it's friday at 4:35pm.
my office doesn't have summer hours
Friday, July 19, 2013
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Flower Face
In the original biography about Schiaparelli, "A Shocking Life" it talks about a girl child Elsa feeling ugly and stuffing seeds into her mouth nose and ears hoping to bloom flowers from all her face. She hoped to walk down the streets and be a wonder to all who saw, they'd exclaim how beautiful she was. She would be beautiful. Obviously we know nothing grew, and the child was sent to a doctor, but wouldn't it be nice?
This stayed with me.
I found a Shel Silverstein cartoon where a man grew a garden hair and cut it when laughed about.
Lady Gaga wore a flower helmet and everyone freaked out about how unwearable it was.
The girls string flowers for their hair to show how badly they want to be back in sync with nature
or to update their instagrams.
i want to eat flowers and let them grow from my pores.
I want to be my own version of beautiful.
This stayed with me.
I found a Shel Silverstein cartoon where a man grew a garden hair and cut it when laughed about.
Lady Gaga wore a flower helmet and everyone freaked out about how unwearable it was.
The girls string flowers for their hair to show how badly they want to be back in sync with nature
or to update their instagrams.
i want to eat flowers and let them grow from my pores.
I want to be my own version of beautiful.
Bloom.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
THE GIRL IN THE NEOPRENE SKIRT
I am not a catty girl.
Friday night in Brooklyn, open house party for a new studio opening, hipsters and fashionable 21st century beatniks smoke their cigarettes and comment on books they've been reading outside the party occasionally dropping in to congradulate the owner or grab another drink:
in the middle of it all is the killer girl maybe 10 or 15 years older than me looking so fly in this huge ass white skirt. I spend 60% of the night trying to figure out the fabric from a non-creepy distance. Is it leather? neoprene? some new blend i've yet to hear of???!
Finally I get up the courage to go talk to her, I mean, we're all friends here, why not? We're all gathering for the same cause, we can all be in pleasant moods. The conversation went as follows
"Hey, I love your skirt, I've been looking at it from so far, is it neoprene?"
"What?"
"who makes your skirt"
"oh, it's designer" she says in a very thick French accent.
Even a non-fashion-enthusiast would know this skirt is designer. This skirt has luxury written all over it, it's huge and glamorous and white. It's probably been the most beautiful garment I've seen in a really long time.
"it's by a label called acne"
" I LOVE ACNE! Their stuff is amazing"
"yeah"
"My name's Mariah, what's your name?"
"_________."
now at this point, this is probably my fault, I should have picked up on the common social cues that clearly this girl did not want to be talking to me about Acne skirts and what not, but being so fashion-blinded by my affinity for this skirt, I kept on. I asked her where she worked -turned out to be a HUGE American fashion house. She then went on to tell me she doesn't hire American interns because she much prefers French ones. I tried to politely mention I had a job and wasn't looking for an internship. I weirdly tried turning the conversation around to show her I too was a fashion lover and not just some psycho. I failed miserably and then excused myself.
Normally this would have just been a bruised ego and a moment that I could try and forget and get blushing red in the face whenever I think about it over the next few days, but the universe had another plan in store, the universe decided that I was not going to live this one down.
Since that night of meeting Acne skirt girl, and feeling super uncool for how overly friendly I can sometimes be, I have seen this girl everywhere. I ran into her at PS1 MOMA WARM UP, I ran into her outside my job, and each time I just want to run and hide and duck for cover. Right now, Acne skirt girl on the loose, my life feels kind of like an UGLY BETTY episode. WHERE WILL SHE TURN UP NEXT?! AND WILL I BE ABLE TO KEEP MY COOL UNDER THE PRESSURE OF HER NEXT SUPER SWEET ENSEMBLE?!
HELP!
Friday night in Brooklyn, open house party for a new studio opening, hipsters and fashionable 21st century beatniks smoke their cigarettes and comment on books they've been reading outside the party occasionally dropping in to congradulate the owner or grab another drink:
in the middle of it all is the killer girl maybe 10 or 15 years older than me looking so fly in this huge ass white skirt. I spend 60% of the night trying to figure out the fabric from a non-creepy distance. Is it leather? neoprene? some new blend i've yet to hear of???!
Finally I get up the courage to go talk to her, I mean, we're all friends here, why not? We're all gathering for the same cause, we can all be in pleasant moods. The conversation went as follows
"Hey, I love your skirt, I've been looking at it from so far, is it neoprene?"
"What?"
"who makes your skirt"
"oh, it's designer" she says in a very thick French accent.
Even a non-fashion-enthusiast would know this skirt is designer. This skirt has luxury written all over it, it's huge and glamorous and white. It's probably been the most beautiful garment I've seen in a really long time.
"it's by a label called acne"
" I LOVE ACNE! Their stuff is amazing"
"yeah"
"My name's Mariah, what's your name?"
"_________."
now at this point, this is probably my fault, I should have picked up on the common social cues that clearly this girl did not want to be talking to me about Acne skirts and what not, but being so fashion-blinded by my affinity for this skirt, I kept on. I asked her where she worked -turned out to be a HUGE American fashion house. She then went on to tell me she doesn't hire American interns because she much prefers French ones. I tried to politely mention I had a job and wasn't looking for an internship. I weirdly tried turning the conversation around to show her I too was a fashion lover and not just some psycho. I failed miserably and then excused myself.
I just wanted to be friends.
Normally this would have just been a bruised ego and a moment that I could try and forget and get blushing red in the face whenever I think about it over the next few days, but the universe had another plan in store, the universe decided that I was not going to live this one down.
Since that night of meeting Acne skirt girl, and feeling super uncool for how overly friendly I can sometimes be, I have seen this girl everywhere. I ran into her at PS1 MOMA WARM UP, I ran into her outside my job, and each time I just want to run and hide and duck for cover. Right now, Acne skirt girl on the loose, my life feels kind of like an UGLY BETTY episode. WHERE WILL SHE TURN UP NEXT?! AND WILL I BE ABLE TO KEEP MY COOL UNDER THE PRESSURE OF HER NEXT SUPER SWEET ENSEMBLE?!
HELP!
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Francis Ha
Few films in the modern era capture the drunken hysteria and frowning existentialism that's experienced by the current 25-37 year old. The psychological damage of the parades of addresses and room mates and families built within days, that last mere seasons, has yet to be fully addressed. (mind you this is coming from a current 21 year old that's spent a life so in a rush to become an adult and be named a grown woman that my left hand is weighed down by diamonds and the pain and excitement of first or second love). That being said there I am, dragging this fiance of sorts to the IFC to see "FRANCIS HA".
This film brings to a head the pangs of reality for the sake of art. In black and white, it paints the hazy magic of a memory while still consistently displaying the cold concrete of coming of age- not forgetting the emotional distress in the realization one is rapidly approaching middle age. It exfoliates the internal sadness of realizing your youth is over and your life is beginning and all those times that everyone told you would be the quote, unquote, "time of your life" have come to an end while you were out there trying to be an artist and clinging to the man you lost your virginity to. It spear heads the ugly and bitter realization that your life in retrospect always sounds a million times more romantic than it is.
It brings up the idea that bliss is usually:
a.) made up and hasn't happened yet
b.) written in the form of a blog, and therefor written with the subconscious understanding that our mother will at some point google you and read this
c.) something that's happened long enough ago that it's filtered in a memory more beautiful than any instagram option can mask
The social media driven era makes you unconditionally and consequentially miserable.
This is were we are socially as awful as those that came before us. you know the ones we swore we'd never be. those in the nineties who in the moment thought they had it we had it the worst our current state would crush. fuck them we have it the worst. because it's all under this pressure of facebook which is a living high school reunion . this means, while for our parents it happened once every ten years, for us it happens every day and at the very least several times a week. we are living our parent hell and we we are trying to drown it our with a new york city vice tax that quadruples the vice tax of ever was and we're making the entry level job salary of 1993 -what the fuck are we supposed to do with that?!
and that's not to say we aren't aspiring artists or bankers but we're not. we don't stand a chance to be anything but posers because that's what all a generation equipped with 24 hour surveillance is allowed and given the tools to be. the days of dial-up are gone and with it the freedom to fail in the privacy of our own lives. and "Francis Ha" is the perfect essay to explain all of which I just attempted to, but in the slurry well scored cinematic way that makes you feel like you've taken a bath in art and modernity and in the end are re-entering the world both cultured and clean.
more or less, go see it.
This film brings to a head the pangs of reality for the sake of art. In black and white, it paints the hazy magic of a memory while still consistently displaying the cold concrete of coming of age- not forgetting the emotional distress in the realization one is rapidly approaching middle age. It exfoliates the internal sadness of realizing your youth is over and your life is beginning and all those times that everyone told you would be the quote, unquote, "time of your life" have come to an end while you were out there trying to be an artist and clinging to the man you lost your virginity to. It spear heads the ugly and bitter realization that your life in retrospect always sounds a million times more romantic than it is.
It brings up the idea that bliss is usually:
a.) made up and hasn't happened yet
b.) written in the form of a blog, and therefor written with the subconscious understanding that our mother will at some point google you and read this
c.) something that's happened long enough ago that it's filtered in a memory more beautiful than any instagram option can mask
The social media driven era makes you unconditionally and consequentially miserable.
and that's not to say we aren't aspiring artists or bankers but we're not. we don't stand a chance to be anything but posers because that's what all a generation equipped with 24 hour surveillance is allowed and given the tools to be. the days of dial-up are gone and with it the freedom to fail in the privacy of our own lives. and "Francis Ha" is the perfect essay to explain all of which I just attempted to, but in the slurry well scored cinematic way that makes you feel like you've taken a bath in art and modernity and in the end are re-entering the world both cultured and clean.
more or less, go see it.
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