Friday, May 30, 2008

who dat?

I received a message this morning congratulating me on my Now magazine cover.

Hallelujah, I thought to myself, modestly.
Someone has stumbled across my scribblings and recognized my genius.

Coffee in one hand, towel-turban up top, I rushed to my computer to revel in my success.

To my dismay however, I logged on to the website to find out that it was a photograph, not a feature story, and even worse, I had been confused with a 14 year old boy.

The real kicker?

Even I can’t deny the peculiar resemblance.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

these boots were made for winning, and that's just what they'll do

Who loves clunky boots that reek of the early 90’s?
I do.

Being that hipster-trend setters/followers/bloggers have taken a much-needed hiatus from "florals" and moved on to Docs, this online contest could not have come at a better time.

My affinity for Miss Hannah Sider is no secret. (see: previous posts)

Likewise, her design aspirations for the new Doc Marten boot should not be kept a secret either. Vote for my girl, my heart, “the sole” right here.

Best of luck, me love.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

eat your heart out, corey kennedy

I’ve been wanting to catalogue some treasures I have recently uncovered in Winnipeg while I bide my time “in between jobs”. In the absence of any real employment, I have accepted a full-time position as a bargain hunter. Myself and my colleague, "Mom", have engaged in a lucrative rummaging business wherein we bounce from Value Village to Value Village and expand on our conjoined wardrobe. Being that grade seven students don’t have the luxury of unemployment, my kid sister Sonny has been feeling left out while sitting in on our evening inventory and appraisal meetings.

Killing two birds with one gem, I was able to document some of my finds and include the little ankle-biter in the process.

To my dismay however, my twelve-year old sister looks far better in, well, most everything we bought. If memory serves correct, early pubescence should bring about pimples, hair, and habitual mood swings. Evidently, puberty is going far easier on her than it went on me.

Bah humbug.

Friday, May 23, 2008

nipple woes

I don’t know how they're doing it in Belgium these days, but judging by bruno Pieters' crafty designs, they're doing it half naked.
I like these dresses.
And I love anything sheer.
Not only is it a pretty word, but a pretty concept. It's too bad that these gorgeous get-ups are completely impractical. Of course the natural solution would be to put on a damn bra. But for some reason, I feel the look would be compromised.
Of course, the aforementioned look being "areola-chic".
Hmph. Too bad.
So sad.

my weekly muse-ings...

Although his last name is left a mystery to most, much like Cher, and Madonna, his wears are most often epic, much like Cher, and Madonna.

Toronto's "Jesse" prides himself on his extensive wardrobe (shared mostly with an equally suave roommate/future muse) consisting of nautically stimulated patterns, torn netting, sharp toed boots, sharply tinted denim, and the sharpest pair of spherical spectacles west of Hogwarts.

His impressive collection of perfectly-ill-fitting t-shirts expands rapidly, as his local Salvation Army is located just moments from his Queen East digs. Hi Rex!

On bike, foot or free streetcar, "Jesse" can be seen around his city sporting the best mix of 80's, 90's and now, shuffling along to songs of the same era likely playing on a walkman.

When asked to describe his style,which I adore in some inexplicable kinda way, his response was:

"Johnny Depp meets the Wild West for drinks on the Sunset Strip."

Ugh. I know, right?

Monday, May 19, 2008

separated at barf

Blah blah blah Marni sandals. Enough.
People actually like these?
Is it just me (and she), or does the "Fragola" look like the Croc's retarded cousin?
There is a fine line between "mom contemporary" and "bubbie chic".

My suggestion? Quit ripping off L.L. Bean.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

sunday bests

You know that feeling you get when the sunshine beats your alarm clock at its own game? The buttery coloured light escapes past the curtains that you carelessly, sleepily did not draw the night before, and somehow you can smile before you can yawn. Before you've even had coffee.

Your first thought: who else isn't working today?
Your second: Where are my summer clothes? And no, not those ones right there in my closet hanging in all of their ample, unworn glory. The ones that are as new, as brilliant as the morning that woke me.

I want white. And not the kind that I have. "Safe white".

I want the kind that I would never dare wear around condiments, wet grass, dogs, Starbucks, Katy, red wine, The TTC, or Aunt Flo.

I'd also like some pastels.
Not the kind that you see on homely babies with rich parents. But kind of like that.

I want Peter Jensen. I didn't care for it back in September, yes, I remember. But now I eat my words. You know who you are, and I'm sorry. You were right. Forgive me, but the weather is warm now, and I need something real dapper for when I ride the hog with Willy. Albeit, not conventional hog riding clothes, but pretty and weather-appropriate nonetheless. Two outa three aint bad.

And, after all, hindsight is always 20/20. Especially with my sunnies and a helmet on.

on the road again

"I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move."
Or so said Robert Stevenson.

And so, they began counting down, and down, and downer, and downest.
AV is keeping our spot warm for us until we can get back. Three lunar cycles.
And counting.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

my weekly muse-ings...

Legendary Whodunit-writer Jeanine Larmoth once said that “a hat is a shameless flatterer, calling attention to an escaping curl, a tawny braid, a sprinkling of freckles over a pert nose, directing the eye to what is most unique about a face. Its curves emphasize a shining pair of eyes, a lofty forehead; its deep brim accentuates the pale tint of a cheek, creates an aura of prettiness, suggests a mystery that awakens curiosity in the onlooker.”

Sufficed to say, Larmoth would argue that hats, caps, veils, barrettes, and any other head-adorning ornament is an ideal addition to every woman’s wardrobe. However one standout Winnipeg lass and prarie trendsetter would contend that a dainty topper is not only an ideal addition to every wardrobe, but an essential element of every outfit.

It is a rare and infrequent occurrence to spot Miss Madi Cash, best friend, local 'it girl' (like, omg) and true blue ‘pegger, with a naked noggin. Her hair color changes as often as her nail polish, which changes as often as her shoes, which changes as often as her style – but one thing never changes and that’s her love for the art of millinery.

Her turbans, top hats, trilbies and tiaras have either been salvaged from lonely, shambolic vintage bins, or hand crafted on quiet weekends in Wolsley. She has mastered the art of ‘tying one on’, and not in the staff Christmas party sense. Sure, the headwraps aren’t an entirely novel idea (we can all applaud Prada for milking that look drier than an Oscar Wilde novel), however I would argue that hers are a lot less Ali-Baba bridesmaid meets Marlene Dietrich, and a hell of a lot more everyday.

I’m habitually inspired by her ever-evolving supply of coiffure accessories, and am constantly reminded of how a good head piece is, very literally, the cherry on top of a nearly perfect ensemble, worn by a superior-to-perfect companion. And for everyone else as well, I'm sure.

Thursday, May 8, 2008

nothing messy about it...

This is a sketch I recieved via email. As it turns out, I'll be featured in a graphic novella.
Story suggestions welcome. Compliments to the (very sweet) artist also more than welcome.


It's been nearly five days. I'm now readjusted.
Only seven digit phone-numbers until who-knows-when. Cabs are called, not hailed. Spring has been pushed back, and my socks are back on. Not my socks, though. Because I didn't even think to pack them. Mom's socks. Mom's house. Mom's rules. Benson and Hedges, and dinner at seven. Stella and I have become reacquainted. She feeds me, and bleeds my wallet everyday around noon. I forgot how good my bed feels. Sleeping alone doesn't seem lonely until you've stopped doing it. And Meesha. And Meesha. (Kevin Spacey, anyone?)

buy it for your boyfriend

The 90's were super rad.

If not for the music (thank you, Joey Lawrence) then for the super rad duds. At this time, I was still being dressed by my mother. She was so forward thinking. The girls wore stirrups and crewneck sweatshirts over turtlenecks, or corduroy and denim onsies with elaborate hair ties and jelly sandals, while the guys (*gasp!*) wore patterns, and color. None of this monochromatic jabberwocky. None of this "I like color, I do, but I only wear black, grey, navy and white."

I love you, but you know who you are.

A group of individuals from New York City have recognized that although the flash, clash and tack from the 90's have made a comeback with the ladies [*in saying that, and I must be clear, I am in no way condoning neon bandeau bras, lycra lame, or anything of the like], the same sadly cannot be said for the men…boys…dudes?

On a recent trip to NYC, I stumbled across a group of guys sitting at a collapsible table on Canal Street selling the brightest, boldest, "raddest" men's-only gear I ever did see. We followed the gaggle of boys-in-windbreakers up to the forth floor, taking an elevator that whispered "sudden death" with every jerky lift. Upstairs, it was like walking into a set sale from Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. The stock, which included patch denim, graphic t-shirts, Jeremy Scott-esque cardigans (acceptable ones) and water-resistent half-zips, was vivid, and well organized. Color print paper lined the walls, and was held up by hundreds of strategically placed pin tacks. The music was loud. Well, loud enough.

And the designers? They weren't too bad either. (Hi Nick!)

Pegleg NYC, based out of New York City, is a street wear line that boasts the best mix of brights, prints, and varied textiles without looking obnoxiously inflated, or like something that Dov Charney might puke up and then sell for 60 dollars. We may even see the return of the fade.

Although you can't pick it up anywhere in Toronto just yet (they're working on it) it IS in Canada. Try Solespot in Winnipeg, Old Gold in Quebec, or Songkla in Calgary. And of course, you can always order online.