Politics, Couture

Consider Karma. I've had to. In fact, one Thursday night last fall I labored over conceptualizing Karma into clothing. It was ultimately a waste of time.

I'd already conceived French Dub Thriller, a fall/spring play on color, pattern, and cinema. Movies are kind of like Karma, right? Wrong. They kissed my ass in the interview then told me they'd seen it before. To be exact, they'd seen it after. Same with Deviant, my last year's Lunar Gala collection. Two weeks ago in Brooklyn I bought Forever 21's take on my naughy nautical boatnecked frock.

Perhaps, like politics, art has to shock people. A female and a black person compete for controversy. A college freshman designs and constructs a clothing line that gives form and prettiness the bird. Big. Ass. Deal.

Cinema goes much further than it used to in shocking people. Instead of paying a nickel to see "Reefer Madness," Netflix "Kids". You'll feel much worse about life after. This season's runway takes itself seriously, perhaps to exemplify its comparative maturity to Hollywood celebreality.

So French Dub Thriller "wasn't conceptual enough", in other words, "too obvious". After hearing this, I decided to make a movie instead. This wasn't obvious enough. But in filmmaking that's called obscure and people love that.

French Dub Thriller is evolving similar to my musicmaking abilities. Mashups have become electro-hip-hop-glitch-rock compositions, and today I designed the French Dub Thriller Lazy Jumper and Portal Gown.

Turns out Karma really is a bitch.

Making Beats

I'm glad I'm not a Republican. I'd spend so much time defending myself.

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I'm working on my 2nd album, all original instrumentals. So far it's sounding half reflective, half glam. Works.

I put up a new mashup @ myspace.com/sassyjjjones. Check!

Disproportionate Fervor

Unfortunately I've been thinking about art lately. Not to say I don't enjoy it, art itself, the seeing and smelling and feeling of it, that's wonderful. It's ruining it entirely through dissection, just like with a poem, that's a tad nauseating.

Let me start by saying, any college-aged girl who thinks she's cosmically linked to Edie Sedgwick is likely on as many drugs as she was.
Hello! Everyone does drugs in college. Lots of them. Then they make shitty art about it, fail out, and die cold and naked in the street.
Factory Girl, IMDB-styles.

So please can we not doom her to the same fate as the Spears-Lohans-Hiltons trifecta? Can we not Che her into an "icon" and recognize that she was just another Warhol peon who came in with the speedfreaks and went out with the heroin addicts?

Let's be honest. Artsy college girls are as much Edie Sedgwick as they are Andy Warhol [and as much as I'm Bret Easton Ellis]: nowhere close and perpetually en route. FYI, you won't get there by trying*. Therefore, until you die at 28--like Heath Ledger already did, so we'll cut it down to 24--from a drug overdose (not your first one, noob) AND allegedly date Bob Dylan, just go to class and continue to feel entitled and misunderstood. We all do.








*Andy quit Carnegie Mellon before he even got a grade in CSW!**



**You won't get that joke unless you go to CMU.

Evidence--List of people who resemble Edie Sedgwick to any degree:

1. Sienna Miller
2. Edie Sedgwick
3. my friend Meghan
4. no one else, especially not in "MySpace light"

Hey Girl Hey

Turns out Pittsburgh has no style, next!

I'm shocked to be alive after May 1st when I finished the semester ten pounds lighter and on the Dean's List, perplexed and rightfully exhausted.

Summer so far is rife with debauchery with friends and people growing (and losing) hair in weird places. I've newly restored contact with my ex-boyfriend, who now has a mustache that looks cool but, thankfully, he still isn't.

I went to Atlanta for literally the hottest of moments and ended up spending more time with my parents than with anyone else. They still love me and the do-well-or-die smile's as warm as ever. Georgia for 5 days rocked ass and made me yearn for my yinzer oasis.

Finally, I'm thankful for my lesbian haircut and my Republican boss who, if he doesn't know then I won't tell him, looks like Bill Clinton.

Goodwill & Good Luck

Yesterday afternoon I went to Goodwill in hopes of buying a cheap bike so that I can trek even farther from the East End and enjoy the landscape, rolling hills especially. Alas, no bikes for sale. I nearly went into an animalistic rage, tearing early 90s pool hall fashion from every rack. Instead I took pictures.


Dazzled by her stenciled faded blue Chucks, I came across this divalicious piece darting to and from the dressing room with armfuls of secondhand merch, frantically composing and recomposing combinations. She seemed most satisfied by this one.




What are you wearing?

I'm wearing Chucks, Levi's 504s, and...Goodwill.

What's on your shoes?

I dunno. I pulled them out of a free box at school. It was already on there.

What are you listening to these days?

I want everyone to listen to The Blood Arm [www.myspace.com/thebloodarm]. It's this random band and they're from LA and "Suspicious Character" is a great song.

About your shirt...it's mesh?

What about it? It is mesh.

And that was that.



Next was this pint-sized boutique urchin who appeared to have crept from the murky depths of West Hollywood. The charcoal aviators with the electric pink stripe didn't quite fit the Maude getup. Hunched over the [little girls'] skirts rack, she leafed through the hangers like she'd pick at a salad at the Ivy. Fashionably pathetic.




Hi?

Silence.

Um, hi. Can I talk to you about what you're wearing?

Yehr (...?) Shoes from a thrift store in Brooklyn. Calvin Klein shirtdress. And the coat. It's angora. From rabbits?

What mood are you going for with it?

Mature. I have a kind of classic look.

You're arranged like an O twin. (chuckle) What do you think of their styles?

I dunno why people are so hard on Mary-Kate. She's just not afraid of wearing what looks good on her, whatever makes her feel ladylike. It's stupid.

And the glasses? Do you always wear them indoors?

No. (long pause, she pulls out a swatch of green paisley shorts fit for a 1st grader and eyes it) Only when it's sunny outside. So I don't have to keep putting them back on and off.

Cool. How do you feel about PETA?

I dunno. I guess they just don't know what they're missing...so they throw paint.


I left wishing I had called her Ethel. Just once.

Yup, in a white tee.

It all started with my quest for black people. I knew they were somewhere in Pittsburgh, tucked away from the wasp nests of Shadyside and the bagelries of Squirrel Hill. I set out one Friday afternoon, hopping on an inbound 71D. First we passed some shanties (including the "BUY CRACK HERE" house) and I felt the apparition of disappointment upon me. This can't be! Even downtown Atlanta isn't this shabby in its seedy parts.

We continued down Fifth and the closer we got to downtown, the more the scenery looked like ATL. Packs of boys in white tees, flat billed Steelers caps, and a smattering of faux Bape on the flyest cats.

My search had come to a fruitful end, and the first holler I received (Ayo! Babygirl! How you doin' boo?) seconds after stepping off the bus at Wood St. indicated my success.*

*I should add that I'd previously discovered East Liberty and Homewood on the East End, but that had been purely by chance en route to Fox Chapel (where the brown-o-metre swiftly returned to zero).