Taking a break from homework, the work, and general adult responsibility for some very much needed S&P (shallow and pretty).
I used to dream of having my own t-shirt line - with cuts and colors of every imagining, but with one shared feature...it would feature a witty or pithy comment on the front. The line would be called bittershirts, and each shirt would be a limited edition, ie, one of a kind shirt.
Some sayings would be : I see Stupid People, Big in JAPAN, Butch (this would have been a pink shirt, with a valentine appliqued in front with lace edging, and the word Butch in cursive script), MANWHORE (gold lame, or mesh. Definitely.) , etc, etc, I was a teenage boarding school dropout...and now I'm a bassist, etc, etc, etc.
Ah. Good times.
I picked up a copy of Teen Vogue today (Why yes. I do read p0rn.) - the upgraded, slicker, more 'fashion' forward version of Bop, Big Bop, J-14, Twist, but with all of the same guilt that accompanies such reading fare. When I was a 15 year old girl, and their target demographic, I would get physically nauseous looking at all the bright pink and neon orange that emblazoned their covers, but swallow the bile - and bought them anyway. Jonathan Brandis, I blame you.
But anyway - back to my adolescent teenage shame, I would sneak these magazines into the house, and look at the pinups and marvel at how awful pink and grey newsprint went together, and cut out the mailing addresses to said stars *cough* Elijah Wood *cough*, and then immediately clam up when anyone brought up a copy of it - I remember vividly a classmate of mine, who was a huge Keanu Reeves fan - she had saved several pull out posters of whatever the flavor of the month was for me, and instead of being grateful for her hard work....when L (the Keanu Reeves fan) was approached by several of our classmates about the big stack of magazines she was hoarding underneath her desk, when she turned to me and said, 'oh no, I'm giving them to ............." and like a very badly written WB sitcom, I leaped in and basically shouted all over her next sentence.
Because even a non-existent credibility in high-school was worth saving, rather than fessing up to being a 'teeny'.
Looking back on it now, I wished I could have told my 15 year old self that it was okay, that everyone had a David Cassidy moment.
I think, what I really needed at the time was the Dark and Glowering Black Turtleneck Monthly - the dream magazine for teenage misfits like me. It would be black and white photography, with accents of gray and blue, with some shocking editorials in purple, and would feature such gripping articles like, "Robert Smith, Sex on A Pompadour Stick, Or Just God?" and "How to get the charcoal stains out of your white sweater" and "Dating boys with better hair than you - the Do's and Dont's" and "A beginner's guide to Wilde, Poe, and a shout out to our Man Salinger." There would be an Agony Auntie column, with important questions like, "I'm mentally superior to all of my classmates in this hideous, vapid sinkhole of American drudgery. How do I cope with all these peons?" and the snappy reply, "Move to France. Read Camus. Then we'll talk about your will to live, sparky."
The basics, basically.
But no. There was Bop to fill the void in my soul.
Onward to the p0rn
The issue I picked up was yet another relentless "Young Hollywood" edition, featuring Jake Gyllenhaal and Alison Lohman on the cover.
Inside: you learn "Why Girls are getting Drunker than guys!", how the Beautiful People get their skin to look that great (You mean, they're not born Poreless shiny freaks at birth? My world! It is all askew), and the fashion stylings of Brooklyn, and lots of pictures of shoes. I think Jimmy Choo subsidizes this magazine.
We also learn that Gael Garcia Bernal and Natalie Portman are going out (and denim soulmates. So. cute), Amber Tamblyn really hated working at General Hospital after a while, you can buy Gwen Stefani's LAMB purses for a mere 48 bucks, and that some people apparently do like J.Lo's perfume.
The Young Hollywood portfolio: the aforementioned cover stars, Evan Rachel Wood, Alexis Bledel, the Olsen Corporation (I'm sorry. I think they look like Kewpie dolls, and thus, for the past few years, have been in mortal terror of them ever since.) Jay Hernandez, Agnes Bruckner (Dude! An Agnes!!), Derek Luke, Rose Byrne, Zach Braff, Erika Christensen, Dax Shepard, Wilmer Valderrama, Josh Meyers, Emile Hirsch, Eliza Dushku, annnnnnnnnnddddddd the resident couple - Romola Garai & Diego Luna (aka why I'm going to see Havana Nights, even though I have no real emotional attachment to Dirty Dancing, only that I like to say, "No one puts Baby in the corner" for sheer dramatic gold.) who are also dating. Ah, when pretty people date other pretty people.
Then Aaron Carter, Trevor Wright, Jack Huston (Angelica's nephew), Penn Badgley, Clark Gable (yes, he's related) all pose with a bunch of models, someone tries, yet again to revive yellow orange lipstick (I'm on board purple, and blue, and blue and green eyeshadow, but yellow orange lipstick is just....no.) etc, etc, more photo shoots of insanely expensive fashion items, then a Diesel Ad that made me want to throw big blunt objects yet again (the hobo advertising campaign made me see red for several months) and then the long list of corporate shilling.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and scan a few images and then go and read Middlemarch and Great Expectations as punishment.
I used to dream of having my own t-shirt line - with cuts and colors of every imagining, but with one shared feature...it would feature a witty or pithy comment on the front. The line would be called bittershirts, and each shirt would be a limited edition, ie, one of a kind shirt.
Some sayings would be : I see Stupid People, Big in JAPAN, Butch (this would have been a pink shirt, with a valentine appliqued in front with lace edging, and the word Butch in cursive script), MANWHORE (gold lame, or mesh. Definitely.) , etc, etc, I was a teenage boarding school dropout...and now I'm a bassist, etc, etc, etc.
Ah. Good times.
I picked up a copy of Teen Vogue today (Why yes. I do read p0rn.) - the upgraded, slicker, more 'fashion' forward version of Bop, Big Bop, J-14, Twist, but with all of the same guilt that accompanies such reading fare. When I was a 15 year old girl, and their target demographic, I would get physically nauseous looking at all the bright pink and neon orange that emblazoned their covers, but swallow the bile - and bought them anyway. Jonathan Brandis, I blame you.
But anyway - back to my adolescent teenage shame, I would sneak these magazines into the house, and look at the pinups and marvel at how awful pink and grey newsprint went together, and cut out the mailing addresses to said stars *cough* Elijah Wood *cough*, and then immediately clam up when anyone brought up a copy of it - I remember vividly a classmate of mine, who was a huge Keanu Reeves fan - she had saved several pull out posters of whatever the flavor of the month was for me, and instead of being grateful for her hard work....when L (the Keanu Reeves fan) was approached by several of our classmates about the big stack of magazines she was hoarding underneath her desk, when she turned to me and said, 'oh no, I'm giving them to ............." and like a very badly written WB sitcom, I leaped in and basically shouted all over her next sentence.
Because even a non-existent credibility in high-school was worth saving, rather than fessing up to being a 'teeny'.
Looking back on it now, I wished I could have told my 15 year old self that it was okay, that everyone had a David Cassidy moment.
I think, what I really needed at the time was the Dark and Glowering Black Turtleneck Monthly - the dream magazine for teenage misfits like me. It would be black and white photography, with accents of gray and blue, with some shocking editorials in purple, and would feature such gripping articles like, "Robert Smith, Sex on A Pompadour Stick, Or Just God?" and "How to get the charcoal stains out of your white sweater" and "Dating boys with better hair than you - the Do's and Dont's" and "A beginner's guide to Wilde, Poe, and a shout out to our Man Salinger." There would be an Agony Auntie column, with important questions like, "I'm mentally superior to all of my classmates in this hideous, vapid sinkhole of American drudgery. How do I cope with all these peons?" and the snappy reply, "Move to France. Read Camus. Then we'll talk about your will to live, sparky."
The basics, basically.
But no. There was Bop to fill the void in my soul.
Onward to the p0rn
The issue I picked up was yet another relentless "Young Hollywood" edition, featuring Jake Gyllenhaal and Alison Lohman on the cover.
Inside: you learn "Why Girls are getting Drunker than guys!", how the Beautiful People get their skin to look that great (You mean, they're not born Poreless shiny freaks at birth? My world! It is all askew), and the fashion stylings of Brooklyn, and lots of pictures of shoes. I think Jimmy Choo subsidizes this magazine.
We also learn that Gael Garcia Bernal and Natalie Portman are going out (and denim soulmates. So. cute), Amber Tamblyn really hated working at General Hospital after a while, you can buy Gwen Stefani's LAMB purses for a mere 48 bucks, and that some people apparently do like J.Lo's perfume.
The Young Hollywood portfolio: the aforementioned cover stars, Evan Rachel Wood, Alexis Bledel, the Olsen Corporation (I'm sorry. I think they look like Kewpie dolls, and thus, for the past few years, have been in mortal terror of them ever since.) Jay Hernandez, Agnes Bruckner (Dude! An Agnes!!), Derek Luke, Rose Byrne, Zach Braff, Erika Christensen, Dax Shepard, Wilmer Valderrama, Josh Meyers, Emile Hirsch, Eliza Dushku, annnnnnnnnnddddddd the resident couple - Romola Garai & Diego Luna (aka why I'm going to see Havana Nights, even though I have no real emotional attachment to Dirty Dancing, only that I like to say, "No one puts Baby in the corner" for sheer dramatic gold.) who are also dating. Ah, when pretty people date other pretty people.
Then Aaron Carter, Trevor Wright, Jack Huston (Angelica's nephew), Penn Badgley, Clark Gable (yes, he's related) all pose with a bunch of models, someone tries, yet again to revive yellow orange lipstick (I'm on board purple, and blue, and blue and green eyeshadow, but yellow orange lipstick is just....no.) etc, etc, more photo shoots of insanely expensive fashion items, then a Diesel Ad that made me want to throw big blunt objects yet again (the hobo advertising campaign made me see red for several months) and then the long list of corporate shilling.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and scan a few images and then go and read Middlemarch and Great Expectations as punishment.
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