three things

It's my birthday eve today, so just a quick post; I have celebrating to do! Today's celebrations include trips to some of my favourite Auckland op shops, and watching the Judy Garland version of A Star Is Born. Oh how I love Judy. Almost as much as I love birthdays. ALMOST.

1. More Pretty In Pink. I wasn't a huge fan of Andie's clothes (maybe partly because I remember when people really wore beige stockings), but I really liked Iona's. Maybe my thirties will be the time to start experimenting with wigs?

2. I've been hoping to make it to California Design, 1930-1965: Living in a Modern Way at the Auckland Art Gallery since we arrived - it looks great! The exhibition includes furniture by Charles and Ray Eames, and graphics by Saul Bass. I love mid-century Californian design, which can be traced back to the first time I saw The Parent Trap as a kid, and fell in love with Mitch's house. The house deserves its own post (it's my dream-house, and the day I read it was built on a sound-stage was a notable step in my journey to adulthood). If I make it to the exhibition, I'll let you know if it deserves its own post too.

3. Cher (and Greg Allman), getting the jump on my birthday celebrations at a Doobie Brothers party wbw (way back when; is that already an acronym in use, or did I just start something?). Photo from Old Loves, which always has great photos of some of my favourite people. I don't know what she's wearing, but I LOVE it. Cher and Judy Garland = INSPIRATIONS.

film inspiration: Duckie Dale

Perhaps because we didn't always have a tv and vcr, and my sisters and I were readers from, well, the time we could read, there are a lot of 80s classics I didn't see (Adventures In Babysitting a notable exception; I wanted to be Chris so badly!). I've caught up on some, and totally dug them: Dirty Dancing, Die Hard, Stand By Me. I've caught up on some and had to turn them off because, without the lens of sentimentality, they were awful: The Goonies (don't hate me!), The Big Blue. And there are some I still haven't seen: Footloose, Top Gun, Gremlins (although my sister had the movie book, and it scared the shit out of me).

So until a couple of weeks ago, I hadn't seen Pretty In Pink, and to tell the truth, was a little embarrassed about it. I actually gave it to a close friend for her birthday one year, even though I totally knew it implied I'd seen it and was saying - look, we're so old, but remember when we weren't? Pathetic! But I digress. Finally I watched it, and I was... underwhelmed. Maybe I'm too old for it now, but I just didn't connect with anybody (except maybe the Dad, heaven help me), and I felt as if some scenes went on and on, and then sometimes as if a scene had been missed. However, what I did love was Duckie's wardrobe.And his lip-synced performance of Try A Little Tenderness - the best! There are boys around who dress similarly but there's just something kind of hollow about it; like they're New Wave simulacra? I don't know; there's just something genuine about the way Duckie dresses. His shoes are beaten up and dirty because he doesn't have much money, and he rides a bike in them... and he's Duckie. By the way, did anyone else think Andie ruined two good dresses? Okay, sorry, sorry. Happy Friday! My first Friday in months at my pub in Auckland... Hurray!

"It's the end of the month, they're out of toilet seat covers!"

"It's called a sense of humour; you should get one, they're nice."

"I'm not particularly concerned with whether or not you like me, because I live to like you..."

a song for thursday

How is it already Thursday?!! Possibly something to do with hurting my back rushing to the terminal with my lovely new-to-me orange suitcase (60s suitcases: look cool; a little less so when you're wincing and shuffling along while people smugly overtake you with their flashy wheeled ones. By the time I reached customs, I couldn't lift my arm to put my carry-on on the conveyer belt and had to swing it up like a crazy person, and spent the first twenty minutes of my flight unable to bend to get the panadol from my bag, able only to sit with one shoulder about a metre lower than the other, mouthing swear-words) and having a disgusting cold. We head back up to Auckland in a couple of hours (although I have been banned from using said suitcase). I feel as if I should be wrapped in bandages, with my arms stretched in front of me.

Anyway, the song. I really like Art Brut. I like how they take the piss, but are also completely serious about what they're saying. It's well to have this kind of outlook when you're under the weather; it makes it all seem a little easier to bear. Bad backs. Old loves. Etc.

beneath the roses

I'm a bit funny when it comes to exhibitions. I like art a lot, but I didn't study art history or anything, and often don't appreciate the technical points in an artwork. I'm also apt to roll my eyes a bit at most conceptual art; while I absolutely understand creating beauty just to create beauty, I have a generous amount of cynicism, plus all of my favourite books, films, and music go some way toward explaining something about the world - I prefer art that does that. Also, hearing people talk about art in galleries makes me feel a bit nauseous. It's probably not fair, but I feel as if they aren't really there to see things, but to HAVE seen them. Do you know what I mean? For me, art is quite personal. When I hear people talking about it in galleries, they always seem to be showing off what they know about the backstory etc, and never about how the art makes them feel, or what the person they're with thinks. Although I'm very willing to admit that feelings might be for amateurs... and I don't mind. I am an amateur, and feelings are a big part of how I think.

Anyway, that was a very long-winded (and weird) lead in to tell you about the art I saw in Wellington. So much art! It's funny (not really) how much more likely I am to visit a gallery when I'm on holiday. I went to the Colour And Light exhibition at Te Papa, which was very beautiful. I saw photos taken in Samoa by Thomas Andrew around the turn of the 20th century, which were great. I put on 3D glasses and watched an AV presentation called Ghost In The Machine by Sheyne Tuffery, which I really enjoyed. But nothing made an impression on me quite like that of Gregory Crewdson's photographic exhibition Beneath The Roses.

This is what Wellington's City Gallery says about Crewdson's work:

"Gregory Crewdson’s photographs come from the dark heart of contemporary Americana, belonging to a cultural lineage that stretches from Edward Hopper to David Lynch, by way of Flannery O’Connor and Alfred Hitchcock. Working like a film director, Crewdson creates elaborate scenarios either on location or sound stages, using sets, actors, and full production crews, all in search of a perfect ‘moment of grace’. This search sometimes  involves  closing down entire streets, using snow machines, and always shooting at twilight, when expansive lighting set ups can most effectively cast the beams of light that transform the mundane and vernacular into the mysterious and often transcendent. In his work the setting becomes part backdrop, part character, the site for highly-charged dramas that locate the alienated individual within or against a landscape as pressingly psychological as it is physical."

Each scene, which is carefully set up either on location or on a soundstage, is shot about fifty times. Each time, the focus is changed ever so slightly, so that when Crewdson goes to put the pictures together, he has fifty options to layer together to create the final work. His aim is to create something seamless and photographic without photographic limitations of blurring, or grain, or anything out of focus. The result is incredible; at first, you don't really know what you're looking at. You start from far away, and are immediately struck by this overwhelming sense of foreboding. Then, as you move closer, it's as if you really are walking towards the scene. You'll notice shapes in the shadows, figures in the smoke, and detail in windows pop out at you exactly as they would if you were there on the street. The feeling is so strong, you start to believe you can smell the air, and you feel the cold of the pending darkness (all of the pictures are taken at dusk). One picture made me turn away to protect my nose before I realised. The hyperrealism of each shot makes it feel so personal that you at once feel part of it and an intruder. You feel bad for looking into a motel room at a naked woman, but you also can't turn away because you're in it. I don't know that I've ever looked at art and felt that way before.

The exhibition is at City Gallery Wellington, and then comes to Dunedin Public Art Gallery (hurray!). If you'd like to see and read more about Crewdson's work, there's a good interview with him here, as well as sketched plans and details about the shoots. And here is a picture from the exhibition, 'Untitled (Maple Street)', 2003.

exploring jessica fletcher's closet

If you, like me, were born in the 80s (or if you watch daytime tv; I caught it one morning a few months ago and it was so exciting!), you might remember Murder, She Wrote. The trilling piano in the theme song? What a show. And, like me, maybe you remember the show mainly because she was such an amazing yet unassuming detective, always managing to observe things everybody else missed (and having the knack of being somewhere just before something happened), plus she was in Bedknobs And Broomsticks and sang The Age Of Not Believing, which you loved and would repeat over and over on your sister's record player.

We missed something HUGE. (Lucky we're not the detectives.) Her wardrobe. Thankfully, Lau didn't miss it, and we get to catch up on everything at her awesome blog Exploring Jessica Fletcher's Closet, where she goes through an episode, noting the 'Fashion Tip Learned' and 'Life Lesson Learned' and then posting pictures of the episode's outfits and similar pieces available now. In one instance, she even found the exact pattern for a knitted cardigan Jessica was wearing, still on sale for knitters today. I know!!!

Apart from her humour and attention to detail, one of the things I like best about the blog is the absence of irony. Lau's admiration for Jessica is genuine and inspires similar feelings. And Jessica Fletcher's outfits are so well put together, her grooming so neat, and her air so ready-for-anything, one can't help but take note.

Jessica Fletcher, my friends. (With thanks to Welcome to Ladyville, who brought the blog to my attention.) All images from Exploring Jessica Fletcher's Closet.

"...please airmail me some scotch tape"

Today I'm going to Wellington to meet my sisters for a combined birthday weekend; my parents' idiosyncratic reproductivity means that the three of us have our birthdays in July and are exactly five years apart (ten between me and my big sister). I have been looking forward to to trip since its inception, and when unable to sleep have planned and revised what I'll wear. It's very sad, but if you ever find yourself being at home in warm jumpers all the time, you'll understand. There'll be a lot of eating, and drinking, and gallery visits, and being mean to each other and about people we know. I can't wait.

Although what I'm taking bears only the slightest resemblance to her wardrobe, something has made me think about Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina. Maybe it's all the black I'm taking. Maybe it's my subconscious telling me I should go to a hairdresser because the haircut I gave myself a month ago is growing out HORRIBLY. I don't know. Maybe it's just because there's a packing scene in the movie.

All images from here. Have a good weekend!

we're all mad here

No time today! Just enough to tell you that we've had a yes to the work we asked to have done to the premises - yuss! - and to show you this beautiful, beautiful dress from Adored Vintage, called the Beckoned Beauty dress. Isn't it gorgeous? I was imagining myself wearing it and actually being a better person because of how angelic it looked while I went to their website... and discovered it had already sold. Guess I'm staying bad. I only discovered them a few weeks ago but am making up for lost time looking through their lovely stock. If you're looking for a dress for something special, look no further. What a day; I feel like the white rabbit. Or maybe the mad hatter. I sleep when I breathe...

a song for wednesday

This is a song that always calms me down a bit, and puts me in the present. Lots happening in my head; worrying and planning and wishing there was a way to pack my suitcase without getting out of bed... I really thought we would have robot helpers by now. At least I've found a Dunedin stockist for environmental toothbrushes; mine is an embarrassment and probably verging on bad for my health. And ear-plugs! Can't forget the ear-plugs...

film inspiration: Adrian Pennino

I think only a heart of stone could not be moved by the first Rocky film. Admittedly, it spawned five sequels, so some people might have suffered from franchise fatigue (I haven't seen any of them yet so I can't weigh in) and the feelings of love the first film conjured might have faded. But try to remember! Remember the slights! Remember the turtle food jokes! Remember the training montage!!! And don't even get me started on the story of the film's conception; Stallone being forced to sell Butkus on account of being broke (and then buying him back when the film was sold but having to give the guy a small part in the movie as part of the deal), and the scenes he had to rewrite to fit props that couldn't be replaced on account of being broke. What's not to love?!!

Obviously, I love the film. I love the story. I love Rocky. And I love Adrian. To me, Rocky and Adrian are one of film's greatest love stories. They fill each others gaps, you guys. What's more romantic and beautiful than that?

If you haven't seen it, quit reading this immediately - you have more important business to attend to. If you have, enjoy the break from my raptures, and check out Adrian's most excellent wardrobe.

"I just want to say hi to my girlfriend, okay? Yo, Adrian! It's me, Rocky"

two types of goo

Today is my favourite's birthday. We celebrated with cake. Joe, who can't share the cake because of the chocolate, celebrated by trying to answer my phone, and broke the screen in the process. He says, in terms of health, our way of celebrating is more expensive. I disagree.

Anyway, Jimmy is allergic to eggs and nuts, so his birthday cakes are always experimental. Every year I've tried a different recipe, and every year I've watched him eat it feeling similar to how I used to feel when my niece was a baby and thought frozen peas were lollies - happy, and also really, really sad. You see, in baking, there really isn't a substitute for eggs. There are vegan recipes, which use vinegar and other stuff and say they're just like non-vegan cakes (they're not - they're the worst!), and there is 'no egg', which you mix with milk or water, and the cake comes out flat and a bit weird, and there's baking soda, which makes big holes and that's about it. It's very difficult for someone who makes everyone in her family's birthday cakes, and, between us, kind of prides herself on how they turn out. It makes her feel like Robert Downey Jr; cool in movies, but a Republican in real life. Ick.

I don't remember what last year's cake was, but I do remember that everyone who could eat egg bypassed it in favour of the other two on offer that day. But this year we will remember - this year, we may be on to something. I don't know why anyone else would want to bake a cake without eggs, but just in case, I'm going to share the recipe with you, because it has turned out YUM. It might give you the impression eggless cakes are okay - don't believe it. This is the exception; this is Amy Osbourne! I'm also going to link to the recipe from which I adapted it, Jamie Oliver's mega chocolate fudge cake (which I had never made before), and my FAVOURITE chocolate cake recipe Orangette's Winning Hearts and Minds cake (which I have made, was easy as anything, and so yum I wanted to eat the whole thing myself).

CHOCOLATE GOO CAKE adapted from Jamie Oliver

250g Whittakers (or whatever, just NOT CADBURY) 70% dark Ghana chocolate

175g butter

1 cup brown sugar

2 tbsp cocoa

pinch of salt

c. 1 cup mashed banana

c. 1/2 cup milk

1 1/2 cups of flour (possibly a little more, but the 2 cups I used was slightly too much)

c. 10 pieces of Whittakers milk chocolate with caramel

Now, Jamie says to throw it all (at varying stages) into a food processor. NICE IF YOU HAVE ONE. I don't, and crushing biscuits in the blender has taught me the blender don't like dry stuff. So I followed his alternative, and grated the chocolate by hand. It was an exercise in humility, love, and sweat. Humility, because I looked and felt ridiculous, scratching an entire block of chocolate against a grater. Love, because it took half and hour (and looked and felt ridiculous), but felt worth it because it was for Jimmy. (There's the second type of goo.) Sweat, because half an hour of grating something when you're unfit is a WORKOUT, my friends. Okay, you add the brown sugar, 1 tbsp of the cocoa, the salt and the butter to the chocolate (I didn't soften the butter properly; I should have), and beat until it's all mixed in. Then you beat in the banana and milk, bit by bit, until that's all mixed. Finally, stir in the flour. If the mixture looks floury at this point, add more milk.

I forgot to tell you the first bit. Preheat the oven to 160, and butter a baking dish (I think a cake tin would have worked just as well, and looked more like a cake than... I won't tell you. You'll know what I'm talking about when you see it.). Use 1 tbsp of the cocoa to coat the butter.

Put the mixture in the dish/tin, push in the bits of caramel chocolate here and there, and bake for about 20 minutes, or until set. If you test the cake, it doesn't matter if the skewer doesn't come out clean; you want it to be a bit jiggly. Also, you don't want the edges to get too crispy, because they lose the chocolate flavour.

Jamie says to serve with ice cream or creme fraiche, but I think it's best on its own; maybe with a bit of icing sugar dusted over the top if you want to put lipstick on that pig. Mine looks very different to Jamie's, but it tastes GOOD.

No photo because I can't find my camera (so also no photos of the birthday boy today), but instead, a song. Happy birthday, favourite.

a beautiful dress, and a song for friday

First, the dress, from astro vintage. It makes me want to put on a fluffy blue suit and stumble towards it saying me want cookie; it's THAT beautiful. Don't you think you would be more assertive and competent dressed in this? And ready for anything? I do. The description mentions Joan Harris (nee Holloway). I LOVE Joan. The woman, the wardrobe...

I'd wear this dress with emerald green pumps, green earrings, and a great deal of sass. "What's that now?" etc. Or maybe just let my eyes do the talking, like Joan... No, I'll never be that woman. Better work on my sassy conversation.

And the song. I've been a fan of this song since I was a kid; it's so infectious, and so celebratory of life, and the simple act of dancing. It makes me think of women in '60s dresses and bare feet, or young girls in full skirts and flats, twisting around a bar or a summer camp hall with the same abandon. It's one of those songs that is all about the present, and that's just how a Friday afternoon should be. Week's done. Let's twist!

Taylor

Not many words today. I think this picture is enough.

the modern flapper

I should begin by saying I'm not a great fan of the '20s - at least not the '20s that is most often depicted and celebrated in modern times; the excessive '20s of The Great Gatsby. I've read the book twice and hated it both times; I vastly prefer Fitzgerald's Pat Hobby stories, where the protangonist is openly bitter and jaded. Don't even get me started on Tender Is The Night (oh, go on then; did you know he edited several stories out of Zelda's autobiography, which she wrote first, because he wanted to use them in it?! Yet all we hear about is how he her adored so much... I think I could do without that kind of admiration). I guess I'm not a great fan of F Scott Fitzgerald, either.

Anyway, I know the widespread fascination with '20s fashion predates Baz Luhrmann's film, but the film's influence has certainly made flapper outfits less costume-party and more red carpet, and that's been interesting. Cultural appropriation is something that really concerns me - I'll be posting about in depth next week, and one of the problems with it applies here, though in way that isn't nearly as damaging, and that's removing meaning from something so that it becomes what Jean Baudrillard called a simulacrum; a copy of a copy.

See, the original flappers were pretty awesome. What they wore was symbolic of who they were and what they wanted. American women achieved suffrage in 1920, and during that decade of relative peace and affluence came an opportunity to assert themselves, and set their sail for the times ahead. This article from Collector's Weekly (and its links) talk about who these women were, and what they did. Like many appropriated movements, the original flappers came from working class neighbourhoods and radical circles, and as a consequence were both white women AND black women (although popular history barely remembers the black flappers). They rejected restricting corsets and adopted what was considered an extremely androgynous look, with straight up and down silhouettes, and "boyish" bobs. They shocked their parents by baring their arms, and, unholiest of unholies, wearing make-up. The slatterns! They danced, they drank, they smoked, and they openly embraced sexual freedom. The flapper movement was, in all its fun, essentially a feminist movement.

That is, it began as one. By the mid '20s, corporations had latched on to the popularity of the fashion of the  movement as a way to make money, and all of a sudden women of all spheres, values, and agendas were dressing like flappers; the first wave of simulacra. Among these were the women Fitzgerald scathingly describes in Gatsby; vapid creatures who care nothing about anyone or anything. Granted, these women embraced the freedom of the flappers, but they diluted the significance of those freedoms, and used class to separate their freedom from that of women of lower classes, including the women who began the movement. The initial unity of the movement was gone.

That first wave of simulacra makes me feel really sad, especially because it's not an uncommon story. However, today we're focussing on the present: the modern flapper - the newest simulacrum. This group doesn't just dilute the significance of flapper fashion; as far as they are concerned, it has none. Taylor Swift, for example, has had me wringing my hands over many a comment to do with traditional gender roles (see her quotes about not wanting to "wear the pants" and how much she likes "handing over the reins") and her rejection of essential feminism, yet she's worn several flapper outfits. What interests me is: in spite of being copies of copies of copies, and being based in a capitalist desire to exploit a movement for profit, does modern flapper attire retain any of its original meaning? Has it been completely subverted? Or, in spite of most people's ignorance of its origins, does modern flapper fashion subvert the inconsistent values of the person who wears it and doesn't care about the feminist ideals? Does it depend on who most people identify as flappers - the original flappers, or Daisy Buchanan and Jordan Baker? Or, as with cultural artefacts, does it not matter who knows it? Should we try harder to protect (positive - the more people subverting national front gear, the better) political fashion, like flapper dresses and linen hippy shirts, from commercial exploitation?

I should point out that there are things that the flappers began/perpetuated that aren't so great or feminist (feminism = great, great = not always necessarily feminist eg photos of dogs wearing clothes), like fighting our natural body shapes for fashion. Also, this wasn't supposed to be so confusing, or raise millions of questions I'm probably not going to answer this week because I'm too busy creating an empire (aka hiding from the cold)!!! All of this came from this photo I saw on The Sartorialist, of a modern flapper whom I think looks really cool, may or may not know/care about the original flappers; may have fallen into a fountain and had to borrow this outfit from a friend who is a direct descendant of two flappers and Simone de Beauvoir.

Now I'm just rambling. Till tomorrow, friends.

sharing time

Did you miss me?! My break was unintentional; I played hostess and tour guide for a few days to a good friend visiting from Auckland, and thought I would have time to blog as well... underestimating how much sleep the elderly need, and how long the elderly take to recover from a night of tv and gin & tonics. It's a wild life we lead down here in Port Chalmers. And there has been DRAMA! This morning I discovered my feedly had disappeared, so I spent an hour re-filling it, and lamenting the fact that if you type in Dogtown Vintage, a million other vintage blogs pop up, even though none of them have 'dogtown' either in their title or their content. I'm tempted to create hundreds of google accounts just so I can follow the blog and improve its position, but that seems too much like something Aaron Gilmore would do... 

Anyway, to the shares.

1. We're still waiting on the builder's report and quote, but I'm getting into the design of the shop and, if you want the truth, it's a bit exciting (sentence structure a tribute to Holden Caulfield). I love community; knowing your neighbours, and saying hi to strangers, and I've always wished there was more of a hanging out on your stoop/porch culture here in New Zealand. If I had my way, shop owners would sit outside their shops on beach chairs until people came in, playing chess with each other, talking to passers-by, and yelling out to people on the other side of the street. My shop is on the first floor which means there'll be no sitting on the street for me, so instead I want to create a sitting-room in the middle of the shop, where people can come and hang out with me, or just sit quietly and read or think or draw. There's a little kitchen off the side, so I'll be able to make pots of tea, and I hope you'll come and visit me, even when you're not in the mood for shopping. There's a guy in Auckland who sets up his chess board at tables near the windows of two of the Burger Kings on Queen Street, and he looks out at people and beckons for them to come and play with him. It's sometimes sad and sometimes weird, but I always like to see him, and I love seeing people playing chess with him. I may become that man.

2. One of the things I love about vintage is that it decreases waste. I'm going to talk further about this later in the month, but suffice to say, for now, that I like things that last, and I like things that give new life to old or obsolete items - even those crazy tyre swans people make into planters. I may not want one, but boy do I respect the attempt. This morning I came across Ocean Sole on dream hampton, a Kenyan company that recycles the jandals that wash up on its beaches, threatening marine life and looking pretty awful, into cute toys and curtains and Christmas decorations. Cool.

3. There aren't many magazines I like. This is one I love. Maybe you've heard of it, but in case you haven't, may I recommend Anthology. It's pricey, but worth keeping forever (and it's a quarterly, so you won't be inundated anyway). They make a little video to go with each new issue, which I think is a really nice idea. This is the video for the second to last issue, which looks excellent.

Issue No. 10 Trailer from Anthology Magazine on Vimeo.

4. It's exactly three weeks until my birthday. I'm trying not to be too excited because five people in my family have theirs first (and that's not including my Dad, whose birthday was yesterday), but it is NOT EASY. You know what else isn't easy? RESTRAINT. The internet is full things, some of which I would like, and some of which I just like to admire. If you need ideas for a present for somebody, send me an email. I have IDEAS.

 

1. Crystal cocktail ring from Meadowlark 2. Nausea by Jean-Paul Satre  3. Variegatum Dress from Adored Vintage 4. Octopus from Fab 5. Braided Sky high Swedish Hasbeens 6. Drumkit (sketch from wikipedia) 7. Jackie Ohh by Ray Ban 8. Gav sandals by Dolce Vita at Need Supply Co 9. Beloved by Toni Morrison 10. Simulations by Jean Baudrillard 11. Magenta Cotton Cushion from Trade Aid 12. The Autobiography of Malcolm X

5. A song we've been marvelling over. How was he real? How?