Suitcase for Portugal

Leaving for Lisbon tomorrow, and I'm super excited about my suitcase this time around. I mean, the picture doesn't do it any justice--my favorite pieces aren't even in the shot--but I'm going international for Lisbon. All-American Sperry's hi-top sneakers, a Tiger of Sweden pant, Havaianas flip-flops, Ralph Lauren blazer and Prada swim shorts and sunglasses. I am also bringing a Mexican skull scarf and an African necklace, as well as a pair of tan trunks I bought in Stockholm last year. The general theme is striped, loose, and short. Lots of denim, too.

Of course I'm bringing some great reads for the beach. Jack Kerouac, Bret Easton Ellis, some novel my friend Emily lent me called Dry.

I'm super nervous for Lisbon. Hope I can fit in the inevitably large pile of clothing I buy once I'm there...

Faking It, pt.2

I love to fake it.

Example: Calling up six different high-end stores in a search for Givenchy's studded men's sandals.

First, Maxfield in LA: "Call Bonnies!"
"I'm sorry, Bonnies?"
"BONNIES!"
She hangs up.
Hm. Guess she meant Barney's?

I am a casual high-end shopper. As in, I don't shop too often, but the second I see a "spare" (i.e. existing) few hundred dollars in my bank account, there's a new Marc sweater in my closet, or Ferragamos, or my most recent purchase, a Ralph Lauren sportscoat.

It's hard to fake creativity. It's hard to fake European heritage. It's hard to fake intelligence. But it's unfairly easy to fake wealth and style.

So how did my search end? With a flirty sales assistant at Barney's on Madison who "snuck in a reservation" for size 11 Givenchy sandals. I don't know the price. So let's hope I have a spare few hundred dollars once my phone vibrates to "212."

Three Needs, 2nd ed.

1. Givenchy men's studded sandals. (I'd sell an arm for a pair; they're at Barney's NY and if I win the One Shoe I'm buying a pair with the prize money)

2. A camel coat for fall.

3. Light, tight denim jeans. (Getting these tomorrow, actually.)

Current inspiration

Armadillos

Prince Pelayo

Sometimes inspiration can come on so strong I feel stifled. The sheer power of the inspiration breaks my bones and crushes the more gentle organs, and leaves me feeling empty and unimportant. I am so many things, but so many things I want to be I am not.

Now is the time for change, and I'm going to fight through the oppression of observed brilliance to make my own.

And if you're in the mood to be destroyed, just take a peak at Kate Loves Me.

Advice for Women

Ladies. There are some VERY easy ways to take risks this Fall, and we all know being risky shouldn't be easy...

1. Floppy hat. Not just BIG. Floppy, masculine. NOT cheap-looking or vintage.



2. Men's loafer. Make sure it is masculine or it just looks like a modified ballet slipper.


3. When you aren't wearing the loafers, wear chunky heels in flesh tones and blacks.

For me, I just need a new, good pair of dark jeans. (Mine were stolen in Barcelona.)

Lessons in construction

These pics, from this Flickr photostream, are pretty damn amazing. Late 50s menswear--or, really, boyswear--is exactly the kind of clothing I want to wear. But it's in the (sigh) style of wearing these pieces, the choice of color combinations and practical fabrics that set them apart from anything currently being produced. I hear Levi's bringing back their old denim construction (a la their European collections) and there are vendors like Billykirk and Gant that maintain a high standard of wearability over time, but will the era of rugged (but, really, flawless) clothing ever be replicated? Nah.

(As a side note, it's interesting to note that during the 50s and early 60s, women's fashion seems to have taken a backseat while menswear flourished: it was the during the evolution of bonafide American style, which is in fact male-centric. Anything "American" in fashion is usually a denim jacket, a paisley scarf, a leather boot...never a pencil skirt or silk blouse. Paris has always been the center for women. Italy is menswear, through and through [even their womenswear is masculine and hard-edged], and the U.S. is no different--albeit without the dark, sexual elements of Italian design.)

Anyone wondering where Ralph Lauren drew his initial fashion inspirations should look no further than pictures 1, 2, and 3.

Holy shit, "style!"

Quick little realization.

The term "style" is outdated and needs to be thrown out. It's connotations are too broad; if there can be good and bad "style," how can anything be "stylish?" Which is the worst phrase of all, because at one point in time Lisa Frank binders were stylish.

And "fashion," which is misused far too often within both the daddy's girls-with-money clique and the gay community, is so much deeper than style. And it is important. Fashion and clothing is important because it brings to the surface everything latent about a person. (That is, if they even care enough to get dressed, period.)

Are you religious? Slap on a Kabbalah bracelet, a cross necklace, the Star of David. Are you gay? It's incredibly easy to show your sexuality through clothing choice--or, as my incredibly dikey (yet entirely straight) friend Lauren puts it, "Let your rainbow flag fly." Are you smart? Are you a stoner? Are you a geek/into movies/into music?

Thoughts, aspirations, admirations, sexual longings--these are all shown through how we dress, like organs on the outside of your body. Your heart, your brain, even your stomach (those Dr. Pepper tees need to die) is on display when you throw on your unwashed button-up and mussy slacks.

So why would I buy $100 Marc Jacobs track pants? Because what he as a designer values--simplicity, volume, French culture, multiculturalism, innovation, New Americanism--part of me values, and therefore I'm giving away just a bit more of myself when I wear them. Maybe it's subtle, even unknown to the average person (the tags aren't on the outside. Obvious logos make the process of analyzing an outfit way too easy), but for people who care about dressing, who have tapped into that third-realm of perceptive communication--your only target audience--they get it. For the rest of 'em, it's like writing a sign in Japanese and expecting the Chinese to read it.

Viewed in this light, clothing becomes part of the machine, one of the cogs that drive us to our ultimate self.

Marc Jacobs is a god, duh

Madonna, Joan Miro, and Marc Jacobs. These are the three people I admire most in my creative life. Above are a few selections he's releasing this fall. His concept of structure has no equal, nor does Kylie (the model in the middle image). Kylie's modified kimono must be seen in motion to be truly appreciated.

Suitcase for Paris

I'm only bringing American designers to Paris. Adam Lippes, Ralph Lauren, Arrow Sport, Polo by Ralph Lauren, Brooks Brothers, Levis, Sevens, Ray-Bans, and shoes from California. Obviously, my bag is BillyKirk, and Chris Bray (head of BillyKirk design) told me personally to have a wonderful time--and spread the word about American menswear.

All my authors are American, too.

One small step for this American, one (likely also small) step for American menswear!

Paris Hilton...continues to surprise

I hate posts about Paris Hilton. She's one of those humans with a very singular purpose--to entertain--but even that "purpose" is kind of muddled most of the time. I mean, what does she do? Five years ago, I understood; wannabe-famous billionaire heiress, interesting enough, SURE! But now, she's lost what made her interesting: The delicate balance between naivete and a splash of naughty. Now, she's just naughty and predictable. The wonder is gone.

Her outfits, though, are increasingly impressive. Girl's got an iconic image, if anything.

Paris Hilton, above, at Cannes 2009.

Paris Hilton: New fashion icon?

Since when did Paris Hilton dress well? The glasses are out. of. control.

Fashion Icon

Lady GaGa: I've found your next heinous fashion inspiration.

HappiestList 2K8: Number #5, #4, and #3

#5: Michelle Obama

Michelle Obama's cool and all, but she has not been bestowed this mighty honor--one of the Happiest of 2k8--just because she's 'cool.' M-Bama is the Happiest because she is married to a President with benefits. America's changing for the better (like, way better), and while we are all blessed enough to be alive to watch the transformation, M-Bama's got the best seat in the house.

Oh, and there's this:

#4: Sam Sparro

Sam Sparro is an enigma. A gay ex-soul singer son of two preachers from Australia, there are so many adjectives applicable to his description--sexual, effervescent, genuis--there aren't enough descriptions in my vocabulary to describe him. Impressive production qualities aside, his debut Sam Sparro created its own disco vernacular: the ominous single "Black and Gold," the sparkling dance track "Cut Me Loose"--cuts that speak directly to the spirits of the young and the restless. Sparro's also become somewhat of an icon, with a personality ill-fitting any stereotype. If I may be childish for one moment, (LOLZ) the one flaw in Sparro is his horrible style. Neon is sooo 2k7. Agreed?

For a full review of Sam Sparro, click here.


#3: Preps

It was a good year for the preps. No, the preps aren't some alt-indie folk band or a new STD (or is it?). I mean what I say. Sorors, fratties, rich white kids and Ivy League types all benefited from 2k8. The election of BaROCK-N-RObama the sole exception, the cult of being preppy has once again ascended the pop culture ladder and now sits proudly on the peak. Why, you ask? Why, because the alts and the emos have lost their sting. What is 'mnstrm' is now what is 'alt.' So what's "alt" now? How can one differentiate themselves from the herds of American Apparel zombies?

Throw on a sweater, pull up some khakis and kick off your Toms. If you're a girl, you've got only one clothing option: Nike running shorts, a teeshirt that makes you look rich ('I <3>) and nike running shorts. For evening, swap out the shorts for black tights that end mid-calf and a pair of brown Uggs. I promise you'll feel better. Don't believe "prep" is the Happiest of 2k8/possibly the Happiest of 2k9? Two words: Gossip Girl.

You're reading the blog of a guy who bought his first pair of Sperry's last night. Prepare yourselves, people, for the altapocalypse has begun.

F MY LIFE

Now Lindsay Lohan is reading my blog. I HATE THIS MAKE IT STOP!!!

My look, stolen again

This is the third time someone in Hollywood has stolen my look straight from the HA.

Now, Robert Pattinson, from the insipid Twi-"THE NEW TITANIC"-light film was wearing my boots and pants to a recent premier.

First Carlos Leon.

Then The Gossip Girl boys.

Now some pale dude from Twilight?

Clearly, I'm getting my inspirations from someplace wrong if so many teeny boppers are jacking my look.

WTF

Bjorn Borg is a great clothing company, but this has nothing to do with clothing. In discussing it with one of my mentors, Glenn Gill, I described it as an ad in the vein of Andy Warhol's Campbell's soup can. It's beautiful as art, and as a statement, but it really chalks up to pure shock value. And in that sense, it's taking advantage of the gay/socially conscious audience in an attempt to sell--get this--"Lucky Underwear."

So is it a good ad or not? No straight guy will ever buy from them again, and any conservatives that would consider buying Lucky Underwear certainly won't now.

Bjorn Borg Advert= Gay content (alienate 0.5 x audience) + Religious content (alienate 0.25 x whoever's left) x possible gay exploitation= a bad ad.




BUT...Here I am talking about it.

Ex-husbands of famous people read The Happiest Activist

Yeah...Carlos Leon, Madonna's Cuban dancer ex, totally stole my look.

He must have been at her show in Houston and saw me grindin' it up. That bastard!

UPDATE: Leon is not the only HA reader. Robert Pattinson, from some vampire movie, must have popped in last week!

Here he is stumbling outside the Chateau Marmont last night. In my look.

A Look

I realized something this morning. Walking home from a friend's apartment--got in around 3:30 and woke up around 12--I was in a kind of woozy blur. Not a hangover (I slept through it), but that post-hangover euphoria where everything is slow-moving and forgettable.

Everyone has a look in Austin, Texas. The sorority chicks at AEPhi have a look: Nike running shorts and a longhorn sweater with tights and Uggs. My friend Christie has a look: Holly Golightly with a bit of Gwyneth Paltrow. Hell, even the homeless population in Austin have a "look."

And "look" is not just a way of dressing; it's an all-encompassing attitude, a way of walking and talking and a choice of whether to smoke cigarettes or not.

Anyways, what's so important about "look?" It's all about self-definition. Are you a hipster? Good God I hope you aren't. I actually watched an interesting documentary on the evolution of "the hipster" and now I'm paralyzed that my entire personal style boils down to being "hip." Granted, I don't fit the mold, technically; I don't dress ironically, I don't own anything from Urban Outfitters, and I have only one pair of skinny jeans--which I bought in Paris two years ago. But still. Hipsters are, apparently, wholly unaware that they are what they...er, are. I wear Oscar De La Renta sweaters and combat boots to school; am I preppy? Preppy-goth? Preppy-goth-alt? I'd honestly prefer to just be "preppy," but I will never wear khakis for fun.

AND THEN there's the question of labels. Like, "Duuuuude, don't put labels on it. You are what you are." (In case you were wondering, that is, in fact, a personal quote.) But that's so ridiculous; we live in a world of labels. There's nothing wrong with labeling others, the only thing that can hurt someone is when they label themselves. We can't understand others without boxing them in. It's a sad truth. We have our pothead friends and our party friends and our fratty friends and our just-in-school friends...this is getting a little self-righteous.

To finish up this (rare-ish?) personal rant, I'll go back to the whole "look" thing, since it seems to make the most literary sense. Bottom line, we all have a look, or at least an image we (prepare yourself) project for others to interpret. It doesn't ultimately matter, but it's important to anyone's self-actualization to meet physical needs. In fact, that's like Maslow's first pillar. So by meeting one's "look" requirement, one really is meeting a need. We need self-definition; different than labels, different than faking it: we are who we want to be.

A few things, 2nd edition

1. Ghostland Observatory put on an amazing show last night. Their opening act, I think named DJ Boothe, was actually amazing as well, something I didn't expect. He totally transformed Stubb's from a BBQ rock venue into what I image a rave in Buenos Aires would be like, complete with glowsticks and diet coke with a little "extra."

2. My new boots. They will kick your ass.

3ish. Old, old picture. I took an old sweater and cut it in half to form a deconstructed cardigan. This photo also demonstrates two other design details I've taken on; wearing dark blues with black and voting pins. The voting pin thing, eh, it ended on November 4th. But I thought it was kitcshy and of the moment, and the tilted, thrown-together look was perfect for the summer-to-fall transition.


4. My favorite detail. I no longer tie around shoes. Not my boots, not my Lacostes, nor my cons. I tie around the lip in a circle or around my ankle. It freshens up what I consider a waaaay overplayed shoe. Really, Converse is not an attractive shoe. Especially the black and white versions, essentially substitutions for "style" when people have none. This elevates the look a bit and catches the viewer off guard. I certainly don't think this would be for everyone, but with shorts or long jeans (where you tie outside the pant), try it out.

5. The Great Magazine Die-Off needs to end. Now. Two of my favorite reads--including Men's Vogue--have been canceled by Conde-Nast. Clearly, I subscribe to a few magazines, ranging from TIME to Entertainment Weekly to Bon Appetit. Reading magazines is simply the easiest way to read, and the layouts and designs of some inspire me in my advertising work.

Dear internet,

Don't kill the magazines.

Love,

The H.A.