Filed under: Musings
Sorry for the spaced out posts, we’ve got a busy week ahead and a busy week just under wraps (Thanksgiving?). Lots of Basel-ly goodness coming your way though. Look at how awesome Snejana is.
Filed under: Rants
Go f*ck yourselves.
Totally kidding, we are actually the ones who should be doing the f*cking of self. We apologize profusely for the train-wreck that was yesterday (even if collectively we spent over $1,000 at your beautiful little shrine/store/credit trap). Who knew, deep down, that T by Alexander Wang is the funniest f*cking thing ever? Who knew that Elliot actually bought Alexander Wang sunglasses but totally forgot about them and almost bought the same pair, to be hilariously reprimanded by Isabel, in front of the hottest guy we’d since since… well since the night before (more on this doozy shortly – think of something more destructive than a train-wreck. Think Titanic… all that icy North Atlantic water killing all those people and their big, shining American dreams… too soon?)? Who has the misfiring and special-ed synapses to design a snake/rat/fox stuffed scarf, available in a phalanx of camouflage finishes? This may have been the worst weekend of our lives.
Yet that being said, we both walked away feeling giddy in our slap-happiness (not to mention, uh, the sweetest shirts ever – Rodarte Prom <3 – also undeniably the funniest things of all time). Howard Street, blurry in our vision, was some sort of reprise or cocoon from the wear and tear of life in New York. Actually f*ck that, wear and tear is putting it lightly… like a pomeranian on happy pills. New York City living is comparable, in depravity, to a rabid Doberman.
So for Elliot’s Saturday night, he scoped out a little haunt called Sugarland, which is incredibly ironic because it was by no means sweet and by no means tactile/solid/stable, which is something that land usually is. He was awash in a sea of glam, hipster gayness and he was wildly put off by it. He also drank far too much and way too varied, and now feels ill and shaky, perhaps actually like the aforementioned rabies inflicted canine. Ugh. God. Thank God we have each other.
ALSO, WTF is up with messengers? Someone just came in to Elliot’s job and screamed bloody-Mary, like some sort of annoyingly over-animated Gospel preacher speaking in tongues, that he had a pick-up going to David Yurman. New York really is straight-up crazy.
-Elliot and Isabel
I mean, f*cking really AJ?
Well, to answer my own question, yes, and here it is:
Filed under: Musings
Filed under: Musings
This is Michele Lamy. She is Rick Owens’ wifey. She once owned Les Deux in Los Angeles (where Audrina Patridge used to cheat on Justin Bobby… with COCAINE… in the bathrooms… remember the Hills? Sigh) Lamy owned it before it became Young Hollywood though.
Eat your baubles Michele. This world is a crazy place. You are the only person who gets you. Carine Roitfeld must have loved this sh*t.
Oh, and from the same editorial, this is Nils Butler. I’ve been told he and I are mirror images of each other. Only I didn’t get the equine-bondage spread with Ms. Rick Owens. No, I sure didn’t.
Filed under: Music
In order to further ostracize any readership we might have in writing about incredibly specific topics (I care about Anna Dello Russo kay?), here’s a list of the best stores to be in if you want to pretend you’re buying something, but really are just trying sh*t on and listening to their awesome music:
Where: 28 Bond Street
Vibe: Tons of black, hungover salespeople, music loud enough to dance to in front of the mirror in the dressing room.
Brands: Cast of Vices, Chronicles of Never, Acne, Comme des Garcons, Matiko, Oak, and a ton more.
Song(s) on the playlist: Gold Panda, “Snow & Taxis” and The Strokes, “What Ever Happened?”
Where: 4 St. Marks Pl.
Vibe: S&M photo shoot
Song(s) on the playlist: The Ramones, “Sheena is a Punk Rocker” Duh.
Where: 174 Ludlow St.
Vibe: Zen. Used to be only menswear. Go when it’s gray and cold. And you’re stoned. Everything is so soft.
Brands: Denim from Them, knee-length jackets from 0044, graphic tees from Raquel Allegra, and pullovers from Risto Bimbiloski.
Song(s) on the playlist: Serge Gainsbourg
Where: 35 Howard St.
Vibe: NYC’s answer to Collette? The cool kids.
Brands: Proenza Schouler, Altuzarra, Alexander Wang, Christopher Kane, Band of Outsiders, Pendelton, Chloe Sevigny for Opening Ceremony, and the list goes on and on and on…
Song(s) on the playlist: Cut Copy, “Lights and Music” and then maybe, some Arcade Fire
Last Saturday I passed the Billy Reid store on Bond St. and I kind of stared up at it. “Do I care about Billy Reid?” I asked myself. Impt to ask big questions these days. Reid has been everywhere these days, which is great for him because I know he’s a struggling designer from Louisiana or something, and he just won the CFDA Fashion Fund Award (where I feel like keynote speaker Karl Lagerfeld inadvertently called him fat). But his designs fall on the wrong side of messy. His tweed coats and trousers are the anti Jil Sander, the anti-Prada, the extra anti Heidi Slimane. So, no, I don’t care and I didn’t go in.
While I’m happy for the jovial-looking Reid, I can’t say I’m happy about it. IT being this weird disconnect between the arbitrary rules that define one’s taste level and/or skill and what people are now thinking is taste level and skill. For example, and not to name names, but BLAKE LIVELY was on the cover of this random best-dressed Vogue issue AGAIN. I’d like to know on what planet anything she’s ever worn in real life or Gossip Girl life has ever deemed her worthy of a compliment from Anna Wintour, let alone a cover? I once saw Erin Wasson (Google her, get depressed) in the hallowed halls of the 12th floor and President Wintour barely glanced at her. What’s going on.
In conclusion. The undone, “wearable” (accessible?) look is brilliant when it’s done properly, like the nerd who designs for Band Of Outsiders, which is why no one can afford it, but to paraphrase McQueen, one has to know how to construct before one can deconstruct. In conclusion to my conclusion, if anyone can point me in the direction of locales where there’s a plethora of men in Dior Homme, I’ll send you t-shirt that says ‘go f*ck yourself’
Filed under: Proenza Schouler
I think Isabel deserves all things Proenza (nod to Jack and Laz – you won’t find a better spokes-girl). That being said (continued nodding), I’ve skimmed all of Proenza Schouler’s collections and picked my top 3 favorite looks eva’. A small story accompanies each.
A girl from New York goes to Tahiti, falls in love with a French bajillionaire, wears this out of boredom when she has to fly back stateside. Normally she only wears nothing, but keeps her cigarettes and Blackberry in a python PS1.
Her mom partied at Studio 54 and air-kissed Steve Rubell. She parties at Le Bain and knew Andre Saraiva from the get-go. She and her mom both wear this outfit, with equally fashionable pop-strobe-flash club flair. Party like it’s the 20th-in to-the 21st century.
This girl is the good kind of Hamptons. The very good kind. Wears this slip swimming in the warm Atlantic.
Filed under: Musings