Just because something is hung on the hanger in a particular manner doesn’t mean that’s how it fits. This is aptly demonstrated above, a sequined cardy from Lion in Love thrown on about face. It might feel a little odd at first, but think, if that sparkling mound of betty came over and started asking you inane questions about what school you went to and what hood you grew up in are you going to blank because you reckon she has a problem dressing herself correctly? Thought not…
Incorrect title? If the common perception of hell being ‘down there’ and heaven being ‘up there’ is adhered to, then these plates are so fucking high you could chew on the our Lord’s chin wig while wearing them. However, religion is a figment of your fucking imagination. This is MW writing so the title’s right, these Gucci knifes are slick fucking kicks and you’d do well to put your fetlocks in a pair.
It all makes so much sense – the ill fit, the exposed collar bone, the dark flow, the masonic imagery and cool to burn. Cavern’s threads are white fucking hot.
I’m not sure I’ve written about the time I died fighting beast and man in a struggle to win the love of a Goddess. I suffered a fatal wound and as I faded slowly, the Goddess for which I’d fought sacrificed her deity existence. And, once she’d assumed her mortal state, plunged the claw of a polar bear, who had fallen by my own hand, through her throat so as to die beside me. Unable to restore the Goddess as she had perished by her own hand and blaming me for her death, Zeus, the God of Gods, resurrected me with a lightning bolt and cast up on me the curse of immortality so I would suffer for infinity without my one true love.
It is this story that inspired Maï Lamore’s lightning bolt heeled spikes.
These kicks look as if they were built from leftover parts of Barry Sheen. That is probably an odd reference for STNF, but anything goes within the confines of this two column layout. So why not jump into these Kirkwood X Rodarte and tell me what type of motorbike you imagine yourself to be while we draw positions out of a cracked crash helmet to decide how we’re going to do the nasty.
Urko Suaya on this evidence is a hot photographer, but not nearly as on fire as the five-inch killer pink bow toes in this burn. It helps that they’re on legs that travel up to the neck, but lets not get distracted, a photographer and model do not make the shoe. They just make the style more gratuitous, which is only ever hip.
While in Anthropolgie I picked up the Penguin published book of the Sartorialist’s blog. Slightly disapproved that it was stocked so close to the counter, as if people would only shed their green on impulse, basically this choice action likens the book to chewing gum and lifestyle magazines. This is fucked up because it’s full of girls like Joana.
Orange dress, clubmasters (the bearable wayfarer), do rag and kicks ripe to be dug into the youthful ass of whatever squeeze she happens to be wrapping those killer getaway sticks around. She’s my new favourite Brazilian.
I dig wolves and love naked bettys, so when I saw this I went a little cock-a-hoop. I was at school with a bunch of guys who were in a band called the cock-a-hoop honey cakes. One of their girlfriends had a sister who was ridiculously tasty, but unbelievably hard to get.
Anyway this work is an STNF highlight, I just hope it wasn’t part of an anti-fur campaign.
I know a stone cold fox who has this exact pair of peeper protectors – and when they’re on and supertight there is very little I can do other than buy her an ice cream and myself a gin.
Ok, this betty isn’t doing anything particularly special. She’s cute enough for sure. Or so you may think. Then tick tick boom, you spot the pocket watch hung around her scrawny neck. Aymeline is ‘all about her accessories’ according to altamira, and if truth be told, the pocket watch is potent.
I could talk about threads here, and I’m going to. Give me boots, jeans and a hat, throw in a coke too and watch the slaying begin. There is slim pickings in the corn field of cool in which the cowboy resides. Nowt much grows there, but what does is the finest. And when it comes to getting it right, it takes some talent. Along with reservation and a serious eye for detail. If you think slinging on pointy kicks from a hip boutique is going to cut it you can fuck off.
When it comes to the boots, garish colours and stiff, shiny leather are for those that think they understand style over substance and struggle to feel masculine. The play goes a little like this. Take the masculine and stylise it, thus making it less male, something that shows the wearer to be not intimidated by ‘tough’ and therefore elevating them to a position of strength. Sadly though this is fucking bullshit, it just makes you look like a misguided cretin with no clue and who likely struggles in social situations but gets by because you can talk about your super-cool coloured boots.
Dude on the left = aspirational. Betty on the right = doable.
It’s cold outside, but this leathery old sight of awesome isn’t worried. He’s tall and scarfed up with a beautiful, if slightly ill fitting, overcoat. Of course he’s also got a green hat and a pair of jewels that are just about perfect. I could mention the clashes of brown, but why bother, he’s too busy being smooth and laughing in the face of the coffin dodger’s Achilles heel, pneumonia.
Threads like this don’t roll around so often. This dress is built like an exquisite palace, structured to cover supporting architecture of slim frames and fine bones. If you can’t glide in this Kimberly Ovitz gown, you can’t glide.
This look is about layers and bundling. Yup bundling, what the fuck, I like the way it sounds. As if a chick deliberately sets out to make herself resemble knotted rags. It fits the sort of urchin look that’s beginning to lose steam, that whole amalgamation of scenester style with more classically tailored threads. Props to this betty though for the black on black and grey suede strap wrap kicks.
Straight from the Glossy.
Although the beautiful Carolina wasn’t wearing her glasses when she spotted this (referring to it as a Volcano Dress, it’s clearly a nuclear mushroom cloud), it is undoubtedly hip.
This number was already pointed out to me a week or so ago by a young and delightful fawn whose fine shoulders were made for vest dresses like this. Tonight make it magnificent // Tonight // Make me tonight // Your hair is beautiful // Oh, tonight // Atomic.
