: art parties = double happiness :

This guy writes children's books.
At least that's what he said. I'll probably never know if he was telling the truth or not, but it doesn't even matter because it's such an awesome thing to say you do.

Jason writes poems. And has his own blog where you can read his insights on life and see more photos of the screenprinting party where I snapped this : increase-deacrease

yeah, he knows what it means.

: Palestinian Scarves :

(Washington Square Park)

There has been debate about meanings surrounding the keffiyeh since it became a noticeable trend around 2005. Many see the scarf as a sign of solidarity with the Palestinians as they continue to struggle against occupation by Israel. But as the scarf becomes increasingly available, others wear it without realizing it's more than a fashion statement. The contest over meaning is doubly complicated because the scarf has reportedly been appropriated by anti-semitic groups in some parts of Europe. However, most who wear the scarf (consciously) denounce such associations, saying that the scarf is about support, not hate.

(Lower East Side)

This young man said he was just wearing the keffiyeh as a scarf, and he hadn't previously known of its association with Palestine. So is the scarf loosing its meaning or are people making a political statement without knowing it?

Really, any time we make a choice about clothing it is on some level political. Sometimes we make choices based on production, like avoiding fur or buying clothing we know wasn't made in a sweatshop. But simple aesthetic choices are also political -- most of us make fashion choices that conform either to mainstream standards or to the standards of a specific subculture (punk, ghetto, indie, etc.) or the more general counterculture.

Clearly the scarf carries an appeal for counterculture at large, and in that sense anyone who wears it understands a fraction of its meaning. Rather than resent the popularity of the scarf and those who wear it, people "in the know" should find a way to use the ubiquitous patterned cloth to raise awareness of what it represents, and the U.S.' involvement in the continued oppression of the Palestinian people.

beauty bar

Remember playing Telephone at your 9th birthday party?
This guy's got words going in one ear and out the other. And way better hair than you had back then. The mohawk and its progeny have been spotted throughout the city, evidence of a rising dance-punk sensibility. Perhaps it's been stewing as faux-hawks and rat-tails for a few years already.

Spawn of the hawk has not become faddish (yet?), but there are definitely too many of them walking around to be attributed to the anachronistic punksouls. This is a kind of subtle, hawk-mullet. Rad.

And on a different note: big hearts to the tie-scarf with a windmill on it.

Another Day in Paradise

{{{deep thoughts in Greenpoint}}}

Today I did my taxes and went to the dentist, where they told me that I have a molar which will eventually need a root canal. The nerve is still alive and kickin' (we did a little torture test to prove it), so probably no digging around below the gum-line this year. But the dentist let me harbor no illusions: the tooth is a crumbling mess and is pretty much planning its own funeral. It's just a matter of time until that nerve either dies or gets "put down." Either way: root canal.

It's a little like someone telling you that eventually you're going to die -- you already knew it, but it still shocks you when they shift the prospect into the near future. If I'd ever spent much time thinking about root canals, I suppose I'd have come to the conclusion that it's pretty much inevitable: sometime during the course of my life I'll probably have to spend a few hours in the dentist's chair having the roots drilled out of my jaw. But geez, these teeth are supposed to last me another 50 years at least. Don't start taking them away now!

Which brings me to the photo of the woman at the top of this post.
She gets it: Greenpoint, March, Dentist, Taxes. Only this picture of her seasoned soul, well-acquainted with life's unpleasant surprises, could make me feel better right now.

Welcome to Amerika :
land of the free woman

How these girls got Scary-Terry(Richardson)'s cock and balls into their mouths without throwing up is a mystery. First of all, he's gross and ugly and second, he has no class. Really, these girls could do way better than TR. Although they do look a little drugged up, don't they?

Then again, maybe it's just the way their eyes are straining to look in the direction of the camera. It's creepy. You can just imagine someone directing their every move: "Okay ladies, now that you're sucking his dick, look towards the camera and give the peace symbol. . . perfect. . ." Clearly, these girls are just doing as they're told. Makes you wonder why women even have brains -- I guess so we can follow directions better.


This generation of women was the first to grow up thinking that they could achieve anything. Work in any profession, be equals with men -- or just give head and hand jobs like a good old fashioned prostitute. And while TR gets rich & famous, what are these youth with promising futures getting?
Herpes, probably.

Why would a young, hot woman do this? Clearly she relies on men (and whoever else she imagines will be looking at these photos) to establish her worth.
That's sad. Like almost all women in this country, she's been brainwashed to believe that she is not beautiful or important unless she is represented in the mass media machine. And apparently she thinks making herself sexually submissive is the only way to get there.

TR probably convinces girls to do this sort of thing partly by saying these images are subversive -- as in, they're radical because they wouldn't be accepted by the mainstream media and they'll cause a big controversy. But in this society, giving a man head is never the best way to undermine authority. No one's saying there's no place for it -- in a mutually pleasurable (or profitable) exchange, there certainly is. But allowing a man to profit off the image of your pretty mouth around his cock is never going to be subversive. Ladies: time to start thinking for yourselves.

bklyn po-mo sophisticate

after decades of neglect and estrangement, the iconic
seventies hues Olive and Burnt Orange are reunited at last.

bushwick
. . . i mean "east williamsburg"
{{{ hipsters creeping rightward on the map }}}

Terry Richardson = Scary H.R. Nerd Riot

This is what you'll find in the pages of Vogue recently.

In the image, a girl is putting on scarlet lipstick in close vicinity to a pair of belted jeans and a white t-shirt. One can only assume that a male resides inside of these clothes. She looks at the camera with a kind of shocked expression, like she's been caught in the midst of mischief. It doesn't take a dirty mind to imagine that in the photographer's (meaning Terry Richardson's) fantasy, she is about to give this guy head. The image is supposed to be shocking and offensively sexy.
Really, it's just sad.

A dirty old man recreates his sexual fantasies using women who are way too young and hot for his sleazy old-man cock, and he gets away with it because we're all so sick of political correctness. True, the age of PC is on the decline and few will miss it, but TR crosses some other kind of line. He's basically a pedophile who seduces girls with money and fame instead of candy (his Molester Glasses aren't a product of trend) . Sure, these young women should know better, but even their complicity doesn't excuse Richardson's slimy m.o.

Notice that he has signed this photo, as an artist would. TR probably thinks he's a modern day Manet (the guy who painted the prostitute so she looked a little two-dimensional, which caused a big scandal in the art world), but he's no artist. His artistic formula amounts to "Peeping Tom meets Shock and Bra." It's predictable, creepy, and most of all, pathetic.

I hope he has some life-altering experience and ends up as one of those crazy guys shouting "Repent Sinner, Jesus Saves" through a megaphone on the fringes of Times Square. The young girls will giggle as they walk by, secretly hoping that someone will recognize how hot they are and offer to make them famous if they take their clothes off for the camera.

Rebels with a Cause

OK, who wants the internet to be more like TV, where money makes the decisions about who makes noise and what gets seen while the crazy, subversive feedback is relegated to late-night spots on cable (I'm thinking TV Party, not Wayne's World)?

If you couldn't guess who, I'll tell you: the internet profiteers, namely Comcast, AT&T, and Verizon. Why? Cuz they're going to be swimming in the green stuff once they get the FCC to act in their favor -- and let's just say that kind of move wouldn't be unprecedented.

Fortunately, our friends in the House of Congress are trying to pass a bill protecting net neutrality. You can help (it's easy!) by sending a virtual letter to your designated congressional representative.

Don't say you don't know who your representative is: if you go to Save the Internet, it'll figure it out for you, and fast. Yup, the magic website sends a message and tells you who it's getting sent to.

Tip: once you find out, memorize the name of your rep. That way, when you're debating your right-wing father about this or another issue, he can't write you off because you don't even know who's making decisions on your behalf.

Another tip: you should always know who's making decisions on your behalf, especially if you don't agree with their overall moral stance. If you consider yourself an anarchist or a revolutionary, the need to know this stuff doubles. You need to be aware of who you're up against. Besides, no one respects a lazy rebel -- but if people can tell you know what you're speaking about, it's easier to change their minds.

Good Luck.

. . . paint on walls . . .
{{{b.burg}}}

teens in uniform:
[an anthropological study of minors on the Lower East Side]

In school, kids of the LES have explicit dress codes: no jeans, collared shirts, no hats, etc. But there's an unspoken dress code for any time not under the watchful gaze of teachers and principals. On the way to school, the journey home, and whenever they can get away with it in between, teens almost universally wear jeans. In school -- generally only after the teacher demands -- they pull a pair of oversized slacks over the offending denim . Even then a few choose to refrain from zipping up the second layer of pants, so they walk around looking like they're in the middle of a striptease.

As you can see, guys are still rockin' the falling-down-jeans aesthetic and slightly askew baseball cap that have been popular for over ten years. They're trying to make these styles timeless. Things that have changed: brighter colors (note hot-blue jacket) and backpacks are now worn on both shoulders. North Face is the brand of the day for both backpacks and coats.

On the ladies its skinny jeans and boldly patterned, princess-sleeved coats. Sneakers on the feet, preferably 80s-bright colors. For jewelry, dangling earrings and large hoops, lots of "gold." The backpack is again NF -- generally JanSport is acceptable, but not as widely acclaimed.

. Melody Lanes .

I could annoy everyone by writing something here that'd you'd see in a magazine -- you know, "Whatever her score on the lanes, she gets a strike for style!" But I'll try to refrain (though the astute reader will accuse me of doing anyway). In any case, nice ensemble. The belt, scarf and stockings make perfect accents to the little red dress. One question: how did she foresee the palate of her rented bowling shoes?

Awesome Day!
[field trip : grand finale]

Alright kids, field trip's over.

There's no more to see here.



Seriously, go home.

. . . field trip : day 2 . . .

That fairy coming in for a landing had a secret message to relay, but the tricky print on the dress made him miss her shoulder. He fell hard, forgetting the information, but we gave him some wine and procured the directions to Peter Pan's hideout -- so we're even.

Tune in tomorrow for final episode of this style adventure.

field trip!

. . . down Penny Lane, across the Seven Seas, and
into the enchanted wardrobe of a style child . . .

to be continued . . .

: Bleeker Street :

These outfits brought to you by gentrification.

Call me a right-wing conspirator, but I must observe: a few short decades ago Bleeker Street was just a faster way to say "whores and junkies" (and not of the romanticized variety you see in magazine ads circa 2008). Now stylefolk such as these two roam the subway platforms.

It can only mean one thing: Giuliani is the lovechild of Superman and Jesus after all.