I like my goddessses shaved.

Ah, the '90s were forever ago, but with one quick flash of that dragon furled on a buzzed tete, they were only yesterday.

Shaved-headed model Eve Salvail made a return to the catwalk at Jean Paul Gaultier's couture show yesterday, and it looks like she hasn't missed a beat. Need a reminder of Eve? Here she is featured on House of Style, with an appearance by JPG himself:

Now, where are my clippers? And, my tattoo gun? Maybe Eve will let me borrow hers...

And because one good shave deserves another, watch Grace Jones get a 13 minute haircut in a video piece by Anton Perich.

Goddesses.

Watch with me.

I'll catch you up, dear readers, on where I've been in just a bit--but, for now you must watch something for me. Someone has gone and posted the entire film Unzipped on youtube. I just watched the first part of the 1994 documentary of Isaac Mizrahi's Fall collection and already I've been magically transported back to the basics of why I love fashion. In the first 7 minutes of the film you see Eartha Kitt in all of her living glory, a fresh-faced Amber Valletta meeting Isaac for the first time, and Mizrahi's mama bragging about her son's first garment: a straight blazer she would wear to temple on all of the high holidays. I have no television, so I have no idea what Isaac is up to on his new tele show with Iman, but in those days he was the kind of charming, energetic, smoking, neurotic, funny man that made for good entertainment. So, lets watch together. Here are all the parts:









*Part 4 annoyingly has no audio because of a copyright claim over a music track. I say watch the visual and hum.









So good, right?

You Look Pretty. I Look At You. I Feel Better.

Peter Lindbergh's work from the Supermodel age.

Go Hardcore or Go Home.

The best part of Mark Leckey's "Fiorucci Made Me Hardcore," his trippy 1999 video art ode to the British clublands of yesterday? The clothes.



There's something charged about what people wear when they go out. It's the apotheosis of their identity; the thing they most want to say to everyone who sees them. It's the way they most want to look. Going out clothes are not work clothes, not school clothes, they aren't stay at home or run errand clothes, they are "This is me." clothes: This is me hot, ready, and at my self-defined best. This is me attracting you, this is me telling you something real about myself, or at least trying to. This is me in my dancing shoes. This is the best I've got. Check me out. But hurry--it will all look foolish, ancient, and undeniably out-of-touch before your hangover fades.

But, while fashion trends come and go, the energy of a night out--shaking your ass to a repetitive beat while some substance, or even plain adrenaline, courses through you in a high-ceilinged, crowd-stuffed, reverberating space--is easily one of the more lasting incentives to don your best outfit. It may be one of the more lasting reasons to make it through your life actually: To go out.

Stills from the film.

Leckey's video is made of found footage that looks like it was unearthed from some hazy, hallucinogenic, dream of how things used to be, and really puts a finer point on the ephemeral nature of fashion. Just the fact that I have to explain who Fiorucci is (only the most coveted designer brand of the late '70s/early '80s, only the inventor of designer denim, only the brand Madonna wanted most) speaks volumes about how short lived cool or hot or essential items are. People used to fork over paychecks for the stuff, and now most don't know what it is. Makes you wonder how silly your life will seem in retrospect, right? Actually, it will never seem silly to you. It will be deathly serious in its cool factor to you. It will be laughable to those who came along even a day past your prime. Your kids will laugh at you, that's for sure. Those are the breaks. Keep it moving people, just keep it moving. And while you're moving, why not do it to a beat? Cue the throbbing bass and the dancing masses.

You can see the full video and tons of other amazing works of video art at UbuWeb. Thanks to the best dressed coworker I have, and brilliant analyzer of film, Mr. Graig Uhlin of Mass Ornaments for the resource.

Remember That? Ma-ma-ma-my Sharona!

I just recently caught an airing of Reality Bites on HBO while at the 'rents house (remember that? 'rents??? Ha.), and never has a film so transformed for me over time. The jokes, life experiences, heartache, and sex stuff that were so over my head when I was a tween, were so right-on now.

Besides for reigniting a flame of serious envy over Winona Ryder's cute waifishness, and a super strong crush on the normally unappealing Ethan Hawke in the role of Troy, the keeper of the "den of slack," I was reminded of my intense like of Janeane Garafolo's alt-girl funny, and I was surprisingly more sympathetic to Ben Stiller's character; he was so responsible and grown up and even a lil cute. The one thing that remained extremely constant was my affinity for the scene in which the film's central foursome rock out at the Food Mart to The Knack's "My Sharona."

I love it. I love Winona's vest, Janeane's only-in-the-early-'90s shorty-short bangs, and the surly, stern cashier. A bonus second that I never realized? When Winona lets out a "Woo!" at the 0:54 mark and quickly quiets herself because she just got yelled at by the surly, stern guy. This actually makes me long for the days when I thought gas station attendant shirts and flannel button downs were the apex of modern cool. Now they are nostalgic notes of a time 15 years past.
Whoa.

Clubland.

Seeing this clip of all the 90s era club kids crowding the couch on the old Joan Rivers Show is like having a strange E flashback.

First of all, I don't remember the club kids being so scary with all those things on their faces. Second, how ironic that she says "all you wanna do is have a good time in life and not hurt anybody" to future Angel slayer Michael Alig. All the insanity aside, club kids made the 90s go 'round. I kind of miss their costume craziness. Do we have a current equivalent? Methinks not.

A Legend In His Own Time.

Excuse me, do you have any pretty glowsticks you can wave in my face for a while? I'm totally high on fashion ecstasy. YouTube is my pusher and my tab is Galliano flavored, a vintage Spring 1995. Here is his amazing Legends catwalk show, part 1:

Tell me that doesn't make you ridiculously happy, and I'll tell you it does. You want more don't you? Here's another hit. Part 2:

Just so we're clear, the only ecstasy I condone is Galliano-related. It will add wrinkles, not holes.

A Breather.

I'm getting Fashion Week Overload. Symptoms of FWO include visions of runways while eyes are closed, automatic typing of "www.style.com" every time fingers hit the keyboard, and a reflexive sigh at the mere mention of the word "tents." The temporary cure is to breathe deep and look at something other than Bryant Park sanctioned fashions. In fact I think the quickest way to spell relief for this particular ailment is a vintage clip of MTV's House Of Style.

Ah, Cindy a la 1992 is like a Rolaid for fashion burn. Ok, and I'm ready for more!