hard to find an acceptably incendiary way to claim pride in a heritage that included many hardworking, undereducated, poor farmers of European descent.  I have many Wisconsinite friends who understand.

My childhood contains all the prescious gems of midwestern "low" culture.  Growing up I spent a lot of time at my great uncle’s bar: Party Marty’s Polish Palace in Pulaski. The adults drank cheap beer and the kids ate cheese curds. More than a few of my uncles sported Mullets long after the hairstyle passed out of style and into comedic infamy. Neon orange was not a gift of eighties revival, but a consistent presence in the wardrobe of rural men who killed animals, ate the meat, and put their carcasses on their living room walls (as long as their wives consented).

The thrift stores of Green Bay are still an overflowing cornucopia of Americana and kitsch. And middle age soccer moms evolve their fashion sense slowly, so that vintage items will arrive at the local St. Vincent de Paul just as they come back in style after decades.

That miniature memoir is, in fact, totally relevant to fashion now.  All that personal history is precisely why my reaction to the Spring 2010 collection of Dsquared² is totally effing different than every successful fashion journalist who reported from that runway in Milan. I could replicate that entire collection by spending a few hundred dollars in the thrift stores of my hometown.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love the creativity and vision of the Dsquared² collection. There’s something deliciously subversive about rich people paying to look like white trash. And although most of this season’s looks made me want to bathe in chiffon, this collection inspired me in a totally different way. My boyfriend has been hot on the “hick-chic” thing for a while, and local hipsters are no stranger to the trend. Dsquared² wielded a fad already present on fixed-gear bicycles, in smoky dive bars, and on the often referenced “streets”. And what can I say? It feels good to know that I liked this stuff before it was cool.

Wait, is that... a fanny pack?

Once upon a time I had a friend with a serious boner for all things kitschy nineties vintage. Amongst the most ardent of her obsessions was the insatiable lust she had for fanny packs. One day I wore a cute little neon colored fanny pack, a perfect homage to the burgeoning late 80’s revival happening at the time. As soon as she saw it her whole complexion was flooded with a deep envy green. She told me she had nightly dreams of wandering the 7 mile fair, suddenly discovering the very same object I know casually draped around my hips. She coveted it so powerfully she would not relent in her pursuit of it until I finally agreed to trade for it.

At the time, I thought the fanny pack would be one of those items that remained firmly in fashion history, its usage revived only by those whose eccentric tastes put them on the fringe of even the most rebellious fashion cliques. It’s location proved unflattering to most body types, and then there were the tourist connotations… Let’s just say the bulk of my fanny pack memories include herds of overweight Caucasian Americans in sickeningly bright Hawaiian shirts shuffling around eating stale nacho chips drenched in gooey toxic cheese and guzzling overpriced novelty cups filled with corn syrup at the epicenter of American tackiness.  Disney World.  I’m not going to pretend those memories aren’t some of the best of my childhood, but sometimes the past is best left in the past.

So imagine my surprise to discover a fanny pack elegantly resting on the almost non-existent hip of a model marching down the runway of a Marc Jacobs show. I immediately breezed through the other 52 images that I’d downloaded of the show, and there again! And again! Of course these fanny packs were in tastefully quilted luxury fabrics and on models whose clothing hanger bodies could make anything look attractive. And I’d seen a few stores carry “hip purses” that nodded to the ghost of kitsch past without actually qualifying as bonafide fanny packs. But this was a Marc Jacobs show, and that was definitely a fanny pack, and gosh darn, was I surprised.