Archive for glamour

She Danced Herself Right Out The Womb

Posted in Goof & Glamour, I Heart My Love-Tribe, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 14, 2010 by alphabetfiend

I danced myself out of the womb, is it strange to dance so soon? I danced myself out of the womb.

I spent too much money on an itty-bitty “oversized” pair of movie-star sunglasses with candy colored polka dots. For my niece. She’s a baby. Does a baby need pricey glam-girl shades? Well…why yes, she does indeed.

I tried to put them back three times but couldn’t do it. The glasses matched the “Hooray! It’s spring!” outfit I’d painstakingly chosen: outrageous floral “skinny jeans” & cute tee with iridescent writing. The glasses were the perfect accessory for this “sweet punk” look — one very similar to outfits I’ve worn — and those big ol’ shades made it all the more me-ish.

She HAS to have ’em, I told myself as I ponied up the cash.

Baby oh Baby! Was I ever right!

Thing 1 (mama niece) takes excellent care of the glasses and Thing 2 looks insanely cute in them so the money wasn’t wasted. In fact, they were worth every cent! Cause this video of her gettin’ down while sporting her movie-star sunglasses is so cute it KILLS. The only thing that would make it better is if she were dancing to Bolan’s “Cosmic Dancer.”

Cosmic Dancer

I was dancing when I was twelve
I was dancing when I was aaah
I danced myself right out the womb
Is it strange to dance so soon
I danced myself right out the womb

I was dancing when I was eight
Is it strange to dance so late
I danced myself into the tomb
Is it strange to dance so soon
I danced myself into the tomb

Is it wrong to understand
The fear that dwells inside a man
What’s it like to be a loon
I liken it to a balloon

I danced myself out of the womb
Is it strange to dance so soon
I danced myself into the tomb
But when again once more

I danced myself out of the womb
Is it strange to dance so soon
I danced myself out of the womb.

*Marc Bolan/T-Rex

Issie Blow, I bow to you

Posted in Goof & Glamour, Lipstick Shamaness with tags , , , , , , on December 14, 2008 by alphabetfiend

I love Issabella Blow…. she’s my fashion soul-mate….

I wish she had hurt less and could still be here to get dressed.

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I miss you, Issie… Merry Christmas.

Mr. Blackwell On Hell’s “Worst dressed ” List

Posted in Goof & Glamour, SPOOKY KABUKI with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 30, 2008 by alphabetfiend

Ding dong the bitch is dead! The wicked bitch is dead!

The notorious meanie Mr. Blackwell died on October 19 after a long illustrious career as a cruel-eye. I don’t actually think the man is in hell or even deserves to be. He’s not black-hearted or evil. But he was a wicked bitch whose doorway to fame was a the tight sphincter of his own asshole. After failing at acting and fashion design, he made a name for himself with his mean-spirited “Worst Dressed” list.

I wonder what he was wearing when he died. Whatever it was, I wouldn’t be caught dead in it.

I’m not one to disrespect the dead but SPOOKY KABUKI will do it in a heart beat. Or Lack there-of.

SPOOKY KABUKI has never forgiven Mr. Blackwell for wagging his judgemental finger at Bjork’s bewitchingly bizarre swan dress.

Halloween isn't the only day that Bjork comes out to play.

I blame Mr. Blackwell and his hater ilk for taking all the damn fun out of fashion. It doesn’t bother me a bit cause I don’t give a toad’s shit but not everyone has the thick skin for ridicule that I do or the self-indulgent whimsy. Blackwell didn’t appreciate the playful pageantry of fashion. His restrictive and staid style “rules” created, for many, a fear of fashion. Blackwell was the Jim Jones guru in the Cult of Negativity. He appointed himself the official “fashion watchdog.” Time reported on Mr. Blackwell’s passing.

The designer and mordant fashion critic who dared to call Madonna the “bare-bottomed bore from Babylon” died Oct. 19 in Los Angeles. Richard Blackwell, a.k.a. Mr. Blackwell, of the infamous worst-dressed list, made a name for himself not with his own creations but by skewering those sported by celebs on the red carpet. His favorite targets, however, were celebrities like Zsa Zsa Gabor and Britney Spears, who he felt lacked any innate sense of style or glamour. He said his criticism had nothing to do with talent and once remarked that Meryl Streep looked like a “gypsy abandoned by a caravan.” Born Richard Sylvan Selzer in Brooklyn, N.Y., Blackwell started out as an actor but switched to fashion in 1958 when his career stalled. Fame came with the publication of his first list in 1960. While his original intention was to act as a sort of fashion watchdog, Blackwell and his list became a dreaded Hollywood institution that paved the way for other red-carpet critics.

Blackwell broke the skin with a biting wit. I even chuckled from time to time. Can you match these Blackwell zingers with the “tasteless” stars. (Lindsay Lohan, Patti Davis, Ann Margaret, Barbara Streisand, Bjork, Christina Aguilera, Sharon Stone, Camilla Parker-Bowles.)

  1.  “A Hells Angel escapee who invaded the Ziegfeld Follies on a rainy night.”
  2. “An over-the-hill Cruella DeVille.”
  3. “Packs all the glamour of an old, worn-out sneaker.”
  4. “She looks like a masculine Bride of Frankenstein.”
  5.  “The Duchess of Dowdy.”
  6. “A dazzling singer who puts good taste through the wardrobe wringer.”
  7.  “From adorable to deplorable.”
  8. “She dances in the dark? She dresses in the dark!”

We have Mr. Blackwell’s Legacy of Enforced Taste to thank for the total yawn of today’s Red Carpets — gone are the days of Cher with her bum-exposing gowns! Which may be for the best. But at least Cher was doing her own very CHER thing and partying like a rock-star via her style choices. Sure, Britney’s never brought much to the table fashion-wise but Ann Margaret is a style icon and a seriously sexy bitch. Meow. Patti Davis in her french pirates tee? Is there anything more dreamy? Oh wait, that was Patti Smith. No matter. I’m sure Blackwell thought Smith was a ragamuffin. Best/worst lists make bebes afraid to develop their own looks. They forsake their own fantasies in favor of the homogenized safe look of the “best dressed.” They never develop the confidence to flaunt their fantasy self. What is fashion if not a fantasy? 

I can’t count the times I’ve had women and men swoon over one of my REDONKULOUS ensembles. After a poetry reading a man breathlessly confessed “I find women in turbans to be terminally erotic” and then avoided me for years because I was the source of his dreams & his humiliation. Women will exclaim “Oh I wish I could wear tulle/hats/wigs/capes/tiaras!”

Who says you can’t?

Who says we have to wait until Halloween to dress up in outrageous fineries, circus-punk costumery or disco glam get-ups?

Oh right.

Him and his.   

Now that Mr. Blackwell’s gone, Simon Doonan — famed window designer & author of “Eccentric Glamour” — should rise up and take his rightful place as fashion’s talking head. So break out your pink leopard stockings and your gold lame boleros. Summon the spirit of Isabella Blow or even your inner-Cher.

Is that a chain mail lobster Issie's wearing?

Issie, is that a chain mail lobster? WOW!

 Answers to the zinger-star match-up: Lindsay Lohan*7, Patti Davis*3, Ann Margaret*1, Barbara Streisand*4, Bjork*8, Christina Aguilera*6, Sharon Stone*2, Camilla Parker-Bowles*5.

Project Runway’s Suede: Neither Hip nor Hop

Posted in Art & Culture, Goof & Glamour, I heart hip hop, Style & Fashion, TV with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 1, 2008 by alphabetfiend
Suede was eliminated after last week’s disappointing music-inspired episode of Project Runway. That day refused to come fast enough for me.  He grated the nerves. Like a cheese grater.
                                                                                                                                                                    Suede is gone, thank Goof. 

Finally.

Someone get this man a folding Chinese Fan!

Someone get this man a folding fan!

Suede was stomping on my blue suede shoes with all that “Suede this Suede that” talking-about-himself-in-third-person thang.  If only he’d had some real talent I could’ve stomached it ( or sorta somewhat managed to keep my din-din down.)  If not talent, then at least a freaking fan like Karl Lagerf$#k.  A fluffy boa of violet feathers perhaps. Or better yet a real slithering boa coiled around Suede’s neck, threatening to strike at Tim Gunn should he question Suede’s quite questionable taste. SssssssKKk.  Platform shoes sloshing with electric eels?  Big blink-a-blink eyelashes?  A giant chest tattoo of Cosby’s face on a pudding pop?

A gargantuan tick-tock like Flava? 

No such luck.  Nothing, not one thing, except for his oh so fauxhawk (but we’ll get to that…)  

I s’pose I should make a couple disclosures: I have a life long seething irk for people who don’t use “I” when referring to themselves EXCEPT in hip hop.  Which put me in a funny predicament when I was given a hip hop nickname (“Plush D”) that blossomed into a full-fledged hip hop alter ego (“Plush D: The Most Poodlefulest Thing in the World“)  Now, while shopping with my bitches, I may come across, say, a pink rubber mini-dress or rhinestone-crusted booties that cause me to coo “Plushie likes.” Or if McCain appoints a brainless twit as his redonkulous running mate, I’ll karate kick the TV with a “Oh hell no! Plushie don’t play that!”  Ah, the cursed hilarity of never say never.  It’s a joke, I get it, I’m in on it. I squeeze my bountiful boobage into that pink rubber dress and take the bling bling boots for a sassafras strut.  My pink afro gives me the cheeky right to bust self-referential rhymes.

But Suede don’t have no fro.  He ain’t hip, he ain’t hop.  Or even Pop.

Despite pretense, he’s not even punk rock.  That blue hawk is so faux it’s fake. 

Alphabetfiend is Dia VanGunten — a writer & wanna-be circus freak living in Austin, Texas.

“Be yer own fur, yer own gold” (Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel Blog)

Posted in Art & Culture, Fur Reals, Goof & Glamour, I Heart Mermaids, Music & Life & Sundays, Rock & Roll, Spirituality & Religion, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 28, 2008 by alphabetfiend

“And swans, they wrestled with lifetime’s grasp
In hopefullness they nestled the past
Teachers and travellers made their mark
They dined and feasted on whale and shark’
— Seal Jubilee (Bats for Lashes; Fur and Gold)

Natasha Khan is a Priestess of Play

Natasha Khan is a Priestess of Play

Bats for Lashes… no, it’s not a magic spell scrolled inside a vial of fox blood, nor the tipsy title of a haiku scrawled on a cocktail napkin, nor the “magic words” should you encounter the Wizard of Odd in a dusky maze of roses.  Well, best to keep it in mind.  Natasha Khan is more than songstress, she’s shamaness.  At first sight of Khan in feathers & rainbow glitter, my forehead prickled and my chakras tickled. I ogled her with my third eye.  I’d drink her purple kool-aid!  In big thirsty gulps. We need more DIY spirituality these days. Like Leary’s idea about creating you own religion & then re-creating it before the spark becomes dogma. Glamour has its place in that. Front and center! Chiffon & feathers, jeweled top hat, gold lame slippers with up-turned gypsy toes. I know! I’ll get ordained by an oily seal and then I’ll do weddings.  Anyone getting hitched?  We can all bury our noses in bone china teacups overflowing with sugar — to remind us of life’s delicous absurdity. Then we’ll do the Robot while I read aloud the lyrics from “Seal Jubillee.”

Seal Jubilee :
The seals, they cried in jubilee
The sharks, they howled along with me
And birds, they flew into the wind
The whale, he roamed the lonely sea

And I dived into you
I dived into you
On this ocean hue
‘Cause I dived into you

The lighthouse dog lifted his brow
The crippled trees bent low to growl
And swans, they wrestled with lifetime’s grasp
In hopefullness they nestled the past
Teachers and travellers made their mark
They dined and feasted on whale and shark
And so the ocean lost its depths
And boredom rained as the ocean wept

Birds they raised their young for dead
And ladies used feathery pillows for bed
And black snow came and black snow stayed
And froze the ocean out of love
Out of love

I lay quiet, next to you
Transformed a whole
Transformed anew
No longer diving into
But lying quiet next
To you

As if Natasha Khan’s haunting voice and priestly sleight of hand weren’t enough on this September Sunday,  the song’s set to scenes from the VISION QUEST of a film “The Secret of Roan Inish” which just slays me with its mythic beauty. The story of the selkie, a slick Ink of a mer-lass. Watch as she slithers from her seal skin! Now make like selkie and explore the boundries of your skin (skins.)  Push past, walk with wiggly legs unaccustomed to earth; then dive back in like a Selkie who missed her whiskers & sheen. 

Get outta yer skins, then get back in.  Mind your rind.  Be your own fur, your own gold.  Goof bless. 

“I lay quiet, next to you
Transformed a whole
Transformed anew”


Join me next week for another Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel Blog…

Alphabetfiend is Dia VanGunten — a writer & wanna-be circus freak living in Austin, Texas.

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