1. Prada Spring/Summer 2012... Everything from the runway to commercial collection, static to video campaign to the 2012 Fantasy Lookbook
Video Campaign for Prada Spring/Summer 2012
Images the courtesy of fashionologie.com
You taste like whiskey when you kiss me, oh I'd give anything again to be your baby doll This time I'm not leaving without you
You said sit back down where you belong In the corner of my bar with your high heels on Sit back down on the couch where we Made love the first time and you said to me this
Something, something about this place Something 'bout lonely nights and my lipstick on your face Something, something about my cool Nebraska guy Yeah something about, baby,
you and I
You and I, Lady Gaga
Darling, darling, doesn't have a problem Lying to herself cause her liquors top shelf
She says you don't want to be like me Don't wanna see all the things I've seen I'm dying, I'm dying She says you don't want to get this way Famous, and dumb at an early age I'm lying, I'm lying
The boys, the girls, they all like Carmen She gives them butterflies, bats her cartoon eyes She laughs like god, her mind's like a diamond Audio tune lies, she's still shining Like lightning, light, like lightning
Carmen, Carmen, staying up til morning Only seventeen, but she walks the streets so mean
She says you don't want to be like me Looking for fun, get me high for free I'm dying, I'm dying She says you don't want to get this way Street walking at night, and a star by day It's tiring, tiring
Carmen, Lana Del Rey
He doesn't mind I have a Las Vegas past He doesn't mind I have an LA crass way about me He loves me with every beat of his cocaine heart
Swimming pool glimmering darling White bikini off with my red nail polish Watch me in the swimming pool bright blue ripples you Sitting sipping on your black Cristal Oh yeah
Light of my life, fire of my loins
And I'm off to the races, cases of Bacardi chasers Chasing me all over town Cause he knows I'm wasted, facing Time again at Riker's Island and I won't get out Because I'm crazy, baby I need you to come here and save me I'm your little scarlet, starlet singing in the garden Kiss me on my open mouth Ready for you
My old man is a tough man but He's got a soul as sweet as blood red jam And he shows me, he knows me Every inch of my tar black soul
Likes to watch me in the glass room bathroom, Chateau Marmont Slippin' on my red dress, puttin' on my makeup Glass film, perfume, cognac, lilac Fumes, says it feels like heaven to him
My old man is a thief and I'm gonna stay and pray with him 'til the end But I trust in the decision of the Lord to watch over us Take him when he may, if he may I'm not afraid to say that I'd die without him Who else is gonna put up with me this way? I need you, I breathe you, I never leave you They would rue the day I was alone without you You're lying with your gold chain on, cigar hanging from your lips I said "Hon' you never looked so beautiful as you do now, my man."
Off to the Races, Lana Del Rey
He came for her at seven in the Belvedere convertible, top down, emerald green, with those fins in the back, jutting up like goalposts. FRom her third-floor apartment windows, she saw him pull to the curb out front.
'Hey, Dex,' she called, 'where'd you get the submarine?"
He titled back his homburg and looked up. 'All hands on deck, baby,' he said, patting the white leather seat.
'Give me a minute,' she said, laughed, and then blew him a kiss. She walked across the blue braided rug of the parlor and into the small bathroom with the water-stained ceiling and cracked plaster. Standing before the mirror, she leaned in close to check her make-up- enough rouge and powder to repair the walls. Her eye shadow was peacock blue, her mascara indigo. She gave her girdle a quick adjustment through her dress, then smoothed the material and stepped back to take it all in. Wrapped in strapless black, with a design of small white polka dots, like stars in a perfect universe, she turned in profile and inhaled. "Good Christ,' she said and exhaled. Passing through the kitchenette, she lifted a silver flask from the scarred tabletop and shoved it into her handbag.
Her heels made a racket on the wooden steps, and she wobbled for balance just after the first landing. Pushing through the front door, she stepped out into the evening light and in the first cool breeze in what seemed an eternity. Dex was waiting for her at the curb, holding the passenger door open. As she approached, he tipped his hat and bent slight at the waist.
'Looking fine there, madam,' he said.
She stopped to kiss his cheek.
'Hush now, sugar,' she told him. 'Let's not think about that. I want you to tell me where you're taking me tonight.'
'I'll take you where I can get you,' he said.
She slapped his shoulder.
'I want a few cocktails,' she said.
'Of course, baby, of course. I thought we'd head over to the Ice Garden, cut the rug, have a few, and then head out into the desert after midnight to watch the stars fall.'
'You're an ace,' she said and leaned forward to turn on the radio. A smoldering sax rendition of 'Every Time We Say Goodbye', like a ball of wax string unwinding, looped once around their necks and then blew away on the rushing wind.
She lit them each a cigarette as the car sailed on through the rising night. An armadillo scuttled through the beams of the headlights fifty yards ahead, and the aroma of sage vied with Adeline's orchid scent. Clamping his cigarettes between his lips, Dex put his free hand on her knee. She took it into her own, twining fingers with him. Then it was dark, the asphalt turning to dirt, and the moon rose slow as a bubble in honey above the distant silhouette of hills; a cosmic cream pie of a face, eyeing Adeline's décolletage. She leaned back into the seat, smiling, and closed her eyes.
'So, we'll shoot craps?' she whispered.
'That's right,' he said.
Three slow turns later, Adeline said, 'Don't think I don't remember you've got that set of loaded dice.'
Dex put his head back and laughed, and, as if in response, at that very moment, the stars began to fall, streaking down through the night, trailing bright streamers. First a handful and then a hundred and then more let go of their hold on the firmament and leaped. Way off to the west, the first ones hit with a distant rumble and fireworks geysers of flame. More followed, far and near, and Dex and Adeline kissed amid the conflagration.
'Pick me up at seven,' she said, her bottom lip on his earlobe, and held him more tightly.
'I'll be there, baby,' he promised. 'I'll be there.'
With the accuracy of a bullet between the eyes, one of the million heavenly messengers screeched down upon them, a fireball the size of the Ice Garden. The explosion flipped the Belvedere into the air like a silver dollar and turned everything to dust.
Now isn't this vintage in every sense of the word, with the collages so frightfully tasteful, and the tone of the video campaign hitting just the right notes top down from the visuals to l'acoustique? It's Americana at its best, embellished with the quirk of Miuccia Prada- where car culture as it was celebrated during the economic boom of that time reincarnated in the form of vivid shoes and striking prints emblazoned on skirts, retro-style bandanas and sunglasses and everything topped off with a dash of three dimensionality in the intricate floral textures and jewelry. In other words I loved it, and the inspiration hasn't gotten old.
2. (Rad) editorials + lyrics + literature
Hot to Trot, W Magazine February 2012
You said sit back down where you belong In the corner of my bar with your high heels on Sit back down on the couch where we Made love the first time and you said to me this
Something, something about this place Something 'bout lonely nights and my lipstick on your face Something, something about my cool Nebraska guy Yeah something about, baby,
you and I
You and I, Lady Gaga
Josephine by Mark Kean, Wonderland Magazine, April 2012
She says you don't want to be like me Don't wanna see all the things I've seen I'm dying, I'm dying She says you don't want to get this way Famous, and dumb at an early age I'm lying, I'm lying
The boys, the girls, they all like Carmen She gives them butterflies, bats her cartoon eyes She laughs like god, her mind's like a diamond Audio tune lies, she's still shining Like lightning, light, like lightning
Carmen, Carmen, staying up til morning Only seventeen, but she walks the streets so mean
She says you don't want to be like me Looking for fun, get me high for free I'm dying, I'm dying She says you don't want to get this way Street walking at night, and a star by day It's tiring, tiring
Carmen, Lana Del Rey
I think there are strong narratives running through these. Because you kinda wonder where these two girls are heading to, who they're waiting for, and where they are, who they are- and this fictionalizing soon wounds a thread through the images so that they become part of a running roll of film, and any kind of story just gives the apparel and the model a whole new dimension. There is interpretation involved, a development and evolution of ideas from what was originally presented on the runway, not simply an adaptation- and that's what I found special about the editorials.
Talkin' Bout Fictionalizin':
Image the courtesy of little-dancing-princess.tumblr
The beloved Betty Boop
Swimming pool glimmering darling White bikini off with my red nail polish Watch me in the swimming pool bright blue ripples you Sitting sipping on your black Cristal Oh yeah
Light of my life, fire of my loins
And I'm off to the races, cases of Bacardi chasers Chasing me all over town Cause he knows I'm wasted, facing Time again at Riker's Island and I won't get out Because I'm crazy, baby I need you to come here and save me I'm your little scarlet, starlet singing in the garden Kiss me on my open mouth Ready for you
My old man is a tough man but He's got a soul as sweet as blood red jam And he shows me, he knows me Every inch of my tar black soul
Likes to watch me in the glass room bathroom, Chateau Marmont Slippin' on my red dress, puttin' on my makeup Glass film, perfume, cognac, lilac Fumes, says it feels like heaven to him
My old man is a thief and I'm gonna stay and pray with him 'til the end But I trust in the decision of the Lord to watch over us Take him when he may, if he may I'm not afraid to say that I'd die without him Who else is gonna put up with me this way? I need you, I breathe you, I never leave you They would rue the day I was alone without you You're lying with your gold chain on, cigar hanging from your lips I said "Hon' you never looked so beautiful as you do now, my man."
Off to the Races, Lana Del Rey
Image the courtesy of sophialorens.tumblr
Marilyn Monroe
I think whether attention in the form of musing, portraiture, debating, re-enacting, sexualizing, quoting and fictionalizing- these women have definitely received their fair share of it, and will probably continue to have their plates full for a very long time. I mean for decades, every single coin of a secret, fact and mystery about them (and one doesn't even exist in person) has been flipped from head to tails millions of times- they've moved on from the silver screen to characters in comic books to collectibles that come together with a Happy Meal. So why this timeless stock female icon? What is it about and within them- and us- which feeds her ageless tale?
Excerpts from Polka Dots and Moonbeams, by Jeffrey Ford
'Hey, Dex,' she called, 'where'd you get the submarine?"
He titled back his homburg and looked up. 'All hands on deck, baby,' he said, patting the white leather seat.
'Give me a minute,' she said, laughed, and then blew him a kiss. She walked across the blue braided rug of the parlor and into the small bathroom with the water-stained ceiling and cracked plaster. Standing before the mirror, she leaned in close to check her make-up- enough rouge and powder to repair the walls. Her eye shadow was peacock blue, her mascara indigo. She gave her girdle a quick adjustment through her dress, then smoothed the material and stepped back to take it all in. Wrapped in strapless black, with a design of small white polka dots, like stars in a perfect universe, she turned in profile and inhaled. "Good Christ,' she said and exhaled. Passing through the kitchenette, she lifted a silver flask from the scarred tabletop and shoved it into her handbag.
Her heels made a racket on the wooden steps, and she wobbled for balance just after the first landing. Pushing through the front door, she stepped out into the evening light and in the first cool breeze in what seemed an eternity. Dex was waiting for her at the curb, holding the passenger door open. As she approached, he tipped his hat and bent slight at the waist.
'Looking fine there, madam,' he said.
She stopped to kiss his cheek.
- ..
'Hush now, sugar,' she told him. 'Let's not think about that. I want you to tell me where you're taking me tonight.'
'I'll take you where I can get you,' he said.
She slapped his shoulder.
'I want a few cocktails,' she said.
'Of course, baby, of course. I thought we'd head over to the Ice Garden, cut the rug, have a few, and then head out into the desert after midnight to watch the stars fall.'
'You're an ace,' she said and leaned forward to turn on the radio. A smoldering sax rendition of 'Every Time We Say Goodbye', like a ball of wax string unwinding, looped once around their necks and then blew away on the rushing wind.
She lit them each a cigarette as the car sailed on through the rising night. An armadillo scuttled through the beams of the headlights fifty yards ahead, and the aroma of sage vied with Adeline's orchid scent. Clamping his cigarettes between his lips, Dex put his free hand on her knee. She took it into her own, twining fingers with him. Then it was dark, the asphalt turning to dirt, and the moon rose slow as a bubble in honey above the distant silhouette of hills; a cosmic cream pie of a face, eyeing Adeline's décolletage. She leaned back into the seat, smiling, and closed her eyes.
- ..
- ..
'So, we'll shoot craps?' she whispered.
'That's right,' he said.
Three slow turns later, Adeline said, 'Don't think I don't remember you've got that set of loaded dice.'
Dex put his head back and laughed, and, as if in response, at that very moment, the stars began to fall, streaking down through the night, trailing bright streamers. First a handful and then a hundred and then more let go of their hold on the firmament and leaped. Way off to the west, the first ones hit with a distant rumble and fireworks geysers of flame. More followed, far and near, and Dex and Adeline kissed amid the conflagration.
'Pick me up at seven,' she said, her bottom lip on his earlobe, and held him more tightly.
'I'll be there, baby,' he promised. 'I'll be there.'
With the accuracy of a bullet between the eyes, one of the million heavenly messengers screeched down upon them, a fireball the size of the Ice Garden. The explosion flipped the Belvedere into the air like a silver dollar and turned everything to dust.
American pop, British Vogue, March 2012
This was minimalism as far as the Americana trend permitted it to stretch.
Powder Play, American Vogue, March 2012
All images courtesy of models.com
And this was the interplay between the ultra-contemporary and the 50's put forth super sleek- at the same time expounding on the sweetly-inauthentic icy pastel color
palette of the era and creating a sugar-coated cotton candy effect.
3. Self-portraits of Eleanor, Rookie Mag
Images the courtesy of rookiemag.com
4. Cuban cars
Image the courtesy of guardian.co.uk
When romanticism -nostalgia for a past where the automobile was the pet of society, a center of a universal dream and escapades of teenagers, and where Havana was hailed as the most fashionable city in the world- and poverty exist side by side, it's hard to make decisions. Definitely, Cuban car owners freed from the current law which dictates that they can only trade and sell cars that have existed on the road before Fidel Castro's regime would help them get newer and more efficient cars, and its expense at the country's status as a live museum (literally) would probably be worth it (for now), for its citizens to get a breath of fresh air from a market that has been closed off for too long. But then when we get our bowls full we begin to suffer again from first world nostalgia. For now I'll enjoy the pictures depicting good old Chevys rumbling down the street.
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