Thursday, February 28, 2013

how to get photographed




An Ostwald Helgason Moment




Like I said before, some things never seem to fucking work. Solange appeared in Toronto last Friday on stage donned in Ostwald Helgason. I guess she never got exposed to my impotent blog. God. Do I need to use more hash tags? Show a testicle? Maybe she didn't take a liking to the grey toque. This blog seems to have a recurring theme in respects to Solange. True. 

Currently smitten by designers Suzanne Ostwald and Ingvar Helgaso's pieces of silky diagonal colour-blocking lines. Fuck, I'm not smitten, I'm borderline obsessed. Look at Solange, she's so fucking filled with joy because she's wearing OH. The brand already has street style cred with the likes of the Russian Pack Miroslava Duma and Anya Ziourova being photographed excessively sporting said designers. 

I'm absolutely enthralled by their method of colour-blocking and their use of a crocodile printed tee for spring 2013 that puts Lacoste's crocodile into a melancholic state. As for fall 2013, the OH girl is evidently not inclined to sport any outwear anytime soon. A gold printed dress layered over a striped turtle neck has put Frank's naturally folded turtleneck to shame. 

Solange building her indie cred even more. Here.

Photos: BlogTO and Stylepaste

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

my tan is still apparent


According to Wiarton Willie, Canada's spring predictor, we are expecting an early spring. That type of pivotal news on Groundhog's Day didn't stop me from purchasing a jumper a few weeks past. As per usual, I like to complain about the soaring price of rent and my lack of consuming apparel. In the event that I never want to go home-only to see family and not suburbia-I thrift.

I have one major exclusive thrift store that I find all my amaze pieces that I can walk to and not drive. Apparently Camry drivers are cunty. Most people like the idea that thirfted pieces have a story, I have anecdotes about purchasing. I purchased that shirt and that jumper in one transaction. Total price $13, more or less according to the non-existent penny of rounding up or down. I debated with myself and the lady at the cash register if I really needed a new-old jumper. She said "yes." Sold. We all need that rush of endorphins not comparable to the running variety.

I moved to Toronto thinking I would scavenge all these amazing vintage pieces. I felt $13 was the apex for paying thrift for two pieces, but I'm sure I would have had to pay a hefty sum at a vintage boutique on Queen West or in Kensington. My hair is looking rather light and fluffy today.

Fucking Conde Nast. Destroying FIC's Tumblr.

Friday, February 22, 2013

some things never seem to fucking work

Solange Visits Toronto





I made this irrefutable suggestion to a friend that we should purchase tickets to see Solange perform. He gave the EP a chance and he said no, the conversation ended there. I on the other hand perpetually played Losing You on my iTunes that no other song existed but said song. I finally started transitioning to her other six tracks and shit son, Don't Let Me Down is thee best track on her EP. And this live version of her singing the aforementioned song made me overzealous to see her live tonight. That will not be happening due to: 1. labour duties, 2. I'm not paying extorted prices on Craigslsit, Kijiji, etc. and 3. travelling east of Yonge is just the bane of my existence. 

True EP on repetition. 

In addition to her harmonious vocals, her style is absolutely impeccable. Her style is eclectic by mixing prints, bold patterns and adding Wang cat eye sunglasses just for shits. As she enters The Great North, Toronto, I would take full responsibility in suiting Solange. The focal piece here is the toque. 

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

to be alone with you



I am absolutely smitten with Sufjan Stevens. There's a soaring level of testosterone just running through my body when I look at him swift his body from left to right and performing dance moves equivalent to Zooey Deschanel.

I've been listening to his music for a couple years now-first being introduced on The O.C.-and I am only two albums deep. Forgive me. I know you are at least 10 albums and counting, but living downtown doesn't allot much for music. I bought The Age of Adz last year and like Neiman Marcus' for Target collection, it just stayed still. I Walked played at random and now it has been on repeat and this video is fo realz OMFG. Right.

Lately, I have been a bit overzealous as to who exactly is Sufjan Stevens. You can barely find his biography except for maybe that he is 37, lives in Brooklyn and graduated from The New School.

Best of all, is that Prince Harry's decapitated head behind him?

Sunday, February 17, 2013

pbr&b




Karl Lagerfeld had Baptiste Giabiconi and Alexander Wang had Azealia Banks as their muse for collections and what have you. I'm really curious as to what role Baptiste had with Uncle Karl. I suspect bondage with heavy conversations about tweed. I spent the night at Cold Tea where it seems my camera's muse was little J. I didn't want to expose the patrons to a quick flash so I amped up the dial on the right side of my camera. I'm thinking it's the exposure that increases or decreases light. I am as amateur as it gets--almost virginal to the ambiguous camera that doesn't know if it's a point and shoot or a DSLR.


Thursday, February 14, 2013

delivery


There is a lot to be learned from this photo above that says "Hey, I like prints, but I also enjoy layering shorts on shorts and looking like I am about to deliver you a pair of Aldo's". There is something erotic about outfitting oneself to display just the right amount of leg hair. No? I guess I'm the only disgusting fiend here.

Photo: Topman

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

feminism is still a thing



I'm not one to perpetually update this blog with continuous reviews or what have you. I like my thoughts to form and marinate and see what comes about. I have though been viewing a few shows at peculiar times. A few of my favourites thus far have been 3.1 Phillip Lim, Victoria Beckham, J Brand, Oraganic by John Patrick, The Row and Chloe Sevigny for Opening Ceremony. Things may change come London, Milan and Paris fashion week.

Chloe Sevigny can do no wrong when it comes to being conspicuously street cool. I adore a political message when appropriate. She's fighting for my ovaries (if I had one) and your ovaries all while donning silent camel pieces.

I had an argument with someone that feminism is still happening and that it continuously needs to. He rebutted stating that feminism is dead. He obviously doesn't read Jezebel as vigorous as I do. Consider issues like the last American election and the Republicans definition of legitimate rape. Of course a fucking white man of power is saying that God intended rape. Asshole.

Photo: openingceremony.com

Monday, February 11, 2013

serious intent



Hannah Horvath urinates in every bath she goes into. This justifies the fact that I haven't showered since Friday with cause. My social life has been taking precedence over my commitment to hygiene. The benefits include, but not limited to: greasy; slick hair. Similar to beach hair, but with the look that you haven't showered in two days. The concept that you actually don't want to parade your hair. Cue toque.

Coffee Shop: White Squirrel

Saturday, February 9, 2013

rainbows and youth


There's something organic about this girl exuding blue ombre hair. Is ombre still a thing? Naturally I mean. I'm one to enjoy working at places where I can dress my personality. Outfitting one self in clashing prints and graphic socks with sandals. Deodorant optional.

I highly propose that in your hormonal stage of life - your twenty's - that you embrace every fucking freak inside of you. (I knew I should have gotten that Robyn bowl cut last summer.) Become a republican, substitute cow's milk for almond (soy was soo 2011), don't shave your armpit hair and lastly die your hair in relation to one of the Care Bear characters.

Photo: I Can Teach You How To Do It

Thursday, February 7, 2013

thought crimes


I always thought that the elusive thigh-gap was desirable, even amongst the male species. Then I read an article in The Globe and Mail this morning about our delusional aspirations to fit a watermelon organically through our upper thighs. I thought there was just fat and skinny.

I went and saw a friend's artwork last month and we were scoping potential babes in the pipe-filled loft. A copious amount of thigh-gapping Queen West (male) babes. Then this friend of a friend stated that they were all so "Alexander Wang" skinny. (I prayed he included me in the mix.) I now use the adjective quite predominately to describe said babes.

The cold Toronto weather has rendered me lifeless and impotent. I joined a gym through Groupon to recover my failing thigh-gap and to attain Alexander Wang skinnyness as my motivation. Caveat: gyms are assholes selling me shit I don't need. I can barely pay rent let alone shop at Zara. Turns out I am moderately underweight and lack protein, but hey, Wang skinny is socially desirable.

Fo realz dough, is butter a carb?

Photo: I Can Teach You How To Do

Monday, February 4, 2013

oh but dear



I spent all Friday afternoon looking for Purity Ring tickets via local classifieds only to my demise that they were either overpriced or sold out. I get that being virginal is a hot commodity in and of itself, but I was yearning for some synth pop realness. And synth pop realness was what I got for the price of being loathed.