It's no secret that i FUCKING LOVE MAGAZINES; publishing won't be a dying medium... i will single handedly save it from plunging into the murky depths of digitalism. So ANYWAY i was rooting through my archives and found a really gorgeous editorial in a spring 08 issue of ZOOT magazine (crazy hot fashion and music magazine from portugal) and went to town and SCANNED IT IN. Its nothing groundbreaking, provocative or conceptual; but it makes me want to explore fairy mythology and glue flowers on to my nipples... and thats good enough for me.
^ I liked that he reminded me of Snuffkin (the philosophical nomadic BADASS of the moomins, for those not in the know)
I'm worried about the future. I'm scared of it PROPA LIKE. It just occurred to me today that life might not turn out how I dream it does. I was shopping today (bought some random shit - most of it was faded clothing... hence the picture) and as I floated round all the clothes shops I really resented how fashionable fashion has become. There's so much talent (but only the CREME DE LA CREME make it) and SO much demand in the industry that I questioned what potential I had to contribute. Is there any room for me in fashion? Or am I destined to be one in ever-growing millions of people who are forced to compromise?
But fashion has always been the plan. It sounds so inane and cliche when people (mainly talent show victims) say "this is the only thing i want" and "THIS IS MY LIFE! I WANNA BE FAMOUS, WHY WON'T YOU LOVE ME SIMON COWELL?" (vom) but I seriously would be left without a compass if I didn't have fashion. I want to do big things and be happy happy. I want to learn things and go places. But then reality blocks the view from my rose-tinted glasses, and i'm faced with the reality of fashion; and i can't see clearly. Through blurred vision, there is suicide and broken souls, mass consummation and hollowness, opulence and destruction. It's perversely still beautiful, but it's not the world I imagined.
To me, there is something just so innocent about dressing up; to communicate through decoration and to wear your emotions. That is the reason I love fashion and will always do.
but anyway... big thoughts, small mind.
I need a cup of bush tea and a beautiful landscape. Yes that is right, I am, in fact, fictional character and No. 1 ladies detective agent, Mma Ramotswe. Dumela!
Just a online editorial by dazed which had me at 'raw edges and powdery textures'. LIKE LIKE LIKE.
I see these things AND I JUST WANT THEM. I need to get sewing, I need to get some SKILL. I seriously thought that as soon as I got a sewing machine, I would be wapping out new outfit after new outfit BUT ALAS disappointment. ANYWAY, I HAVE BLOODY ARTWORK TO DO. peace out.
If all goes well, y'know, i'll get head hunted (for no reason just BECAUSE) and some strange New York-ian will take me under their steely, urban, SHARPLY-TAILORED wing, and my heart will mutate into a new york skyline and i will close my eyes, breathe in the pollution and SMILE.
Insanely talented. I'm not one to gush but I can't help feeling numb while I type this. I, sitting at my desk with my little laptop, mourning one of the most innovative and directional mavericks in fashion. I feel like my fingers are moving in slow motion and something in me just won't believe the loss. The fact that I feel strangely emotional to a man I never met, shows how strong a connection inspiration can illuminate.
FRUSTRATING. But BEAUTIFUL. Frustrating because he IS ME but a few years older and WAY more TALENTED/PRETTY/AMAZING. AND HE GOT THERE FIRST. goddamn. I love him and his music so I'll just have to let him off this time. BUT NEXT TIME........
YEAH I KNOW. He blatantly dresses better too. OH POO.
I have also made it a personal aim that me and patrick shall never sport the same hair colour at the same time. It seems we have rotated through most hair colours simultaneously (WE HAVE SO MUCH IN COMMON. I THINK WE SHOULD GET MARRIED.... he disagrees.) He is currently bleach blonde (I was last year sometime) so next I WILL BE RED. I cant wait, I love being red IT JUST FEELS RIGHT.
My God. I need to stop overusing capitals BUT I CANT HELP IT.
I HAD to use polaroids for my artwork, SOMEHOW. So I did. It was for my mock GCSE and I made a Jacket-like contraption (and took polaroids of it, stuck them on some pale colourwashed canvas' and BAM). It was a conceptual representation of some mutant idea I had that was vaguely centered around the project of 'Loneliness, Solitude and Despair' (the project title was blatantly inspired by my very own dull exsistance). Anyway,It was bloody hideous. But it was the first proper time i had attempted to make something 'Fashion' (GOD HELP ME IF I DO NOT GET BETTER). So I can't help feeling a smidgen of misguided pride. My eyes well up every time I look at it and I say "THATS MY UGLY BAAAABY!". Then I sit down and avoid making eye contact with the roomful of people I have just humiliated myself in front of.
i am a boy, i am a girl. i am human, i am animal. i am a book of contradictions, a blank film. i am a noisy silence. moonbeam sunshine. i am.
i rediscover myself when i see the back of my head.
Fashion fills me with happy fuzzy luminosity. i especially love british designers.
i love britain period. i love the eccentricity and the monarchy, the anarchy and the culture and the rich history and the aggressively sarcastic humour. its my home.
i love music. music is more than it seems. i listen to it before i go to sleep and it creates two separate forces on my body. my eyes orbit in one circle and my hips orbit in another until my body breaks and unravels like glittering yards of lace. music is more than it seems.
language interests me. the way it works and the way we can work it.
Logic is logic. no fun.
this blog is my digital reverie. my robotic introspection.
my mind; Made by Machines.