Friday, February 26, 2010
After having just seen this movie I left the theater with an uneasy feeling.. partly from the 3 Stella's, box of Sour Patch Kids, and popcorn that I had, and partly because Danes make some seriously f**ked up movies. It's well worth a trip to the theater this weekend, as long as it's a theater that serves beer.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Nicolas Ghesquiere (ni-ko-la gas-ke-yay) An amazing beauty and overwhelming talent, he took to the reigns of the storied house of Balenciaga at the age of 25.
A brief bio by way of loose timeline:
born - 1971: Lille, France
age 15 - with the help of his father, landed a position at Agnes B
age 16 - worked the summer at Corinne Cobson
age 18 - left for Paris
age 18 - spotted by Myriam Schaefer (Jean Paul Gaultier’s right hand), she hired him on the spot to be her assistant
age 23 - after having left his position with Myriam Schaefer, he worked 2 years as a freelance knitwear designer
age 23 - got a position with Balenciaga designing funeral clothes for the Japanese licensing market
age 25 - given the main line to design at Balenciaga
I've long been enamored of Nicolas Ghesquiere, not just because of his devilish good looks, success at such a young age, influence within the fashion industry, and ability to create truly stunning work, but also because he seems to carry himself in such a mature and confident manner in the media.... well, that was until he was seemingly blindsided in a recent interview by the living EGO that is Tom Ford.
Poor Nico... I can't imagine how uncomfortable he must have felt during that phone call. Nico, if you ever feel like calling me I'd gladly ask you about your life, career, interests, and passions. I promise not to sit uncomfortably naked and wax egotistically about how fantastic I am. I'm all ears.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
"Love, she believed, should strike suddenly, with thunder claps and fulgurations-a tornado out of the heavens which hurls itself upon life, turns it upside down, snatches away volition like leaves and sweeps the whole heart off to the abyss."
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Perhaps a foremother to Sex and the City, and one of my absolute favorite movies, not only because it's fun to watch, the costumes are fantastic, the actors amazing, the soundtrack super catchy, and the street scenes of 1950's New York mesmerizing, but the sets...oh, the sets... are aces! How to Marry a Millionaire was released in 1953 and broke a multitude of records in terms of advancement in technology. It starred Marilyn Monroe, Betty Grable, and Lauren Bacall. It's a story about three beautiful New York women searching for millionaires, but ending up with true loves. Schatze was the great exception, she found love in a millionaire (lucky gal).
At the start of the movie, Schatze shows up at an appointment to look at a penthouse at Sutton Place South and East 55th.
The ladies are perpetually broke so they contact auto dealerships to "demonstrate rides" for them. It's cheaper than a taxi!
Schatze arriving in the sparsely, yet elegantly, decorated entry.
Schatze first enters the dreamy apartment.
A view looking out to the veranda and painted backdrop of New York.
Schatze sits to write a check for the deposit; first and last months rent. I love, love, love the dining table-cum-writing table.
Marilyn, Pola, shows up to share the apartment with Schatze.
Hot dogs and champagne on the veranda.
A view of the apartment before the furniture was sold to make money to pay for rent.
The apartment after the furniture was sold. I'm crazy about that chair in the background.
In the end they all get married and I suppose live happily ever after.
****sorry for the poor picture quality****
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
I'm terribly bored, and yearning for a trip. As I write this I'm held up in my small studio surrounded by an extremely lazy cat, Ella, and an equally lethargic dog, Louie. The District has been struck, yet again, by a monstrous snow storm which has rendered her completely unable to host any events, such as work, but has encouraged a noticeably lackadaisical shift in her residents. The novelty of idle weekdays filled with late brunch dates that bled into early cocktails has faded. Not that it hasn't been grand and almost overwhelmingly hedonistic, but one does eventually tire of the "easy life". Plus, with the lack of work, which equates to lack of pay, my shiftless animals and I are about to become homeless!
While sifting through the internet on one such slothful afternoon I came across the Hotel Particulier. Discretely located at the end of a small alley in Montmartre, 23 Avenue Junot, Hotel Particulier is exactly what I, Ella, and Louie need. It's a shame that I have no money for the trip. For now I will simply have to be satisfied with looking at the pictures and sipping some cheap champagne while one of my Edith Piaf records plays in the background.