Andre 3000 discussing tour jumpsuits at an art exhibition in Miami.
“When it comes to love and friendship and the normal things in life, I think I am patient. Fashion, however, does not know patience. It’s an abnormal life.” A snippet from a very very very in-depth interview with Raf Simons for 032c.
People have always and will always love checking themselves out. Views from a two-way mirror in 1946.
I met a man whom I soon became interested in romantically. Nothing physical had happened between us yet, but things were going in that direction. When he visited my apartment for the first time and was gazing up at a beautiful fashion photo of my mother, taken by Irving Penn, he said, “It must be hard to have a mother who’s that beautiful.” ‘The Looks You’re Born With,’ by Amanda Filipacchi.
Champagne glasses unfortunately have very little to do with Marie Antoinette’s boobs (and a little to do with Kate Moss’).
The mind-poking work of graphic designer and artist Barbara Nessim, and how it relates to Nessim’s former flatmate, Gloria Steinem.
Oh, Stewart Lee. You get it.
Kurt Vonnegut is one of my all-time favourite writers, but even the best people in their fields can come up with absolute howlers. Rape howlers.
On women and cancer, and being a woman writer with a woman’s cancer.
This is late because 1) I was hungover and 2) I was working but 3) not at the same time, thankfully.
Here’s stuff I wrote for the Irish Times last week on supa stylist Celestine Cooney, who allowed me into her house, fed me cakes and let me flip through her magazines.
Beauty, anti-beauty and Instagram filters.
This post is worth looking at if only for Mae West’s 8 1/2 inch platform shoes.
Margaret Moser, veteran music journalist, on her life in music.
A handy primer on modernism and how modern art has gone a bit zzz.
Reading this New Yorker piece on hoarding, and worrying that you’ll die under a pile of old copies of The Gentlewoman and Acne Paper (they’re very heavy).
Chris Rock is doing the promotion rounds for his new film and he has a lot to say about a lot of things.
In praise of inactivity.
Hello. Here is an article that I wrote on fashion and feminism. HOT TOPIC ALERT! Yes, it mentions Karl Lagerfeld. Ugh, what a total hack.
What’s to be done about the t-shirt problem?
Chinese artist Ai Weiwei makes his first foray into fashion photography and pisses off a lot of people by shucking paint over young designers’ creations (pics here). Robin Givhan has her take on it here.
After finishing off a thesis, working and then taking on even more work this week, I can confirm that work burnout does exist. One unfortunate symptom is that your brain starts to resemble badly-scrambled eggs. A less unfortunate symptom is the impulse to binge watch Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries until the synapses knit themselves together again.
Mallory Ortberg’s ‘Texts From Jane Eyre’ may be the best Christmas stocking filler gift for the funny, socially-engaged woman in your life - note to my Dad, who once got me a copy of Derek Blasberg’s ‘Classy’ as a joke-but-also-not-a-joke.
My Little Bronie.
Was Vincent van Gogh murdered? Well, no, almost definitely not. But this is certainly a well-constructed flight of CSI fancy. Note to future biographers; Theo van Gogh would probably make an excellent 19th century Horatio Caine.
I don’t fucking care if you like it. Yes please.
There is much to say about last week’s Chanel show – a rather cruel joke played at women’s expense. A lot of people made a lot of unimpressed noises.
Vogue catalogues the best of the new(ish, mostly U.S.-based) indie magazines.
“My walk-in closet with a rug thick as a blanket. I lie on it and stare at my clothes like they are my psychoanalysts. They are.” Arabelle Sicardi muses on what the contents of her closet taught her.
Judith Thurman’s 2005 profile of Rei Kawakubo has been recently unlocked by The New Yorker.
“A little screen played the footage of Emily Davison going under the King’s horse on loop. Her glorious ‘mistake'; did she intend death, or just distraction? We’ll never know.” Suffragettes at the Museum of London.
Before I came back to London after a summer misspent at home in Ireland, I made a Mexican dinner for fifteen friends. This Buzzfeed piece on carnitas and homesickness strikes so many chords it could be packaged into a One Direction b-side.
The women fighting ISIS, and the stopped heartbeat of the editor’s note.
Every book that Daria Morgendorffer read or mentioned – and where to get it for free.
I’ve been reading a lot of advice columns since starting my own humble fashion advice series for the Irish Times (for ‘humble’, read ‘piss-taking'; my mother calls me ‘Mrs Mills with clothes’ and I choose to take that as a compliment). Unf**k Yourself with Scaachi Koul is becoming a fast favourite.
While it’s essentially a plug for a sauce range, this piece on former Bolton footballer Fabrice Muamba and his formidable wife Shauna gives me hope for the future of WAGs.
From nothing to something and nothing again. A graphic exploration of one person and his relationship to the universe.
Featured image via.
London Fashion Week’s international reputation is that of risk-taking and unclipped creativity, but I think the real theme, especially with younger designers, is that of craft. Not crappy felt-and-PVA craft or horrible faux-naif stuff, but real craft. The kind of stuff that gets your hands dirty with paint, or slightly sticky, or smelling of interesting chemicals.
London has a slightly subversive edge due to the underground-ness of many of its presentations. For Claire Barrow, it was a soon-to-be demolished basement, once the home of the BBC Orchestra. A black void, painted empty space and loose wires. Also, free Jack Daniels.
Barrow’s hand painted visions of nightmarish, anthropomorphic characters are standing at the edge at the end of the world. Stupidly, I was reminded of kid’s TV show Adventure Time, where the world as we know it has blown up and the passing of a thousand years allows magic to grow back again. But much, much more nihilistic. No Bubblegum Princesses this time. Only darkness, with a sheer sliver of hope.
Photos by Kim Rehnstedt and edited by yours truly.
Lists. Lists on lists on lists.
Now that the New Yorker has lifted its paywall before instating a different kind of paywall in the autumn, people are curating (ugh horrible buzzword, I love it) their favourites. Here are 20 classic New Yorker stories written by women, a Buzzfeed collation of music longsreads, a selection of the best baseball writing (don’t knock it ’til you try it) by Roger Angell and a selection from Ana Kinsella – who, again, I am blatantly copying with this Sunday lists thing. And, if we’re going to get really meta, here is a longread roundup of the New Yorker longread roundups.
Eleven downloadable issues and a documentary. The late, great Blitz magazine.
Eros magazine, a magazine exploring sexuality, released only four issues in the 1960’s and was promptly shut down. Here are the scans.
The Baffler, home to journalism that doesn’t shy from controversy – but doesn’t necessarily court it either – has made all their back issues available to read online.
Five documentaries on teen subcultures!
Ben Giles’ new collage series, All in My Head, is super.
How do you solve a problem like the Monty Python reunion? This is a great article.
“With visibility is supposed to come admiration, respect, access, affluence – and for most of such men, it delivers. Yet for the rest of us, with visibility comes harassment, stalking, threats, loss of career opportunity and mobility, constant public humiliation, emotional and sometimes physical violence.” How being internet famous (or just visible to other people) can make women a target for online violence.
“Even today, several generations removed from the devastating critique of their triviality that was at the heart of first-wave feminism, Marie Claire and other women’s magazines remain obsessed with the appearance of female public figures, an obsession that still extends far beyond them into leading news publications like the New York Times and the Washington Post. You can take the woman out of the woman’s magazine, but the style of coverage—and it is all about style—remains the same.”
The London Review of Books goes to London Collections: Men.
Diane von Furstenburg talks Warhol and Studio 54 and some more stuff that she’s perennially associated with.
On being a Times Square Elmo (it’s never as much fun as it sounds, is it?)
This Nabokov essay from 1972 is a must for anyone who struggles with writing inspiration.
One of the very shamefully hipster-y things I like to do is eat and drink out of jars, so these recipes for overnight oats are just the ticket. I don’t know what a chia seed is, but I want to eat one.
DIY faecal transplant (that’s having someone else’s faeces syringed into your body) is a real thing, and it might save lives. “It’s still the same concept of using a microbial ecosystem or community of bacteria,” says Petrof. “But we’re just moving away from taking it out of the toilet.” *shudder*
The ten best uses of body fluids in art (best not to read the last two links with your overnight oats).
Viv Albertine (she of all-woman punk and post-punk pioneering band The Slits) has a memoir out today. It’s called Clothes, Clothes, Clothes. Music, Music, Music. Boys, Boys Boys and is, by all accounts, rather good. Not new, but still worth mentioning, Albertine has unsurprisingly great taste in music.
A profile of Rihanna’s stylist Mel Ottenberg, who is running out of clothes to put on her.
“Fixating on a woman from afar and then refusing to give up when she acts like she’s not interested is, generally, something that ends badly for everyone involved. But it’s a narrative that nerds and nerd media kept repeating.” Misogyny, entitlement, nerds – and Elliot Rodgers.
This week was Met Ball week. Hooray? I wrote a dress down for the Irish Times here.
Brandon Stanton’s pictures and profiles of the attendees (Bryan Cranston and his wife Robin Dearden, that’s forever love).
Martin Filler and Colin McDowell ruminate on the life and work of Charles James, the man this year’s Met Ball was all about.
I was never a huge fan of Elizabeth Bennet anyway. Lucy Snowe, on the other hand…
“But fuck Photoshop. Photos are already lies.” Molly Crabapple’s searing piece on Photoshop and feminism.
How the celebrity profile got to be great, and how it got to be so boring.
It’s my birthday today, hooray! My family are over in London and we are eating our way through the city. And the sun is shining and I’m going to go for brunch soon, so I’m throwing up a few things worth reading before I take one more fatal bite and turn into a quesadilla or fancy chocolate mousse eclair.
Suspended fields of flowers by Rebecca Louise Law.
Caroline Evans on how clothing reminds us of all the people we’ve lost.
“If they hadn’t told me I was ugly, I never would have searched for my beauty. And if they hadn’t tried to break me down, I wouldn’t know that I’m unbreakable.So when you ask me how I’m so confident, I know what you’re really asking me: how could someone like me be confident? Go ask Rihanna, asshole!“
In short, her pain became her beauty — and by extension, her livelihood. It was a battle between the reality and the ideal, which would repeat for Hepburn as feminist elements warred with old-world patriarchy, in ways no more obvious than her long series of on-screen suitors. The hidden feminism of Audrey Hepburn.
The art of business cards.
Charles James, who has a retrospective opening at The Met very soon, was quite possibly one of the most underrated couturiers. Either that, or this is incredibly well written hype.
The secret history of Britney Spears’ lost album.
Twelve books about women on the road.
Why does Anne Boleyn obsess us? Anne of Cleves never had such a following. And Jane Seymour? Fuhgeddaboutit.
One of the best fashion instas this year.