i fucked her to mariah carey's 'hero'

In the middle of writing a post about how I confronted a one night stand in order to get back a $20 belt I bought from H&M that I accidentally left after a series of bad decisions starting with tequila and PBR and ending in a Brooklyn loft that would've left the health inspector condemning anything within a five mile radius, I saw the Keri Hilson music video for "Turnin Me On" - specifically the portion in which a man with a tight set of moobies (man boobies) makes his pecs dance (scroll to 00:43). Why can't I ever date guys who can do this? Furthermore, why can't my boobs do this?

I wore this to a wizard theme party. I promptly lost my wand that night, and rumor is that it has found a new master. Damn, this means that I won't be able to bewitch T.I. out of jail so he can be my baby daddy.




dress.pantora on esty. shoes. pour la victoire. bag. street market in seoul.

moi je joue à joue contre joue

I've been a bit lazy with the blog lately. I'm currently working on two major projects that are consuming my life. And I'm also nursing what could potentially be a very bad drinking habit. (I'm still trying to see what's so bad about Recession Mondays, Wine Wednesdays, and Margarita Fridays.) If you're not doing anything tomorrow, you should drop by the Eyedrum Gallery to see Asobi Seksu.

I got an extra large mailer from Barney's last week, and I've been thumbing through it every time I sit down at my desk. I really love the photography, the mix of black & white with sepia tones. They styled it using a single designer for each page (for the most part), and I stopped at the page that used all Yves Saint Laurent, thinking, "Comme des garcons, is dat chu?" It looks like a rip straight from the CDG x H&M collection.

All the wedding talk made me realize that too many people I know are being idiots this year and not prioritizing their wedding budgets. Why the hell are you spending $5,000 on flowers and then NOT SERVING ANY ALCOHOL? I can't imagine a wedding without an open bar, much less a completely dry one. Besides, isn't it bad luck to toast with water? Personally, I would forgo pretty much everything and just spend money on my dress (this Yohji Yamamoto deconstruction dress looks perfect for these rocky economic times) and then stock up on Cristal. Ballin' on a budget.

if sex was made into a dress...

This fall, there will most likely be a wedding in which the majority of the guests will be bankers and doctors. In other words, the world's two most boring groups of people will amass under one roof in what could potentially be the most painful day of my life. The only thing that's been saving me from plotting to throw myself in front of a bus in order to have a plausible excuse of missing that wedding is the dress of absolute sex that Alexander Wang made for spring '09. (Yes, I know I've griped about him, but I'm also a shameless hypocrite.)

It's given me quite the run around. A fiasco with eluxury.com made me miss out on my first chance, and an e-mail to Creatures of Comfort (who has great customer service, by the way) proved fruitless. I attempted to curb my jealousy when Luxirare featured the coveted possession on her blog, but the green monster got the best of me when Kanye's stripper-turned-highclass escort was seen walking around Paris with the beautiful mess of coiled swirls. Oh, NO SHE DIDN'T.

So I grit my teeth and called my local Barney's Co-Op and demanded that the bitches who worked there actually pull their weight and hunt down this dress. I suppose it helped that the slowed economy got their asses in high gear, and they found a size 2 waiting for my greedy hands in Beverly Hills. A week and my entire tax return check later, I am now ready to greet the prematurely balding, Napoleonic complex masses who use pick-up lines learned in 3rd grade come September. I'll just need a bottle of vodka and a year's worth of cigarettes.

P.S. Ji, I too would like to know what stick monster can fit into a size 0. The sleeves on the dress are super tiny, and the fabric isn't very forgiving for any type of chubbs anywhere. Maybe the cocaine-addled Nicole Richie might have fit into the 0, but I can't be 100% sure about that either.

the art of layering

Whenever I go to Korea during the winter, I always find myself amazed at how wonderfully the girls layer their clothing. The way that they mix prints, colors, and fabrics is like an art. I'm so insanely jealous of that girl who looks like they just woke up and put on all the clothes they had in a drawer but has that enviably cool demeanor that makes you want to be her friend but you know she'll never choose you. Okay, maybe not.

But going back through my binder filled with editorial clippings, I came across this editorial from a Korean spin-off of an American magazine (it's gotta be from either Vogue or Harper's Bazaar... or possibly Elle, but not likely) that featured the traditional Korean dress, the han-bok. I have huge han-bok envy. I don't know why because my relatives always sent one every year. (The one I had in middle school was BANGING. I may post pictures of the evolution of my han-bok later.)

Browsing through these, I can see where Koreans learned the art of layering. I almost forgot how it takes an hour to put one of these on. You start with a slip (which I never wore and made my grandmother comment on how I was running around with my ass flapping in the wind and that boys didn't like girls who were like that - haha, grandma, look who got the last laugh) and just compound layer upon layer of silk (or a gauzy linen in the summer, usually) until you pretty much look like a shapeless blob. But the modern interpretations in this editorial makes me think that I need to order a new one this summer, preferably one with a dramatic corset with a matching headdress.

from russia.... i love

I was looking up my last name on Wikipedia (because I have too much time on my hands) and stumbled upon this Russian rocker named Viktor Tsoi who shares the same supposed "tribe" as me. He's ruined my life as I've spent the entire day listening to his band, Kino, on Youtube. My favorite one has to be where he picks up the phone and calls somebody (and the only words I can recognize is "Da? Da? Allo?"). After which he pulls an awesome trick with the pay phone. Oh, to be a bad ass in 1980s Russia.

dominatrix in the back

Kids eat the darnedest things. I've gone through my fair share of nastiness: all forms of mucus, dirt, a dollar bill, various pieces of wildlife... I thought I had a pretty unbeatable track record until my friend confessed that he used to eat his scabs. Yes, those bits of dried up blood that appear a week after you skin your knees. Unfortunately, that wasn't even as half as bad as another friend who actually ate earthworms.

Last week, I watched as my five-year-old cousin ate her boogers. I thought about making fun of her, but then decided against it. If she starts eating the pus oozing out of her ears, maybe I'll say something.

P.S. These shoes are really fucking fantastic. The Glamourai agrees. (And she wore them so much better than I did - she makes me want to get creative!)




jumpsuit. somewhere in Paris. shoes. Pour La Victoire. belt. UO.

stanky legg

This was the topic of conversation last night. And sadly, this is my new jam.

Ay, you better bang yourself
'cause I can tell that you're hot.
I hope you wind it up,
lean back and show your socks.

Need cute socks.

flashback

I wrote this whole thing about how much I love everything that came from the Summer of Love, but then realized that it has nothing to do with these two pictures. They're from ad campaigns from last year. I always find it curious that designers have a way to play off each other, embracing similar ideas in design at the same time. Fashion is rather incestuous.

Claudia Schiffer looks like a queen bee in the Ferregamo ad. Look at her two man bitches flanking her sides. The one on her right should be carrying her handbag. Queen bees don't carry shit.

swinging my fringe boots

When Forever 21 came out with their knock off version of Alexander Wang's fringe boots (you know, the ones Alessandra Ambrosia wore in that editorial for March's US Elle and also the very ones the hottest bitches wore to NYFW), the cheap ass in me had to order a pair because I wasn't about to drop $600 on a pair of shoes I would probably wear for one season.



I debuted these suckas over the weekend for trash-face margarita night at El Azteca on Saturday where some black lip-stick lesbians cooed over my shoes and then house-browsing on Sunday. They're amazingly comfortable, but they're also unbelievably cheap. The actual heel tends to move if you step too hard, and the fake leather reeks - literally. But for $35, I'd say that they're not a bad buy. Also, I should say that they're exactly like the original Wang's, down to the thong part that goes in-between your big and second toe. (I didn't think it had this because I couldn't see it in the picture.)

take a trip to the american west

So, I'm back to the cowboy thing again. It doesn't help that I've been watching Encore Western all week long. I can't believe there's a television channel that only plays cowboy movies. (My favorite thus far has to be Shalako with Brigitte Bardot and Sean Connery. The storyline is absolute shit, but the clothes... OH, the clothes!)

Maybe I'm not that nostalgic about leather chaps, leather whips, and dusty denim. Maybe this little obsession has to do with traditional notions of chivalry, damsel in distress, and good always defeating evil.

Oh, what am I saying? Of course it's all about the leather. And if you can throw in some of those "Indian" feathers, I'm enthralled. (Although I have to admit that the whole premise behind the western genre is inherently racist. If it's not the Native Americans, it's the Mexicans trying to defeat the good ole American notion of finder's keepers.)

credits: Life photo archive