This morning my friend sent me a link to this piece in NY Mag about a casting call for a reality show in Williamsburg.

Did you wake up today around 1:30 EST in your industrial loft, pull on your favorite (and only) pair of cutoff jean shorts, and take a leisurely stroll down Bedford Avenue in search of organic green juice and the new DFA on vinyl? Do you tap the family trust fund every time you need to make rent? (or do you have to fix bikes for a living?) Does your tattoo have a story to tell? Do you jam with a hardcore band on the weekends and DJ on the weeknights? Are you cooking tofu right now for you and your seven roommates? Do you barely make it into Manhattan three days a week for “college”? Is that handlebar mustache merely for comedic effect?

I found this to be semi-relevant in light of the recent post about Oi! music and image projection versus perception written by my cohort.   Hipsters (in the caricatured sense) hate being labeled “hipsters”, because the culture niches itself on a foundation of originality and authenticity.  And here, things get tricky, because in practice labeling anything puts said labeled-thing into a neat little category for organization and standardization– a 180-degree contradiction to the “hipster” ethos whichs brings all sorts of conflicting weirdness to the forefront.

Recently, a friend and I came up with a way to measure how much common sense a person has: common sense can be estimated by determining the difference between what a person projects themselves to be versus what they really are (which can be determined by how other people would describe them).  If the gap between what the person thinks themselves to be versus what they really are is vastly different, that person falls more on the delusioned side of the common-sense spectrum.  We all know someone like this, and usually treat everything that person says with the same care and affection shown towards a small child or puppy.

However, being delusional about one’s self  isn’t necessarily a bad thing (like being a small child or puppy).  Delusion connotes “social weakness” in our modern vocabulary because it insinuates that we’re dependant on other people to feel validated.  For whatever reason, individuality and the ability to “be yourself” is something put upon a pedestal, and when people are overly relient on others we frown upon them for such needy behaviour (which is, weirdly enough, another defense mechanism!  Confused? Me too).

But but but, this idea of frowning on social validation is weird to me because we are, first and foremost, social creatures! *dun dun dun!!!*  I (and I say I with a self-aggrandizing sense of entitlement) don’t subscribe to the belief that depending on others to make you feel good about yourself is a bad thing– it has its limits, yes, and it can get annoying– however, social validation is healthy for us on an individual level because it gives us peace of mind, which can’t can’t CAN’T be overstated enough.  It’s why Facebook, Twitter, and all this other community stuff exists in the first place– everyone, now matter how much they deny it, measures themselves in different extents based upon the feedback we get from others. We can’t get by on mirrors alone, no matter how capable we’d think ourselves to be.  And we aren’t meant to.

On the other side of the self-awareness spectrum, usually those who are acutely observant of their environment and self are bummed out by what they see.  Many of the best artists, writers and musicians throughout history (sidenote: that sentence sounds lame), were more or less, as depressed as they were genius. This example paints a neat little corrollary between the average person’s level of delusion/self-awareness and their level of overall happiness.

So…. the divide is as follows: on one hand, we have a bunch of hyper-aware acutely observational people kicking-rocks around being sad and ANGRYYYYY about things, and on the other, we have a bunch of delusional happy people who see the world through tunnel vision kaleidoscopes and butterflies (this isn’t an explicit either/or, but you can more or less fit people into one category better than the other).

Which brings me back to the hipster label.  Hipsters fall into a weird category (not unto themselves) because they fall on the non-sensical side of the spectrum, but at the same time project themselves to be hyper-sensitive to their surrounding world (ie artsy-fartsy).  By displaying yoursef a certain way (girl pants, beards, Macbooks, etc.), you set up for others to perceive you a certain way, and the defiance hipsters use to shield the hipster label is in many ways a strange, strange self-victory because it’s the external acknowledgement of what they put themselves out to be.

“god, i hate hipsters.” – non-hipster
“god, i hate hipsters.” – hipster

So meta.

Some of these same concepts can be applied towards  other social constructions we tend to label people as (punks, bros, hypebeasts, trekkies, backpackers, socialites, “normal people”, etc.). The hipsterverse provides a fun case to look at because, well, like its precedessor, the emo-verse, hipsters provide one of the rare cases where the denouncement of the label serves to define it.

Plus, I wear girl pants, carry a Moleskine, ride a fixie with no brakes, listen to obscure music (and rap!), think I’m better than everyone else, AND live in Brooklyn, buuuuut (!!!!) I swear I’m not a hipster!!!*

So… what’s the point?  Allow me cheat a bit to and go into BULLET MODE:

– People, on the most superficial of levels (where labeling is passed most easily), are more or less the same.
– People, on a personalized level, are more or less different, which is where individuality actually occurs.
– Labeling is, more or less, pretty fun!
– Perception = sadness = art.
– Delusion = happiness = non…art?
– Chris is so keenly self aware he defies ALL labels and categorization… save “genius” and “super handsome.”

…and we’re all special =) =D =P

//C

*So hipster.

“Don’t respond.  They’re just trying to get attention,” said my companion.

With this I tried to get back into my dissertation regarding the fantastic science fiction writing that I had forgotten about for so long in this book that I found in a box alongside Slam City with Scottie Pippen for the Sega CD.  Regardless, the diligent little bugger wouldn’t stop and I couldn’t help but be distracted and continue my communications with him.

My friend turns around and gives them a double middle finger.  I smile at the group and throw a rather nervous peace sign at them thus creating some weird hippie vs. punk confrontation that I didn’t want to be a part of because I knew, at that point, that I had become the hippie and hippies suck.  Unsurprisingly, they responded with an ironic set of peace signs, an obvious attack at my gesture of unity.  Then they made some insolent sign language comment about homosexuality and I responded by staring at the ugly leader and signaling to him that he’d better cut this shit.

They then sent an envoy.

“Hey how’s it going guys?” asked the beanie wearing runt dressed in studded leather vest, skinny jeans, and an assortment of punk patches, “We seriously need two more dollars to get a twelve pack of beer.  I was wondering if you guys could spot us?”

Looking at the guy, I noticed he had a Sham 69 patch on his jeans.  Sham 69 is an original Oi! punk band that I can only describe by comparing them to two of my favorite Oi! bands of the era.

My favorite group is Cock Sparrer. 

Right behind them is Chron Gen.

That said, these two bands are polars for me whenever I discuss Oi!.  On one end, you have Cock Sparrer who, for me, are pop song geniuses who just so happened to be playing their beautiful pieces alongside the inebriated chants of a group of leather clad Oi! Oi! Oi! pub crawlers.  In all seriousness, if an art museum–note: ART MUSEUM–opened up an aural arts exhibit and dedicated one section to the smile inducing melodies of great pop songcraft, I’d have these guys put alongside The Jam and Buzzcocks in some ‘Rebel, Rebel’ exhibit akin to a Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning, Basquiat abstract expressionist set-up exploding the boring confines of the reality around them. 

I sincerely think that, despite their apparent rebelliousness on the outside, that these Oi! characters are just simple (at least initially) and only want the most debased and unacceptable as a means of disconnecting themselves from the rest of us.  That being said, they ultimately just fall into a boring model of PUNK.  Luckily for the scene, the bands that they worship are generally very brilliant at creating pop music.  I mean, it’s almost a requisite considering that you will have a group of drunks chanting along to your tunes.  Anyways, I don’t want to get too deep into this just yet.  More later.

Chron Gen is the other polar for me.  They’re a less melodic, more intelligent band.  I mean, this is stuff that you can still chant to, however, it takes a bit more thought.  The music is, relatively, more monotonous and minimal and, as a result, requires more patience from the listener. 

For me, Sham 69; and a lot of the Oi! punk bands for that matter, fall into the gray and dull in-between.  That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy listening to them or The Business or Charged GBH.  I do.  However, it isn’t as affecting to me as the two aformentioned bands.  It’s just normal, run of the mill Oi!.

That said, I’m really not that big into Sham 69.

“Sorry, I only carry card,” said my friend.

I replied in the same way and briefly contemplated the rather bourgeois sentiment of our replies.

As the guy motions understanding and begins to walk away I call for his attention,”Good band.”

He turns around and tries to discern which band on his attire I was talking about.

“Sham 69,” I say.

He smiles.  “Hell yeah.”

He waves and turns around to join his group outside.  Before he completely disappears, however, he turns back to us and with the simple pride of a partly-cloudy patriot he proclaims,”Peace, Pot, and Prosperity.”  Or something. 

All the while, the ugly leader has entered what appears to be a spastic fit and begins staring at the back of my friend’s head, flicking him off, swinging his arms, and having a rather entertaining freak out.  I begin laughing and telling my friend that this guy is being a spaz until the guy accidently punches the window that separates us from a possibly more physical confrontation.  With this, he starts giggling and runs away.

“Peace, pot, and prosperity”

The problem with rock’n’roll, punk rock, or whatever is that the modus operandi is simple: sex, drugs, and whatever (because if you’re into punk you must hate Led Zeppelin after all).  It’s this simple model that many generations of wasters have followed and fallen by for so many generations.  Seeing a rocker walking around wasted, with girl under arm, and leather jacket/boots/hair, cigarette romantically in mouth is about as fun these days as a series of gumball machines in the middle of a mall. 

Sid and Nancy YEAH!

And, when it comes down to it, that’s the most ironic thing about all of these people–in this case the punks we ran into.  They must think that they’re ‘bombing the system’ or something by dissecting themselves from normalcy and walking around being annoying assholes.  They listen to bands like Sham 69 and think they’re chanting and fighting as some sort of drunken group of ‘Rebels without a Cause.’  However, they’re just following a model as old as Robert Johnson and then some.  It’s this inherent connection between debauchery, rebellion, and the music that spans all genres and wastes all in its path.  When it comes down to it, these guys, walking through the otherwise dormant shopping center like rats in the Waldorf-Astoria, are just robots; following the equation and doing nothing much beyond being obnoxious little buggers.

That’s not to say that the normal rock’n’roll model can’t be something interesting.  It’s just that the period for doing something cool with that mentality has passed.  Chuck Berry begets The Beatles, Cream, Led Zeppelin, etc and then it’s game over.  It’s just stock footage now.

Regarding punk music specifically, the true trailblazing icons; for me, aren’t these Oi! bastards and their pub shit (besides Cock Sparrer and Chron Gen of course =)).  Instead, they’re The Clash, PiL, Ian MacKaye, Lydia Lunch, Arto Lindsay, Sonic Youth, and Bad Brains amongst others.  Each of these performers were or contributed to something that really changed the way we, as music listeners, perceive things.  That said, the most important part is that they weren’t trying to televise the revolution.  Instead, they did things for themselves.  The music they created and the scene that fostered because of that were self-enclosed indulgences for the members of the bands and their art.  The effects they’d have on culture and society were just an unnecessary by-product.

Ian MacKaye, for me specifically, holds a very special position in the pantheon of truly great artists.

He singlehandedly exploded the Sid and Nancy complex that punk music was suffering from as a legitimate punk rocker walking around exclaiming “Don’t Smoke, Don’t Drink, Don’t Fuck.”  With this, he inspired generations of kids, X’s on hands and all, to eschew the old-fashioned rock’n’roll model and simply enjoy the bands they love so much.  Although the straight-edge scene would teeter between true ideological positivity and militaristic conformity, at least these kids were doing something different.  That said, the most important thing is that MacKaye didn’t do it to create some movement.  He did it for himself.

At the core of it is that individuality.  These people aren’t politicians.  Their goal isn’t to go around using their unique perspective to arouse change.  They are artists who create what they create for themselves.  The change comes from those who are inspired by what they do, rally, and scare the establishment.  If you’re lucky, maybe Ian MacKaye or Joe Strummer (RIP) was there alongside you.  Whatever the end result ultimately is, the point is that you’re out there doing something positive and trying to catalyze change. 

 Walking around asking for beer money isn’t punk music.  It never was and never will be.   

The next day, while on a run, I come across these guys waiting at a bus stop.

“Hey how’s it going?” I ask.

The ugly leader reacts with a rather aggressive, “What!?”

He’s obviously been trained to be defensive towards any outsider that tries to penetrate their bubble.

“You guys were walking around trying to get beer.  You like Sham 69.”  I point at the beanie kid’s patch.

There’s a long; awkward silence before they appear to remember who I am.

“Oh yeah, man thanks!”  They exclaim while throwing up hand signs and ‘hang loose’ gestures.

I smile and turn around, altering my route to avoid them, the UPS driver that always asks me about my running, and the intimidatingly attractive girl walking along my route.

Unfortunatley for me, I’ve put myself at the foot of another long hill.

//J

On Saturday night I went out drinking with my female roommates and some other friends near 14th street.  I had dibs on the first round, so I asked what everyone wanted.  “Shots,” was all I heard cutting through the indistinct homogeny of idle bar chatter (and one really drunk gal who had no volume knob.  It was the IRL equivalent of typing IN ALL CAPS).

After I nudged my way through the crowd of wayy too exhuberant 30-something-year-old dudes (Yeah, bro!), I ordered what I considered to be standard issue– a round of vodka shots (Ketel One!) and a Stella.

I came back to my friends sitting down who aghasted with, “Really Chris? Really?”

Apparently, what I considered to be “shots” couldn’t be farther from what was actually expected– Kamikazes, Soco and Limes, Red-Headed Sluts, etc., and ordering a round of vodka for a group of female friends who were genuinely platonic just wasn’t, um, correct.   

Now, let me preface my train of thought by saying that I’m the eldest of three boys who has lived with the same group of guy friends throughout all of college– we drank beer, watched sports, and ate tons and tons of Taco Bell and Philly cheesesteaks, all day everyday.

Similarly, the girls I’ve dated have for the most part have been extremely low maintenance and “guys’ girls.”  They drank beer, were into obscure music, and didn’t really like shopping as much as other girls. I’ve been kind of lucky in that regard.

Moving to New York and living with platonic girlfriends has been eye opening in a lot of ways (ie they’re just as messy as guy roommates), so I’m learning alot of things most other guys learn from their sisters.

In this case, while I didn’t see ordering shots of liquor to be anything out of the ordinary, the fact of the matter was I was wrong in that instance, and they explained this to me understandingly and with the affection shown to a 2nd grader who still wets himself.

This blog is usually interested in exploring the distortion of gender norms in various circumstances,  so this was particularly interesting to me for a number of reasons. Bars are microcosmic in the sense that male and female gender roles are very clearly defined, if only because the notion of sex is very clearly iterated from the get go.

Usually, groups of friends go to bars under the pretense of “hanging out.” In actuality, however, most people are there are looking for action, or at the very least, to plant the seeds for future action.  This knowledge is so common it’s almost always forgotten, and bars are the only place such behaviour is even remotely acceptable (you don’t use bad pickup lines in line at the bank… or in the cereal aisle at Ralphs.  Or do you?) 

I can, however, say for certain that no one goes to the bars with the intention of losing their phone. Or curling over a toilet at 2am.  No one goes to a bar because they WANT to feel shitty for work the next day, but we do it anyway. All that stuff we relegate to our Facebook Aways are usually just the byproduct our alcohol consumption. In order to “let go”, we endorse a social contract with the alcohol gods, signing over our usual cares and worries for a few hours of inebriated free wheelin’ and good times.

Women, much like NBA players after getting drafted, learn to play defense as their bar career progresses– if the average girl gets hit on 2 to 3 times over the course of a day, at the bar that number is exponentially higher (at least 7-10 times a night. At least.)  By the time a girl is 24, she’s at the minimum been hit on a couple of thousand times, so every female has a pretty good idea of what works on her and what doesn’t.  It takes a special combination of external factors for a girl to even talk to a guy at a bar, let alone take him home.  I have about a 5% idea of what these external factors are (ie I HAVE NO GAME), so I’ll leave my thoughts on the female bar mentality at that.

On the other hand, guys operate under the pretense of appearing as non-threatening as possible.  After thinking about it, ordering a girl strong drinks is a sign of intention, which can raise red flags to a girl who knows her shit.  On the other hand, “strong drinks” are a barometer guys use to gauge whether or not a girl actually likes us.  My buddy (who shall remain nameless) told me, “If a girl is down for Jager bombs, you’re at least getting dome that night.” I don’t necessarily agree, but Jager bombs are a) strong and b) delicious, and I’m positive that on the few occassions I HAVE gotten dome, Jager bombs were more or less involved.

The point is, bars are places where peoples’ personas are separated from the everyday.  Every action is magnified to a much higher degree of scrutiny when inside the steel cage of the bar realm because of what’s at stake (your genitals). That’s not a knock on bars themselves, it’s just that we don’t really actively think about our bar behaviour as being anything really exceptional until the next morning.  Me ordering my female friends strong drinks didn’t really register at that moment because I wasn’t expecting my actions to be put under a microscope (or perhaps, as sometimes happens with these girls, I overlook the fact that they are female and are entitled to female things… like Kamikazes and Red-Headed Sluts <3).

I’m interested in hearing feedback,  especially from the female readership.  For instance, what do you consider a “standard” or “safe” drink to have ordered for you without having to be asked what you want? (this seems to happen when ordering drinks reaches this weird sense of urgency and someone’s still undecided, so they blurt out, “I don’t care, get me whatever”).

Lastly, in the spirit of distorting gender barriers, I’m ditching beer and switching to Smirnoff Ice.  They taste delicious and they get you buzzed.  That’s already two positives for the price of one! Saying you don’t like Smirnoff Ice is like saying you don’t like 7-Up that gets you buzzed, which is the most nonsensical thing I’ve ever heard.

So cheers everyone, and I look forward to hearing more female perspective in the comments!

//C

A friend of mine who works in the hip-hop bizzz recently conveyed news that his boss, producer/vagina waterer extraordinaire Pharrell Williams, got a bunch of his tattoos removed. Originally, in an exercise of balling-out-of-control-because-I-can-ness, he had planned to have his skin grown  synthetically in a lab in Mexico and then grafted on top of his current ink (ridiculous? I think so!). But it’s a recession *BOOORING*, so he opted for the more traditional approach and had lasers do the dirty work.

It got me to thinking… is having no tattoos the new having tattoos? *scratching head*

Many moons ago, tattoos were reserved for Russian criminals, sailors and other thuggish ruggish bone.  Your parents will never understand you for them, and will always reserve the notion that ink is for gang members, rappers, and “The Birdman” Chris Anderson.

Nowadays, however, “tattoos” are about as synonymous with “tough” as “peanut butter” is with “cheeseburger.”

Point being, tattoos aren’t seen nearly as bad as they used to be, and, within reason, have become somehwhat acceptable in most modern workplaces.  Of course, this takes a modicum of common sense– you PROBABLY won’t get that bank teller job that pays $17 an hour if your knuckles are tattied up with “Get Pu$$Y.”  (sidenote: I bet you looked at your knuckles and counted to see if it would fit or not.  Cuz I did!)

And of course, how tattoos play into fashion aesthetics can be tricky. Fashion is, of course, extremely temporal. It’s finicky as fuck and changes every season. On the other hand, unless you belong to the same earnings bracket Pharrell does, tattoos are pretty permanent and are really tough to get rid of. People who deliberate (annoyingly at times) over “what tattoo” to get for their first one are justified in doing so (I always tell them to get a dolphin above their ass-crack. Especially guys).

Here’s the thing. Tattoos are romantic in the most romantic of senses. It takes a pretty distinct combination of factors for someone to get something etched permanently onto your skin. It takes pain, patience, money and dedication to get one. (Did I mention pain? I hate it when people are asked, “Did it hurt?” And then the person shrugs it off like, “Naaahh.” Getting a tattoo HURTS. It’s needles + nerve endings = science = pain. It feels like a million little people with the strength of a full grown MAN punching you repeatedly in the same general area. Quit playing that tough guy shit. Pain is pain, and pain is real).

Which brings me to my point: nobody gets tattoos for “themselves”, no matter what kind of story they tell behind it. Each one is a message meant to convey…something. Maybe the sentiment behind them is personal, but once something is branded on the outside of your body, it’s intended for an audience (even if that “audience” only gets to see it in the bedroom *wink wink*). And that, my friends, is fucking cool. They’re personal little ideas that get made universally visual, without the feminine stigmas and pretenses inherent in other forums of traditional art and artistry.*

But I guess, for all the different connotations associated with ink, perhaps the most important lesson we can learn here folks, is that girls + tattoos = boner city, population: me.

Even when it’s retarded shit like that.

We cool.

//C

(EDIT)
*  Traditional meaning commonplace in a modern context.

With menswear, when you go really far back, further back than the 18th century, people wore stockings.  Men were legs!  Now we think this is a women’s thing, but at some point, it was actually a man’s thing.  They’re things for the beautiful and brave, unafraid of honking horns from passing vans.  

 -Andreas Kronthaler (pulling a pair of red-stocking chaps tighter)

Last week my closest friends and I attended the annual weekend of debauchery, emotional unease, and physical displeasure that is the Long Beach Grand Prix.  Despite the denotation of the event’s name, in all actuality, it is about 20% motor racing and 92% blurry experience.  Overall, it’s fun.  The only unpleasantry of the event is the fact that the dominating demographic is usually of the ignorant, insecure macho (females included) type.  Of course, that’s a relative perspective.  That said, for the past two years of attendance, one of my best friends–Zach Zupancic–provided me with quite an interesting and eye-opening case study.

First, I must provide a visual primer:

Zachary Zupancic (note 'aesthetic normalcy' in the background)

One of the most significant events of the weekend was Zach’s outfit.  For the past few years he has opted for a minimalist approach to his attire.  The highlight, of course, were the extremely high-cut, leg extending shorts (last year he wore an amazing pair of too-short denim shorts).  In actuality, it must be noted, the weekend; regardless of preceding weather conditions, is always an enfeebling level of Hades approved hot.  That said, Zach’s outfit was quite appropriate considering the circumstances.  The problem, unfortunately, was the inevitable crowd of extremely macho types with their Dickies shorts sagging and fat DC Shoes alongside their impressively skanky girlfriends hurling derogatory comment after derogatory comment at Zach.  I apologize for the rather harsh tone of my description, however, maybe some statistics can justify my position:

*575 WHAT THE FUCKS!?

*323 HOLY SHITS!?

*222 OH MY GODS!

*82 oh my gods.

*1 I’m gonna punch that guy in the face.

*1 dangerously violent, most likely inebriated, douchebag.

*1 female asking for some ‘ball sack.’

*2 females physically attempting to see and, what looked like, smell (?) ball sack to Zach’s discomfort.

*3 examples of women devoid of any decency or self-respect.

That said, it’s to be expected from an area of Long Beach, along Pine Avenue, that seems to attract the most scrutinizing of the ‘fraternity and bro’ crowd.  I attribute this to the Growlers at the Rock Bottom Brewery and the Celtic Punk from The Auld Dubliner.

Indeed, what do you expect, in this day and age, from a 6’6 male walking around showing off his legs like a proud caballo.  I’ve discussed my disdain for those that find discomfort in a challenge to accepted definitions of machismo in the past.  However, while insolent commentary and wide-eyed stares were directed towards a triumphantly defiant Zach, I realized something.  Instead of denouncing these people as ugly idiots, I started to look at them as sartorial pundits–just like me or Zach or The Sartorialist etc.  Just because they wear what they wear and it’s just like that guy or that girl and is in direct opposition to me doesn’t mean that their aesthetic opinions are irrelevant.

Luxury for me is standing for what you believe in, and having integrity…

– Christopher Bailey (from WWD Menswear, Fall 2009)

A statement like that isn’t endemic to just ‘fashionable’ types.  While wearing short shorts, tight jeans, and pointy shoes is the prerogative of Zach or myself, showing disdain towards the clothes we wear is their prerogative.  Just like it’s my prerogative to call them trash assholes in response.   

To my surprise, and after much deliberation, I started to perceive their insults as essential components of what makes fashion interesting in the first place.  How Zach or myself or they feel about each other and each other’s aesthetic is irrelevant.  What’s important is the fact that all parties involved are making a concerted effort to voice their reaction to someone’s public appearance.  For the stereotypical ‘fashionista’ or whatever, the ability to look at collection after collection and trend after trend and develop our opinions towards them is of utmost importance.  We look at a collection and decide whether there’s something in its overall organization that inspires us.  It dictates what we wear and how we wear it.  Our reaction to a collection or a trend is an emotional experience that affects our confidence and attitudes in light of what we perceive as a critical world.

The mistake we make, however, is we disregard those that we feel aren’t like us.  Look at all these motherfuckers wearing that Famous Stars and Straps shit like everyone else.  What they say doesn’t matter right?  The thing is that it must.  Who are we, those that worship at the altar of Miuccia Prada or Thom Browne, to dictate sartorial rights and wrongs? 

That said, who are they to determine the same thing right?  With that in mind, the fact of the matter is that a right or a wrong cannot exist.  Take note, however, that I’m not saying cannot as in impossible.  That’s inherently implied I suppose.  Instead, I’m saying that it MUSN’T exist.  For if right and wrong existed, in fashion or anything metaphysical for that matter, than the possibilities of opinion; individuality and admiration or derision and anger, will disappear. 

…[Luxury] is making sure that you have your own point of view.  Everything you do should be positioned around that.  If you can do that, that’s the greatest luxury to me.

-Christopher Bailey (from WWD Menswear, Fall 2009)

In a world where suffering and success share equal footing in defining one’s character, the ability to come to some intellectual understanding of something trivial, whether it is Dior Homme or Metal Mulisha, is one of our greatest luxuries.  Sincerely caring about something as materially insignificant as fashion, for example, should be something we hold onto dearly.  Sometimes, reality is too harsh to forget about the silly things. 

Aubrey O'Day for Famous Stars and Straps (left), Raquel Zimmerman for Chloé (right)

 Indeed, being pragmatic, especially in economically trying times like the present, is important.  Fashion is an unnecessary burden in one’s life next to foreclosures and unemployment.  However, dwelling too deeply in depressing matters isn’t healthy.  In fact, I don’t consider the bros, the hipsters, or the high-fashioners; and their opinions regarding each other, as the problem.  Instead, it’s those that don’t have a perspective beyond that which lies ahead of them as the problem.  It’s the sum of their dour reality checks that culminate towards an overall sense of gloom.  When a beefcake with Rock Bottom Growler in hand yells something derogatory at Zach, I can at least give them credit for having a point-of-view that’s on some other axis than the sidewalk before them. 

Then again, is not having a perspective a viable perspective in itself?  To be honest, I seriously hate all the Debbie Downers because they make writing an editorial absolutely pointless.

Luxury to me is the freedom to choose.  That’s how I define it.  Quality is a big part of what makes something luxurious, but ultimately fashion is a whim and people don’t need it, and that makes it the biggest luxury of all.  At Vuitton we do what we do.  Regardless of the way things are in the world, we have a job to make beautiful clothes, not to solve economic problems, etc…Maybe with the changing world, the customer is reevaluating how to spend and what to choose, but a customer who wants luxury and loves fashion will still be that person.

-Marc Jacobs (from WWD Menswear, Fall 2009)

//J

Looking at Rei Kawakubo’s collection for Comme des Garçons Fall 2009 is like looking at the illustrations for a fairy tale.  I mean, if the Brothers Grimm could see these images, they’d probably be right on creating some highly emotional and conspicously violent story involving a formerly pure, delicate princess who is suddenly forced into the imprisoning grip of protecting oneself from the opression of some evil relative, Queen, demon, etc. 

Contrasting the first two images, the collection initially transitions from soft; light fragility to militaristic; dour self-defense.  It brings to mind the rather complex dichotomy between, for example, Snow White and the huntsman in the Queen’s initial attempt to rid herself of the true motherfuckin’ “fairest one of all”.  One one hand you have the image of innocence, a lovingly adorable person teetering so dangerously on the edge of composure–in essence creating a person who is easily pushed towards emotionally shattered despite their suffocatingly cheery disposition.  On the other hand, you have the huntsman; dedicated to fulfilling the Queen’s wishes.  His loyalty is represented in green, a color that–strategically–represents camouflage but symbolically represents one’s dedication to fighting their country or leader’s fight–whether or not they believe in it being irrelevant.  Where Snow White is solely of the softer category, the huntsman; in his moral conflict regarding actually killing Snow White, is located somewhere in between the two diametrically opposed emotional categories.

Military green underneath the light pink. 

This brings to question what the preferable position is during a significantly difficult moment.  Is it better to be fragile or defensive?  I like to think that choosing fragility allows you to maintain an innocent distance from the conflict.  You can’t handle everything face to face because doing so would put you in too much stress, thus, risking a complete and ineloquent breakdown.   However, being on the frontlines means that you don’t need protection, thus, allowing for more independence; more confidence under oppressive forces.  There is, however, one stipulation–being on the frontlines also heightens your chance of being hurt.  Although you’re less delicate, you’re more in the line of fire.  That said, does being defensive fully liberate you from being fragile?  Ultimately, one’s absolute position is determined in the face of danger, hurt; mortality.  However, it must be assumed that even those who fight our fights are courageous under a veil of fragility–over their green is a shade of pink.

Blue 

Going back to Snow White, there must be the dwarves.  Their position in the story is neither one of defense nor absolute fragility.   Instead, they’re protectors–of Snow White in this case–who don’t actually have the power to sufficiently defend her.  They’re this middle ground betwen the green and the pink.  Blue is a sad color indeed.  Placed into this discussion, it is a color of defenseless defense–so to speak.  There’s nothing more depressing than wanting to protect someone but knowing that you are unable to do so–to the fullest extent possible of course. 

The question then is whether or not anyone is completely capable of defending the ones they love.  Indeed, they do so to the fullest of their capabilites; however, nothing is ever guaranteed.  That said, you then have the point where all three colors come together.  Defense is there (green), the fragility is there (pink), and; finally, there’s the understanding that shit happens and sometimes it’s just out of your hands (blue).  This is the most despairing aspect of the whole collection.  It’s the fact that nothing is impossible.  Superman can be defeated by Doomsday.  Batman broken by Kane.  Captain America just got assassinated.  Wolverine just got stripped of his adamantium.

Ultimately, we must come full circle.  Being overly defensive or constantly hanging onto hopelessness all, in the end, point to fragility.  What Kawakubo shows in this collection is that this is the most base human condition.  To defend someone is to care about their well-being.  If they were to be hurt, then it’s all for naught.  Being the defender is an emotionally volatile position to choose.  In the worst case, you suffer at the hands of failure and also at the hands of the person suffering because of your failure–which may also include yourself. 

Even the most emotionally stable; immoveable forces on Earth are, at their root, fragile.  Keeping yourself from getting hurt only proves that you’re afraid of being hurt.  Kawakubo’s latest collection is, as expected, a visual masterpiece.  I didn’t, however, expect that looking at the entire collection would become an introspective analysis of human emotion.  When I say that this collection is worthy of a Brothers Grimm fairy tale, I sincerely mean it.  Just like Snow White, Hansel and Gretel, or Rumpelstiltskin; there’s a multitude of emotions that one must experience in order to fully grasp the work.  The fact that Kawakubo is able to achieve this through a fashion collection is a testament to the actual intentions of her designs.  Indeed, she is an incredible business entity.  However, Kawakubo never falls into doing something simple–no protesting, no trend setting; no exhibition of useless extravagance.  Instead, she does things a bit more psychologically; with a bit more thought.  If fashion is ever going to be considered an art, a Comme des Garçons collection is a good place to look first.

//Vladimir Sorokoskev

So… I just listened to the new MSTRKRFT album (I’d provide a link, but I think it’s easier to just torrent it).  In short, it’s good and worth the free download, HA!

The first thing and most obvious thing is that it has a ton of rap cameos from the likes of E-40 and Nore. The music itself has gotten a zillion times grittier and intricate over the course of its faster than light evolution– listen to 2006’s “The Looks” and you’ll definitely hear the difference.

The electro/house explosion came at an interesting time. Indie music as a genre had plateaued and was beginning to sound extremely limited (everyone sounded like a Death Cab/Arcade Fire/Saddle Creek spinoff), and perhaps this stagnancy is what allowed the Daft Punk Coachella performance to isolate itself as much as it did. Whereas indie music is more on the introspective end of the spectrum, the Daft Punk Coachella performance was dinstinctly sensory (bass thumps and flashing lights). It was unencumbered viserca violently cutting its way through the intellectual homogeny of ’06 indie.  In many ways, the electro-DJ was a Hegelian response to the organic folksiness of the Conor Obersts and Rilo Kileys– it was a complete and drastic 180, and for whatever reason its reception was scalding.  Technology was embraced again, and music was a bit less serious and a lot more fun. 

After Daft Punk’s rennaissance, Justice blew up (that’s an understatement) and electro became “pop”, and all of a sudden it was cool to dance again.  The shift was dynamic in every sense of the word– bands that once had a devoted following (like Snow Patrol) were suddenly shitty or boring (not that they always weren’t).  It was a huge blow to the Pitchfork-indie economy, and indie bands either faded into obscurity or retreated back underneath the detection of the mainstream.  Other than the occassional blip (like Animal Collective), indie bands went back to being just that– indie.

I guess this same pattern is starting to manifest itself with the electro scene. It’s much more endemic as a culture, and any movement that sustains as a high a level of popularity as it has will eventually plateau– in this case it’s sooner rather than later. The music itself has gotten ridiculously layered and now more than ever sounds like a rusty buzzsaw making love to your eardrums, however, we’re clearly at the tail end of the movement.  Of course, this leaves alot of questions to be answered, the most important of which being, “Where do we go from here?”

90s alternative?  It’d make sense following the brief 80s resurgence.  Nu-metal was such an awkward period I’d doubt it’d ever show face again (or we could do it all for the nookie *Yah!* the nookie *come on!*). Emo just happened… early 2000’s punk?  Grunge??? (shivers).  Britney’s Circus live album???

I guess we’ll find out soon enough.  The only real popular genre that’s had any sort of staying power over the last 2 decades is mainstream rap and R&B (it hasn’t changed much sinces the 90’s… KC & JoJo = NeYo), but those genres haven’t really ever held enough weight to carry the entire pop music spectrum.  We need options here!

Regardless, the sun is setting on electro, and I think the collective conciousness of the blogosphere can agree that it’s getting kind of stale.  The current inception of artists are trying to keep things fresh and take the genre in a million different directions (like with the rap+electronica thing… I saw a Brooklyn rap/electro pairing called Ninja Sonic recently. Fail).  But still, none of its current incarnations seem to have any real sort of staying power or marketability (which is what pop music really boils down to). 

I kind of hope the next wave includes the resurgence of the boy band.  SERIOUSLY, it’s time NSYNC gets back together.  Come on JT, throw the guys a bone. Chris Kirkpatrick and Joey Fatone have been sucking at the teets of mediocrity for TOO long. It’d be super sick, and there’s 180% no sarcasm in this statement whatsoever.  It’s gonna be me.

GOSU.

Anyway, almost fittingly, Daft Punk is making one last showing by scoring the new Tron movie, which should be rad.  They brought electro to the masses, and I’m prediciting the Tron album will be more of an epitaph than anything. It’ll be a really nice way for electro to fade out until it appears again in a couple of years (music is kind of transparently cyclical like that).

But for the short term, R.I.P electro.  You were fun while you lasted.

//Caspian De La Sanchez

Dior Homme Spring 2007

The last great change in men’s fashion came when Hedi Slimane graced us with his designs through Dior Homme.  While there, he redefined the male silhouette by sending out models who were skinny, pale, and androgynous.  He introduced to fashion an aesthetic that had been lurking around the daring underground of rock’n’roll, punk, post-punk, etc; and, consequently, slimmed men’s tailoring for some time.  Look at these glorious, skinny boys in tight pants and slim blazers!  It was powerful in a way that these people; these clothes shouldn’t be.  Boys looking like girls shouldn’t, by society’s standards, exemplify power, yet, here they were–are you a boy or are you a girl?.  It was a wonderful, WONDERFUL time in men’s fashion.

That’s not to say that looking unhealthy was something to be idolized.  It’s not cool looking at an Hedi Slimane Dior Homme clone walking down the street and saying, “Geebus, the new street solider needs a sandwich!”  It’s not about one’s perception regarding how these people achieve their waist size (toilet+self-induced vomit=DIOR READY!) or perceptions of attractive body image (Who I’d Like to Meet: skinny boys in skinny jeans SO HOT) .  It’s about the position that androgyny took in male fashion.  I’ve discussed this a bit in a previous post.  Who needs bulging biceps and man tits when menswear could be shared by all.  Since you can’t discern if these are girls or boys, suddenly there was this venn diagram in fashion (and it wasn’t forced too).  Indeed, there will always be MENSWEAR and WOMENSWEAR, however, in the middle was Dior Homme.  As a result, women were just as invested in the designs of Hedi Slimane as men.  Hedi Slimane smeared the definition of form, in turn, leaving an aesthetic that affected the fashion of both genders for some time.

Fast forward to 2009 and the key terms are suddenly: foreclosure, recession, sub-6000 points?, unemployment, what happened to Iceland?, even China?, nationalization, bad banks, stress tests, STIMULUS, and on, and on, and fuck me it keeps going on.  Fashion, an industry whose obscene level of grandiose life enjoyment seemed impervious to the world’s perils; in fact, isn’t immune to the international recession.  That said, there developed a split between designers who embraced the gloom, embraced monochromatics, and minimalism and designers who celebrated life, annihilated with color, and took things–for better or worse–a bit over the top.  

Raf Simons Fall 2009

On the other hand, nothing stops the party. If there’s been any time to keep the party going, it’s now. It’s time, even for a fleeting moment, to put our concerns behind us. After all, there’s always tomorrow right? Can we please have fun now?

Marc by Marc Jacobs Fall 2009

PROTECTIONISM

Two of the biggest components in the equation for economic success are:

1) The consumer (i.e. people have to spend)

2) Exports (i.e. people have to buy our shit)

Two of the biggest components of our economic problem are:

1) People aren’t buying shit (i.e. even Wal-Mart’s been having problems)

2) People don’t want to buy each other’s shit (i.e. ‘Buy American’ or the European Union having trouble keeping itself together because of countries that are starting to make protecting their own backs the top priority–as opposed to working to protect the union as a whole–and a diverse Eastern European economy  that, as a whole, is challenging the EU to define its absolute protective reach)

The key concept here is that everyone is playing for their own interests.  The banks, the consumer; the countries are all protecting their assets.  In a world of this nature, the skinny, adrogynous thing is only serving to bum everybody out.  

In a recent 10 Man interview, Givenchy designer Riccardo Tisci pointed out that fashion is returning to manlier–in the classic sense–models.  There’s mention of the idea that fashion is always searching for the perfect male form in a way similar to Hitler’s search for the ‘perfect race’.  Just like Hitler; however, fashion is finding out that the world around them is too idiosyncratic to be so ideal.  Regardless, again just like Hitler, fashion will always search for that defining form because it helps them cope with the pain of human frailty.  

When Hedi Slimane first rolled out his delicate models, it came during a time when things were superficially “alright”.  Any financial problems we were about to endure were lurking underneath the boundless possibilities of ignorance.  Indeed, there were wars to be fought, wars to be ended, Bush senior advisors to indict, and U.S. Attorneys to be laid off; however, these could be dealt with at another time; with another administration.  Right then, the kids were alright.  If a boy dressed like a girl it’s because he could be fragile and didn’t need to fight anyone’s fights.  That’s for those military jarheads and such.  When a girl dressed like a boy, she was fighting the fight.  She didn’t need the boys to have fun.

Suddenly, people started losing money, wars were taking too long, and the President was blatantly trying to live outside the law.  Now that being overtly fragile or overtly strong isn’t a facade, everyone’s suddenly reverting to classically tired social conventions.  In fashion, as the observant Riccardo Tisci pointed out, the true MAN is coming back.

From (L) to (R): Emporio Armani, Dolce & Gabbana, Dsquared² Fall 2009

You’ve probably already discerned the reasoning behind this.  This is the classic; Greek male right here.  Suddenly, we need the chiseled male as some iteration of strength.  If the male model could ever get close to the aesthetic image of the ‘perfect race’ (minus the necessity for blonde hair and blue eyes of course) than these beefcakes would nail the audition.  On one hand, you have the idea that big muscle equates to sufficient supplies of protective strength.  I mean, who’d want a scrawny bouncer at the door anyways?  However, it’s also a bit Platonic in the sense that if we stare at their form it gets us closer to understanding perfection without even getting close to perfection.  I like The Republic and that’s why I mention it from time to time and, in this example, these men–chiseled chin, muscle definition, and all–aren’t perfection. It’s just a fake. In a crumbling world; however, thinking that perfection exists might be enough of an escape to help us get through it all.

 That said, I much prefer it when designers use the design to get their message across.  Earlier, I talked about the “one who embraces the gloom”.  There’s something more relevant to me in being more pragmatic when it comes to conveying a certain mood.  Like stated, I thoroughly enjoy Plato’s Republic; however, I also respect the legitimacy of the artist and their ability to use their medium expressively.  When a designer utilizes form and color to get across a certain emotion–in this case practicality and, ultimately, fear–that’s much more tangible than staring at Michelangelo’s David wearing 20 different outfits. 

 

From (L) to (R): Prada, Raf Simons Fall 2009

Yohji Yamamoto Fall 2009

From what I’ve seen, that is the most indicative image from Fall 2009.  It’s my favorite one too.

 //Vladimir Sorokoskev

Grim times.  This morning it was reported  that insurance giant AIG revealed 62 billion dollars in quarterly losses: 

AIG’s announcement came hours after the U.S. government announced a $30 billion lifeline for the ailing company on top of $150 billion it has already received in bailout funding.

Wall Street is already teetering on the the edge of 12-year lows after bruising selloffs Friday. (Source: CNN)

That’s absolutely abysmal, and unfortunately, failure isn’t an option here because of the reprecussions it’d pose to the larger financial market.  AIGs carved itself out a huge base in the financial infrastructure, and letting it sink to its doom would only beget a shitshow the likes of which we’ve never seen. 

The government is responding by giving yet another 30 billion dollar lifeline in addition to two other MASSIVE lifeline’s AIG’s received since September.

It’s kind of like when you’re in college, and you ask your parents for money to buy your books, but instead of buying books you spend all your money on booze/weed/coke.  Then when your midterms roll around you realize you can’t study because you don’t have any books! So you immediatley phone up mom and pops in tears and ask for more money, but it’s semi-acceptable because you’re a kid whose family can afford to put you through college in the first place (gag).

RAD PARTY.

Economic stability is important, and there definitely is an answer– I’m just not so sure it’s in government handouts.  I understand that at the moment it’s priority numero uno, but I think that the money NEEDS to come with a contract SIGNED IN BLOOD that there will be reprecussions in the future for fucking around.  And not just fiscal reprecussions… I’m talking DEATH.  Jk. 

In other news, the Aztec calendar predicts the end of existence in 2012, Chris Breezy and RiRi got back together, and Wendy’s increased the price of their dollar menu from .99 cents to $1.19.

The end is near.

// Jeff Hardy