music lessons

Last night, I learnt how to create the most awkward intimacy imaginable between six strangers in a small room. It sounds like it should have been difficult, but all it took was timing, and Patsy Cline.

'Crazy' is a work of art. In a quiet bar, with people alone or in couples, it should be an opportunity to look deep into your glass, and feel simultaneously alone and connected; to look in the face of hopelessness and inevitability, and kiss it. As Nietzsche beautifully expressed it: to love fate.

My mistake: playing 'Crazy' when four of the five bar patrons were waiting at the bar, sans drinks, backs to the walls and facing inwards because the barman was at the other end of the room, and able to see me in the corner of their eyes, blushing furiously like an adolescent forced to recite her poetry at a family birthday. What could have been a moment of beauty and reflection (and pure novelty for a dj; playing an original, totally tear-jerking Patsy Cline song in a bar, and not at five in the morning to alcoholics), was humiliating. Nobody knew where to look, and the brick walls seemed to push us closer to each other with every breath Patsy took; it was as if they saw me as I felt for choosing the song; naked. NEVER AGAIN. Is what most people would say. Why did I go on to play Nina Simone's 'Strange Fruit' later on, after a particularly depressing line of '80s nu-wave? I couldn't tell you.

If you're thinking I sound like the worst dj ever, let me assure you that Jimmy will never put you in the position those five people and I found ourselves in last night, and that tonight, when we play a two hour set at another bar, I will be sticking to 90s hip-hop and 80s pop, and leaving the ladies of fate for a grey afternoon at home, with a bottle of gin. And if you happen to be a cult leader, planning an afternoon with a morbid ending, and looking for a dj - my email is to the right.

Our Dunedin debut was slightly less noteworthy than the first (and last) time I played with Jimmy (he's been doing this much longer) in Auckland, to a crammed dancefloor (and with PNC and David Dallas in the lane outside - not a coincidence at all!). But at least I went out on a high, with this - one of my favourite NZ songs of all time. As Alanis said (when she wasn't misusing irony), "you live, you learn... you choke, you learn".

twice as nice

I deserve to be whacked over the head for that heading. And it doesn't even really express how I feel about a couple who look awesome. Together, they end up looking greater than the sum of their parts; they look like harmonious creatures from another planet. Harmony. That's what it is. They express harmony.

street and city photos / two kools / rookie / hommemaker / the sartorialist

I have to say, this last couple makes me feel a little unharmonious inside. If I looked like that, I would feel like I had made it. Instead I'll have to wait until I have children and am able to dress them and Jimmy in matching tracksuits like Chas, Ari, and Uzi Tenenbaum. THEN I'll have made it.

SNOW!

This morning we awoke to find snow. SNOW! Actually, I awoke to find Jimmy standing in front of me saying Get up! Get up! and while usually I would demand to know why before leaving my home (the bed), I leapt up (I suppose I knew he wouldn't try to get me out of bed unless it was something special, or deadly), and was greeted by a sight I won't ever forget. SNOW. All over our lawn. It looks like frosty magic.

Beautiful snow prevents me from meeting the bank person today, and Jimmy from putting up the posters for Thursday. So here is the poster... and I guess the bank will have to wait.

three things

1. Instead of working on my business plan, I've spent the morning finishing my book, The Book Thief (many tears have been shed today). My subsequent (and lighter) train of thought has led me to Shoshanna Dreyfus from Inglourious Basterds, and how much I loved her style. Not only her clothes; but they were easiest to emulate, so lots of woollen jerseys and '40s trousers have since made their way into my wardrobe. I'll probably wear a combination of them today (with two of the former; Dunedin is FREEZING).

2. Dogtown Inc (that's not an official name; I made it up just now), aka me and Jimmy, are playing our first Dunedin dj set on Thursday at Mou Very. I don't know what time yet, and I don't know exactly what we'll be playing, but whatever it is there'll be some Bowie in there somewhere, because every day is a good day for Bowie. (Should there be prizes for identifying bastardised quotes? Too cheesy? I can't tell; I'm a bit cheesy myself. And I'm in prize mode; I won a picture book last week - Duck, Death and the Tulip - which couldn't have been more exciting if I was only six. NB Omission of Oxford comma is not my own. I LOVE Oxford commas.)

I don't think any of you are from Dunedin, so - Mou Very is described by Lonely Planet, and another website I've already forgotten, as one of the world's smallest bars, and we like it a lot. They used to sell Emerson's beer (which we like) until it was sold to Lion, when they replaced it with an independent's, Invercargill Brewery's (which we also like), and we like that a lot. In short, there is a lot to like about Mou Very.

3. Since I was talking about them on Friday, and I have some NZMM making up to do.

a song for friday

NZ Music Month hasn't really worked its way into my life this year; me becoming a hermit, and all. I know there are special events on at the local library and there are certain to be related gigs on in town which ordinarily I would intend to go to (but then get so comfortable at the pub, it wouldn't actually happen). I like to think that the large amount of local music Jimmy and I listen to at home makes music month redundant (but still enjoyable) for us, but the last NZ act we saw live who weren't playing support for an overseas artist was over a year ago (Street Chant at Mighty Mighty - they were excellent, and I danced as much with as beside a potted tree), so obviously that's not true. So instead of the Fleetwood Mac song I had intended to post which has swum around my head every time I notice my little shadow (my dog), here is one of my favourite ever NZ songs, which is infinitely more suited to a Friday afternoon. In fact, I used to sometimes put this on repeat for my last half hour at work on a Friday, so that the air was so thick with anticipation I had to squeeze through it before dancing my way to the pub. Those were the days.

Off to do some more buying (the fun bit) before coming home to do more battle with the business plan (the other bit). This song and beer are going to find their way in there; I hope they find their way into your afternoon too. Happy Friday, friends, Romans, customers. (Bit of Shakespearean humour for you... oh our children are going to be lonely.)

calivintage

In spite of what they say about people who assume things, I'm going to go ahead and share with you a blog that I think you might like. I came across it a couple of weeks ago and it's since become one of my favourite clothes blogs. Here are some reasons why:

1. I love tattoos.

2. I love vintage clothes.

3. I kind of love blogs where people post pictures of their outfits (even though the idea of doing it weirds me out a bit. I don't know why. Being born in New Zealand? Possibly), and as well as featuring great outfits, these photos are beautiful in their own right.

4. I love the idea I have of San Francisco.

5. I DIG this woman's style.

(Love was becoming redundant. Don't you hate that?)

Now here are some of my favourite outfit pictures:

(Does anyone else feel like their life won't be complete until they have those dungarees?)

Finally, here's the link: calivintage. Do let me know if I'm an ass.

PS Have you ever written up a business plan? It's like being at uni again, but without the cheap cocktails. It started off fun, and now it's sucking the will to live from me. However, it's tangible progress, and it makes me feel like I'm actually working. If you have any advice, I'd love to hear it. Back to my cave I go... (Actually that's a big old lie. I'm working in bed today because it's so bloody cold. Maybe I should start doing outfit posts, if only to get me i) dressed, and ii) out of the house.)

Adam Lippes

From the Autumn/Winter 2013 collection. See? Delicious.

View the rest of the lookbook here.

STATEof_

One of the weird things about working from home and living in a city where no-one knows you (so the only people likely to come over are the meter-reader and your parents-in-law) is figuring out what to wear. It might sound like it should be easy, but it's not, especially for someone who has a million skirts but sits on the couch in a manner that splits skirt seams, usually works from said couch, and currently has a medium-sized dog sleeping in her lap (again, on couch). My usual solution: don't get dressed. 

Donata Minelli Yirmiyahu, co-president of Adam Lippes (whose delicious - yeah, I said it - collection I'll feature later in the week), has launched her own line for women looking for relaxed clothes but don't want to be restricted to a jeans and tshirt uniform (I'm wearing jeans and a man's shirt right now - woman is a WITCH) or workout gear (I guess that would be my pajama pants). Her label, STATEof_, consists of "everyday staples with a luxurious twist", many of which I can see on Audrey Hepburn. 

Exhibits A, B, & C:

And the one I think my dog and I would find most comfortable:

See the rest of the pre-Spring 2014 collection here.

icon: Slim Keith

What I'd like to say about Slim Keith, as a person, has already been said too well by someone else for me to bother, so if you'd like to know a little bit about a woman who used everything she had to get (almost) everything she wanted, may I direct you to this very good article written for the New York Times back in 1990, when her memoir "Memories of a rich and imperfect life" was published. While I'm not entirely comfortable with it, there's something kind of democratic (in the American sense) about her rise to fame and fortune, when viewed as a result of her noted intelligence, wit, taste, and style (rather than solely her looks, or the fact that, while still at the disadvantage of being a woman in the '30s, she had the distinct and usually overlooked advantages of being a white, heterosexual woman in the '30s).

What I'd like to say about Slim Keith, as a style icon, is this. Lady had it up the wazoo. Her style was defined by its simplicity and California sensibility; middle-partings and pony-tails, practicality, and length. Like that of Lauren Bacall, the "discovery" of whom Slim is credited, Slim's style makes you wonder what's going on in her head, and assume that it's something worth knowing. Trousers never looked so good.

''It was about good looks, brains, taste, and style. . . . The only ingredient I brought to this recipe was the recognition that, while you have to be natural, you also have to be different. . . . In my day, different meant not having your hair done in a pompadour and adorning it with a snood, or not trying to hide your intelligence behind a sea of frills. I somehow knew there was a glut in that market. I opted for a scrubbed-clean, polished look. I thought it was more important to have an intelligence that showed, a humor that never failed, and a healthy interest in men.''

 3 / 4 

serious business

Last week when I wrote about how wonderful Chucks are, I neglected to mention - no, I deliberately omitted, an important fact about them. Since 2001, when Converse was bought by Nike, Chucks have been made in sweatshops.

I left it out because there is nothing praiseworthy about a sweatshop. Nothing. Sweatshops, as we know them today, have been in existence since the mid 1800s. Like sweatshops today, they exploited the vulnerable; namely poor people, new immigrants, and women. You probably know about the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire in 1911; if not, do look it up, and especially look at the pictures. In short, 146 workers, mostly young women who were new immigrants, were killed when a fire broke out at the building where they worked on the eighth, ninth, and tenth floors. The doors to the stairwells had been locked, purportedly to prevent them from taking unauthorised breaks and stealing, trapping them inside. Some women were killed by the fire. Some died from smoke inhalation. Some were crushed in the panic. And some died in a vain attempt to escape the building by jumping. I can't describe the sadness of the photos of their broken bodies on the street.

1911 was over 100 years ago, so things must have changed, right? Well, they have; for some of us. Some of us live in countries that now have labour laws to protect us from these tragedies (although many within this country seem hell-bent on reversing those laws under the guise of improving our economy). We see workers protesting outside McDonalds and toot our support, glad to be somewhere where workers can protest (though that's another right that's being compromised) and then off we go to Glassons, or The Warehouse, or Topshop, or Karen Walker. Off I go to a shoe-shop to buy Chucks.

Meanwhile, three weeks ago, a factory/sweatshop in Bangladesh, which had been inspected and found to be unsafe but remained open, collapsed, claiming 1127 lives (a number that may rise). 1127 people, who were working in an unsafe building for a wage that is barely worth mentioning, yet will be sorely, sorely missed by their heart-broken families. The footage on the news has had me in tears every single time; children holding photos of their missing mothers, and dust-covered bodies being carried out from rubble.

This kind of tragedy is hardly isolated. Just last September, there were two factory fires in Pakistan on the same day, in which over 300 people died.

It's easy to look at the labels for whom those particular factories were working (GAP, Primark, Benetton), boycott them for a while, and carry on our merry way. But we can't. So what do we do? I don't have lots of answers. I abhor the idea of advocating "trading lives", but I'm not going to tell a low income mother to stop buying her kids' clothes from K-Mart. I just know that these tragedies are not separate from me. My choices in my every day life bear on people I've never met, who have no choices, and that's not okay with me. There are some things where I might justify to myself that I don't have a choice (not entirely true), like when I buy stockings, all of which are made in countries without labour laws except the French ones which cost more than a week's petrol. But most of the time, I have a choice. That choice is partly why I buy secondhand, but that's not for everyone, and I respect that. Some people argue that awful wages are better than no wages (which I think misses the point, but) with which I can't decisively argue, but doesn't change the fact that those of us who have rights and power also have a responsibility. So here are some things we can do. if you have more ideas, please leave them in the comments; I'm happy to admit mine are hardly original, and could use some work.

1. Pressure places we like to do what's right. Boycotting one place means patronising another, and sometimes they're not really any different. I mean, by all means, boycott so they get the message, but let who we're shopping with know why we're doing so, and if we're a letter to the editor writer, or we know our local MP, tell them too. (Yes, I'm that person. I emailled our local supermarket to commend them on stocking fairtrade bananas a couple of days ago. I was born a nerd.)

2. Think of our money as a vote. (This works better if you care about politics, but then you wouldn't have read this far if you didn't.)

3. Be aware of where things are made. It's not foolproof (most garments don't say where the fabric itself was produced), but it's something. More expensive doesn't mean workers were paid fairly; an embarrassing number of NZ designers have shifted production overseas (partly, they say, because they're competing with places like Topshop, produced in sweatshops and headed by cretins like Phillip Green who won't pay tax). I'd like to post a list of those who are still made in NZ here at some stage; one that comes to mind now is WORLD.

4. Make the things we buy count. If we're not sure where/how something was made, be sure it's worth it to us. I should wear the fake Chucks they sell at fairtrade shops, but I don't, and I accept that makes me a hypocrite, and my only explanation is that I love Chucks. It's an incredibly privileged way to live and one that some people disagree with, but it's realistic; for me, anyway.

5. Give ourselves a break. For the most part, I try, and for the most part, I'm okay with my decisions. But I only get a break as long as I keep trying.

a discovery

Yesterday, while beginning my inventory, I inadvertently discovered the secret to restrained shopping. I KNOW. You get up in the morning thinking it's going to be an ordinary day and then WHAM! you stumble across something life-changing. I imagine this is just how Alexander Fleming felt.

Friends, it is thus. You look as terrible as you can, or however you look without trying at all. (If you're someone who wakes up looking like you did before you went to sleep, this may not work so well for you, although maybe your standards will be higher, so maybe it will.) If you're going to put on any make-up, pick one thing, and make it a bit weird. For whatever reason, yesterday I decided to use eyebrow pencil and nothing else, and while in my mind I looked like this:

I actually looked more like this:

I put the mirror in grey light so I looked even more washed out than Dunedin has made my complexion, left on my knitted children's slippers, and asked my dog (who was in a decidedly indifferent mood) what he thought of everything so every time my question was met with a visual I hate you, mother. And things looked bad. Plain, at best. So when the odd thing looked good, there was no question of whether or not I should keep it. It was clearly a wearable miracle.

This may not sound like much to some of you, but for me, this is almost on par with penicillin. I am the person who buys it in her size, or a size down, or two sizes up - whatever they have, and belt it, or don't breathe in it, or put in in the small mountain beside my sewing machine of things some people I know might alter. I buy things that make me look bad because I like them, and I buy things in colours that make me look like I have a rare illness because I don't have anything else in that colour, so I must need it. No more! As long as I can employ these tricks in public without finding people with straitjackets waiting when I come out of the changing room, I am set, and you can be, too!

I realised while writing that last paragraph that, again, I'm writing something that may potentially discourage you from buying things from me, which verges on counter-productive. However, I have decided that I have so much faith in what I'm going to stock that there will be things for you that pass these insane tests, and if there aren't, I'm going to make it my mission to have something perfect for you the next time you come in. This shop is going to be unusual in many ways, one of which is how personal it will be; even if it's a business failure, it's going to be memorable, and fun, and together we will make the world look a little bit better.

Mission stated. Slogan to come.

Back to inventory.

a song for monday

Which you'll have to watch on youtube because of copyright stuff, but is totally worth it, if only to make getting dressed today easier (if anyone else is still undecided at twenty to twelve). There are few things as classic as jeans, leather jackets, wayfarers, and leapfrog in a carpark (you may disagree about the wayfarers but I maintain they're a classic; '50s and '80s to infinity). Today we begin the joyous task of inventory; I'm afraid it's going to turn into a big game of dress-ups, and I don't know how to do spreadsheets so it's going to be handwritten in notebooks... but both are kind of activities of the past, so at least we're in theme, I guess. Cocktails and quaaludes at five? Excellent.

hollywood does "punk"

For the most part, it was "punk" not punk, or at least punk like I've never seen it before, at the Met Gala a few days ago. I blame Deborah Harry. You can't be a playboy bunny and then enter the punk world without undermining it somewhat.

My favourite punks: Anja Rubik (channelling Bowie and Siouxsie), Dree Hemingway, Cara Delevigne (with coke securely in pocket), Jaime King, and Anne Hathaway (who knew? I always find her so irritatingly inoffensive - punk is the answer! Apparently her look was inspired by Deborah Harry... yeah, yeah, shut up). No surprise that most are models. Two hyphenated words. Ugly-pretty.

And my favourite non-punks: Solange (always), Chloe Sevigny (of course), and Rooney Mara. Aside from the amazing clothes she wears, I love what Rooney adds with her haunted look; I imagine her as a child with an imaginary friend threatening to kill her. Poor little Rooney.

All images from here.

in praise of: Chucks

If I could only wear one pair of shoes for the rest of my life, it would be my black hi-top Chuck Taylors. No competition. 

They go with everything. I can run in them (as much as I can run in anything). I can kick in them. If rain, or tequila, or pee, or anything else gets on them, they still look fine. They're one of the few things out there where exactly the same model is sold to women and men (the only difference being the sizing). And in spite of being pretty mainstream now, they still retain some of their former subculture symbolism (the Louis Vuitton ones and the extra-low-cut plimsolly ones being exceptions, obviously - in my land, they ain't Chucks). When I'm wearing chucks, I feel like if I get into an argument, my chances of winning are 90% better than if I was wearing keds, (and if I lose, I'm 50% more believable when I say I don't care anyway).

Still not convinced of their merits? Consider who else is/was a fan:

 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Yes. It's Rocky. Chucks are the shoes of champions.

pajamas/pajamas

Don't you love it when you see a picture of a pregnant woman in an awesome get-up, excitedly discover she has a blog, click on it, and discover that not only is she not pregnant, she's a model who was born with the bored and beautiful look that makes it look like she looks great by accident and the fact you're impressed is a bit pathetic but mostly SO BORING, and the shot you thought was pregnancy was actually just wind (by which I mean blow, blow, thou winter wind, not food-baby wind)? Me too. But it perfectly fits a day when you're crabby, crampy, getting sick, and having to wear your love-heart pajama pants because your respectable ones are in the wash, and you didn't ever think you'd live somewhere so cold/become a recluse this young and need more than two pairs.

By way of apology for the visual (and if you really want to earn it: my dog picked up one of my used tissues and... I let him eat it), some pictures of what might be... if only.

magic friday

I have a bike. I also have heels. When I am on/in either, the world is wobbly and I have to concentrate really hard to get where I'm going. With their powers combined, I expect my wardrobe for the next month would have to go with plaster and traction.

So how does she do it?

It's Friday, and magical things happen on Fridays. (Actually I think magical things happen all the time; something magical happened to me on Tuesday. I discovered Narnia, right here in Dunedin, and I was wearing a fur coat. MAGIC.) So although this photo was posted on The Sartorialist a day or so ago, I think if we tried wearing heels and riding a bike today, the stars would align, and we would look nonchalant and cool. The key must be wedges, and the right soundtrack. Like this.

Perfekshun

There are a select few who can describe something as "perfection" and not sound like a dick. Your mum is one. Sofia Vergara is another. If I had to add a third to the list, I'd say RZA. But I don't know how else to describe this ensemble by Alice McCall, photographed by FOUREYES at MBFWA. The top is brilliant; a delicate kind of scary... but the pants. The pants. The gorgeous, heavenly pants. How do I count the ways?

So I will call them "perfekshun".