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Thursday, August 07, 2003

“People have told me that you can’t get dates in Yohji Yamamoto”

Yohji Yamamoto



The foul air that hovers over Fazz Avenue; the clogged main artery which divides Media City and Dummytown, is constantly interspersed by wisps of fashion cackle. The dense traffic: a slow and grotesque vortex of chain-smoking truckers; bad mouthing cabbies, and finger toting bike messengers; is slowly inching forward towards Cloaca Central.

Survival on Fazz Avenue is the exclusive domain of a ragtag band of men and women, whose character is defined by a blend of combustible temper, killer-whale looks, and pragmatic hedonism. If this gang is not congregating in the center of a media tempest; they’re dissecting one another, slugging it out tooth and nail for every spare inch of tarmac. The desolate tract of concrete that surrounds Fazz is lined by video screens; magazine stands, and blaring audio systems; which are constantly emitting a barrage of lifestyle directives, who’s who rankings, and status reports. The task of assembling all that disparate innuendo into relevant media, is assigned to the "Junk pool": the Advocates of Artifice- the Pampered Provocateurs- and the Polaroid Pimps- who monitor every move from the pavements that sandwich the messy and stagnant catwalk.

Peeking through a soot-covered window, I have obtained a unique view on Fazz Avenue’s normally impenetrable Atlantik Wall. The bewildering jam-packed thoroughfare in front of me, is a tacky parade of combined vigor and vanitas. Awestruck, I observe how an elite pack of clueless mechanics, somehow manages to keep the turbo-charged organism from stalling.


From the news: Selected noise and opinions from a variety of media (Sources: The Face, I-D, Nylon, Voque)


“I hate anything functional. I consider my closet a paradise.”

Sonia Rykiel – Fashion designer


“I thought: I have-to have-to have-to have-to have her!”

“This is deeper than fashion”

“I was in Monaco talking to my mom on the phone at Helmut’s Newton’s birthday party, poolside. John (Galliano) and Alexander (McQueen) are jumping in the pool, and I’m like, “OhmyGod mom, Alexander just jumped in the pool.” And she says: “Well don’t you get wet honey.”

Jeremy Scott - Fashion designer


“When I see my mouth moving. Hideous! Horrible!”

“I am allergic to anything diamante.”

“Those high heels just pushed the baby out!”

Manolo Blahnik – Footwear designer


“Working under another designer would have been impossible to me – unimaginable!”

Hedi Slimane – Fashion designer


“Life is like a crust of lava we’re walking on, and decorum and behavior are the crust of the lava that keep you from floundering totally into hell.”

Vivienne Westwood – Fashion designer


“I inject anger into anything I create.”

“There’s one thing that I feel I could take credit for; I took the Japanese female physique; short, flat, childish, and encased it in black.”

“I saw that women were capable of incredible meanness. That most of them lacked any grace or self-knowledge; and the female body odor repelled me. I looked at those girls and thought; she-monkeys having come down from the mountain.” “Chattering, ignorant, moving in herds, you know. Frankly I was disgusted.”

“The legs of a young girl in worn sneakers, whose leg muscles have never yet been formulated by heels and whose ankles are undefined; they call up a protective need. I want to help her.”

Yohji Yamamoto – Fashion designer


“I’ve never not wanted to cut someone’s hair. I’ll tell you why: because people are good in their hearts. Even killers. This is a good place (his hair salon) filled with good energy. Even someone who may be difficult elsewhere behaves well here.”

John Sahag – Hair stylist


“I am on a permanent fashion orgasm. In fact I am a fashion orgasm.”

Isabella Blow – Fashion spectaculista


“Every rock-star fantasy is here to be worn or discarded in a matter of seconds. Puffy’s fingers flit lovingly over the alligator pants, the sequin jackets, the leather trousers. He throws on a swirling white shadow fox coat and becomes a bizarre Hollywood starlet-cum-gangsta. He pouts adoringly at himself in the mirror and tosses a throwaway line into the air – “I’m just a regular superstar.”

Sean (Puffy) Combs – Fashion victim


posted by Walter at 8/07/2003

Monday, August 04, 2003

“Now go we in content to liberty, and not to banishment”

From: AS YOU LIKE IT – Act 1, Scene III, by William Shakespeare



The opening soliloquy by the Duke of Gloucester in Richard III: the play by William Shakespeare; bears a uncanny resemblance to my current status quo. I couldn’t help myself; I ventured to turn this tale (humbly), into a highly personalized account. Resulting in a makeshift “Tarot” with demanding compliance..


From: RICHARD III – Act I, Scene 1, by William Shakespeare

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sum of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths...
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glaze;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to see my shadow in the sun
And descent on mine own deformity;
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophesies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophesy, which says that G
Of Edward's heir the murderer shall be


From: Richard III by William Shakespeare


Now is the summer of my discontent
Made furious autumn for lack of gold;
And all the clouds that shower’d upon our house
In deep memory have been evaporated.
Now are our brows still bound in deepening trysts ..
But I, that am not shaped for vacuous kicks,
Nor made to be swept away by a hallucinogenic daze;
I, that am finely stamp’d, and shun life’s travesty
To reconcile a seedy, scheming nymph;
I, that am restrain’d of such conviction,
Cheated of fixture by disavowing culture,
Defeated, replenish’d, almost spent before my time
Into this seething world again I enter; scars brushed up,
And that so effectively heal’d, as to appear invincible
That maiden fair follow me as I pass by them.
Why, I, in this freak time of spiritual need,
Have insight in pathways that sway the mind,
Unless to see my shadow, in a mirror spun
And reflect on my own perplexity.
And therefore, since I cannot keep my cover,
To reclaim my farewell glory days,
I am well determined to prove a chieftain,
And beat the pirate idols rapt in wicked plays.
Plots have I laid bare, intentions dangerous,
By false prophets, faux belles, and their schemes,
To finally secure cadence; a comforting thing
In deadly terror and strive: of one against the other:
And if their wings be broken; their faces blue and bust
And I am still supple, contained and glorious,
This day should cadence shortly be step’d up.
About to fulfill a prophecy, which says that We
Of our own legend’s heir their victors shall be.


After: Richard III - by Walt


posted by Walter at 8/04/2003