Uniforms

Pretty much everything and everyone happened in the last two months. Like, people died and stuff. You know; Apple dude, Lybia dude, racing cars dude, 82 year old football league owner dude.. oh and just about dozens of campesinos assassined amidst the land conflict at the Aguán Valley in Honduras. But hey let's not get all serious and gloom here because if you do want to get all serious and gloom then you should head to my new Spanish blog I mean lighten up right? By the way a little something called Fashion Season happened!! Aren't you excited!! Isn't that awesome!! Not when you completely missed it!! Though I've been trying to catch up because something really gruesome would happen if I don't. I might get exiled to Nepal and be forced to build barracks out of dried rhino feces or something. TL;DR? Here, have some rhinos.

start shitting my lovelies

So I have once again missed my chance to become a 2.0 diva suprima fashionista bloggelebrity. It's too late, common consensuses have arisen; Raf Simons is our one and only saviour, (Miucca has done it once again)², Marc Jacobs was SO Prada, Celine OMGGTFOHWTS, Ackermann/Dries/Pugh so edgy omg, etc. So let's skip it all shall we? I do recommend following Lindsay Lohan's path through this Fashion Season because I think this time she might've even outdone herself and killed someone. Let's hope not. Anyways I came back from a trip this week to find that most of my clothes were rotting. I've been away for a long time and nobody threw them into the washing machine because my family members believe their arm would fall or something. In the end I saved them by offering naughty children to the Krampus and adding extra detergent but it got me thinking about what I would've done with no clothes. I guess I'd find a signature look to wear every single day and possibly every single night since my pjs were also on the verge of decomposing. What would this uniform be? Here's a look at two iconic fashionable uniforms starting with the aforementioned

Steve Jobs

So fucking minimal America futurista chic right? I love that after he died suddenly everyone knew who he was and claimed to adore him since milk came in cartons, had little apples tattooed, creepy haircuts, etc. I'm therefore surprised when it came out that Steve bought his mock turtlenecks at St.Croix because well, he didn't?

He got them from Issey Miyake -about whom I posted before- and honestly it's kind of a downer people thought this kind of tailoring is sold at some big luxury apparel? Also he was close friends with Miyake. Tsk, tsk, how very disappointing of you tecchies out there.

Bill Cunningham

Basic utilitarian NY sweeper jacket + battered pants and shoes. I mean who cares what you're wearing when shooting Anna Piaggi or Shail Upadhya anyway. I saw Bill Cunningham: New York a while ago and holyshit my life is dull. How about spending your Friday night with Andy Warhol at Carniege Hall watching your ballet dancer friend perform the dying swan? Bill did.

Pockets, endurance, a nice color. Extra points for using a bike as your sole mean of transportation while being the father of street style photography and basically the most important person on Earth.

And then there's black from head-to-toe cray crays like Grace or Alïa. Is Marc Jacobs still doing that embarrassing kilt thing? I might be stretching a leg too far here but I really don't want to touch uncle Terry or Lagerfeld territory. Except maybe for Halloween.

Layer 1: Cousin

Once this very tacky cousin of mine met a man over the internet, a Honduran businessman living in Spain who paid her a trip around Europe. She went to Spain and England and Italy. She wrote me from Venice so I tried to muster an enthusiasm I didn't actually feel, I said "How lucky! May you take a gondola ride under the Arch of Love and be with him happily ever after!" to which she replied nothing because she had no idea what a gondola or the Arch of Love was. A week after she wrote back to me, "This is your place. I can just picture you here, I swear you'd be so successful." to which I wanted to answer that no it wasn't, that it was hers regardless of whether she actually belonged there or the role physical attributes played in it. Instead I forced myself to a quiet, pathetically dignified resignation.


Last year she and I worked together on her Israeli stepfather's cigars company. But anyone in their right mind could hardly call what we did "work", as it involved mostly partying and travelling and bonding with businessmen and rich people. We spent almost four months at beaches, bars, hotel pools, nightclubs, on the road, spending everyone's money but ours. We dealt with Russians, Italians, Cubans, Chinese, Brazilians, Salvadorians, Americans, everyone who would fell for my cousin's meaty curves wrapped in her sultry attires. She was the embodiment of Guy de Maupassant's Boule de Suif, except that she was better at it. She had her ways and they always worked. We would sit in a random fancy bar and in matter of minutes the owner would send us drinks and food and flaming cocktails. Two weeks later he'd be depositing money on her account so she could buy a car. 


That must have been one of the times when I felt the least hope for human kind. Here's this lousy, unintelligent money-driven selfish woman who achieves everything she wants just because she triggers some subconscious response to fertility in the opposite sex. Not that I was so naive before as not to imagine, but being involved made me feel like all of my existential struggles and praise for brilliance were silly and unimportant, that hers is the way things get done in real life.

Mugler Spring 2012

I went through my head with the razor the other day because I am going through a cray cray Britney phase I lost a twitcam bet to Ana. I stopped when I found myself looking like a mix between Formichetti and Ossendrijver.

Bershka sweater + thirfted t-shirt, Nicola Formichetti, Lucas Ossendrijver. 

Among the many nice things I've heard are "Hitler youth", "one septum ring and sailor tat away from hipster", and "ropavejero" which I don't even know how to translate to English. Anyways about Nicola and the Spring 2012 Mugler show. The first segment had these iron ..errrr things?

Kind of like the opening scene in William Klein's 1966 film Qui êtes-vous, Polly Maggoo?, where he mocks fashion by reenacting a show with metal sheets as clothing and the ridiculousness of the cult to Editors in Chief

The sporty section between the following parade of dark and pastel/neon-ish suits was mildly interesting. As in Harry Goodwins looking somewhat like he did on that superb Dazed & Confused November 2008 editorial, "Powerful Sportswear" shot by Mariano Vivanco and styled by *ahem* Nicola Formichetti.

Rest of the spread here. On another subject, I will start posting snips and bits of this prose that I'm writing. Those posts will have a different format to allow easy scrolling due to excessive lameness.

Live from Butō fashion

Yesterday my friends from Ergo Sum went live for the first time at the Culture Center of Spain in Tegucigalpa (CCET) so of course I wouldn't miss the chance to shamelessly plug myself in. And you know what? Gimmeabreak. Between freelancing [read: unemployment] and general frustration my choices are either intruding other people's projects or just calling it quits, getting huge tattoos and embarking on the performative life of a self-destructive punk. And yes I know that went well for Rico Genest but I don't think Formichetti is looking for a second zombie boy to inspire Lady Gaga or another Thierry Mugler collection or whatever gimmick he's pulling now. So butting in it is. Which I did wearing this

I cut a pair of green pants because I've been wanting to wear those leather Zara moccasins with shorts for a while. I also cut a white t-shirt into a tank top and put a thrift plaid shirt on top. I've done done lots of cutting lately I think I'm going through this cray cray Britney phase. Anyways live radio is tons of fun but it's also about listening attentively as portrayed in the next graph

So about freelancing. The pros are I get to mock my friends when I'm staying over and it's late and they have to work the next day, I just stretch and yawn and go "well, I'm too pretty to work" and then I tell them their thighs are touching. My friends hate me. The cons are I depend on checks that might be signed when the boss comes back from whatever island she's over-tanning and ordering sugary drinks at. So while I keep on being poor I might as well catch up with mags and stuff. I was just surfing through some eds and found the first butō-based editorial I've ever seen, starring Sui He and Aline Weber for V magazine issue #71 Summer 2011 photographed by Glen Luchford with styling by Beat Bolliger.

It's supposed to be inspired by Kazuo Ohno who along with Tatsumi Hijikata, is the legendary Japanese dance master that initiated the butō movement. It started after World War II as a form of protest against authority and also as a reaction to the contemporary dance scene in Japan which was either westernized or too classical (called "Noh"). Butō is grotesque, playful and whimsical, absurd, hyper-controlled. The dancers wear white make up in their hands and face, messy hair, props, ragged loose clothing. Kazuo died last year at the age of 103, among his many pieces there's this beauty called "The Written Face"

The ed seems to be inspired by his slightly more dark and abstract dances like "The Dead Sea" or "Mother". It features outstanding pieces from Commes des Garçons, pants by Balenciaga and YSL and a signature Haider Ackermann silk belt, among others.

The complete editorial can be seen here. I personally think Sui He is perfect cast for this and also I'm rooting for her now. She's featured in Vogue China's next September multi-girl cover by Inez & Vinoodh, in the main page between Du Juan and Fei Fei.

Etro SS 2012

Lately I've had what I like referring to as "late night writing parties".

It's been years trying to write formally but I never really felt it was good enough. I always got these boosts to write short stories after reading people like Saramago or David Sedaris, which kept words flowing for some weeks until fuel ran out and I was left feeling gimmicky and unworthy. Then my friend Oscar suggested that maybe real life interesting enough as to write about it, that I should give it a try. So I did.

The only issue is there's not much I can show to people who know me, which isn't really a problem at all. It can be one of those posthumous pieces, kind of a Sylvia Plath suicidal thing. I just re-read The Bell Jar, the one you can see in the first jpg. I'm currently readin William T. Vollman's Poor People. Next is Murakami because I'm a hipster like that.

Totally unrelated, the Etro menswear Spring 2012 show was held in Milan last June 20th. The venue was awesome. A background was made with these huge curtains that had silhouettes of beach elements projected on them, a spiral-shaped sandy runway allowed front-row sittings for many and the lightning was soothing.

The only bump was the soundtrack. Live piano, cool idea, etc. but what came out sounded like a mix of elevator and mall music. Anyways, I love paisley. My personal favorite piece of clothing is this oversized blue paisley shirt I wear only at special occasions

Therefore I love Etro, I believe all those prints really make sense when put together. This collection had something else to it though. Maybe it was the Mediterranean chill vibes or something but the 54 looks felt incredibly weightless despite the heavy layering and fabric richness

Still quintessentially Etro (people should use quintessentially more. Such an posh unused word. Impale is also a sadly forgotten haute verb), preppy hippie chic, etc. The bags were drool worthy

The thing about these kind of creative combinations is that they provide hope to those of us who can't afford Balenciaga. I'm pretty sure similar less luxurious pieces can be found cheaply (my blue shirt costed me about $3.00) at the salvation army and second-hand stores, so during the next few days I'll be performing some field research in downtown Tegucigalpa to find some of these places and I'll share them here. May it turn out better than that time I tried to open a "People Preaching in Public Places" section on my tumblr amen.

Issey Miyake SS12

Like dog years, fashion time differs from real life time in many ways. You can say for example, "Freja and Arizona? They've been dating for a couple of weeks!" but in lesbian fashion time they already took a gondola down the Arch of Love in Venice and locked lips as a signal of eternal love. Someone even made a tumblr about it. Take my case: a normal un-fashion person would say it's been a month since I lost track of mags and seasons, but in fashion time I was actually in cryogenic status. Maybe I missed Ymregeddon, or the second coming of Werbowy, only Moloch knows.

Menswear Spring 2012 happened a month [read: eons] ago and I admit it lifts me up to see that not even style.com has reviewed some of it, like Issey Miyake for example. The show was choreographed so that all models went up front, chatting, moving around, and then one by one started walking down the runway. I dig Juan Manuel Arancibia's laid back attitude, some of the others looked a bit stiffed.

I loved the palette (that's French right?) and how the 31 looks collection transited from strong fully printed pieces to a more playful vibe to a sporty vibe to a vibrant vibe (so many vibes omg). The thing is I want them all.

Even Lachowski looks neat and interesting and not Brazilian soft porn twink the way he usually does. There was an interesting point in which unknown model on left below and another unknown model walked with these small squares of black fabric on their hands and then they stood and unfolded them and these coats appeared. I dig it but I wonder how much of that is really up to the fabric and how much depends on Issey's miraculous ironing techniques. I made a gif which is very lame but at least you can see what I'm talking about.

Back

I find 'come back' posts so annoying to be honest. Unless you're Gemma Ward or some pop artist who faded into oblivion then you're not 'coming back' because that would require people, TMZ and tFS to pray and queef and speculate about your glorious return. Which isn't my case at least, though I'd have to double-check tFS in case someone started a thread for me now with guys like Jeremy Dante or Bertrand Vergnes and all those emaciated middle-eastern European models getting threads started everyday. I swear, you kill one and two more grow.

So, earlier this year I enrolled in a workshop and became a correspondent for one of the biggest resistance radios in Honduras. Basically they get a free journalist and I get a free space to denounce shit that happens in my community. The inductive weekend took place in a convent. As in I slept next to a fucking chapel. For real, I needed to charge my cellphone at night so I went next door looking for a plug and when I turned on the lights I saw this

A fucking chapel

Also I've been a regular guest at my friend Oscar's radio show Ergo Sum, recorded at the Culture Center of Spain in Tegucigalpa's medialab. Last time we spoke about the canons of beauty and I mumbled some unintelligible crap about phi and Kant and the renaissance but then I invoked the forces at fashin and it all made sense.

crap

Then last month I made some on-field activism as organizer/translator for an international delegation of human rights observers orchestrated by Rights Action and Alliance for Global Justice. We went to land occupations and agricultural cooperatives to witness the campesino struggles and ongoing violence, torturing and assassinations from Honduran land owners, mining conglomerates and tourism companies. Simply one of the most shocking, real life-changing experiences I've had. We visited a rural community that had been destroyed nine days before, a job carried out by the guy who illegally claimed the land as his property through his private security guards and the police. They burnt the houses, the animals, the crops, everything. They brought a bulldozer and demolished the school and the church. I myself sat on the church's ruins, and as much as I claim to be an atheist, it was the hardest part of everything. I thought "This was a temple. This is where their god lived. They killed their god." And then I remember this quote Michelle showed me once

What's next is yet to be known. Mysteriousness aside, I got into this online activism workshop to be held in Guatemala by Hivos/Digital Natives with a Cause and they're flying me there sometime in mid August. Then there's another delegation coming.

Anyway I'm halfway on menswear Spring 2012. If my calculations are correct, it'll take me about a month and a half to catch up with fashion, just in time for Spring! ("!"... why hasn't anyone invented a punctuation mark for sarcasm?)

Always Fresh, Contained, Smile

Lately I had been rummaging the last bits of the past shows, caught in the gray, uneventful area weeks after the runway and weeks before the campaigns. Actually I was meaning to write an in-depth analysis on the Always Fresh tv commercials, you know, the one with those green plastic containers that preserve cookies for 40 days.

 

The first line itself is food for thought and meditation - "Hi! I'm Susan Williams!" I mean who the fuck is Susan Williams? I googled, and nothing relevant came up. There's Susan Williams, Ph.D.; there's Susan Williams Professor of Mathematics; there's even a Susan Williams who offered a hitman $20,000.00 in order to kill her husband. "I want him gone", she said. But to my great misfortune there is no Susan Williams under tv celebrity, storage mogul or food nanotechnology pioneer. Everytime someone brings the whole Susan issue I get depressed and confused, and immediately start cross-checking the facts. Last time my friend Les suggested that this Susan Lady had to be a "Psychotic Bitch", judging from the rather abnormal amount of Always Fresh containers kept in her fridge and cupboard. Still none of those containers seems sufficiently large as to store a beheaded skull or limbs, so "Psychotic Murderous Bitch" is very unlikely. There isn't much road to go from there I'm afraid.
Leaving Susan Williams behind, for now, I'm glad to say that the gray, uneventful area has turned into a gray, eventful area. This particularly means going from ladies who lunch..

...to ladies who brunch. Or some point in between. At least that's the place I like to assume Thom Browne took the subject from for his first foray into women's wear this Spring 2011 season. And though I've been his long time acolyte, there was no way to foresee what the man who sent two guys in 1.5 pants to the runway would do.

The preview, photographed by Tommy Ton, from JakandJil is set on a thick, classy atmosphere, heavy social drinking and busy chatting. Like his men's anklepants and a little too small suits, this scenario conveys all the discomfort and angst of the 30's economically unstable American middle class, whose motto seems to be "Perfect smile now! Keep the alcohol coming!"

Source

On the runway, I first resented the white/red/blue palette, feeling that Browne's gray scales and fabric range should speak volumes, but after some consideration I fell for it. It's the portray of a classic, politic, almost presidential(?) American woman, á la first lady in the Mad Men era. And yes, so much patriotism is meant to mock itself a little, but that's just Thom being Thom. It's a small price to pay, and what you get in exchange is perfect tailoring for women.

Ana Granera, Sculpture. I mean Graphic Artist

As part of my get-life-back-on-track measures, during the last week of November I'll be participating in another workshop at the Culture Center of Spain in Tegucigalpa. I'm not saying they've replied my application, I'm saying I'll unglamorously break in if I have to. Yet again creepiness is relative once you take in account such things as the twitter page and sculptures from Jessica Stam's Canadian stalker. I hope. At the risk of getting me a restriction order, I'll confess I've long admired both the art and personality of Honduran-based graphic artist Ana Granera, native from Nicaragua.

Ana Granera illustrations (left and right), Hussein Chalayan Fall 2003 (middle)

source: anagranera.com, Style.com

Flying air-filled items are a recurrent theme, it seems. Before I start pondering about whether I should rename this "Balloons: An Ongoing Series", I must add that her illustrations draw from several very distinctive subjects, including owls, dogs, stairs and cages. Lots of cages, which I can't help relating to that Valentino couture 2010 dress

source: Ana Granera's blog, Style.com

I'm utterly won by her unapologetic simplistic style that leaves all traces of empty impressionism behind. Plus there's something a bit subversive about the content, like a Tim Burton-esque mix of doom and fragile prettiness. Whatever it is, it makes her my favorite local graphic artist, along with her friend Wilmer Murillo (they performed an intervention together at the Culture Center that's why I know they're friends ok givemmeabreak) and the workshop she'll be leading is an exciting reason for me to step outside. Outside my house and into the city, that is. Ok that came out creepy... brb working on my Ana Granera sculpture.

The Red Ballon Soup/Dress

I was amusing myself by making a movie list the other day. I can't quite make the connection between making lists and crawling out from an existential crisis, but it felt very reassuring. Slight obsessive-compulsiveness does replace actual joie de vivre when one feels socially lazy, it seems. While going through the narcotic task of unnecessary itemizing I experienced a regression to "Le Ballon Rouge" (1956) by Albert Lamorisse

I saw it some months ago at my friend O's -to whom I own most of the 80's items in my movie list- while having the reddest soup ever thanks to the chef's fortuitous excess use of spices. "Red Balloon Soup", we called it. Two nights and several more alcohol in her bloodstream after our friend the chef would admit resenting our mockery. Good old times. Anyway the film reminded me of another set of balloons I saw recently walking down the runway at Jil Sander's spring  2011 show

 

source: Style.com

It's taken some time for it to grow on me, despite my fondness of Raf Simons' minimalism. I guess couturish maximalism is supposed to strike as unsettling at first, specially coming from him, but the more I see it the more I enjoy it. I would certainly enjoy escorting a girl wearing a balloon dress. Imagine how lovely it would be, striding along holding her arm fretting that she'd go flying upwards the minute I loosen my grip. Maybe they come with a GPS system?

Halloween

Since I couldn’t fulfill my Penanggalan Halloween costume plans due to lack of Malasian witch’s flying head with dangling stomach and intestines, I’ll be vicariously living this day through the haunting vibes of another darkness worshipper who’s become the scope of my obsession

Chloë Memisevic

Source: Chloë's facebook page, Wilhelmina Models card, Chloë TFS thread

By looking at these pictures, I think she just ate my soul. Although I may not like some other ~strange~ beauties, working a specific aesthetic is a model’s best chance to stand out and not ending up as a token or runway filler. And Chloë is doing exactly that. She looks like the most beautiful witch and she knows it. You can tell by the shows she walked this last summer/spring season

Source: Style.com

Since I'm a stalker guru level ∞ (infinite) I’ve got the chance to chat with her about  the shows this season, what’s she doing at the moment, upcoming projects, and popcorn’s influence in one’s darkness. 


Me: Don't worry if I sound like a stalker, I'm from Honduras - far away in Central America
Chloë: I am honored! Thank you Raul!


I fell in love with your modeling after I saw the video at the MTC casting office in NY City.
Oh! I hate that one. So unflattering.


So how are you? How's work?
I am very good thanks. I am at home, been here a few days, now leaving for I don't know how long. London tomorrow and Paris then.


What's happening there? Jobs in London and then Paris for work! Editorial and look book.

The video where you said a day without popcorn is a bad day was so funny hahahhaha So random. I was joking around in the whole video. I don't know if people got it. I found it funny though I was supertired had like 20 castings every day and I just did all these random things in the video.


Did u finally go to the Proenza Schouler after party? I did! I went with my friend. It was fun, in a nice venue.


So what is the lookbook you're doing? It's hilarious. Thomas Tait! Looove his clothes. It's really my style. So I'm glad to be doing it. ofc it's info for you only. *This was two weeks ago. That info is public now.


So I guess u like pop corn I love popcorn. I eat it all the time haha obsessively.


I wish I was dark like you, maybe I should start eating pop corn Popcorn does it. I'm telling ya.


Your appearance at Meadham and Kirchoff was like.. planets aligning, A+, etc Meadham was fuun. A few that work there are good friends of my boyfriend
so we had fun and I was running late from another show...really late...so me and Hildie were in the car together on our way there and got our hair and make up done in 5 minutes. The runway was aaamazing. Another friend of mine was doing backstage coverege for dazed, it was a lot of fun.


You're very tall right? Like, really tall even for a model. Yeah haha 1.84cms.


Bless your dark genes. I'm gonna get some sleep now I think.

Have a good night, tons of love. xxxxxxxx

Now Reading

I’m going through THE greatest state of apathy these days. I don’t remember the last time I used the word “love” and I’m not sure why I’m pointing that out but it must mean something. Also I feel utterly drained by the thought of going out, and when I do it’s only to be reminded why I didn’t want to in the first place. The only fun I’ve had these days is the idea of dressing up as a penanggalan for Halloween.

So as I’m waiting for the epiphany that’ll make me start a new glorious laughter-filled existence, my dearest friend P. gave me the tools to procrastinate myself into oblivion: Books. Three of them:

The Undomestic Goddess, by Sophie Kinsella

The story of a rather neurotic lawyer whose life is ridiculously busy and stressful, but she’s so deep in auto-mode she doesn’t see it. So she thinks it’s normal to chunk her blackberry inside her underwear at the Spa or having birthday dinner with her mom and brother over the phone, etc. As the story develops she goes through a transformation and ends up having an revelation which predictably is, stop and smell the flowers.

Some Like It Haute by Julie K. L. Dam

It’s about a style journalist who attends Paris fashion week, gets entangled in the story of the season’s hottest designer (I’m coping this from the back of the book ok givemmeabreak) and on top of that meets a man she really likes. I’d say “She meets love” but I’m not done reading it so who knows. Pure thick fashion fiction.

Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris

I haven’t started it. However, I’ve already read David Sedaris and I’m practically salivating at the thought of going through him again.

So about being depressingly apathetic.  I’m sure it’ll pass, though I’m not sure how.  I don’t think I’m cut to have an Eye Of The Tiger-esque comeback, however tempting French movies make it look like

Until then excuse me while I continue to wander around the house carrying a blanket laying on whatever soft spot I find and turning into a cocoon.

Jaime Eats World

Something good about the internet taking over my life -if there can be such a thing- is the people I've met. I’m not saying that the magician-type player that helped me increasing levels in a massive online game is my friend (I’m sorry kempachimaru you’re 13 years old), I mean real talented grown-up people I talk very frequently with including Tijuana-based designer Jaime Muro

spread in Caviar Izquierda magazine

My fondness of Jaime, aside from whatever our personal relationship might be, is due to several reasons. First, he creates garments by himself: he sketches, drapes, cuts patterns, sews, etc. None of this is easy, only the math in pattern-cutting books is beyond me. Although not a requirement for success –Gabrielle Chanel herself couldn’t sew, Tom Ford doesn't even sketch properly- this is technically challenging and the resulting craftsmanship is further loyal to the creator’s psyche.

However it is rather difficult to tell one fabric from another through the skype webcam so it wasn’t until fashion show TJ Trend last Saturday in Tijuana, México that I could really appreciate his most recent collection.

source: elaztika.com and this facebook page

Radical cuts, ethereal aesthetic, clean fabrics, rather not too body-conscious. By personal taste I tend to prefer this style over the glamorous sumptuous hour-glass one. Oh and the shirt on the left?  So obviously mine, with the holy help from the courier gods. If not just imagine me chasing it down to the soundtrack of Blondie’s “One Way of Another”... and speaking of soundtrack, here's an accurate musical interpretation of Jaime's pieces

I like it, in the way I like similar stuff like Gareth Pugh or Comme des Garçons. It’s a strong determined concept without the restriction of stereotypical beauty standards, those made for gray little people. I often get reminded of Jaime’s determination, whenever I see how fast he assembles a bustier on a mannequin or how easily discards a blouse he’s not totally convinced with. There’s only a way for someone who knows himself that well, and it's up.

The Pretty Accesory in the Ugly Dress

So far I've had a very conscious reluctance regarding the thing that people here in Honduras call fashion. It bores me so greatly how very few seem to understand that fashion properly interpreted means an idea wrapped around a body. Therefore no idea = no content, ergo nothing. The truly gruesome part is when these creators of nothingness attempt to divert us from it by repeatedly and loudly announcing the exact opposite -how remarkable they are and what a meaningful art they make. Those without a mind of their own follow blindly and praise without thinking.

The result is a ridiculous form of interaction where the so-called artist is encouraged to brag and the only acceptable response from the audience is a wide range of variations of the phrase "That's great!". This insincere reply is the negative reinforcement that keeps me on the verge of people not only from local fashion but also photography, art, music, theater, etc.

Someone who accepted the lack of infinite euphoria in my persona is Lutfi Janania, the designer who debuted at the Honduras fashion week last Saturday. Since I had no requirement to show a perma-grin, we became friends and eventually I helped him with his show. Lots of walk rehearsals, fabric, hairspray. Even blood. Well, almost, due to a certain Dominican lady who was getting rather territorial inside the tents backstage. Anyway about Lutfi's collection. It's undeniably cohesive, pretty much summing up his distinctive aesthetic as a styling editor at Estilo magazine:

source: ricardo-rivera.com  

Dressy, waist-focused, layered and earthy-colored. Also, being outside print allows room for freedom and experimentation which he took advantage of with a heterogeneous fabric selection

Source: Lookbook, shot by Ricardo Rivera, model Mariel Lagos

Rather than creating from scratch Lutfi's work involves a remarkably selective eye and flattering silhouette, plus the occasional ruffled/puffed sleeve that's very favoured among Honduran socialites. And favoured it was, indeed. The response was a collective embrace with much euphoria, and considering the stuff from other shows I think this was the most well-deserved one.

source: El Heraldo

After the show -and several weeks of penpaling- I met Fabi Pina, who has a really hyped blog around here. We let ourselves whine a lot, or perhaps she listened while I was whining a lot (Fabi if you're reading this I'm so sorry I put you through all my bickering) and so yeah it'd be lovely if I see her again.

To wrap it up, Lutfi's career as a designer started with the right step: An accurate and precise business card, which I'm sure will help define his niche in the microscosmos that Honduran fashion is.

If I Could live in Clothes

...and I mean literally physically live inside them, my choices would be 1. lying under the tree shades talking to snakes (surprised I can talk to snakes? well guess what I'm living in a dress) in any of these two Miu Miu summer/spring 2011 dresses

or 2. enjoying the view/having breakfast in any of these by Mary Katrantzou also Summer/Spring 2011.*

If you click on them you'll see how detailed the prints really are. The same with the Miu Miu ones. All images from style.it which has huge HD images *coughunlikestyledotcomcough*