Fatherland.

I'm headed to Israel tomorrow. Yay! My Pops did me a solid. His half of my genetic makeup qualifies me for a Birthright trip. I'll be touring the country from Mt. Masada to the Old City with a bunch of other twenty somethings for 10 days. I'll be absent from the internets, but I'll be present for flafel and spiritual awakenings galore.

In honor of my trip I post here a link to the Tel Aviv street style site The Streets Walker. Check out an exciting sampling of what I'm in for:


Hot pinkness.


Matchy-matchy.



Impressive layers.


Thou shalt covet that bracelet.

l'chaim! I'm leaving on a jet plane. See ya.

Jumping Haricots!

These lovely French Femmes from Paris street style site Garance Dore' prove two things: French=beautiful, and the jumpsuit test is the fashionista's final exam.




If you can pull one of these off without making people think of footie pajamas or mechanics, you've really got something. I'm still studying for the test, so these pics are my cheat sheet. Keep your eyes out for my coveralls coming soon. Summa cum Laude baby.

Stripeophile

I don't want to like this song. Really. I heard it for the first time at that nexus of chaos and disposable fashion sometimes called Forever 21, so it will always be linked to my shopping agita. But the striped shirt? The crazy-dancing leopard lady? The ethereal light and heavy fake lashes? The video sells it to me. Oo ooooooo oo. Oo oooooo oo.

I want to nail it.

The New York Times did a ridiculous article on the intentionally chipped nails of socialites a little while ago. While this is exactly the type of journalism that makes me wonder what's wrong with humanity, I have to admit that I have been obsessing over the nail color in the below photo ever since.

I know, I know. There is barely any color there to go in search of, but it's been weeks and I'm still combing the aisles of Duane Reade hoping it will pop up. Something about the baby-coral-pink-oranginess of it makes me flutter. And the giant ring makes me happy too.

On another Times note, check out the red hot nerd porn they published today:

His suspenders are down around his elbows. Hhhhhhhot!

Is this wrong?

My moral compass is spinning. Homeless people as fashion icons? Didn't Galliano catch a lot of flack for that back in the day? But the sweetly smiling Cookie looks like a star on www.homelesschic.com a little website linked to on FaceHunter. Let's put the social issues aside for a moment and marvel at her:

You've got to give it to her. She could be the third Olsen sister, only with the ability to smile. I've got nothing but love for you Cookie.

I want to live in it.

Hi. It's me. I'm back!

These houses were featured in a slide show on Elle's website. They look like they were built of old wood and spit. I'd live in them if I ever went hermit on your asses:

This one was built by a Russian outlaw. He never finished it because he was locked up for a third time. Snow capped roof peaks?

I'd ski them.

And this one would be perfect for the couple who has a ground phobia:
This proves that exists.

And here is a taste of where I actually live:

That's my mirrored mantle homage to Avedon. And my clothing. Sweet dreams.

Is it cold in here?

Just for discussion's sake, I have to wonder out loud (in this bolgosphere here) what the surgery is called that left new Marc Jacobs campaign star Vicky P-spice with perma-headlights.

I mean did she get nipple implants? Did she have her body temperature permanently lowered? Does she smuggle stones in her bra? It is intense, and staying on the topic of this blog--how the hell is Marc Jacobs gonna stuff those things into his Spring/Summer '08 collection?

How funny that Cathy Horyn from the New York Times directly opposed Posh's femmebot presence at Jacobs' late NYC show with the subtly articulated sexuality he sent down the runway. The pairing of Jacobs and Vicky B is like some weird PR test tube baby. Weird.

Boot booty

I am on a quest for boots.

I've been hardcore shopping with the intention of replacing the totally cute but treacherous boots I was certain would carry me through a cold city winter. Unfortunately they until randomly turned into ice skates on three separate occasions and sent me flying. Some cheap, crappy, plastic material was used to make their narrow heals. It must have been magically developed in some fabled land of manufacturing as a solid alternative to WD-40, but wound up at the boot factory instead. My bloody knee is finally healing from the last spill and yet, no new boots. So, the search is still on.

Said search is infinitely complicated by my new dedication to only purchasing items that I am profoundly in love with. No hesitating, no rationalizing, no cheap impulse buys ("At this price who could pass this up? I'd be a fool not to buy it."). I want a wardrobe filled with self-expressing pieces; a closet carefully curated. Oh yeah, and on a budget.

These are the boots I am currently drooling over:


But drool will ruin them, and so will the winter sludge, er slush of NYC. They are not waterproof therefore there is no way I can justify the $185 price tag at Sacco. But, a girl can dream.


Did I mention I need flats? Waterproof and work-wearable? So many criteria. Any suggestions will be gladly received.

I want to button up.

When buttons are this beautiful,

who wouldn't want some cold weather to brace against?

I just want to have fun.

Someone call Cyndi Lauper and tell her her time has come again!

Her album She's So Unusual was my first prized possession and first lost love (after my brother stepped on it and cracked it in half, killing it). And what have we here? It's a vintage Cyndi look accessorized with modern technology as featured in Bill Cunningham's NYT "On the Streets Column" about Fall color.

Maybe with the escalation of global warming people will let their fluorescent freak flags fly all year long! Yay for greenhouse gasses!

Oh goodness...

My brain keeps asking, what's wrong here? I loved Balenciaga's strong silhouettes and flower powered prints but this...

It's just wrong. Maybe it's because Jennifer Connelly is not exactly the fiercest face in Hollywood. She's so much softer than those hard seams allow. You would think the flowers might work in her favor, but those brilliantly strong blooms are just as structured as the shaped shoulders hovering over her like inflated balloons. And the shoes? They were commander, warrior height on the runway, and here they look, well, neutered. De-sexed. Weirdly wrapped. Here's the thing about really good fashion: It doesn't work head to toe from runway to reality. The ideas should be dispersed, incorporated, mixed-up and in. She looks like she was invited to a costume party and decided to go as "Balenciaga Girl, Spring/ Summer 2008".

Her stylist should have to forfeit one of her favorite articles of clothing. Hit her where it hurts.

I want shoulder pads?!

I'm obsessed with the below photos of Ms. Carine Roitfeld, the editor-in-chief of French Vogue and the legendary stylist behind Tom Ford's erotically charged rise to fame at the house of Gucci. While Ford seems hell-bent on raising his cheese factor to heart clogging levels (nude shower scenes in Out Magazine?? His own sultry stare selling his perfume line a la' J.Lo??) Madame Roitfeld's still got it.

She is absolutely rocking shoulder pads. Tailored, pointy, elegant even; they are razor sharp and cutting edge. And, am I wrong or is she also working a black satin arm sling in a way that makes it look like some cool, strange fabric accessory that may help you to heal if you just so happened to break a bone? That is one prepared fashionista.

I just wanted to tell you...

This is the most excited I have been about commercial fashion in a long time. There is a newness in the air. A freedom of expression is floating around, loose from the over-sexed, over-shot, consumerist focus on wearable trends.

I want to be free from the trend, free from the unwashable $15.98, disposable facsimile of a dress I feel compelled to pick off the rack at "insert trend chain name here" because it is so cheap. I want to see how the cheap-o stores attempt to water down the newest Marc Jacobs show, which is all cut up and collaged. It is focused on texture and color with displaced and replaced references to the past, present, and future. In case you can't sense the sarcasm, I seriously don't want to see what they will make of any of the looks from his shows this season, like the ones below for Loius Vuitton.




This is not to say that I am wholeheartedly in support of the elitist, big-bucks fashion houses either. That is exactly why I loved so much shown this season. This is the thinking girl's moment to shine. Comb the racks at a vintage store, raid your mom's closet, and cut up everything you own then stitch it back together sideways. Follow Rei Kawakubo's example at Comme des Garcons and let your clothes out to play.





As for the claims that both Marc Jacobs shows this season were hijacked from Kawakubo? I say maybe. I also say so what? None of us lives in a bubble; no ideas are unique. If this random aesthetic is going to be the poached prize of the season, I say let it spread. This isn't polka dots or sailor stripes. This is mash-up randomness. Everyone should try it. Looks like fun.

I want to slap my outfits silly!

Let's go batshit crazy and wear everything all at once! Let's carefully curate a mish-mash of color, pattern, and shape that somehow looks quiet and comfortable. I love it. It is elegant eccentricity. I want something new and this feels new, less slick, less packaged for mass consumption, more freaked and tweaked and wearable. This is my favorite trend of Spring/Summer '08-no questions asked--except of course, how do i recreate it in my own closet? Here are some examples:

Dries van Noten's andro-greaser-housewife look.



Dolce & Gabbana's color war and giant checkered bag! Giant!


Balenciaga's sculpted flower-power.

I want to float too.

I can't decide whether this image of a floating Cate Blanchett channeling Bob Dylan makes me want to be reborn as a classy Aussie actress with great bone structure, or wear skinny boy suits for the rest of my days. Either way I love it.

On another note, I really hope that the days of ballooning tops over stretchy black leggings are a thing of the past, but...

sweet lacy half tights can just barely be called leggings. I predict they will be stretched delicately over hip thighs before too long. Just remember they aren't opaque and you should wear appropriate over clothes please.

A match made in heaven:

C-Love 3.0 meets her future self! Maybe she finally read her free copy of Karl's don'teat book.


Fashion week(s) round-up to follow.

I want to share it.

This is a little corner of my room that I love. The Divine Ms.M, makeup, Bitch, and a tiny E.Badu. Sometimes its the little things that do it.

I want you to watch it.

Follow the link to Karen O's amazing neo-vogueing performance on Letterman, whose end of song fawning raises the already superb "gig" to golden status.

I want to stuff it.

I once saw this Sixty Minutes segment on a national taxidermy convention where they handed out prizes for "Best in Show". They rated the stuffed animals on posture, facial expression, and hair quality; all the things that really matter.

I want to run down the street in it.

I want to twirl in it.

Two Dior dresses for two very different day(or night)dreams. A dark train rustling behind me as I run barefoot down a cobbled street at twilight in some glowing European city. A light, sparkle sprinkled confection of a dress built for twirling. A girl can dream...

I want to drum it.

She's like snow white with rhythm (and cleavage to spare). The red nails are my favorite part.