Drew Hoolhorst’s “Moving to San Francisco” project makes me want three things:
1. To be a killer designer
2. To live in San Francisco
3. A beer
…although, in fairness, I want a beer all the time. Which is why if I lived in Lower Haight, I’d be dead by 33.
See y’all there!
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Nomi Malone is my spirit guide.
(this is me when “Whip It” by Nicki comes on)
Bicycle Club by nl architects.
I don’t know how it would happen, but I’d figure out a way to cause a fiery crash of bicycles on this infinity loop of pain and disappointment.
Revenge Recap: Grief
This is my last Revenge recap for You Know You Love Fashion until the next season. I have many emotions about this right now. And only one of them is good.
Anyway, this episode wasn’t super fashion heavy, but the dramz? Oh, the dramz my friends. Queen V is honestly one more venomous remark from positively going Bette Davis and slapping the shit out of someone. But the real sadness this week was losing my second favourite natural blonde from The Hamptons - Sammy.
CRIED ALL THE TEARS.
YMS Hair Salon by Kitsch-Nitsch.
Pretty sure I had some sick Keds with this sort of design in the early 90s. That’s where it was at 20 years ago. Hyper colours. Stark prints. Neons for days.
I guarantee there are some young 18-23 year olds looking at this photo now thinking, “OMG DREAM APARTMENT”. It’s a great capture of what shaped style and fashion - what was cutting edge, if I may. Can’t say that it’s my absolute favourite aesthetic. I prefer more geometric and linear design (which is why that Hawkeye print from earlier got me all hot and bothered). But, since summer is around the corner, I have to say that I wouldn’t mind throwin’ back a few Old Pals in this salon.
I’m losing my pants over this Hawkeye print from Tom Whalen.
Has there ever been a better time for illustrators to combine Cartoon Modern, Art Deco and Bauhaus inspirations into some drop-dead pieces?
Keep ‘em comin’, nerds.
As if I really need to detail the pitfalls of the delicious season upon us. Everything tastes better barbecued. Everything.
Potatoes? Oh yeah. Salmon? You damn right? Hot Dogs? Fuck yes. Hamburgers? OBVZ.
But why is this bad news? There are several layers to the issue including the fact that I don’t own a barbecue, that I’m not very patient, and that I throw down side-eye whenever someone brings a salad to a BBQ. Because honestly .
However, all of that pales in comparison to the real reason I’m wary of this charcoal scented season. In short - my pants don’t fit, y’all. In fact, I’ve managed to slap on about 14 extra pounds of “oh, girl…” weight in the past four months. It’s not a terrible thing. I’d rather look chubby than malnourished. Plus, chubby is just a super cute word. Seriously, say it over and over again. You’ll either think of gummi bears or teddy bears or teddy grahams. Either way, bear imagery will feature heavily and as cub who’s inching closer and closer to thirty, I’m down with it.
Like a good homo, I’ve started going back to the gym but here’s the thing about fitness training: it takes time. A lot of time. Almost as much time as George Harrison talks about in “I’ve Got My Mind Set On You”. As I mentioned earlier, patience is not a virtue I claim so after lifting weights at the gym for 45 minutes, I expect to look like a G.I. Joe. - and that includes the pert nipples.
I’m not turning this blog into a weight loss/training journal because that’s really lame. And it’s been done as often as “Cabaret” is at gay karaoke. I’m just giving you all a heads up so that when you see a H-to-T photo of me and I look like Abby Lee Miller, you won’t say “DAMN SON WHAT THE HELL”.
You’ll just know.
