In a bout of laziness after reading for class most of the day, I surfed Netflix and hulu, hoping to find something interesting to wind down to. I was pleasantly surprised to see "The Fashion Fund" on the hulu homepage. Vogue has previewed pieces of the series, which chronicles the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund finalists and was eager to see something more in-depth. Sure, the results are no longer a secret, with Joseph Altuzarra of Altuzarra (my personal favorite) taking the top prize, but it's thrilling to see the process. There is more than a little runway and studio footage, which is a thing of visual pleasure to say the least. It's also compelling to hear the thoughts of fashion industry veterans, like Anna Wintour and Diane von Furstenberg, as well as previous finalists and winners. The documentary, Seamless, took a similar look at the Fashion Fund, but this series is much slicker and inundated with beautiful images. I am looking forward to watching the episodes that follow.

The Art Teacher

I've never really been a Rufus Wainwright fan, probably because I haven't thoroughly investigated his work. I love his cover of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," but other than that I have a very limited scope on his work. Today I saw that my friend posted this song on his tumblr (I have one myself) and I fell hard and fast. There's something to be said about fantasy relationships between teacher and student. I myself have yet to fantasize about any of my professors, but then again, most of them are female. I suppose I fantasize about the fantasy itself. In any case, this is a lovely song that may see me looking into a broader scope of Mr. Wainwright's work.

"Fuck that shit, I wanna be her."

This little clip brought to us by Matthew Frost and Jalouse just makes me smile. Susie Bubble was not so amused, but you can't please everyone. More than anything, it's a cute (the word makes me wretch) little short. I've never been all that impressed by Ashley Smith just because she's a Lara Stone look-a-like, not unlike Georgia May Jagger. In any case, I've been converted ever so slightly. I think the last outfit and hair combination is lovely. The video itself compliments my impression of the magazine as a playful, slightly whimsical contribution to French fashion. Other than that, I don't have to much to say. I wish I had some polka dots.

Une Fille Comme Les Autres from Jalouse blog on Vimeo.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Tom Ford

I, for one, was quite excited about Tom Ford's comeback of sorts, though now it seems as though he's hiding in the background, though not by choice, I imagine. He's never been one to shy away from the camera. Not only is he devastatingly sexy, but he is exceedingly talented. Today I happily stumbled upon this video that coincided with his revered return. He speaks about personal style, his past, and film-making, among other things. I particularly appreciated him speaking about dressing extravagantly, as I hope to be one of the few that bring energy to the streets by my form of dress. But instead of rambling about myself or breaking down the video, I'll let the man speak for himself and simply hope to see more of him. Enjoy.

Style Forum Special from Music Guy on Vimeo.

I wore fake Hermès to French class today.

Today was the first day of Winter quarter at the great learning institution I attend. I have French class at 8:30 every morning, but luckily New Years fucked up my sleep schedule so much that I've been going to bed at a reasonable hour over the past couple of days. The fact I woke up at 7 today is otherwise astounding. After coffee and some breakfast, I went to my closet with France on my mind. In fact, last night I listened over and over to "La Vie En Rose" and a Lady Gaga performance in which she sings in French. Soon, I'll be one of those annoying Francophiles that only drinks black coffee and smokes imported cigarettes. I suppose that's not too far off though. Anyway, my natural tendency to choose black and a never-dying memory of a Carine Roitfeld street style photo left me with the coat, the ripped nylons, the booties. The headscarf was something I had been thinking of since the night before and for some reason I was set on it. I tried for something more playful à la Louis Vuitton bunnies or Alber Elbaz's illustrations. I love the whimsy of some French designers, like Sonia Rykiel, alongside those who are preoccupied with being chic. That creative dialogue, of sorts, provides me a very interesting impression of what Paris is really like. And, I suppose, outfit inspiration, which is obviously of the highest importance.




BB Dakota Coat, thrifted scarf, drug store nylons, Banana Republic Booties, (barely visible) J.Crew button-up

I can only blame my own laziness for the grainy—and mildly comical— cellphone photos. My digital is without batteries and I lack a live-in camera-savvy boyfriend like Rumi or Susie Bubble. Taking pictures of yourself is frustrating. And quite strange, I suppose. In any case, I'd rather embarrass myself with terrible photos rendered in a MySpace-like fashion than not post at all. Resolutions.

New Year's Daze

I have no interest in putting forth a pseudo-intellectual reflection of the year, nor a sentimental mishmash, but I do feel the need to write something. Last night, I celebrated the New Year with good friends at a small get-together. Platonic mouth kisses exchanged and a lot of solo dancing on my part pretty much characterized the evening. I also left my pants at home in favor of black nylons over black underwear. After the intimate atmosphere of the first portion of the evening, a trip to our favorite sleazy 18+ gay club (you may know which I'm speaking of) brought more hours of dancing upon towering wedge heels for myself and some appropriately dirty dancing for others. Two of my oldest friends invaded my bed for seemingly endless laughter and a fairly unsuccessful night's sleep.

The morning brought homemade breakfast with most of the friends from the original celebration. The coffee run my bedmates and I went on ended in general disorientation. A drip coffee cost one of my friends a cool $4.25 and I managed to dump an entire container of raw sugar into my Americano. To be fair, the lid practically dove into my coffee, making a bit of a mess. The resulting product was scary sweet, perhaps a taste of things to come?

I'm going to ignore my previous decision to avoid the sentimental and say it was honestly the best New Year's celebration I have experienced thus far, due in no small part to the hilarious and kind people I have surrounded myself with for years. Even though my fridge is empty and I am exhausted, I'm feeling rather optimistic of the year to come. One of my many resolutions is to stop by my neglected blog far more often. So very much has happened that I have yet to document, but I plan to be more balls-to-the-wall in 2012.

Cheers to that.