"what, now you're gonna pout?"

(risto jacket, rodarte skirt, chloe sevigny x oc paisley tights, dries van noten shoes, john's a place to bury strangers tee, chris habana necklace. photo by emma)


So, last week I found myself at THE WALK 2012 (not to be confused with KONY!!! 2012!!!), which is a fashion show where SAIC fashion design students can show off the things they learned in school. Unfortunately I didn't get any decent photos of the show because I was seated in the nosebleed section basically. Were I the type of person who cared about things like Fashion Show Seating Assignments, I might be stamping my feet about it, but luckily I am not! I will, however, pout about even appearing in public. I am a basket of hypocrisy sometimes; I complain about how hard it is to find friends and how much friend-dating sucks, but hate leaving the comfort pod of my apartment. Humans are just...weird! They want to small talk and ask about your life even though they truly do not care about your life and only ask because social schemas tell us to do this. And these little social scripts are triggering to me, so I end up "texting" on my phone alone in a corner and drinking too much free alcohol. Yes, I KNOW I willingly chose to go to this thing, but I was there to see FASHUN, YOU GUYS! I am ~authentic. I am ~subversive. I am ~real.

In any case, I wore an outfit to this event, and I liked my outfit, and this is me talking about it on the internet. Wearing black and blue because they look so brooding and so X-Files together and so spooky without being severe. Rodarte skirt that I got on yoox.com for a staggering 90% off retail price. Yes, I'm still trying to comprehend it myself. "Borrowed" my boyfriend's A Place to Bury Strangers tee which I fished out of his pile of dirty clothes that morning. Who needs perfume anyway when I can waft my boyfriend's congealed body odor? It's like a little piece of him was there, drinking free wine with me.

I was also photographed in this outfit for this week's issue of Newcity, which is on newsstands or something. Thank you Isa! Those of you that don't live in Chicago can see the online version HERE, along with a mini-interview. Ugh, think I need a cold shower after that much vomitous self-promotion.

pink noise

(meadham kirchhoff for topshop dress from ebay, chloe sevs x oc paisley tights, dries van noten shoes)

I'm not really sure where to even begin with Loveless, and why I love it, and why it means so much to me. Perhaps I am not skilled enough with words. I'm certainly willing to admit that.

I was 19 when I heard it for the first time. The memory of my very first encounter with it is indelibly etched upon my brain, a moment so crystal clear it is as if it just happened, despite the fact that at the time I was very high. My dear friend Annie put on "I Only Said". She'd been telling me for some time that I needed to listen to Loveless. Her head slumped into her arms on our kitchen table and she mumbled "this album is too good, it's too good...". And I did not understand it. Those crashing guitars, waves of dissonance, whispery lyrics about oral sex, I really wasn't in the cognitive place to truly get it. It was only a few months later when I was home alone, on a rainy day, when it finally clicked within me.

Loveless is transcendental. It is music that is not of this world. It eschews banal pop sensibilities in favor of enveloping your senses in sound - in a noise so tangible that it feels like something you could reach and caress, or be caressed by, really, both at the same time. It holds you. It is music that shimmers and rainbows, it turns these optical notions in actual sounds. It exists within its own place and its own time. Indeed, this is why numerous copycat bands have never quite mastered Loveless' brilliance: it creates it own pink world that is completely impossible to replicate.

I'd been looking for a Loveless-y dress for a very long time, and eBay presented me with this piece from Meadham Kirchhoff's second Topshop line. I do not know if they were inspired by Loveless when they designed this dress but to me, the resemblance was startlingly accurate. This dress captures everything I love and feel and believe about Loveless; its brashness, its torrent of pink noise, its assail of reverb and perhaps most importantly, its underlying intangibility. This feeling that no matter how hard your brain attempt to organize this music, you will never quite be able to. You aren't meant to. To love Loveless is to let go.

i just felt like wearing floor-length ruffles, so what?

(risto jacket, IAN RN dress underneath, vintage nightie from jayne, chloe sevs x oc paisley tights, madewell boots)

So I have determined that my lewk for the spring can be best described as an amalgam of Victorian grandma elf. Victorian grandma elf leaves a lot of room for interpretation so there's many directions I can go with this. This weekend I took it that idea to its logical extreme for a trip to Michigan Avenue because I derive a perverse joy in wearing something weird when I go to Chicago's Mecca for Normals. People stared. Salespeople in stores ignored me. And all the while I chuckled inside because I felt great about what I wearing and, well, I kind of don't give a fuck? It's taken me 26 years to get to a place within myself where I can wear things like a giant floor-length ruffled sheer nightie in public and I intend on enjoying every last minute of it. 

 Ridiculous outfit calls for practical, no-nonsense combat boots and paisley tights, right? Right.

i feel like a tool in tulle

So remember when I said that I helped shoot a friend's music video? No, I'm sure you don't, so click here for a refresher. Said music video has been completed and now you may watch it! I spazz out but mostly I stare blankly into the camera, because as you'll see, someone has to do it. Everyone is having their own personal party and I took it upon myself to be the debbie downer. A nice contrast, no? In any case, enjoy this video of me not smiling and not dancing.

wood

Day 1 of moving into the new apartment has come and gone, Day 2, being the day that it becomes my home, is a week away. But for now it is a stark place, ready for my projections and fantasies and dreams and thoughts.

Come inside...

The cross in the pantry was left by the previous tenant and we intend on keeping it there.

Moving gear = old biking jeans and Madewell boots, which look trashed despite only being a few months old. Normally I'd complain about the pathetic quality, but with these boots, I prefer them to look a bit destroyed.

on the move

Well, I'm on the move again. Posts will probably be a bit spotty until I am all settled in. This time though, I'm moving into an apartment that fills me with wonder, a place that perhaps, for the first time, I can call home. Having moved around so much, I have culled my worldly possessions to fit into a single room. I do not own a closet that is brimming with more clothes that Marie Antoinette could possibly wear in a lifetime. Surprisingly, the entirety of my wardrobe fits upon just a single garment rack.