Can I say "spotty" without looking lame?

So today I thought I was cool for my new leopard Tripp pants, the way middle schoolers do when they discover they can pair butterfly hoop earrings and frosted eye shadow from the drugstore together.

Then as I was walking I saw a shiny flash of leopard pants and said "HOLY GHOST" really loudly to myself and possibly a Red Cross volunteer. I was fishing for my camera in my slop stack of a tote bag for several blocks considering following her if I didn't get to my camera in time.


That's right, metallic leopard pants mothafucka! But styled with a metallic leopard sweater, a faux fur coat and hat. I gotta say, the Korean exchange students at SAIC have got some taste.*

*I'm just assuming she was a student due to the proximity, that ain't no Columbia amateur biznazz.

Half Breed

I love Margaret Cho in small, sporadic bunches like this.

I’m too tired to make a disclaimer, I try to speak lightly but if I write too much anyway, nobody will read this, thus I will be safe from persecution via over-used phrases and poor spelling. Also no, I don't want to have a tired American Apparel argument. They're here, they're awkwardly gender insincere, do something about it somewhere else. :


I love stereotypes. Obviously there are positively and negatively charged ones, which doesn’t necessarily make them more acceptable, but ones that people make people try to interpret others. No matter how PC socially aware you may want to project yourself as, we all have biases and our own odd stereotypes to make approximations about the people around us because sometimes it’s monotonous how similar we all are. It’s like tailoring a suit, you block these large patterns from a bolt of wool fabric, cutting, pinning, sewing, altering to fit around this person you are trying to understand their unique qualities. This isn’t to say I condone the beliefs of the Westboro Baptist Church and all these defensive arguments I expect to be landed on me, but I’m saying that stereotypes aren't the treacherous villain we choose to typecast them as. They’re like Rodney Dangerfield, misunderstood.


That being said, now all the gross blegh-me stuff.

I am ethnically 1/2 Chinese, 3/8 Irish, 1/8 German. It seems boring, to me at least, but people ask me all. the. fucking. time.

What nationality are you? What are you? I mean, where do you come from?

First off, Americans (yes, specifically) need to learn the difference between ethnicity and nationality. Ethnicity, referring to the cultural ancestry of your lineage. Your race. This is often what you mean. Nationality is where you are from, so keep in mind you’re asking another American if they’re from America. And asking, “what are you?” is only going to get the default response of “human”; I am not a coat rack. That being said, sometimes it bugs me because it would be polite (or just kind) to wait to ask my name or engage me as a fellow bipedal mammal before playing the I’ve Got a Secret home game.

But I am understanding and not defensive, I promise. I understand your inquiry and even when you admit to me you were staring at me across the room trying to guess for a good 7 minutes “what you are”. And the typical guesses I get are: Chilean, Mexican, “Spanish”, Japanese, Korean, Portugese, Columbian and Thai. One of the main reasons I have to remember Spanish at all is because people will start speaking to me in straight up fluent Spanish to which my brain is processing “Izquierda? Wait, what’s ‘street’ again?”

Culture is a totally complex and individualistic variable that differs from person to person. And while I have parts of Asian American culture and Irish American that influence my offensive humor and overall really stale ethnic jokes, they’re very minor parts of who I am. I’m American for a reason, why do I need to sectionalize myself from the whole? I didn’t emigrate here and even if I did, other countries don’t need to assert their culture forcefully into everything. To generally sum up an Aziz Ansari monologue, do white people just go around high fiving each other for being in everything?



I hate having to fraction myself like I’m a walking pie chart, it projects onto me the worth as a fragmented person. I’m never Asian enough or Irish enough for someone. I remember a substitute teacher, who I had twice and actually had to have the exact conversation twice:

Teacher: “McCarthy…”
“Yes.”
“But that’s an Irish last name.”
“So it is.”
”How are you Irish? You can't be Irish.”
“Read the attendance sheet.”

To which followed he needed to know my whole ethnic life story when I hadn’t intended to foster any relationship, strained or otherwise, in the first place. Think about it. What have you gauged from me as a person with this knowledge before asking anything else about me? Do you know what I like to read? My political affiliation? My complex theories on Who’s The Boss?





Aside from pride in one’s heritage and cultural customs (which tend to be more Americanized after third generation or so), this separation we enforce ethnically can contribute to social issues and unfavorable, unalterable stereotypes.

One of my friends is from Hawaii originally and though I love him dearly, can also make sweeping generalizations that make me wince. He went on this jag about how Blasians or “Black Asians” are much more overtly sexualized than other Hapas (Asian mixed with other ethnic groups). I knew as a black person himself he wasn’t associated with other types of Hapa mixes. Not that I need to illustrate “my struggle” because a) I would not call it that unless I needed to get punched in the face and b) we all face adversity and misconceptions, but that was some bullshit. Frankly as a less stereotypically attractive Hapa in the conventional sense (hey man, gotta be honest), even I get people who hit on me purely for my genetic cocktail. One guy, no prior conversation, just wanted to tell me we would have attractive children. Oh thank you, I’m busy being 15 and not getting pregnant, but I’ll keep that proposition in mind.

During my gross core classes freshman year when I was learning about performance slash trying to just make things up and get through it so I can sleep, it popped up. Camila will remember I did this completely corny Yoko Ono inspired performance I eventually got forced to do at our Freshman show where I made a language translation tape in my own hackneyed Cantonese and Gaelic that used phrases friends and other people had said that had affected me. It played while I wrote on myself in the languages split into two halves of my body from 2 scrolls of text I had written behind me, until I smeared it all over myself into an ashy mess. Then I attempted to smear it on the faces of some unlucky audience members but it wouldn’t come off.

As the recording played of all these phrases that had haunted me, affixed themselves to me with statements as recent as a week before I started the project, people in the audience had laughed. Internally I felt dejected, it was awkward and I didn't understand it until I analyzed them from outside of myself. They actually were outlandish and ridiculous and they were funny because they were recognizably real and realized people were laughing with me; they related to their own experiences and possibly similar misconceptions they had perceived of others.

Photo by Mia Morris
I both loathe and love 17 year old me

I was really entrenched by it at that time, up until that point it had taken over my identity as being something else, some parts of an incomplete whole. And all of the Hapas I have ever known always talk about how fucking Asian they are, it dominates them in a very cloying desperation to be different, to be Asian. I really don’t care that you can use chopsticks, you have won the battle, you are indeed more Asian than I. Gift bag will be sent in the mail. I’m not saying I’m disengaged from my history, but if you’re limited to that as the only interesting part about you, then you’re not a particularly interesting person.


Also (white) people who try to teach me how to be Asian or prove how more in tune they are with Eastern culture: Fuck you. I have even less to prove to you than anyone else.
To you I’m a white person who’s just exotic enough to be of interest.

I always run out of venom and strife by this point and want a hot chocolate by this point. I'm not as good at holding grudges as I wish to be; they're so much work.


Essentially, we already have enough boring subcultures to differentiate each other. It's okay to fit into them and to stand out from them, just don't define yourself because you like blue m & m's, love Roswell or think Radiohead is an extremely underrated band (because they're not). If it's on Netflix Instant Watch, it's probably not obscure or mysterious and is indeed watched by several million people. It's dire to certainly be yourself and not follow what everyone else is doing like the Disney movies tell you just as it is to connect to people on an insignificant and deeper level.

This isn't to say I'm beyond it either, sarcasm is about unresolved manifestations bursting forth and it isn't something to be resolved or concluded. I'm going to dwell on it at least once a day or so in a repetitive, irritating cycle. But I'm not overwhelmed by it, it's just one of those neuroses people have, better than daddy issues right?


Also as a side note which probably unravels my whole belabored entry.
Asians: Get different stereotype jokes. We need something other than the riffs about tea, math homework and having sex while unable to pronounce the letter "L". I'm thinking polka dots, we're like fucking rabid polka dot Minnie Mouse maniacs with Nikon cameras. Just a suggestion.


I would need a book to write this right but I didn't even have the steam to finish two pages about things that shape my insecurities and self worth. But this is a blog, I don't get paid enough or at all, maaaan.

I Was Not Listening to Stars

Photo by Sasha Grey

I had a dream, which is the start of every sentence nobody wants to hear unless it’s Martin Luther King Jr., that I was walking with a friend and art partner who I obviously fabricated for this scenario. I hate when the brain does that, so when you wake up you’re left trying to remember who they are and if any figment of them exists somewhere in reality.

But we were walking around this desolate vertical city area, picture sort of Santogold music video pre-paint explosion and this guy on a high up fire escape left of where we were going beckons us to look at the wide fire escape high up on the building across from his. He started explaining it as this paramount artwork, we were sure he was fucking high as shit because all we saw was a fire escape. Until a spark of fire seized up on it and was spreading to reach the whole landing and suddenly this girl emerged to set herself on fire. We shouted at her to stop, knowing like any person performing for any audience is going to do what they want and was devoured by flames like… well, the superhero The Flame.

Photo by Sasha Grey

She’s standing there like a fireball, when the guy who directed us to the sight, her collaborator, also lit a match to himself and unexpectedly jumped off the fire escape together. As they hit the ground, it burst into an explosion of molten lava like a spoon cannon balling into a cup of custard. My friend turned down the street in our original direction before this whole spectacle, and this collection of lava and sparks were popping out of the ground, bursting like nothing I will ever see.

We started running backwards but we were trapped and my mind flooded with the spectacle and the artists who had made some kind of profound statement you never remember when you wake up. All of their work was being compared to my own with my collaborator and some kind of epiphany of their superiority to martyr for this secret message to two strangers on the street. We couldn’t run back because the lava had spread there too, we were trapped in a frenzy of our survival adrenaline. As we were running and reflecting and panicking in unison, a gold nail from the lava drove into the back of my skull and some melted gold flecks that expanded on the back of my head. It was a blessing and utter pain fearing the nail would push further in my head and kill me.


I really hate my dreams.

Taxidermy Saturday

I want this for real-for real.

Aside from recent events, I've been watching a lot of Ray Wise things as of late (Twin Peaks, Reaper, that random Cameo on Psych) and this year I've just let my tween goth side substitute for my whimsical 60s library kid who plays hooky at The Monkees concerts. She just can't get enough Davy Jones.

So there's no cheap saves at my version of Black Friday, but you also won't get trampled by a guy trying to get a humidifier on sale. Also Christmas is coming up and as I always say, I am never above bribes. So I know it's all trendy and shit, but I've always had a respect for the macabre of taxidermy. I am someday going to live up to my friend's vision for my apartment theme as "Edgar Allen Poe's room". I'm trying to pick stuff that is not just a hummingbird skull on a chain necklace, but that's all I know! Let's pick stuff that's pretty and attainable-ish!


Let's get a Camila favorite out of the way (and one of mine):

Images via her wordpress

Jacki Holland's Fraudulent Animals, as seen in an earlier post, is just so organic and artful, she manages to use bones, quills and other materials in a way that is actually curated and not just relying on the aura of a deceased object.

Her collection is available at Robin Richman and her wordpress.

MRD74's Raven Skull Hair Tie, $28

MRD74 is one of those etsy stores that is a crossover legitimate business and not necklaces with frosted teal deer leaping over a mound of Yaz birth control pills or crocheted vaginas. I am guessing a husband and wife team, Mike & Dianne Doyle, who make paired down classic "skull on a chain" jewelry but with little bits to jazz it up like this hair tie which also comes in black. Ugh I want two for pigtails so I'll be like Courtney Love as Asian nerd #3 in basically any teen sitcom.

They used to make hair clips which I wanted terribly, I also urge to you to get them to make you some. For me. Obviously.

Photos by Steve Farmer

All images via artist's facebook

I can't do this entry without mentioning an MFA fibers student from my school, David Ross Harper (not to be confused by equally amazing nature sculpture guy).

His work is outta control, definitely the most finely crafted work I've seen from the fibers department and the school itself. When hearing him talk about how he would learn embroidery himself and taxidermy from his family and such, it makes me hate him. Not actually hate him of course, but that these impeccable skills were totally from his own dedication for the craft; that is unreal and treason. I mean he embroidered on a tough surface by hand! That is all NASA conspiracy theorist never happened.

I've been to his artist lecture a few times and though I completely respect (and envy) what he does, I don't necessarily assign any conceptual ideas to his work. Which is fine, I mean sometimes work is about striking aesthetics which his surely is. I had to go all creepy stealth on his facebook to get photos since the images are way too small on his website to encapsulate his work. I'm sure you could buy this work... if you were super rich.

Gold Baby Necklace via Atlantis Dry Goods, $550.00

Okay these Thumbelina babies didn't really die but it's a similar concept right? Keep in mind as far as the price, these don't seem to just be painted baby dolls, they're actually cast and made to hinge into each other. This shop is a mom and daughter shop of Sea of Shoes and her mother Atlantis Shop, who is possibly more fabulous than I can fathom. I mean, look at her. I don't even look that good on my best days.



So here was a lazy stab in the dark post on taxidermy. And I did it without using Reid Peppard or Julia Deville images. Go me.

A Different Kind of Thankful

I think I made the sign of the cross tonight the only time aside from when I pass what’s left of the dilapidated Christopher st. train stop. I’m still an atheist though, do not be fooled for my pause for tradition and respect. Sometimes you have to put aside your beliefs for someone else, for a gesture even if nobody sees it.

I was sleeping until 3 in the afternoon, because that’s what I do the minute I have freedom from classes. My friend had texted me, she found her dad not breathing in his chair on Thanksgiving day. Her grandmother died only on Monday. I couldn’t even fathom something like that as I had just woken up, I texted her back furiously probably one of the not-perfect things to text back “Wait, what? What is happening I can’t even understand.”

Those are the moments that can’t be encapsulated, especially in a facebook status of a few characters on someone’s life at that second. It seems that the death of someone close to someone close to you makes you cherish the things you have which seems really cruel and suckish that you get spared to reminisce while your friend is the pawn in the supporting characters of your life who don’t get the screen time for their own tremendous loss. It makes your understanding of the trivial being trivial from such events equally trite and unworthy somehow. And if you even dared mention that there are crueler injustices in EgyptAfricaRussiaIran any place that is always immensely suffering, the kind compared to the moments someone is trying to vent for even the microscopic moments people need to mourn for, in order to make me feel foolish, I will punch you so fucking hard in the mouth you’ll bleed every time you think to speak out of turn again.

Generally I prefer being by myself, especially on Thanksgiving because I’m a recluse not because I don’t love my family or that I have any dysfunction keeping me from enjoying their company. I’m not trying to make you or myself feel guilty for being lucky to have something she doesn’t or anyone else to feel deprived otherwise. This isn’t a moment to bring you down either. It just is a fraction of something that is happening and my need to articulate it into the endlessness of the internet. I am indeed thankful for what I have even when I seem indignant. I’m fortunate right now and both damned and not damned to be. And I’m sorry Kristina, that someone so positive and tries to keep things in perspective has to have this happen now or at all. I won’t dismiss what you’re feeling by offering phony solutions or an empty promise of how if gets better, because it will, but saying it right now would be the positively worst thing for me to say. I know there is nothing I offer that will do anything or say something profound or meaningful. But I’m sorry anyways.

Breakfast With Chicago

Though this is predominately a fashion journal, I take occasional breaks for fun (television), art (my aspiring practice) and food (pizza, bacon and soup).

My favorite is brunch because we all should love breakfast but don't wake up before noon on our free time. Some of my favorites in Chicago to make badly written tributes to are Tre Kronor and Longman & Eagle. I mean we all need to wake up to lattes, waffles and thick sliced bacon; it's in the constitution under illegal parking, guys.

But most of the time I stay home for brunch because I save money and effort of calling people up and getting dressed to leave my bed. Also it always seems reserved for Sundays which some of us want to do on a Monday. Here are some local Chicago favorites to nosh on:



Okay, technically Oberweis is a chain spawning through more than one state but it's centered around the Midwest so I will include it. They do all kind of dairy products, bacon, lemonade, it's a Midwestern summer dream (not to be confused with a Midsummer Night's Dream).

There is nothing more satisfying than pouring your milk out of a glass bottle, even though I often spill it all over the place, and other perks include it's rBGH (hormones pumped into cows) free as well as kosher.

Though Jim Oberweis is part of the anti-gay legislative crew, these types are unfortunately connected to all sectors and is unavoidable like say, many of your favorite slave labor clothing brands. So don't hate on me hater.

Image via the Chicago Gourmet!

Milk + Honey Original Granola is like a prayer from my clogged arteries. Frankly, why isn't bacon a vegetable already? I mean it already has its own holiday.

So yes, I don't eat much of anything that contains the words "vitamins" or "nutritious" or "not die" in them. But granola is the way to eat something relatively good for me and I don't have to throw a tantrum on the floor adult freestyle. It comes in a bunch of flavors like chocolate or berries or even some Rick Bayless flavor (it's his glasses and goatee on every bag) but I prefer original.

Image via The Kitchn

Chicago Honey Co-op (but linking the coveted 1 lb container) fresh honey brightens my overall cranky mornings where I have to wake up at a god awful reasonable hour. I make my tea, fill it with raw sugar and honey much like camouflaging the taste of fish with everything else in the universe. I generally assumed there would be no difference because I'm an idiot and still don't get gourmet coffee or Nirvana. It is light and offers a more "natural" taste.

They also do honey mustard, bath stuff and candles but like many people I live alone and have electricity so thus my only need is fancy honey. I've already used up my 6 oz jar which makes me cry.

If I could I would be a meat nun...

Unfortunately for the world, with all the supermarket deli counters (which I do frequent because they are good), the art of butchering is becoming a dying business outside of restaurants and food enthusiast circles.

I admittedly can't afford a butcher all the time, but when I need a meat mouth orgy (I said that while knowing the repercussions) it is all Olympic Meats. Slab bacon. I mean they have other delicacies, but that is the only advert I need Ron Swanson style.



Now if only Chicago would get down with some bagels! I mean come on guys, it's not just for New Yorkers. It should not be hard to get down with bready goodness. Otherwise I am well taken care of here for breakfast, brunch, breakfast for dinner and dessert.

Things I Didn't Buy That I Love

I guess this is turning into a bi-weekly feature. I know it's something everyone does but I'm generally picking stuff that is expensive but stuff that is also viably attainable. It's my amazon wishlist in pictures.

Goodnight, Day's Markham Collar in gray wolf

Detachable collars are on trend right now and it is one I support. If my coats can do it, my clothes can do it. But most of us can't afford Eleven Objects because we get minimum wage like normal people. This soft alpaca collar would be like a scarf so it's totally utilitarian right?? Well whatever, it would still be warm and wonderful for winter.

I hate when people say "I could make that" when obviously the idea and the craft are beyond their means, but yes, I actually could knit this. My blog may be named knitastrophy but I am capable of things. But I know I never will make this so I'll just keep petting my computer screen until one appears like a mirage. It comes in an adorable polar bear white too.

Valva Nat's Hand Felted Wool Fox hat

As seen on the ughwhyisshesoperfect Sea of Shoes, I love how 50s L.L Bean catalog in a children's book this hat is. I will say this is a reasonable price of 35 bucks because felting is a bitch. It's the one fibers practice that is totally simple and time consuming yet I still can't do correctly.

Valva Nat also makes these lovely felted flower neck scarves and wolf hat!


Now what would happen if you came into contact with an actual fox:

Von Erickson Labs' Dripping Blood Choker

This brings out the 13 year old goth in me that I am often fighting with over getting dressed in the morning and to stop playing all of that System of a Down and Placebo.

I think I prefer the thin collar to this thick one but they're both so freaking awesome. I mean with shipping, this is probably like 15 dollars. This is way better than Forever 21 badly made grown up costume jewelry or a stupid necklace of a bird with hearts for eyes flying into a sunset. And it also comes in bright red and bright radioactive green.


To finish the transition from the cozy wool warmth to cold teen metallica, this

The Lantern and The Shovel shop's Heavy Metal Chain Choker

I love chains. But not the gold "I'm going to be a club bouncer on Law & Order SVU" or "I am going to be an 1980s litigator who enjoys Miami Vice art deco". I'm into silver, sexually indiscriminate metal groupie chains.

I would obviously layer with this Leather Peter Pan Collar (because polyester is not good enough this).

Eating Disorders and Fashion Aren’t Always Codependent

Let’s make a general disclaimer because anything sensitive a.k.a people who don’t read and jump to ultimate conclusions require one of these:

I speak only on behalf of myself, which is all I really can do.

I also don’t pretend that there isn’t an obvious issue within the fashion industry about weight and image. I just think we like to entitle the blame to somewhere else in order to de-cathect from it and not filter towards the deeper issue.

Ugh, I know this is going to get so “on a very real episode of Lifetime” but that’s due to so many cultural misconceptions that are beyond my control. Though I don’t think you need to read my personal narrative as there are so many other stories carbon copied as mine (and probably better articulated), but it just adds insight to my overall idea:




I have an eating disorder. I say this in the present tense because like an alcoholic, it doesn’t ever go away. It’s something I encounter on a daily basis in one form or another but I am healthy, I manage my food intake and general perspective on life to the best of my ability. I have never been formally diagnosed but considering I was exactly 75 pounds my freshman and sophomore year of high school and that number is the only persistent memory that never changes, you can go ahead and take my word for it. I had a “home court advantage” so to speak on hiding it; I’m already genetically predisposed to being very thin so even though many people scrutinized whether I was sure that was true.

At first it was a routine or a subconscious habit that developed more and more specifically, sometime around 5th grade. I couldn’t bring myself to eat more than little bites in front of people, in my sense of logic it was perceived as showing weakness like smiling is for animals. I weighed myself every day and even though the scale was broken so only significant weight alterations would register, I agonized over its approval of substantial changes. I wore oversized clothes to hide my lithe form, my arms looked frail and brittle like a paper snowflake about to catch the wind. It’s an addiction, where the end is almost attainable and never attained. When I looked down all I could see were imperfections in my grasp to be smoothed out, my ribcage a sight of relief that I was motivated to achieve something and that thing being within my jurisdiction.

Image via Fan Pop

Food had blurred the line between reward and punishment, it complimented my habits that my tastes in food were of the low carb variety. For all the times I was starving, there were moments I didn’t miss eating at all. It was a system I was no longer subjugated by, nourishment had become a foreign, decorative practice that didn’t apply to me. Then there were the times I was on the verge of tears because I was just so hungry. I remember a time I binge ate a stick of pepperoni and an Entenmann's chocolate cake, I ended up on my bathroom floor sobbing uncontrollably to the point I still twinge with mourning when I recall it. Or when I got a 75 on my 93 average report card, I disciplined myself by not eating for three days. But none of those days I have memory of because they were completely automatic.

Gif via Tumblr

Yet I never had any desire to look like or be a model. I never envied Fiona Apple or any woman of the gaunt prototype nor did I pay attention to them. I was actually too small to fit any of the clothes I wanted to wear; I didn’t get out of children’s clothes until at least my junior year of high school. I actually looked down on women who aspired to look this way because that’s what pop culture taught me. Television made these girls seem immature and vapid, caught up in their own fantasy of what “society” dictated for them and swayed by boys who started noticing them. I was constantly teased and put under a microscope for what I looked like, the only girls who envied me in passing were those who were already popular for being the opposite of what I represented. I wore a baggy corset that flopped and sagged as a “fashion statement” to which I still have no idea what the hell I was talking about. In the way that people and especially children need that one thing they’re known for, their marketing gimmick so to speak, I had something that was all my own. This identity, though insignificant in terms of talent, beauty or intelligence, was at least something I owned outright.

On the one hand, I don’t know other people who had similar circumstances as I did. But I think at the core of it like a lot of mental illness and anxieties deal with a deeper philosophical issue, even further down than low self-esteem. Though my assumption it’s more a Western issue, a fear of losing control of one’s self and abyss of death. The leap may seem wide and rather preposterous, but for me it makes absolute sense that by organizing the body in life we control our faculties and our decline. For some this can take place in exercising, excelling in school, for myself it was within my own body. In classic Greek philosophy (or just the philosophers themselves), aside from women inevitably as inferior, they were supposed to be incredibly attached to the physical as a mother of the earth. An inability to connect to the physical body as a part one’s self is becoming increasingly more recognized within developing culture and technology. Susan Bordo gives a much more rich explanation of body politics than I can at this point (I’m pretty sure my brain has melted within the last 2 years), but we reflect and feed into the culture of this overtly thin female body.

Image via Rosworms
She's played bulimic at least twice if not more.

Whenever there’s a televised representation of eating disorders, it’s always incredibly embarrassing. It’s the superficial blond cheerleader complex (Glee, Popular, other not Ryan Murphy “satire” associated shows) and they always garble the same speech about society and the media trying to force women to be thinner when their assumed ironic position of intellectual authority has equally the same effect of that which they judge. Another problem would be that these are always a special episode on Blossom, they never last or are discussed as an ongoing issue than one episode other than a dated Ally McBeal punchline; even the short-lived “Starved” on FX was not beyond this. When I was a kid, The Famous Jett Jackson and Lizzie McGuire had special episodes on bulimia but there wasn’t a resolution of ongoing therapy, it was just stress and tight jeans that worked themselves out never to be mentioned again. Starved (though an pretty lame show to be fair to the public) barely made the first season because it made it an ongoing premise.



I think the only time I’ve ever related to character struggling with anorexia/bulimia is Cassie from Skins. Rather than spewing out diatribe about thinking for yourself and not caring about the opinion of others, she was neither popular nor socially accepted (or even liked all that much), but her complicated home life and striving for a sense of self were main contributors. The only time I’ve ever been deeply personally offended was a girl in a feminist film class who fancied herself a psych major for skimming through some books, that tried to tell our class her theory on eating disorders and body dysmorphic disorder as trying to take away a woman’s natural curves in order to elevate herself to the stature and power of a man in society. That not only invalidated me as a woman but my whole experience.

I don’t condone eating disorders or offer a solution to accuse any one person, but when people make these unfounded and vague, ignorant arguments that the fashion industry and media are the ones to be burned at stake for it is completely mind numbing. It is true, models are not about valued individuals, they’re walking clothes hangers. But they aren’t marketed as having better, more glamorous lives, they fit the mold to show off the clothing. Even on America’s Next Top Model, they may be going to Greece but you know what? They’re crying in the bathroom because they got a haircut or have to wear a spider on their face. I also admit, thin models tend to make clothes, especially high fashion clothes look better because they drape easily and create a universal shape that doesn’t have to contend to an individual. That’s not a great motto for people as human beings but to sell clothes, a human mannequin works.

I’m not sure what my conclusion for this is. I guess people have to be trusted to make discerning decisions, maybe not by serious ones of the law because I don’t want to see a show called Teen Car Accidents on MTV, but if anything we have to change our mindsets communally. Or I blame everything, I don’t know. I will say I got better, on my own actually (which I also place another disclaimer that this was lucky and often requires support of others) and don’t try to misplace blame or even use the word blame in the same vocabulary of my experiences. I'm at a point where I'm learning to love cuisine and trying restaurants, even having better control of my body in a non-destructive practice. I can’t at this venture think of a non-trite way to say that fashion celebrates the body and mind if you let it.


This is the most I'll say "I" and "me" in an entry, I hope.

Women Be Shoppin'

I was reading a blog and stumbled on this list (which of course starts with “what I will never be”): http://www.thefashioncamp.com/2011/11/i-will-never-be-the-type-of-fashion-blogger-that-will.html

I understand what she’s trying to say. The greater number of the infamous fashion bloggers are, well, not real people. Their photos are professionally shot, their clothes are too perfect, their lives are unrealistic to us as the majority. They represent an ideal like overtly preached 90s sitcom paradigm of “thin popular girls” in high school who have more money and influence that is unattainable much like any magazine model. I mean I love The Man Repeller, but you have not convinced me to spend $3,000 on an Alexander Wang maxi gown to use in my daily life.

However, I think blogging is about evening the field, dictating a third growing hemisphere of voices that would otherwise be considered non-existent in the print medium. Granted many of them become affiliated with these advertisers and eventually become part of that unreachable iconography, but they do it through taking pictures, being creative and just doing what they want to do.
It may take more work and effort to try and plan times to take pictures and edit them for a blog, but part of being a creative person is having a vision for something other than accepting the bare minimum iphone picture as “good enough”. Part of making something, artists often have trouble grappling with this, is for more than just for yourself.

If you were wondering, officer Billy Pierce has always been cool.

It’s very much like the show Popular (which I just started and basically have no right to cast out like I know the whole show but it's probably obvious anyway), where a cliché cheerleader girl and a cliché outcast girl both have very pre-conceived ideas of what is expected from people and themselves. Maybe it's because I'm naive and came from a high school where we didn't have sports teams (yet for some reason still had a cheerleading club), but I really can’t roll my eyes enough that the notion for an “edgy” television show these days is still preaching the popular girl as blond, anorexic and as white as Irish riverdance. Aside from being bothered by that as someone who has struggled with an eating disorder (which I may or may not write about if I ever have the audience or the patience for it), I feel like this list forgets bloggers like Fat Aus or Chicago’s own Fat Shopaholic who are super posed, incredibly styled and overall the same ideal.

And fuck, if you can own 100 pairs of Louboutins, you fucking do it. I wear 90% designer/vintage pieces and you know how I do it? Smart shopping. I haven’t paid retail since I was in 5th grade wearing Alice in Wonderland bell-bottoms and doc martens; yeah I was that kid. If you learn the designers, understand how well clothes are made and the importance of them, then you’ll get them. I got a beautiful black Doo Ri dress a few weeks ago from a thrift store for $7 and not a fancy Buffalo Exchange, the kind where families are yelling at each other in rapid Spanish and will still punish their kids with a wooden spoon. It just drives me nuts when people think I shop at some one magical store for everything, I hunt it down like thick sliced bacon which I would also cut you for.


Okay, this was way too much text without pictures, even for me. Let's do another round of Things I Didn't Buy That I Love. Keep in mind I try to pick things in the normal level of unattainable, not things that are a thousand dollars. Approachably insane in the membrane.

JF & Sons' Ombre Pleated Shirt Dress, $ 368.00

In case you were wondering, everyone still wants ombre. Which feels weird when my normal interests finally coincide with what everyone is doing (I tend to excitedly pick up something when everyone is already exhausted with it).

JF & Son is such an amazing New York brand. I hate them. In my fake mental spending account I'm already bankrupt three times over. Why do they do this to me? I can't imagine sumptuous colors like this ever making this dress dated. Bitch.

BHLDN's Stratosphere Mary Janes, $342.00.
I could totally use this for my planetary science class, right?

I've been doing wedding style research since I try to have a knowledge in every field of fashion and other than children's wear, is one of my slightly weaker points.

BHLDN is like the Anthropologie store of wedding wear, so if you're on a budget and not buying Vera Wang's affordable collection for David's Bridal, go here. I mean look at these dresses, Fondant Tea Dress & Victoria’s Reign Gown. I highly doubt I'll ever design anything that adorable. I don't want to have to be in a wedding to wear these shoes and luckily a lot of their designs are versatile, so I don't have to. Much like this ha(w)t: Soft Focus Cloche.

Bernhard Willhelm's REMUS Over the Knee Stockings, $29.60
Omg I want these so bad pleasepleaseplease

Among the many things I collect, socks are something I have buckets and buckets of. And I always need more, I mean, really. These are on superduperMr.Cooper sale and will sell out quickly and I want them on my legs now. I'm craving too hard to even be articulate at this point.

What is with women to be hardwired for sales like a cow being electrocuted in the brain to gravitate to the slaughterhouse? That's probably a bad analogy. Also inaccurate since I've been to a Temple Grandin lecture. But anyway, these also come in blue and pink which I want equally hard, if not, I don't know, SO HARD TO MAKE FAKE DECISIONS.

Royal Blue and Piiiink

And lastly also off Shopfatal.com, in my Julie Brown dreams:

JC De Castelbajac's Felix the Cat Cap Sleeve Sweater , on sale $138.00

SLEEPING FELIX THE CAT ON YOUR SHOULDERS. If you need more than that then I can never satisfy you and we're breaking up starting now.

Having a life is vastly overrated.

T ransformative V ision

Matt Berry knows the ladies.

Like most of my generation, I essentially live on the television and the internet. And since I don’t have cable while in Chicago, my television is converted to my computer.

I grew up on television and not the average “oh I was totes addicted as a kid”, I mean at least 80% of the lessons I’ve learned are from after school specials which would probably explain why I’m a politically-independent straight edge atheist. So really any type of culture I’ve saturated either than books and visual artwork comes from this medium. Yes, I will make some awkward obscure references to The Facts of Life or Veronica Mars on occasion, but not in a gross way where I am incapable of my own humor.

So other than everything in my mind vineyard coming from television, I’d like to specifically close in on a few of my fashion influences from saints of TV past (specifically the 90s so I don’t overload my brain) and present with many actors that weave in between; I mean Betty White is here and she ain’t leavin’. I can't get them all obviously and some I save for a later date for something else I'll figure out. Or I'll OD on hot chocolate and forget what year it is.

Some are obvious but they'll all be ones you love.

Ghost of Christmas TV Past:

Lady Bundys

My dad hates everything I will ever watch, but two central shows we share are our annual Twilight Zone marathons and Married With Children. He made sure this show educated my blossoming mind with sordid, curt wit and a general sense of pop culture references I am too young for (I mean, how many people my age are making Father Knows Best and Johnny Carson quotes?)

Aside from that “skill set”, Kelly is the slutty teen metal peroxide girl I dream to be. Well, just all the gothic crosses and leather jackets. I mean she made me want to get leather cowboy chaps for a minute. That’s pretty serious. I love all of her ensembles to the point of jealousy. You Bundy Bounce, girl.


But Peggy is the satire master. Katey Sagal had indeed been influenced by the unapproachable idealized perfect 50s housewife, so adaptng that bouffant hair and matching jewelry set and setting fire to it in the parking lot style was the perfect commentary for Mrs. Shoes Salesman. There’s some Wilma Flinstone, some Laura Petrie and a whole lot of disgruntled chain smoking.

We can see why they’re both still on TV.

30 Helens Agree

You better believe that's a sparkled ninja turtle as a bolo tie.

Kids In The Hall is the only modern male troupe that I think gave a respectful nod to classic theater where the men aren't in drag but are women. Though the costuming was rough around the edges in the beginning, as they got more funding their clothes became really awesome (and not just the ladies, you see). I mean Tammy had coffin toe heels!




As for the normal kids shows I watched:

Brain Drain

(Images via Lela London)

If you say you were never influenced by Clarissa Darling, I'm just going to go ahead and think you're a filthy liar. Or 40 years old. Come on, Clarissa knows it all.

The style, the format, the animation, the actors for this show were all so perfect they can't be altered. Why the rest of the show is not on DVD or Netflix I'll never know.

Back to School Ghoul

(Image via fanpop)

(Image via phlodsurboat)

Purple and pink eyeshadow will forever be in vogue, I have to wonder if Lydia listened to a lot of Siouxsie and the Banshees. Luckily Beetlejuice was one of those franchises where the cartoon and the movie were of equal importance.

Though I went through the miserable pre-teen up until late high school goth phase, Lydia Deetz was my first real taste of "the happy goth" and that sort of naturally dark elegance.

Honorable Mentions:

That 70s Show
The Wild Thornberrys
Aeon Flux
Flash Forward
The Babysitters Club
Upright Citizens Brigade
Strangers With Candy
Will & Grace
Lizzy McGuire
The Wonder Years
Roseanne
Freaks & Geeks
Doug
The Magic School Bus
3rd Rock From the Sun
Living Single
Daria
Absolutely Fabulous
My So-Called Life
Pepper Ann
X-Men: The Animated Series
All American Girl
Dr. Katz
The Adventures of Pete and Pete




Hologram of Present/Future:

Goth Fix(ate)

American Horror Story was another show Diane suckerpunched me into watching (and of course provided me with the screencaps). I've only just started so I am not fit to comment on anything other than it is beautiful and it didn't hurt.

The Ladies Who Punch

This woman can layer beige on taupe and make it Annie Hall fabulous. There is no wardrobe check for Elaine Stritch, it is wham, bam thank you ma'am where's my check. Granted 30 Rock is very close to being past tense, but it counts I figure. Ms. Stritch, won't you be my neighbor?

0118 999 881 999 119 7253

This moment of The IT Crowd sealed my love for Moss from the split in his fro (although that belonged to Richard Ayoade before anyway) and his proper recommendation for Roy's garment. Although the real dressing:

(Image via Binary Dojo)

Awwwwwwww yeeeeaaaahh. But you don't get the full magnetism without seeing all the comic/band/geek posters on the show.

Also never forget: Noel Fielding and goth at the same time. DONE.

Neon Trees

I admit when I saw the commercials for Switched At Birth I was nauseated by the awkward shock tactics of it. Now I am of course ridiculously addicted. And the clothes aren't off the hook generally but Bay has some cute shirts like this. Aaaand....

Sean Beardy as Emmett is so Tiger Beat adorable you can't remain a rational adult.

Honorable Mentions:

Community
Gossip Girl
Victorious
2 Broke Girls
Pretty Little Liars
Leverage
Misfits
Yo Gabba Gabba
New Girl
Skins
iCarly
Happy Endings
Firefly (Not current but jeez, I needed something)


These are a few of my favorite things.

Rambling, Reality and Unrealistic Shoe Fantasies

I keep seeing blogs like this and going "MAN I am failing at something that is for fun..." But it's still relatively fun aside from editing these horrible html hyperlinks, so I will take that as my motivating factor. I mean there's work and work is gross, but I get to hang out with my friends in playgrounds and eat dim sum while I do it so even stevens (on Disney!).

Now Slater and I are gonna try to do weekly hangouts/"photo sessions" so you'll still be getting my unnatural yearbook turn-to-the-shoulder, but now less underexposed and less blurry! And Camila-Bedelia and I are still doing our Wednesday hangout silly photos but she is in Mexico starting tomorrow riding a burro like she promised me 2684521 times.

Moving on...

Okay, so I gotta ask into the vast ocean of like 1 1/2 readers, who be watchin' Project Accessory? Oh yeah the show is terrible for sure, but I actually like seeing the products that come out of it. I wish they could show general viewers how much more insane the time frame is for this kind of craft because I get frustrated when people tell me things like the dreaded "Oh I could do that" or "If you really were a serious designer you'd apply for Project Runway/Work of Art/insertheartgougingrealitycompetition".

Guys, that stuff is fucking insane. I feel like after more than a decade people should realize this, but then when people want me to knit them clothing for free thinking it takes me about an hour, I die inside every time, and in nobody's innuendo arms. Especially on Project Accessory, where second episode they had to make a pair of shoes in seven hours. That process usually takes about a week at least. But, whut whut, SAIC grad is in the hizzhouse! Who is not embarrassing a la contestants of Work of Art both seasons.*

*Except Young Sun who's performance work is in the same vein as mine and makes me mentally competitive against him.

(Image via Pop Tower)

James Sommerfeldt, a shoe designer who gives like freaky mixed race hypnotist rapist eyes* and probably edited weird lusty straight guy commentary, but he makes some pretty fabulous shoes.

*Benefit of a doubt, it's probably lighting


Here are some highlights just from his website and are considered for sale to rich people:

Exotique Concept (Why are you not for sale? Or rather why can't I afford you?)

These are the kind of shoes I'd invite into my apartment for earl gray tea, put on some Roxy Music and do the often predictable yawn-while-inching-my-arm-around move on my couch.

I mean, cheetah print calf hair, bull horn heel, handstitched ostrich plume. I want these. Immediately. On my feet. No I will not walk in them and you can only glance at me for a second 3 feet away. Well, maybe two seconds.


Ella Di Persia, $1695

Sexy Victorian poodle. Need I say more? Sort of a classic French air mixed with John Fluevog and Chanel. Also, Persian lamb. I promise not to uncharacteristically fake purr through text.


Migration, $1295

This is Madonna's Ray of Light as a cowboy in the West Village. But not Madonna as a cowboy because the song "Music" was a not so hot period of her career.

Suede, calf hair and fox fur. I'm drooling. And if you are like a model and have a size 11B foot, this shoe is 60% off the sample.


He has other ones online if you google image search them, they're really refined and plain cool, especially considering... well, SAIC grads in the fashion department don't typically blow anyone's minds after graduation other than a select few.

Although say what you will about the Art Institute (which I always will), the shoe design program is incredibly intense and extensive where you really have to invest your time and money into knowing the craft. Which is obviously why I never remotely considered signing up. I just want to knit and watch Switched at Birth reruns.


So for the future:

I decided if I do promotions, I want them to at least follow their end of the deal and try to get me a few readers otherwise they've basically screwed me into doing work for no reason. I have other homework I could be not doing, guys.

But I want to make sure I don't go down the slippery slope of offering giveaways for toothbrushes if you follow me on twitter or something. I just wanna talk about brands I like, take some photos, dress for the hell of it and live like there's always Mexican Wedding Cookies tomorrow.

Summarized goals:

1. Keep having fun
2. Don't sell out too much
3. Try not to become a text bolding monster (although my font is small to make all my writing seem less gratuitous to me)