Random Picture Entry: Donyale Luna

There's all this talk lately of Steven Meisel shooting an issue of Italian Vogue featuring all black models -- and of course, even more talk of "What about this minority?!" and "That's not diversity!" and etcetera and so forth. Lesson number one: don't look for signs of sophisticated sociopolitical discourse in fashion blogs. What we can hope to expect, though, is something gestural and bold, and so I'm looking forward to seeing how concepts of race get reflected and refracted through the already-distorted funhouse of mirrors that is fashion. I hope the pictures are as awesome as these of Donyale Luna, who was hailed as one of the first African-American supermodels -- and the first one to be a Vogue cover girl. Born in Detroit and rising to fame in the swinging 60s, she was also part of Warhol's Factory scene, appeared in a few of his movies, was pals with a few Rolling Stones, and canoodled with Klaus Kinski, all the while insisting loudly on the multiplicity of her racial heritage. Striking, beautiful and truly a diva, she lived fiercely and died tragically, and really, if Gia Carangi can be a legend, why not Donyale?

Random Picture Entry: Two Examples of the Ratty Fur Coat in action

I'm really baffled as to how I'm sitting here writing a post about how I think wearing a fur coat is a cool thing to do considering how I actually think that wearing a fur coat is the lamest thing a human being can possibly do (besides download New Soul by Yael Naim, which I have recently decided is the worst song ever, and this time I MEAN IT!!)

So first things first: HERE is a link to PETA's Fur is Dead website, which explains everything about why wearing real fur is an incredibly disgusting thing to do, which it is. Seriously. It's so gross and unnecessary. Ew! EW! SICK!!!!!

That being said, I was born blessed with the innate ability to unconditionally love everything John Lennon ever did, including wear a real fur coat. For me, the peak of John Lennon's accidental sub-career as Style Icon (in case you were wondering, I totally championed him for our Style Icons series, but FOR SOME REASON was SHOT DOWN) was White Album through Let It Be-era Beatles, when he basically just looked like nasty crap every single day for two years straight. But then again, I would do the exact same thing if I were a genius at the peak of my genius immersed in a really intense love-fest with a sexy-as-shit Japanese conceptual artist.

I particularly adore John's commitment to what I recently learned is colloquially referred to as the "Texas tuxedo," which means "head-to-toe denim." So ugly! And then there was his infamous talisman necklace: it has been one of my life's goals for a while now to buy his actual talisman necklace, but I found out this company Beatle Suits makes knock-offs of it, which will probably get the job done in the meantime. But the apex of John's slacker-to-the-max aesthetic is totally his grotty, gnarly, bedraggled and evidently unlaundered brown fur coat, which he wore most notoriously during the Beatles' final rooftop concert, as seen here:

I have always responded to the silhouette of this coat- the shoulders are really perfect, and I just love the bigness of it, how it overwhelms everything else he's wearing, which is convenient for him because whatever else he's wearing is either boring or nast.

I'm really happy they invented faux-fur, because it allows me to reference this timeless look without having to deal with being immensely creeped out by the fact that the pelt of a dead mink is touching the bare skin of my wrists. This faux-fur bomber was the first item of clothing I ever bought when I moved to New York City at eighteen; it was thirty bucks at Beacon's Closet, beyond a good investment. I've worn this jacket for every day of the past five winters. The coat's inner lining is completely ripped up, so every time I take it off or put it on I have to do this annoying little idiosyncratic shimmy where I adjust it to the contours of my body. I always feel a bit embarrassed when I meet new people while wearing this jacket because it's so gross. Over the course of our relationship, I have spilled pretty much every possible substance upon it- beer, soy sauce, ketchup, diet Coke, human saliva, animal saliva- oh, whatever. Use your imagination. It is also reeks of every single cigarette I've ever smoked while wearing it, but I think it would probably depress and/or shame me to try and come up with an approximate statistic in this case.

But who cares? It looks bad-ass, reminds me of John Lennon, and I would venture to guess that I feel "sexier" in it than I do in anything else I've ever worn.

And for one last time, I must reiterate the fact that FUR IS MURDER and that you should NEVER, EVER wear it- unless it's fake, or you're John Lennon.

Random Picture Entry: Tina Fey

Yay, 30 Rock comes back tonight! I got into it about five seconds before the writers' strike, so the past few months have been spent awaiting its return with breath that is bated. And I know it's probably rilly wrong to make a sex symbol out of Tina Fey, but I can't resist posting this hubba-hubba shot from that Vanity Fair feature. It should be noted, though, that I find Tina completely hot even when she's not all tarted up, even when she's got lettuce in her hair and ham stains on her dress. She's so my number-one girl right now.

Oh, and to bring you up to speed, here's a little clip from the last 30 Rock episode. It's the "Midnight Train to Georgia" bit, and I totally get goose-bumps when Alec Baldwin starts singing.

Random Picture Entry: Vintage Fortune Covers

I must have been Paul Rand in a past life, or at least Bradbury Thompson. There is really no other explanation for how spellbound I am by the aesthetic of post-war Madison Avenue graphic design. I mean, I guess it could be because it is objectively gorgeous and consciously timeless, but that's a really boring interpretation of the deafening chord this stuff strikes in me. It's highly more exciting to chalk it up to unfinished business from past incarnations.

The 1950s and early 1960s were to graphic design what the late 60s was for popular music: an era when rules were made to be broken, when complete control and confidence was handed over to the creative prowess of a given artist. Those were the days! The contemporary perception of post-war America is rife with pompous Internet Age pity: Oh, those poor, naive, repressed fools! This is true enough- we all know the classic examples of 50s-style frigidity (Rob & Laura Petrie sleeping in separate beds, etc), but let me offer a counterpoint here:

Okay, fine. Maybe they didn't have Wikipedia, but at least the mid-century American population wasn't totally manipulated by sterile, heartless ad campaigns rid entirely of aesthetic value and defined primarily by overwrought blitzkriegs of market research and the maniacal exploitation of low self-esteem. The tragedy of the McAmerican lifestyle is that attempts at revolution always end up backfiring. The psychedelic sixties taught record companies how to prevent their personnel from taking LSD and recording noisy rock operas; the glory days of fifties Madison Avenue showed advertising firms that if they don't lay down the iron fist, those crazy creative types will never know restraint!

Most of the biggest names from this decade started off in editorial design before moving on to corporate work; interestingly enough, Fortune magazine has been rightfully heralded as the most consistently innovative of all such magazines, most likely because they totally scored into claiming children's book author and illustrator Leo Lionni as their art director:

Here are some of my personal favorites:

And just to really solidify my point about how bleak graphic design can be in 2008, here is what Fortune looks like nowadays:

The times really are a-changin'. Unfortunately, they seem to be a-changin' for the waaaaaay worse.

Random Picture Entry: Bruce Springsteen

Yeah, so we crushed pretty hard on Neil Young recently, and here I am doing it again with a 70s-era picture of another classic dude, Bruce Springsteen. I think it's because I learned "Brilliant Disguise" on guitar awhile ago and have been undergoing a newfound appreciation for Tunnel of Love, so Bruce in all his incarnations has definitely been on the brain. But doesn't he look absolutely fantastic here? I feel like the whole hipster mountain-man thing is going for this sort of scruffy thing but fails to achieve it in all its erotic fascination, mostly due to overcalculation. Here, Bruce seems so "effortless," that most magical and elusive and illusory of fashion words. He just seems like a man who woke up, grabbed his jacket with a sort of casual grace, and went on his merry way to becoming one of the most pre-eminent American songwriters. I hope this picture inspires all of us to be able to roll out of bed, not give a shit and realize we all are incredibly hot when we do so. Because that would make everyone's lives a lot easier, no?

Random Picture Entry: Carly Simon and Kris Kristofferson

Until a few months ago I always got Kris Kristofferson confused with Christopher Cross (the dude who sings "Ride Like the Wind," which is actually kind of epic and makes me really happy whenever it comes up on my iPod shuffle). Then I saw Martin Scorsese's Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore, aka the Best Movie Ever, and discovered that Kris Kristofferson's character is sort of my dream man: this quiet, no-bullshit, gruff-yet-totally-sweet, guitar-playing cowboy-loner with a heart of gold and the fetchingest beard you ever did see. Sadly there's no clips featuring Kris on YouTube (though there is this great little compilation of all the brilliantly daffy scenes with Jodie Foster). So I'll guess you'll just have to Netflix right now, and then get halfway through and go, "Hey, why are we all of a sudden hanging out in Mel's Diner with Flo and Vera?" It'll be both mind-bottling and magical.

The point of all this is that now I'm 100% in love with the 1974 Kris Kristofferson, which means I got all giddy upon spotting this shot of him and his ex-sweetheart Carly Simon in the April issue of Vanity Fair (the one with Tina "Hottie McHotterson" Fey on the cover). Unlike Kris, Carly's been in my life a real long time - like, probably since the womb. To live in my family is to love Carly Simon: We're so into her, my little sister is even named after her. (I, on the other hand, got my middle name from an Elvis Costello song, which is equally awesome.) So I completely ate up the VF piece, an excerpt from Sheila Weller's Girls Like Us: Carole King, Joni Mitchell, Carly Simon - and the Journey of a Generation (which I'm psyched to read). Turns out Kris was a bit of a cad, which is unfortunate, although it's kind of cool to think of him as one of the "many vain men" for whom Carly's said to have written "You're So Vain." Ill-fated though they may be, they look great together here, so much so that I'm now even more smitten with each than ever before.

Random Video Entry: Drimble Wedge & the Vegetations; Max Frost & the Troopers

There is nothing more irritating than watching a movie about a fake band where the fake band's fake hit single is unrealistically crappy to a point where you are rendered incapable of suspending your disbelief. Then, you're forced to ruin the movie for everyone you're watching it with because you can't control your urge to bitch incessantly about how stupid that dumb-ass director was for trying to fool a brainiac like yourself that a total "In-a-Gadda-da-Vida" soundalike could possibly have been released in 1965. Ew.

So, today I am going out of my way to pay my respects to what are (in my highly-untrustworthy opinion) the two best fake hit singles of cinema history.

1. Drimble Wedge and the Vegetations: Bedazzled

Dudley Moore and Peter Cook's 1967 masterpiece, Bedazzled, has one of the cleverest premises I've ever encountered on film, telling the story of Stanley Moon, a losery burger-flipper whose life is so meaningless and desparate that he even manages to mess up committing suicide, breaking his water pipe while attempting to hang himself. At this point, Stanley makes a deal with Peter Cook's droll, wisecracking Devil, who gives him seven wishes in exchange for his soul, which of course leads him down a viciously Luciferian road of various antics, capers, hijinks, trickery, shenanigans and tomfoolery.

I should also mention that Peter Cook is the Hottest Man Who Ever Lived--he's like this deadly combination of Peter O'Toole and George Harrison; I can't even believe he's real.

My favorite part of the movie comes when Stanley wishes to be a famous pop star, only to be totally upstaged by Satan, who dubs himself Drimble Wedge & the Vegetations, then steals all the gals away from Stanley with "Bedazzled", this gorgeously hateful and despondent proto-slacker ode to complete indifference. I bet when Lou Reed heard this song he was so jealous he didn't write it himself; I'm sure it would've given the Velvet Underground and Nico an extra bit of edge. Trust me, this song will leave you nothing short of bedazzled.

2. Max Frost & the Troopers: Fourteen or Fight

Speaking of insanely cool movie premises, how's this: aspiring singer and counter-revolutionary Max Frost conspires to become President of the United States, wins the election, changes the voting age to fourteen (hence the song title), spikes the country's water supply with LSD, and forces Americans over the age of 35 to live in "re-education camps" where they are permanently dosed with acid. Yes, this is a real movie, 1968's cult Wild in the Streets.

I own the gorgeously gatefold-sleeved soundtrack to this movie, and would regularly play "Fourteen or Fight" when I used to DJ. People would ask me who this cut was by, expecting me to designate it as a crazy-obscure Sonics B-side or something, but nope- it's totally faux! Look out for an incredibly young Richard Pryor as the Troopers' drummer, Stanley X.

PS: My #3 pick for Best Fake Song is totally the Sleez Sister's "Damn Dog" from Times Square, its performance being easily one of the most legitimately punk-rock moments in cinematic history, but unfortunately there is no clip of it on the entire Internet. And #4 by all means goes to "That Thing You Do" but I don't really feel like dealing with all the hate-mail I'd inevitably receive for unleashing that obnoxiously catchy slice of hookiness back upon the world.

Random Picture Entry: Hamilton Leithauser of the Walkmen

Last week I got to see the Walkmen and White Rabbits play at Webster Hall. There was all sorts of weirdo Camel advertising and promotion everywhere, but that did not distract from the fact that the 'Men were in fine form, dressed in sharp suits and showing the boys how to be men. (Lesson number one: don't wear khakis with a blue suit jacket. It makes you look like you're an accountant.) Fashion-speaking, improbably-named lead singer Hamilton Leithauser rocked an excellent 3-piece suit whose lines and proportions were complete perfection. The third piece is always a risk for a dude, I think: it's hard to not be all bulky with the additional layer, but it can be done if you're lanky or you do it in a material that isn't too dark and heavy. (Unless, of course, you're looking to channel Nick Cave or Blixa Bargeld. Or an undertaker or a sheriff in a Western. All those things can be quite cool.) There are lessons to be learned here: a well-done vest will make you dapper as hell, I have no idea how Leithauser can sing the way he does without ripping out his vocal cords, and don't use two drummers if you don't really need them. I don't know why, but it's kind of annoying.

(Photo by Bryan Bruchman)

Random Video Entry: "Addicted To Love," Robert Palmer + Ciccone Youth

The more "left-field" offerings from the recent fall collections in New York got me thinking about dark clothes, slouchiness, a certain "cocooning," loosening and experimentation in silhouettes -- and about the sort of 'character' that would wear the clothes. As I fell asleep, it hit me: it's like those Robert Palmer "Addicted to Love" femmebots grew up and gone to art school and, like, melted themselves trying to escape a post-Soviet winter. Okay, so that's a bit silly and quick, but it gives us an excuse to post the video:

I think it's incredibly hilarious how all the 'bots are totally out of sync rhythmically. Our favorite skewed take on this song, of course, is the Ciccone Youth version of this song, found on The Whitey Album. Dig on the wry brilliance of Kim Gordon, yo:

Random (Moving) Picture Entry: The Olsen Twins, Back in the Day

Back when the Olsen twins were really icons:

Random Picture Entry: Diana Ross as Oliver Twist

You may recognize this photograph as the cover of Diana Ross' self-titled 1970 solo album. Unfortunately, the largest image of said record cover available on Google's famed image search is approximately the size of my pinky fingernail and therefore unsuitable for blogging purposes. But perhaps this is all for the best, since the picture I was able to get my grubby (from chimney-sweeping, I'll have you know) little hands on exhibits the young Ross' flawless take on orphan chic in full medium-sized glory. I dwell on the self-made concept of orphan chic a lot, not for any real reason except that I think Industrial Revolution-era orphans (also newsies) did it better than anyone else ever did. Until Diana Ross came along, that is. I aspire to one day look as orphantastic as Diana does in this particular photograph. Sadly, however, such grandiose heights of orphan chic were never reached by Diana Ross again. Even the back cover of this same album has Diana looking like her regular old self, all glamourpussed out in glittery gold eveningwear. In the lexicon of many a US tabloid, all I can really say about this tragedy is, WHAT WAS SHE THINKING???

Random Picture Entry: Ike & Tina Turner's Outta Season

This is hands-down, bar-none, my Favorite Album Cover Of All Time. It simultaneously manages to be aesthetically beautiful, graphically flawless, genuinely radical, and charmingly tongue-in-cheek.

Random Picture Entry: Peggy Lipton

I recently inhaled the second season of "Twin Peaks" on DVD (and danced for joy when I heard about the deluxe box set coming out this fall.) Watching all that David Lynch goodness made me remember what a girl-crush I had on Peggy Lipton, who was among the huge, varied cast of the seminal tv show. Sure, I adored Audrey with her saddle shoes and plaid skirts, and I thought Shelly was incredibly pretty. But I always felt that Lipton's character, Norma, the world-weary but still hopeful waitress, had a certain serenity and elegance. But Lipton was always cool, as you can see from these old-school photos of her way back when. She has this ultimate California girl thing happening, but with an almost European reserve that makes her all the more mysterious.

Random Picture Entry: Chan + Chanel, Sitting in a Tree

Here's the latest installment of Chan Watch at nogoodforme.com: the Cat Power chanteuse snapped by Karl Lagerfeld in the latest issue of Purple. She cleans up well, doesn't she?

Random Picture Entry: Jennifer Herrema

Sometimes lately we like to skulk around the Venice Beach boardwalk when it's all dusky out, with our absurd new fake-fur vest and big sunglasses and favorite jeans and boots, wishing we were at least half as cool as Jennifer Herrema from Royal Trux. So it's exciting when we serendipitously discover that Jennifer's playing this Saturday at Safari Sam's in Hollywood with her new-ish band RTX. Last time we saw Jennifer was way back in Boston in 1998 or so: She mostly just stood around onstage while Royal Trux played, wearing a gigantic poncho and sunglasses and that great crazy hair, and when the set was over some guy in the crowd yelled at her for a long time and called her a useless junkie (or something). But now we hear that she's clean, living in L.A. and surfing a lot, and she's done some modeling for Calvin Klein and H & M. Either way, we love her forever because she's as tough and scary as Keith Richards but a little bit glamourpuss like Anita Pallenberg, in a way that girls like VV from The Kills sometimes get real close to but never quite pull off so slenchingly.*

* imaginary word stolen from Courtney Love.

Random Picture Entry: Anita Pallenberg

We get tons of traffic from people searching for pictures of Anita Pallenberg, the 60s model/actress and Stones moll who probably has "influential style icon" listed on her passport as her profession. (We're hoping she somehow collects royalties for this.) While we're always scanning the radar for the new, sometimes you have to respect your classics. Since readers seem hard-pressed for Pallenberg pictures and we are all waiting for Performance, one of the best fashion films ever, to hit DVD, here are some of our favorites of the fashion godmother to witchy rock ladies, because secretly, we're sweet like that. Pallenberg's luxe bohemian hippie rock style never ceases to leave the fashion cycle because, as the images below attest, it always photographs so well, especially if you get to spend all your vacations in Morocco.

Random Picture Entry: Siouxsie Sioux

Back in the days when "120 Minutes" was an imaginative lifeline out of the suburbs and the Internet but a dormant set of synapses in a few computer scientists' minds, Siouxsie Sioux first got my attention with her dramatic look: bold, geometric eyebrows framed by a Louise Brooks bob against alabaster skin, doing a strangely convulsive dance in the video for "Peek A Boo." But Sioux was way more than her visuals: I loved the restrained ferocity of her voice, the haunting sweep of the atmospheric, unapologetically arty music and her sheer imperviousness to the male gaze. She combined punk energy and glam rock theatrics, enunciated with the tones and visual vocabulary of Weimar-era cabaret. To label it "goth" would be too simple, as their music possessed layers of artifice and raw emotion, filtered through increasingly literate lyrics and an underrated melodic complexity. Through the music of Siouxsie and the Banshees, one could sense that sheer force of will and a spark of creativity could reinvent who you were. To listen to a song like "Cities in Dust" was to transport yourself to a place where the fabulous dark corners of the imagination were illuminated like so many dazzling lights of a very surreal kaleidoscope of a party. An Angela Carter story could have no better soundtrack than a Siouxsie and the Banshees song; both writer and musicians were known for their dark glamour and their mordant slant.

Siouxsie herself went through a few incarnations, from the London punk of her early days to the more straightforward sophistication of the Superstition era. Fashionwise, Sioux is all over the fall/winter season, judging from the runway makeup from the shows to a startling resemblance in the ads for Parisian fashion house Lanvin. Looking at these pictures, I'm struck by how utterly soi disant Sioux looks, how completely, unmistakably self-contained she is. In a season where the proclaimed trends are dark, romantic and strong, photos (and articles) of Sioux are a reminder that the origins of such a look were about the vision, absolutism and force of will that a woman could possess, and not trends and adjectives to pile on like so much cheap jewelry to be discarded after a season.

Random Picture Entry: Chrissie Hynde of the Pretenders

In honor of the new Pretenders box set, Pirate Radio, we hereby devote this entry to frontwoman Chrissie Hynde, she of the husky voice, rock star swagger and durable, no-nonsense songwriting. We also recognize her pioneering style: skinny jeans tucked into boots, as shown below, de rigueur for any downtown girl worth her drainpipes. She would scoff at such recognition, but then again, no one scoffs with such style as Chrissie.

Random Picture Entry: Leila Moss of the Duke Spirit

Because we have no time this week, because the Duke Spirit's album Cuts Across the Land has a certain nonchalant yet confident alt-rock swagger and because singer Leila Moss has a soulful voice and looks a bit like Nico...

Sometimes the best accessories are musician boys:

Random Picture Entry: Eleanor Friedberger of Fiery Furnaces

There's a shockingly kind of "J.Lo on the beach"-ish type of picture of indie rock star Eleanor Friedberger in the latest issue of Jane, so I'm here to remind myself that she's usually more low-key (and just as stylish):

Random Picture Entry: Elyse Sewell, American's Third-Next-To-Top Model, Season One

We do confess it:
We love Elyse's style!
Girl, you were so robbed!

Random Picture Entry: Sofia Coppola

I am going mad with various holiday-related shopping, crafting, imbibing, card-making, card-sending, socialising, gifting, gathering...aaaah! Please make it stop! In terms of this site, this means: random picture entry, because there is no time for anythine else. Here, I give you Sofia Coppola:

Random Picture Entry: Sienna Miller

A few hours ago, I overheard a group of lady hipster types arguing over whether or not Sienna Miller had any real style. (This discussion was amusingly sandwiched between a thrashing of the latest Le Tigre album and all the crazy countings and recountings of the Washington governor's race - it's down to a manual recount!) Salient points of the debate included the following:

a. Is she or is she not a Kate Moss wannabe?
b. Can she really act? Did anyone even see Alfie?
c. Do you look at her and go, Wow, her outfit's really unique? Or is it more, She's really hot and can I have her boyfriend?
c. Jude Law really is the best accessory.

Random Pictures of Kate Moss Are Sometimes Nice

Since Ms. Moss is universally praised in the fashion world and it's sort of a slow fashion day (outside of Jil Sander leaving Prada - again), why not?