My manfriend can always tell when I’m having a horrific day, because I look fucking fantastic.
The conversation usually goes like this:
Manfriend: “Hello, sweetie. You look fancy.”
Me: “Thank you. I try.”
Manfriend: “What’s wrong?”
…because clearly that’s adult.
Seriously, though. Whenever I’ve had a shit day, I’m worn out, or some troll has decided to come out of their cave and throw poop on my life, I pull out my red lipstick/flouncy dress/biker boots/all of the aforementioned and pretend none of it gets to me while secretly pouting like a WASPy socialite with her convertible keys confiscated by daddy. Or something.
Women are expected to put on such a fresh face when adversity looms; how pathetically dated. I decided to take the theme and make it purposeful and pertinent. My war paint, battle armor, the weird fan thing on the acid-spitting dinosaur from Jurassic Park.
AREN’T MY FRILLS AND SPIT SO PRETTY
or Galadriel’s “all shall love me and despair” rant:
Since everything I own is in storage during my job/apartment hunt, I have no access to most of my stuff. I feel like a Bird of Paradise without my feathers. In many ways, I am my outward form, multi-varying as it may be. It is my art, the highest expression of my self and soul and all that I am. I feel muted, drained of vibrancy. It is my last and best defense against a world that doesn’t care and doesn’t not care.
I think this excerpt of a recent post explains it best:
In a recent documentary, Tom Ford explained this scene from A Single Man, where his distraught protagonist George drags himself out of bed in order to get dressed. The scene wasn’t in the original book Ford based his movie on, but he put it in because it related to him. When he’s in a deep and dark depression, one of the things he enjoys doing is putting on a suit. “It might be false,” he said in the documentary, “but I feel like if I shine my shoes, put on a tie, and make myself look as good as I can possibly look, I feel better. That somehow it’s armor; it’s a ritual that I go through.”
“Looking in the mirror, staring back at me, isn’t so much a face as the expression of a predicament; just get through the goddamn day.” – George, A Single Man
Laser-cut fabrics: A case study on the Epilog site with a downloadable lace gauntlet pattern.
A couple other bits of patterning and blogs I found that are adorable:
How To – Pattern Grading: Resizing a pattern up or down for better fit.
Tea Top: Sweetheart Neckline Strapless Tank
American Duchess: Historial Costuming Tutorials (16th-20th c.)
Atomic Redhead: Vintage Everything Blog
The Pink Retro Powder Room: Vintage Tutorials and Bloggery
The Fiercest Lilliputian: Lifestyle Blog of Vintage Ladies
Swing Dress Sew-Along: Amazing and detailed series of blog entries designed not only to teach how to create the dress, but how to pattern and fit adjust for it, too.
I want to be Helen Mirren when I grow up, but I’d like to be Sigourney Weaver along the way. They are two of the most beautiful women in existence, and it is because of their age. Sigourney Weaver is more beautiful now than she was in Ghostbusters, and Helen Mirren played the QUEEN. Did you see her in that holy-crap-amazing-cleavage dress at the Oscars?
I say these pictures speak for themselves. Helen is one of my style icons.
While the allure of the single classic piece is appealing – you don’t have to think much – I’m a proponent of layering. A dress made of kapow is great, but nothing says “I know what the hell I’m doing” than a carefully crafted ensemble. This ad isn’t for one item; it’s the whole Vera Wang look, layer upon layer of style scaffolding.
’60s neckline, meet WASPy hemline. Oh, and geometric washout to boot, with full brows and snark face? Love, thy name is Prada.
The three witches of Shakespeare and Beckett, the Fates, the Feminine Divine, Botticelli’s Graces, or the Cups of Tarot fame. In all cases, Cavalli calls upon the unity of three. Not to mention there’s a horse, so +1 on that. I guess that would be four. Damnit.
Bottega Veneta: texture extraordinaire. The dress has a sort of earthy, mushroom quality; structured edges smooth down and inward to a voluptuous froth of layers not unlike the dome leading to the ridged underside. The power exuded in this model’s stance is forceful, yet refined. The pose is tempered from being overly macho by the relaxed squareness of the shoulders, an honest posture that seems to query “what, you don’t like my stiletto on your excessively poofy velvet couch? Oh, what an unfortunate thought.” DISMISSED.
I’ve been purging like you wouldn’t believe for the past two weeks in preparation for Seattle. In the process, I’ve truly learnt the meaning of kipple. How in the name of all that is holy (and unholy) do we humans accrue so much crap? It boggles the mind.
A few bits and pieces have floated to the surface of the donations and trash piles that I had somehow missed – clippings from magazines, articles I wanted to write about, and ad spreads that I needed to be documented for the sake of… something. Somehow it all got missed, and I am sort of saddened by the loss of intellectual stimulation, the writing practice, and the discourse they could have spurred. To somehow glean a bit from these husks, I’m going to post a few things. Just bits and pieces. Just piles of paper.
Set #1: Dark Eye Makeup Editorial by Elle (I think?)
My good friend Matt Braun (pictured, far right), a member of the Goodman board, added me to the silent auction list for my wardrobe consultation services. Exciting! So glad to help arts education, especially in a time when it’s being cut in schools across the country.
More pictures from the benefit here.
I got a notion in my head to embroider a bubble field – a representation of particle decay paths as they spiral off into oblivion. I’ve found them fascinating and beautiful.
Now to frame it.
I was at the Bay Area MakerFaire last weekend, and had a much different Faire experience than the previous two that I attended (last year’s Bay Area and Detroit iterations). It was… stale. Staged. Commercial. There were massive booths and displays reserved for companies that had nothing to do with makers or the maker movement. They were riding the wave of innovation that the community has fostered to hold a captive audience and misinform those who were being exposed to the world of making for the first time. There were phone companies and tech giants that, through massive amounts of cash, were able to gain priority over the hallmark agent of making: the little guy. The “hack-it-together with duct tape, spit, and hope” kind of tinkerer that is SUPPOSED to be in the spotlight. I was disgusted by some of the companies who were sponsoring crowd-sourcing projects to further their own R&D by taking the ideas of these innovators and KEEPING THEM. No rights are given to the progenitors of the illuminating inventions; a small check is cut as a prize while the company makes bank. It was tawdry, and I am disappointed in MAKE for allowing this to take place.
I had to take a few minutes to cool down from my MakerFaire-incited soapbox rant before coming back to anything even vaguely related. I must, however, point out two excellent parts of the Faire that I encountered. The first is the Bizarre Bazaar, the market area of MakerFaire that is specifically geared towards craftsy artisan works. I saw beautiful work there, and I’ll be posting more on some of my favorite stuff from the Bazaar later on.
The second part that I was blown away by was the utterly orgasmic paella.
Now, I’ve had some good paella. I’ve had paella in a couple cities in Spain, for chrissakes. This, this stuff is better than anything I have ever had. MakerFaire invites Gerard Nebesky (who kicked Bobby Flay’s ass in a 2008 cook-off), to preside over pans bigger than most British cars.
The line for this addictive crack-food is an hour long AT LEAST. It is a good idea to send someone for beer at regular intervals.
As if allowing people to taste this veritable manna wasn’t enough, dude passed out the recipe:
I made this face:
Power Racing Series is gearing up again…. YESSSSssss. I just found out about the promo vid, and it is hilarious. Jim Burke knows me too well.
My full interview:
The rest of my team:
1. Jordan Bunker (fellow driver and “pretengineer”)
2. Patrick Calahan (team leader and “dad”)