Marc and Robert.

Photos via WSJ Magazine

I'm constantly thinking about having a kindred spirit to work alongside. My dear friend, Gillian, certainly fits the bill, but the majority of her year is spent in Portland. This insightful profile of Marc Jacobs and Robert Duffy for the Wall Street Journal Magazine illustrates their personal and professional relationship. Not only is such a relationship something I crave, but what has resulted from their partnership is nothing short of inspiring. In addition, the old photo is awfully precious. Enjoy.

Carine Roitfeld by Karl Lagerfeld

Carine Roitfeld photographed by Karl Lagerfeld

The two had quite an interesting chat in Interview magazine, accompanied by some ravishing photos. I cannot help but to feel full of wonder after reading the interview. Huh.

Wrap Your Troubles in Dreams.

Vintage wrap, thrifted BDG t-shirt, BDG jeans, deaux lux bag, BP Nordstrom scarf (worn as turban), gifted silver and seashell necklaces,
ring purchased at Moksha, tassle necklace Forever 21, assorted bangles, gifted flats

On the day of the Pride weekend street fair, Gillian and I explored the less charted regions of Capitol Hill, where we found a wonderful vintage store called Indian Summer, tucked away not far West of Broadway. I found a beautiful greyish, jade greenish wrap, printed with fish, antelope and other exotically rendered creatures all over it. The fringed hem also got my motor running. I had just spent nice sum at Cairo, another nearby vintage store, and reluctantly fell in love. Gillian looked at me and knowingly said, "Don't pretend you're not going to buy that." (For whatever reason, I have a fierce attraction to ponchos, wraps, capes, and any other garment that loosely covers me that couldn't be called a coat). The large "10" written on the tag seemed oddly low, so I made sure with the owner who reassured me it was ten dollars. All resistance was quelled thereafter.

The Summer weather has required me to be virtually naked (I'm a whiny Seattleite), so my excitement about the garment has not been fully exercised, but on the day I took this photo, it was rather cool and grey. I even put on some pants. I'm also fairly obsessed with headwraps and the like, so I devoted a chunk of my morning to mastering a turban shape with a long scarf. An excess of jewelry, eyeliner, and room in my bag brought together all of the bag lady elements.

I'm so fucking ready for Fall.

Don't tell me I'm less than my freedom.

It's not the door you're using, but the way you're walking through it.

The Kills at Lollapalooza 2011

Copies 6¢

Praise Mario Lemafa for always having his camera with him.



Thrifted button up, BDG cigarette jeans, thrifted Banana Republic ankle boots, thrifted green (faux?) snakeskin clutch

You like to think that you're immune to this stuff.

On repeat.

Summer: That's Not My Deal

I've been feeling rather optimistic about summer as of late, despite the fact that I can't stand the heat, nor dressing for it. Last week saw a change when,after having declared I was not "a beach person," I went to Golden Gardens with a group of friends, even braving the icy cold waters of the Puget Sound. And just today I was hellbent on finding a "summer movie" to watch on Netflix. The search was less than successful and lead to potentially startling vocalized frustration. Fortunately for me, Best Coast is a band that certainly provides a sense of escape, easiness, and abandonment that is so often associated with the summertime. Guitar riffs bring images of impressive swells and clinking margarita glasses over taco truck fare. Needless to say, I was rather excited at the prospect of a Drew Barrymore-directed music video/short film, starring Chloë Moretz and an attractive young man I know nothing about, Tyler Posey. The video follows two rival gangs—hello L.A. culture—both of which have a member that becomes enamored with the other. Forbidden love! The styling in the video reminds me of a modern Cry Baby, with its humor intact and the addition of a letterman jacket-wearing gang with a soft spot for color. Morentz is typically adorable in the I-know-how-to-handle-a-switchblade kind of way and her hair may generate envy in a few. The story itself is ripe with an all-too-precious love story, melodrama, and (who would have guessed it?) tragedy. If it were a full-length film on Netflix, I probably would have watched it today. Enjoy.

Get More: MTV Supervideo, Music, Best Coast

Update: Here's the extended version.

Get More: MTV Supervideo, Music, Best Coast

Giambattista Valli Debuts Haute Couture

The Fall Haute Couture shows last month in Paris flew by and I still have yet to say a word about them. Haute couture has recently been called into question in terms of relevance. In response, Alex Fury wrote a fantastic piece about its significant role in fashion today. Another voice bent on asserting haute couture's importance is Giambattista Valli. In the face of doubt and pessimism, Valli debuted a couture collection that provides hope and perhaps a new direction for the tradition of haute couture.

Valli has a cult of young wealthy girls who are devoted to supporting his ready-to-wear business, so it should come to no surprise that his couture debut is quite youthful. In the haute couture business though, youth are not typically the clients of couturiers. Thus the frequency of shorter hemlines and the exuberance in this collection mark a turn for haute couture.

In typical Valli fashion, expressly decorated elements stood in contrast with more classic, streamlined elements, as in look 32. Between the fabulous use of coral, the feathers, the leopard print, and the dramatic capes, Valli has created a highly iconic collection that capitalized on unabashed glamour. He has not strayed from his DNA—something of great importance in couture—but he's challenged himself and proved what he can do with an atelier.


Hanaa Ben Abdesslem

Aymeline Valade

Tati Cotliar

Hanna Sorheim

Sasha Pivovarova

Hailey Clauson

Kinga Rajzak

Ajak Deng

Nyasha Matonhodze

Aymeline Valade

Caroline Brasch Nielsen

Jac

Jacquelyn Jablonski

Sasha Pivovarova

Elena Todorchuk

Joan Smalls

Ruby Aldridge


Photos via style.com

Let's go for a ride.

Pride, Phad Thai, and a Poncho

Gillian and I at the Pride Street Fair



We were much happier than we look. Promise.
Photo by Mario Lemafa

Young Love

Young designers Thakoon Panichgul, Jack McCollough, and Lazaro Hernandez.

Purple Diary

I don't really know what to say other than the world has lost a great talent.

I'll be missing you.

On that note...

How beautiful does a soaked Raquel Zimmerman look in the Fall Alexander Wang campaign?




Photos via alexanderwang.com

Escape

This past weekend I decided to flee the city with my girls to stay with a friend and his family, who live in a lovely plantation-style (I cringe at the name itself) house steps away from Lake Chelan. After coming back, I was asked what we did, and replied "Nothing." In other words, most of the time there was spent relaxing, whether that mean having tea on the candlelit porch after dark or watching far too many movies instead of spending time outside. One morning, I inexplicably woke at 6:30 in the morning and decided to not return to dreamland. I tiptoed downstairs, poured a cup of coffee, and joined another house guest on the porch. We enjoyed the morning and spoke of our respective times at the college I attend. He's more or less of my parents generation, so naturally there have been changes. Later we were joined by my friend's parents, so my morning was spent having conversation and coffee with signficantly older human beings and working dutifully on a crossword. You may be surprised to hear that the latter was far more agonzing than the first. I cherish my conversations with the generations that have come before me.

To be sure, I didn't just laze about all weekend. I swam quite often, went wakeboarding only to be sore for the next two days, and took a less than leisurely bike ride. My friend Bridget and I decided to bike into town. She rode her road bike, while I rather idiotically mounted an electric blue cruiser. Coincidentally, a triathlon was taking place at the same. While I didn't look or sound anything like a serious biker—in sandals and oversized button up, ringing the bell in sheer glee—my effort to keep up with Bridget was much like competing in a race. As we got to town, it began to rain to my relief. I was already hot and absolutely exhausted. We passed triathletes sporting pained faces and while I was tempted to ring the bell at several, I resisted to save myself from a potential punch in the face. As soon as we arrived home, I ran upstairs and changed into my swim suit. By the time I got to the dock, it was pouring, but I was undeterred. I dove in and gasped as the cold enveloped me. Not long after, the water felt less hostile. Pulling myself onto the dock, I stood in the nearly warm rain, taken with the way nature can look and feel. Perhaps rain is the last thing many Seattlites would want to encounter on vacation, but I couldn't have been happier. I'm so very glad I haven't lost the ability to find joy in the little things. While you mope, I'll be dancing in the rain.