"when the going gets tough, the couture gets going."

Ladies and gentlemen, fags and hags, ME.

I am a supermodel. I’m too sexy for your love. I’m too beautiful to even utter the word “ugly”. I am a narcissistic, condescending, self-centered bitch who’s so fabulous I even think it’s part of my DNA. I could be the line of demarcation between the haves and not haves. I speak English, Filipino, and two other regional dialects fluidly I could go and talk for days without water. I am a superficial, wretched, backstabbing monster you wished you never knew. I am so f*cking rich I own forty percent of Trump Holdings. Every time we meet for dinner I have caviar, crepes, and Fettucine in balsamic vinegar while Paris Hilton gorges on sizzling sisig, paella, and RC Cola. I am a nature lover I even water my Hibiscus plants with Evian, and as an animal lover I love furs and feathers—be it raccoon, brown bear fur, or ostrich feather, and I also dig ivory and cosmetics tested on animals. I am so unique I even had a cloned brother who is so gay he even sweats pink glitter, but he died of poisoning, he swallowed two of my three Chanel lip shimmers, and drank my Maybelline mascara fluid. I am Bryanboy’s lighter-than-evil imaginary and delusional twin sister, and I am a menace to our community. I live in a third world country where living life like a goddess, whipping beautiful boys, and shopping like there’s no tomorrow is a sin. I can’t even fathom why I mingle with some of the glamorous people that graced the earth when I’m one fourth-fairy, one-fourth-goddess, and half-humanoid who feed on Credit cards, profound thoughts, and Louis Vuittons. I could be the monstrous fag who can give you sleepless nights because once provoked—with some high-sugar soda, comfy flats, and an unlimited budget—I can shop till the shopping havens of the earth drop. Above all, I could be all this pretentious, pitiful bastard, but I can also be the simple little lamb Mary always had. Besides, after all the hustle and bustle of my amazing world are the judgment and thoughts I need to keep at the end of the day (I guess I can still have a relaxing foot scrub, another pair of fetish shoes, and a Starbucks Caramel Macchiato.) Fuck. Millions are starving on this earth and i'm still a fashionista. a hard-headed, cold-hearted bitch who can step on anyone on the way. Fuck. 2/25/2007

fucking fabulous

fucking fabulous
this is o fucking fabulous. the biggest LV on motherfucking earth!

The Great Grace Jones

The Great Grace Jones
holy mother of venus! the great grace jones! the statuesque, ethereal-voiced grace jones. another fucking fabulous favorite of mine, ya'll.. nothing beats a good rhythm than the Ms. Grace Jones Rhythm..

my laundry

my laundry
it's the first time i've been away from my parents for this fucking work, gotta do some laundry for myself, because i already brought the rest to the laundry house,, here are some. a pack of ariel and two packs of Downy fabric conditioner definitely works for my couture.

Quick! Here's Alek Wek!

Quick! Here's Alek Wek!
Another model i'm diggin'. The statuesque frame definitely is a winner! a feast to the eyes, a refreshing sight to the alabaster-infested runways of the world. Another first. another fucking fabulous first.

Cyber Chic.

Cyber Chic.
This is from Manish Arora, another favorite. when Arora showed this piece as a finale for his s/s 07 show, he definitely stood just beside Hussein Chalayan and Nicholas G-whatever his last name is - for Balenciaga! Hurray for cyber chic. forget the pathetic look-at-me-i'm-dainty freaks of pleasantville. this is indeed fashion-forward!

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

future perfect:intense!


























Designers in the western fashion circuit have embraced much of the upscale, sweet feminine feel of the previous year. This is probably the reason why they turned their backs to that trend and saw the future of clothing in S/S2007:future perfect.
When the January issue of Italian Vogue and Preview hit my doorstep, i had a jaw-dropping experience of browsing through the pages finding the radical views of foreign labels come into reality. i mean, what could be more fulfilling than seeing the future right here at home without time travelling? what could be more fabulous than seeing besides the retrospective colections of Alexander McQueen, DKNY, Girbaud, Prada (turbans of the old Parissiene days are back!) and Chanel the collections that scream "future is forever?" Tell me now or perish soon.
Hussein Chalayan, Balenciaga, Byblos, Armani, Gucci, Manish Arora, Alexander mcqueen and Proenza Schouler sent down the runways pieces that doesn't just look futuristic, but screams it. Loudly.
Gone are the days when the romanticist-slash-derelicte women from Vivienne Westwood's S/S 2006 collection walked the streets of fashionable New York, and into the light emerges a 1970's space oddysey-inspired woman wearing metallic plates sculpted to her breasts, with microchip detailing on her tights and stilettos riveted with bronze inscriptions recalling alien inscriptions.
the future indeed is soo right now. right this minute.
Balenciaga showed robotic, laboratoresque goggles on top of practically anything--from draped lame' fabric underneath silver breast plates to billowy skirts with linear details, from bright chrome and pewter-colored tights to platforms lined with chains.
Hussein Chalayan was inspired by the drastic elements of nature and microchip, hence he sent down the runways couture creations which literally has a life of its own--from tiered origami mini dresses to hats that expand once a button is pressed, creating an instant sun-screening purpose. After his downfall in the previous fashion weeks this one is definitely a comeback.
In Armani sent gigantic, 1930's hats in stark black coupled with titanium details as an opening for his pret-a-porter show in January.




An innovative use of old-world tailoring techniques coupled with futuristic vigor dominated Alexander mcqueen's pieces down the runway. even if it still recalls the feel of the romanticism in the previous year, this one's definitely a showstopper.
Frida Gianni for Gucci was inspired by the robotic figure of femininity, hence she sent down exaggerated steel plates for his opening show, and the acesories-oh! pretty, reminds me of space shuttles and plane propellers-soo now.
Manish Arora's collection is bursting with colors but is inspired basically by the colors found in a circuit board, a mixture of subliminal and upbeat colors that connive perfectly to create the frivolities of the future.
Byblos' use of buybble-like accesories accentuate the engineered cuts he did for his collection, while Proenza Schouler opted for cleaner, linear cuts with high-end, tech savvy fabrics that define the future of engineering.
All these things underline one thing: an experience of what the future really looks like.
Although we haven't seen the rest of the future, i gotta say, there's always room for one more

Monday, June 18, 2007

drugsexviolence/faithhopelove



I
wonder why feature writing invites so much the journalistic ego in me. it could be because i religiously drool on the fabulous articles they print on Preview, Italian Vogue, and Jane--guess that's where i'm headed to in the future. Love the clothes, love the bags, love the reads, love the life--


(--And for chrissake Gemma Ward's cover shoot for Vogue in February smells like a cup of macchiato and Dunhill lights-delicious. and addicting.!)


oh, and by the way,I live in a repressed realm of fantasy where wearing leg warmers over a pair of Cole flipflops sound silly to some, where my Louis Vuitton speedy bag (which i got as a present) is cursed by everyone because it is overpriced (and because thousands die of hunger, no?)). i live in a third world country where tank tops and superbly underhauled denims dominate my closet instead of chinchilla coats and Lanvin cone heels. In other words, this isn't fashionville for me nor it is pleasantville to some, some call it punishment, i call it obscurity.


and so there i was (backstage, wardrobe area, for the awoo nyt 2007 sponsored by the SSG) standing like a bullfighter as i play my role as the wardrobe master. my time to shine, the cliche goes. after weeks of concept research, collection and selection, and fitting, it all comes down to this big show. and i can't wait to show the underrepresented fashionistas in the audience my thing.


(this reminds me of a backstage peek at Chanel's Cruise Collection runway show for 2008. Karl Lagerfeld screams like a little-boy-who-wished-he's-an-adult, "shoes! hair! make-up!go!go! everybody line up!")


and i wonder how people, particularly Filipinos, could take for granted all the efforts that were put into making a cohesive fashion collection for all the consumers to, of course, consume. i wonder why they keep on babbling that fashion is evil when fashion is within, amongst, and in our DNA. well, hey, good and evil is within us nay?


i definitely live in a pathetic world. and i couldn't be more pathetic. it's long overdue.


a couple of years back i got the stint to study in a London-based Italian Fashion School, well, it sounds cool alright, but apparently they only have Master programmes, and for chrissake i'm an UNDERGRADUATE with unsigned, unsealed, undelivered units all ova my face. so i decided to finish this they-call-it-lucrative degree in English Linguistics here in the province and head back to Manila to pursue a course in er, uhm, Fashion Merchandising and design. (how could the Ateneo folks push me to write about hybridism, nativism, phonology and semantics when all i wanted to do all my life is make clothes, shop, make beautiful things, shop, write beautiful, uber posse happy things, and shop??!-- i rest my case.) My last resort? nothing. push this, push that till the juice splurges outta me.

so you know what's running in my mind right now? that this flare will fuel much of what i needed to become a writer--a fashion feature writer! more! more! more!

so enough with the drug/sex/violence/faith/hope/love bashing part and i'm now ready to look under the skirts of the world's most glamorous industry-le mode. le fashion.

shit happens

shit happens
it does.

loungin'

loungin'