complexgeometries f/w 2011

My Fashion Week started off quite slowly, thankfully. Unlike last season, when I was running around Lincoln Center and elsewhere like a chicken with my head cut off from 9 AM the first day, I got to take it easy the first two days. Mostly because I was getting over a pretty miserable case of laryngitis (still hacking up a lung now, but I can actually speak), and I very much valued the time I had in bed.


So what was my first order of business once I didn't feel like death reincarnate? Head on down to the West Side Highway for a jaunt at the strip club.

Clever setting on the part of complexgeometries, that is. The Westway was taken over recently by the folks from Smile and the Jane, but they've kept the "Gentleman's Club" awnings, stripper poles, and $20 lap dance signs intact. A bit of cognitive dissonance seeing bloggers hanging in front of the neon, cheesy mirrored walls, but CG's presentation made for a really titillating show.


As much as I love CG's gothy, complicated "it's-a-t-shirt-but-now-it's-a-cowl-and-now-it's-a-skirt" mutant way of looking at clothing, it's even better to see them branch out into these unbelievably cozy, slouchy red sweaters, musky grays and taupes, and something altogether softer.


I loved the sci-fi vibes of shimmering, inky black transparent capes, raw quartz jewelry...and lest we forget the glam-rock moon boots of my dreams, courtesy of a collaboration with LD Tuttle:


Out of this fucking world.

Later that night I ventured over to the always clusterfucky Seven party at the Tribeca Grand: see pictured Natasha, yours truly, and Meg sporting all black everything. The sort of fashion-goth, egotistical craziness on display at this party is something that must be seen to be believed, and I'm glad I finally had the full-fledged shitshow experience. Once and never again for me, so sayeth my headache the morning after.

Today is the real winner for me: Y-3 and Katie Gallagher! Will be sure to update immediately.

LOVE magazine, andrej pejic, fashion androgyny

I want to talk about Givenchy couture, but at the same time, I really don't. While the dresses were beautiful, the detailing exquisite (next time I have a gala to go to where nipples are allowed, I'll take this please and thank you), and the inspiration seemingly sincere--Kazuo Ohno and Butoh dancing (used to pretty great effect in this Einstürzende Neubauten clip, incidentally) via Antony Hegarty--the casting had the same sweeping generalization, gimmicky vibe that Vogue's Asia Major editorial had. The last word: Gita has shown me the parallels between this collection and Gurren Lagann. Quote: "Givenchy’s is the couture collection that will pierce through the heavens!"



But now, I guess what's stuck out for me most this couture season--or, to be frank, what's been reblogged on my Tumblr dashboard the most--is this look from Jean Paul Gaultier's collection:


Which comes on the heels of these equally popular shots from menswear:



Time to cover my ass: I quite like Andrej Pejic. He's gorgeous, there's no denying that, and heaven knows I'm not faulting him for a bit of designer dress-up. I remember reading a fairly old interview with him on the Fashion Spot where he said his favorite things were '80s New Romantics, his hero is Boy George, and he likes a whole lot of Dead or Alive. He's a modern Blitz kid, and anyone who leaves me with visions of Steve Strange and super-early Duran Duran dancing in my head is a keeper in my book. This isn't the first time ultra-feminine (I hesitate to say androgynous, more on that later) male models have tottered down the runway in dresses and heels: Martin Cohn, most recently. Same goes for the reverse: Omahyra, most obviously, and Kristen McMenamy...in fact, most of the grunge girls.

I also really, really dig JPG's punky couture collection--which is nice, since he's been kind of underwhelming lately. And I also like JPG as a dude and as a model caster (is there a CD for his shows?). His runways are full of some of the most diverse faces and bodies in the business, so I trust that he's not hopping aboard the bandwagon. It's just beginning to feel a lot like fetishization for me. OBSERVE:


Let's play some convoluted thought hopscotch. LOVE Magazine's Androgyny Issue, hitting newsstands February 7 (though I imagine it'll come to the US by March or something). I'm going to withhold judgment until I see the issue, or at least a list of contents, photographers, models, etc. So first, Cover 1 with Kate Moss and Lea T. I'm extraordinarily happy to see Lea getting more editorial work, hopefully beyond her just wearing Givenchy; here's also hoping, in the unicorns-and-rainbows sense, that her success doesn't rely on her being qualified as a transgender model for much longer--just let her be a good model. Good on the Pulp-inspired tagline too. So why does it leave me cold? Yeah, you can say that casting a transgendered model in the nude, decidedly more feminine and vulnerable role is food for thought, but the concept isn't executed to full effect. Kate, sporting a greasy pompadour and a "this is butch, right?" leather number probably on holdover from a Freja shoot, actually kind of looks uncomfortable (this might speak to her limited, though enduring, range as a model).

I don't have much to say about Bieber's cover other than...I kind of feel bad for the poor kid. He looks 12 and he has a daft haircut, to be sure, and his fans are apparently fucking terrifying, but it's a bit mean-spirited, yeah? It feels unnecessarily nasty to be poking fun at a 16-year-old for his girly looks (some even going so far as to question his gender or sexuality), looking like a lesbian or vice versa. Does he understand all the gendered hate he gets? Thing is, LOVE's Katie Grand is a pretty shrewd marketer. Now that Carine Roitfeld's gone, she's one of the industry's most knowing shock-mongers, provocation for provocation's sake. Again, I won't judge until I see what's inside, but given LOVE's track record, I kind of expect a whole lot of sharp-jawed girls in suits eventually showing off their tits.

Which kind of brings me back to Andrej. Why does he stand out as a symptom of fashion's androgyny disease to me and not, say, Jana K's awesome haircut or the fact that for a while, Freja couldn't take a god damn photo without being suited up, greased out, and eventually totally nude? Is it because I find something attractive about those gals and thus turn a blind eye? It gets me angry, but for other reasons. Fashion's androgyny is not about gender expression, ambiguous features, or what have you--it's body politics at play again. I mentioned it as the one thing that grates about designers like Rad Hourani, and Meg pretty much caught on it in a comment from the LAST time I did a post like this, and it remains convoluted and not fully thought out, justified, or explained. Androgyny defaults to ectomorphic, long, lean silhouettes. 20-something female models are made to look like 17-year-old boys by the nature of the business; we go crazy when a 22-year-old woman has hips and breasts, but the capital-W Women and the androgynes are sexualized as women all the same. When male models look like capital-M Men, or they're a little older, they've got build and a bit of facial hair, we breathe a sigh of relief and herald a new age of masculinity; 17-year-old boys who look like 17-year-old boys who are a bit awkward, perhaps a bit more feminine, kind of freak us out and call to mind fashion's obsession with androgyny. But then again, they're sexualized for their youth (HEDI SLIMANE'S ENTIRE CAREER DIOR HOMME AND BEYOND), and that's not great either. And if androgyny goes beyond that prepubescent, slim-hipped mold, we turn our noses in disgust. See Fashion Spot commenters being grossed out by an image of Leigh Bowery nude on Acne Paper's cover.

So then we put the young boy in women's clothes and freak out once again. So Andrej Pejic is being sexualized--or worse, fetishized--as a woman. He's doing it willingly because he enjoys it, but I guess I just hope that the kid has a career once the modeling industry defaults back to prepubescents. Because if my favorite Vogue Turkey editorial and its impeccable styling prove anything, he's got a damn beautiful face and longevity under the Veronica Lake waves.

costume national / thomas engel hart

I'm not sure why I've blogged so much about menswear/men's fashion in the past. Perhaps it's because the things that piss me off about womenswear hit too close to home; even though women's fashion creates a better show and spectacle during Fashion Week, I can't help but think about how impossible half of the clothing is...not just that it's impractical, but it's designed with a narrow spectrum. It's what bothers me a tinge about Rad Hourani's unisex designs; it's not legitimately designed with all genders in mind, rather the sort of androgynous ectomorph that already has his/her pick of the litter for fashion.

So rather than post about pre-fall (which, let's be real, I have no fucking clue what pre-fall is, and it seems there are only two weeks in New York when such "transitional" clothing would work so why bother. It just seems like a supply/demand financial invention to me), I turn back to menswear. Truth be told, I haven't been paying much attention to Pitti Uomo F/W 2011 either. I probably won't until soundtrack lists come out and I discover that Riccardo Tisci used more coldwave or witch house or some nonsense.



costume national a/w 2011
Speaking of a music influence, apparently Ennio Capasa's mood board for Costume National included a photo of James Chance, whose no-wave jazz noise is a decent counterpart to CN's "rebel tailoring" theme.


He's definitely one of the most enduring figures of the NYC scene; the way he and the Contortions (or the Blacks, or when he was with Teenage Jesus and the Jerks) combined real improvisational funk skill with the squawking, punk-rock rhythms of the time--not to mention his penchant for serious concert beatdowns and a mean fist--has stood him in good fresh stead.

Costume National's collection is the only one that I've been really interested in thus far, and I think (for a high-fashion, high-sex label) the tailoring is decently analogous to Chance's music. Classically slim suiting is undone by raw edges, leather lapels, and heat-fused fabrics, and I have a real thing for turtlenecks and mod mohair sweaters. I don't know why; I was obsessed with CN's monochrome-blocked turtlenecks from A/W 2010, and do not get me STARTED on the perfection that was Jil Sander A/W 2008. I guess it's a New Wave, floppy-haired underachievers thing. Chelsea boots? Say no more.


thomas engel hart x underground
Well, actually, say more. As a designer, Thomas Engel Hart--a key figure in NYC's art/club scene in the nineties himself--has a flair for getting my not-so-well hidden punk screaming with joy. He's another who'd better move into womenswear, stat. I love it when designers play off youth cults; the aged cult members themselves (skinheads, mods, what have you) may not appreciate their teenage rebellion being co-opted by a consumer industry, but it looks damn good. TEH designed these boots in collaboration with Underground, pretty much the #1 winklepicker provider on the internet. They were available at Opening Ceremony, but tragically went out of stock before I could get my hands on a Men's size 9. (I have gigantic problem feet; the only sizes still available are the tiny men's sizes specially designed so women could order them from OC.) Mark my words though, they will be mine.

nodding dogs and valium

My tippity top New Year's resolution is to kick this blog back into high gear. More photos, a few interviews here and there, more absurdly long treatises (mostly on menswear, funnily enough). But it wouldn't have been right not to post something today, as I'd be doing a disservice to the man who gave this blog a name.


Rowland S. Howard: jerking guitar genius, misanthropic poet (in his own words, "I've got no companions, only Céline's on my side"), sadly dismissed as merely a right-hand man to those more famous.

He was a bitter, cruelly romantic, otherworldly genius on his own merit. Rowland S. Howard will be missed.
24 October 1959 – 30 December 2009

i must above all things love myself

Apologies for the lack of updates. There have been editorials I've wanted to post (Vogue Turkey, for the record, is REALLY rocking my shit), but, more to the point, some great news...

You'll shortly be seeing my writing on Prefix Mag too! I'm so excited to get back into music writing proper; as much as I adore fashion, I miss the music industry dearly. I miss knowing things (beyond my rather sudden addiction to The X Factor this season. Incidentally, how in the hell could they have booted Aiden? He was adorable and hopelessly awkward), and it just so happens that things are pretty darn good lately.

And in my new journey through the music blogosphere--yes, I did indeed just realize it's 2010 and has been that way for 11 months--the sudden success of Oberlin/WOBC peers Teengirl Fantasy confounds me. In a good way. You always hear about Oberlin's music scene and the bands it's spawned: Yeah Yeah Yeahs in a sense, Deerhoof, Tortoise, Liz Phair, etc. But you never quite think that the kids you see in a basement will go on to internet renown so quickly, nor do you expect to open your copy of Dazed & Confused and find them. 7AM is a really good album, although it's more evocative of 3 AM early morning/late night bad party decisions. Hazy, slowed-down house--is this considered chillwave? I damn well hope not--this song features Shannon Fuchness from Light Asylum (another great band) and is as psychedelic as the screengrab suggests. It could be that I've gotten back into early 90's acid house in a big way lately.

Basically, I like this decade. Finally. And what better way to celebrate my delayed 21st century arrival than with a man who's been kicking it since the 1970s?


nick cave, consummate badass motherfucker
Last night was Grinderman at Nokia--er, Best Buy--Theater, and what a show it was! Despite its really awful location in the heart of Times Square, it was a killer venue for the gig; not that it would have mattered, as Mr. Cave could command the attention of any and all concertgoers anywhere. A lot of friends skipped out on this one because they were underwhelmed by Grinderman's second album, and I don't blame them--many of the songs ran together, and the first half of the set was really just a cacophony of indiscernible blues. I was glad that the encore kicked off with the comparatively easier "Palace of Montezuma" to break up the loud monotony.

Again, is this really a bad thing? Not when it's Nick Cave, motherfucker. The man moves like a beast half his age, and the sweaty, sunken chest that peeked out from his unbuttoned shirt still has the power to make me swoon. Rock's greatest murderous, wayward-believer-preacher showman.


I'm also now the proud owner of a Grinderman mug.

vamping it up

This is what I look like with hair!


It's been fun having a bob, actually. It just surprised me how few people recognized me, considering the makeup is more or less the same I do every day, perhaps a little heavier on the eyes.

Tonight, time for THIS IS NOT A COSTUME PART 2.

But hey, if the shoe fits.

stephen fry on straight cruising and slut-shaming

Breaking from fashion and goth music to address something that really, really pisses me off.

I'm a huge fan of Stephen Fry. He's absurdly intelligent and I probably quote...bits...from A Bit of Fry and Laurie every day. So seeing this interview with Stephen was quite disheartening, to say the least.

I think most straight men feel they disgust women. They find it difficult to believe that women are as interested in sex as they are. For good reason. If women liked sex as much as men there would be straight cruising areas in the way there are gay cruising areas. I feel sorry for straight men. The only reason women will have sex with them is that sex is the price they are willing to pay for a relationship with a man, which is what they want. They want a boyfriend and then they want commitment.

Of course a lot of women will deny this and say, ‘Oh, no, but I love sex, I love it!’ But do they go around having it the way that gay men do?

This, very unfortunately, is not an isolated incident. He's made quite a few questionable comments before; many accused him of transphobia when, during the "Girls and Boys" episode of QI, he referred to trans women as "ladyboys." Which is indeed fucked up and COMPLETELY disrespectful--great way to delegitimize someone's gender identity. I haven't seen the episode, but I believe this was also the one that tried to justify why QI rarely has female panelists: "women don't think women are funny." I'm glad I haven't seen it (or any of the G series) because it sounds like a fuckload of misogynist, transphobic pseudo-science.

So back to the quote above. Aside from the fact that I don't want Stephen Fry telling me what I apparently think--and also, apparently in his world there are only gay men and straights, lesbians are too busy wearing combat boots or something--the notion that there should be "straight cruising" areas is ridiculous, bottom line. For one, there's a whole lot of slut-shaming going on that makes being a proud, sexual female a difficult thing to claim in public. For two, many straight men already seem to regard all public domain as a "straight cruising" area. It's not like going to a designated ~*seedy park*~ looking for a one-night stand; there's very little way to avoid it, and even the sidewalk becomes a place to try and pick up a woman. I can't wait for a bus in suburban Long Island, wearing generally ~*man repellent clothing*~ (TANGENT TIME the notion of personal style as a way to above all attract male attention is fucked up, but, y'know), without having at least three people in their cars hoot and holler at me. This too can quickly slide into dangerous territory about class, race, and socially mandated attitudes about how to approach women, although it's a good long discussion to have and, for the most part, it's not relevant to what the white, privileged Stephen Fry has to say here.

I'm not reinventing the wheel with what I have to say (and actually, my superstar friend Meg has an awesome post on similar things). But here's a disturbing anecdote: last night, after leaving the Ford Models party with Maheen (which was pretty much a sweaty, open arena for sexual harassment anyway), I get on the train to go home, leaving my wig and makeup on because I wanted to show people how awesome and unrecognizable I looked in said wig. Giving the train conductor my ticket, he looks me up and down and says, "Girl, I wish I could take your picture." Despite getting no response, when he comes to take my ticket the second time around, he persists. "Looks like you had fun tonight." He's more or less leering at me and I have to leave the train car to avoid him the rest of the ride. I'm guessing he simply assumed I was a drunken slut because I was one of few people in costume--because a reconstruction 20's dress screams I'M LOOKING FOR SOME, BOYS--but either way, not what one expects on the LIRR.

Getting dressed shouldn't be a fear. If I know I have to be somewhere late at night, I shouldn't want to make myself invisible by taking along the schlubbiest clothing I own. Unlike gay cruising areas in parks or whatnot, the sidewalk, the LIRR train, the pharmacy is not a fixed social space. While I can hold my own when catcalled, I don't want to mentally prepare myself for it any time I know I'll be in a crowded area. I don't want to keep my middle finger at full mast, because when I walk down the street or get chips from the deli, I'm not looking for sex or sexual conversation.

I'm not the most overtly sexual person. I like it fine and I'll get it when I want it, but when I was at Oberlin, I wasn't really keen on college hookup culture. There's a long list of reasons why I don't go for casual sex, but most are irrelevant. I may not be particularly promiscuous, but that doesn't mean other women are like me. We love sex, but we don't go on blathering about it or seeking it out publicly because we get vilified for it. After all, every bimbo in a miniskirt in heels is ASKING for it, isn't she? Stephen more or less says it in this interview:



"[Women don't] hang around in parks waiting for casual encounters with men. They just don't. The only ones who do it properly, they do it for money. Which proves another point--they have to be paid to do it!"

So every sexually active woman is a prostitute, and those who aren't only put up with sex out of desperation for a long-term relationship. What Stephen sees as sex aversion isn't a reflection of desire, but of the disparity of consequences between men and women. Social stigmatization, shame, a higher likelihood of violence, unwanted pregnancy, a world that already polices female sexuality and a woman's right to choose...

And here's an excerpt from his novel The Hippopotamus, the protagonist of which seems to be a far cruder version of Stephen:

Do gay men tarting themselves up for a night in a club whine about the vile sexism which insists they must be made attractive in order to be inspected like cattle? Do they hell.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I imagine a world in which women enjoy sex: a world of heterosexual cruising areas in parks and promenades, heterosexual bars, heterosexual back rooms, heterosexual cinemas, heterosexual quarters of the town where women roam, searching for chance erotic encounters with men. Such an image is only conceivable in one's fantasising bedroom, jerked into life by an angry fist and a few spastic grunts. If women needed sex as much as men did then - duck, Ted, duck, run for cover - then there wouldn't be so many rapists around the place.

The fact that such a misogynist message is being spread by a "NATIONAL FUCKING TREASURE" makes it even worse. Many people around the internets are thankfully outraged, but just as many are justifying it because "you guys, he's soooooo cool! He's so smart and funny and I will luff him forever."

No. Fuck that. I can't quite articulate all I want to say right now, but...Stephen, however clever a comedian you may be, you are hopelessly, ignorantly naive about gender, sexual chemistry (in the scientific sense), and societal standards for women. So piss off.