Let me just be clear, i will always love Givenchy. Always. And I am especially digging the 2011 resort collection, which seems to combine a Miss Swiss meets Frida Khalo meets boudoir aesthetic that I am shamlessly coveting right now.
I think at one point or another every person who blogs will answer the Proust questionnaire. It is like a rite of passage in the blogging world; perhaps a glimpse into the “real” you….or maybe it is just enabling the vanity in having a blog.
On that note, I have been a bit under the weather and staying in over the last few days, which has granted me a bit of spare time to indulge in some rest and narcissism…..
What is your idea of perfect happiness
What is perfect today will be tomorrow’s disaster. I am not strong on perfection.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery
Unwanted loneliness. Being dependant on another person for your own sense of happiness. Lack of desire to express yourself. No sex drive
The trait you most deplore in yourself
Self destructive and melancholic
What is the most overrated virtue
What is your biggest regret
Setting a decade’s worth of my old diaries on fire
What is your present state of mind
Dreamy and inconsistent
Where would you like to live
On a train
What are your chief characteristics
Curious, creative and autonomous
Favorite qualities in a man
Intelligence, a sense of absurdity, culturally literate, boldness, valor
I have accepted my friends for who they really are, the good, the bad and the ugly and I think I finally know the difference between a real friend and those that are merely looking out for his or her own selfish interests within our relationship. I have a very diverse group of friends but I guess that tie that binds would be compassion, sharp wit, honest to a fault.
What is your favorite occupation
I don’t think I will ever have just one dream job for the rest of my life. I love the idea of changing ones focus and aspirations; I think it keeps you fluid, modest and constantly learning. Buuut, if I had to choose a dream job right now….Artist. Writer. Detective. Full time saucy minx, who bathes in champagne in an oversized martini glass on a stage for voyeurs, who will pay big bucks, to watch.
What is your greatest fear
Losing my freedom. Going blind. And maybe being locked in a room with a dozen snakes.
If not yourself, who would you be
A schizophrenic version of myself
Your favorite flower
Poppies because they are prickly looking but soft; wiry and untamed.
Your favorite color
Violet. Also, sounds boring, but shades of grey.
What is your greatest extravagance
Having the time to answer this questionnaire.
Which talent would you most like to have
The ability to pick up any language quickly and proficiently
Your favorite writers
Anais Nin, Ayn Rand, Ronald Dahl, Freud, Amy Bloom
Your favorite poets
Rainer Maria Rilke, Anne Carson, Nancy Cunard
Your favorite heros in fiction
Blanche Duboise from a Streetcar named Desire, Mrs. Mallard from Story of an Hour by Kate Chopin, Alice in Wonderland
Your favorite names
Ingaborga, Osa, Emma, Caleb, Tennessee, Olivia, Ines
Which words or phrases do you most overuse
“do you know what I mean?” “sorry I didn’t call sooner”
Your favorite motto
When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro
How would you like to die
Drinking a lovely poison that tastes like a combination of Hendricks gin and rose petals.Lay down in tall, soft green grass near a body of water where I can hear a band nearby(blues, folk, reggae, whatever) off playing in the distance, I am clutching a few pieces of dear ephemeral .
trench dress:preloved sandals:invito necklace:vintage bag:brave brown bag glasses:armani
One of the oddest things I love about summer in the city is walking through downtown around 5pm when the most people are hustling and bustling to and from work, traffic is at its peak; there is honking and cursing and cyclists yelling, construction, the pavement is scorching and the sun is still hot and blinding. The world feels like it is at a boiling point and everything could just go up in flames right then and there.
slip dress:old navy purse:giraffe shoes:nine west belt,cuff:vintage
Ready for the world. REAdy for anything. Another weekend come and gone.
The Fringe Festival opened this past week in Ottawa and I have been looking forward to it for some time now. I tried to catch Shadows Friday night, but was s.o.l when I went to buy tickets; so instead opted for impromtu dancing in my neighborhood and crown floats at a nearby pub.
A few years ago, after just recently landing a part-time job when I moved to Ottawa, a co-worker of mine named Craig lent me a film he thought I would like. At the time, I found it to be a bit bizarre since the two weeks leading up to this moment, Craig would either purposefully ignore me or stare at me blankly, sometimes with a half snarl-half smile. Craig and I didn’t exchange too many words to say the least, so him lending me items he “thought” I would like was a giant step in our noon-existent relationship. But on that one Wednesday evening, he boldly walked up to me with a black DVD case in hand that changed my life.
Craig didn’t give me many details about the film, nor did he specifically say why he thought I would like it. I remember his parting words were something to the effect of, “it takes a certain kind of appreciation for films like this that I think you have”. It was this very speak-easy sort of transaction, that left me feeling strangely intimidated and honored.
I went home that night, not overly thinking anything and popped the DVD in. The film was Pink Flamingos by John Waters, and from the moment I saw Divine and her aesthetically-defying eyebrows, Eddie Massey in a playpen gorging on eggs and a hippie named Crackers banging a girl with a real live chicken, I was hooked. Actually obsessed, fascinated, shocked and delighted!
Now, I won’t go into details about this film since I am completely biased and I'm sure no film critic, nor will I bore you with tales of how John Waters created a really great but unusually deviant friendship between Craig and myself; all I want to say is my cultural taste has completely evolved (or deformed, depending on how you look at it) solely because of this movie.
I became bewitched by John Waters. I watched and read everything I could get my hands on. Like the eccentric uncle I’ve never had, John Waters in a way has made me embrace my freakish-side and become open to perversity with his insights, inspirations and brave ventures in film.
Just recently, Waters published his auto-bio Role Models. I haven’t read it yet, but am certain it will fast become my favorite summer read and.
Here are a few words of wisdom from the book that will teach you how to be a utilitarian freak without sacrificing what makes you different.
1. “If someone is racist and really cute, could you still have sex with him? I have to admit the answer is yes. I have. You just change the subject or shout, ‘La la la la la la la,’ covering your ears when he speaks nonsense. If all else fails, stick something in his mouth to shut him up.”
2. “You should never just read for ‘enjoyment.’ Read to make yourself smarter! Less judgmental. More apt to understand your friends’ insane behavior; or better yet, your own. Pick ‘hard books.’ Ones you have to concentrate on while reading. And for God’s sake, don’t let me ever hear you say, ‘I can’t read fiction. I only have time for the truth.’ Fiction is the truth, fool! Ever hear of ‘literature’? That means fiction, too, stupid.”
3. “If you’re not sure you could love your children, please don’t have them, because they might grow up and kill us.”
4. “[F]or all the neurotics who may have felt a little blue one day and were unfairly diagnosed and overly medicated before they could even try to talk out their problems, I have some advice. It’s appropriate to be depressed sometimes. Who wants to be ‘even’ day after day? If you just killed three people in a DWI accident, you should feel bad. If your whole family molested you in a giant basket on Easter morning, you have a right to be grumpy every once in a while. But feeling down can make you feel up if you’re the creative type. The emotional damage may have already been done to you, but stop whining. Use your insanity to get ahead.”
5. “Everybody knows you need young blood in your house. The way to build a great [art] collection is not to have a lot of money and buy established artists; it’s to go to all the galleries once a month and find a brand-new artist you like in a gallery whose stable seems to be up your alley. Go back to the artist’s second show and buy something for around $5,000. It really means a lot to the artist at this stage of the game, and even though you should never buy art just so you can later sell it for a profit, it does perk up looking through the auction results when you see your gamble go sky-high once in a while.”
6. “Parents should understand that their young kids are not like them and need to have the privacy to fantasize both their good and bad desires. What you may find shocking about the perverse behavior of your child may not even be remembered by your offspring later in life. But what you may pooh-pooh as their silly young fears can be more debilitating to your children than you will ever imagine.”
7. “Everybody has his or her ‘love map,’ as the late, great, sadly discredited Baltimore sexologist John Money once called our predetermined sexual types. And we can never really change our love maps, but we can learn to see them coming. A healthy neurotic knows his type can and probably will bring emotional trouble combined with a powerful sexual wallop. But we can see, through effective therapy, that we have a choice. Yes, our love maps may be bad for us, but WOW! I won’t find this kind of sex in a healthy relationship. So is it worth it? If it is, yes, you are fucked-up, but as long as you choose it, you are also neurotically happy.”
8. “Nobody has to meet Tennessee Williams; all you have to do is reread his work. Listening to what he has to say could save your life, too.”
9. “I’m a fascist about my work habits and I expect you to be, too. Never have a spontaneous moment in your life again. If you’re going to have a hangover, it should be scheduled on your calendar months in advance. Rigid enjoyment of planning can get you high. Militant time-management will enable you to ignore how maladjusted you would be if you had the time to notice it in the first place. Discipline is not anal compulsion; it’s a lifestyle that breeds power.”
10. “You don’t need fashion designers when you are young. Have faith in your own bad taste. Buy the cheapest thing in your local thrift shop — the clothes that are freshly out of style with even the hippest people a few years older than you. Get on the fashion nerves of your peers, not your parents — that is the key to fashion leadership. Ill-fitting is always stylish. But be more creative — wear your clothes inside out, backward, upside down. Throw bleach in a load of colored laundry. Follow the exact opposite of the dry cleaning instructions inside the clothes that cost the most in your thrift shop. Don’t wear jewelry — stick Band-Aids on your wrists or make a necklace out of them. Wear Scotch tape on the side of your face like a bad face-life attempt. Mismatch your shoes. Best yet, do as Mink Stole used to do: go to the thrift store the day after Halloween, when the children’s trick-or-treat costumes are on sale, buy one, and wear it as your uniform of defiance.”
dress:teenflo shoes:ninewest belt:club monaco scarf:a coven in Chinatown, posing as a silk store
Do you ever have one of those days where you wake up and your best friend is at wits end with you, your dog eats a bunch of chocolate, you are late for a job interview, you drop and break your week old blackberry and then you get pulled over by the cops? All before noon?!
Do you ever ask yourself, “Why me?” “Why today?”
Well today I know the answer. It is because of the hexed scarf.
I bought this scarf from a silk store in Chinatown and god dammit, every time I wear it tragedy occurs.
Now, I know this isn’t some inspirational outfit post or words of wisdom, but I thought I would at least share with you the last outfit I wore the hexed scarf with before I burn it and wipe my hands clean of all this bad luck bullshit.
Hope your wednesday has been better than mine so far.
Hello. My name is Ashley and I am punctually challenged.
Over the past few days I have been thinking a lot about the concept of time, running late and how there are moments in our life that can pass us by so quickly; where we are unable to remember details of those moments, rather a blur of feelings and splices of memories intertwined. And on the other hand, there are moments that are branded into your conscious; able to relive them over and over again in your mind like some kind of long cinematic shot of your life, shown in perfect detail from your own point of view.
I am famously late. It would take an army of supporters for me to be on time. I am a casual walker, always opting for the scenic route as opposed to the direct route. I stall.
I don’t wear a watch.
I luxuriously enjoy the minutes I have before leaving my house.
I have an delusional concept of how long it takes to do things and I have convinced myself I can get anywhere in this city (or any city for that matter) in 25 minutes.
I have earned the title of being “fashionably” late by my friends and family; a title I definitely don’t embrace, but have accepted with humility.
In addition to being tardy, I take my sweet sweet time in making big decisions too. Now I know at some point we are all advised by somebody who knows better than us to “not jump to conclusions” or “make hasty choices”, but I think I take this characteristic of thinking things through to a fault.
After stumbling on the blog ofDana Jennings who has been writing a very honest and raw documentation of his battle with prostate cancer, I became very enamored with a particular postwhere he wrote about how his sense of time affected his view on his recovery and altered his perception on how he should be feeling and what he should be doing while healing.
“In a culture where the micro-second has become a viable unit of time, one year seems to be an eternity nowadays. We are addicted to the idea of instant closure, have knuckled under to the myth that media time is real time. But biological time, that unerring clock whirring at the cellular level, still has plenty to teach us.”
This got me thinking about my tardiness=decison-making issues and I have come to the conclusion that in our modern culture, we are rendered to go as fast as we can; to check as much off the to-do list as possible and deal with all of our situations or problems with as much efficiency and expedience as human-version-2.0. We like to pretend or forget that we are organic creatures, as Jennings made it clear to me. We have a natural process that can’t be hustled or forced. No amount of will power can accelerate the organic process of where you want to be.
Another point Jennings made that grabbed my attention was that time is a commodity. You have to decide how you want to spend it. My time dictates my life. Every minute I spend stalling or in oscillation should not be dually absorbed with rushing myself onwards to the next minute, rather, I should enjoy the exhilaration I feel when running down bank street in platforms, or when darting to appointments or that anxiety that comes when forced with a dilemma.
Albeit, I want to improve my tardiness, but as I am furiously typing this post while already running 10 minutes late for a meeting, some things may never change.
pants:zara blouse:gap belt:club monaco shoes:nine west
My best mornings usually consist of casually waking up whenever my mental alarm clock goes off, heading down to Bridgehead on Elgin with my little pooch and indulging in coffee over ice and some face time with whatever book I may be into(currently that would be The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay ….which is bomb-ass btw).
But not this particular morning.
I was up at the crack of dawn (sort of) and en route to A channel to assist my amazing friend Erica Wark, who is the resident fashion go-to gal for the A-channel morning show.
Today, she presented an LA based clothing brand called Affliction and if you want to catch the segment, you can watch it here
The A-channel morning show will be presenting regular fashion segments weekly so stay tuned to find out what is happening in Ottawa’s little fashion world!
So, I say to you, let’s have a girls night out and what do you think. Martinis. Stillettos. Good lighting. Voluminous hair. Pink things. Sexy banter…..
I am sure you picture some scene from Sex and the City, where all the girls are giggling about their vaginas and overanalyzing the last phone conversation they had with their latest bedmate. A night where things get “bad” and “bad” is defined as flirting with the bartender, down and dirty gossiping and maybe puffing on a menthol.
I am not one of these women. For one reason or another, I have made it my mission to destroy this idea of girls’ night and turn it on its ass. I never set out to do this. It is just something that continues to happen every time I or one of my girlfriends gets the bright idea to do an all female night; we end up completely fucking it up.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not anti-girls nights and I LOVE spending time with just my girl friends, but what never seems to work for me is the pre-planned-girls-only parties. They do not resemble anything like Sex and the City or whatever other over-glamified television show out there. Nope. They are more like a bad scene from Absolutely Fabulous, where everybody’s falling and binge drinking or puking and people get trapped in rooms or are soliciting sex in hilarious, yet obvious ways and shit is on fire and everybody is roaring with cackling laughter!! These are my girls’ nights and they are not pretty.
The problem is in the planning. When these nights don’t happen naturally and it is an imposed no-boys-allowed policy, I think us gals start to think we have immunity to all the regular rules that are associated with drinking and partying. We are louder than we have to be, ruder than we should be and can lose our demure in the chaos of it all. Honestly, when I am in the midst of one of these pre-planned girls’ night frenzies, I consume twice as much alcohol in half the time because I don’t have the fear that any of my friends are trying to get in my pants. And, it is that trepidation I have when men and alcohol are around that keeps me cool, collected and flirtatiously buzzed.
Look, I don’t want to be the one woman out there talking smack about girls’ nights, I just want to point out the flaw in the design. Women, friends or not, will always have an underlying sense of competition with each other, so without the male presence there, the night just turns into an escalating series of dares and one upping each other. No one bothers to think, “will this make me throw up?” or “if I do this move, will everybody see my vag? And will I care?” No. Nobody asks themselves these important questions when its girls night. We don’t think. We just do.
Maybe it’s just my friends? Maybe it’s just me? If you have any girls-nights-gone-bad stories, I’d love to hear them firstname.lastname@example.org
The idea that you might end up in a job that doesn’t allow you to be who you are, over the course of a lifetime, is still one of the most chilling nightmares to me. It’s a good metaphor for fears I have about losing my soul in some accidental, mundane way. So, to me, these jobs that my characters have are very loaded. They immediately suggest a complex character to me, a woman who is, say, a secretary, but also a vigilante on behalf of her own soul.