July 16, 2008

since i’ve watched b.e.t. last, i’ve thumbed over many thoughts, and i cannot escape my shameful interest in nelly’s meaningless video for his current flop seeking spins at radio. before you judge me, the infatuation lies in how sexy ciara looks in that average atlanta girl way as she dons the chanel pocket purse on her j’s, and not the actually song which references wearing dickies. (yep, i’m laughing too.)

seriously, whom honestly wears dickies for fashion, let alone jordan’s and believes in their savvy? it’s of nothing to boast or rap of nelly and co.  i ask, are you 12 or d. boys trapped in prison garb?  i am an advocate of individual style but there’s a dictatorship in taste, and you’re seated at the king’s table. dickies are a work pant and there’s no substituting real pants for subpar work garb. dickies = blue collar work attire and you earn 7 figures.

i wish to not see them at the movies, not at the mall nor at the met. hell, not even at waffle house with green eggs & ham. tuck them away out of light only to be worn at the job site. thanks.

the south lacks so much reason with their 2003 fads.

lost in digression,

catherine mcneil

ysl f/w '08 vs. bootsy collins

its no such secret that i’m enamored with all things yves.  at some point i wished to exude, if not be him, for sake of being a creative visionary myself though my maturation into current genius led to an even more satisfying infatuation with oneself.  yet, its through conditioned response; some operand learning that one draws inspiration in producing “original” works so where do the gents i admire seek influence?

well, i can’t help but wonder if ysl’s current creative director, stefano pilati, found inspiration in the original rubber band man, bootsy collins, with spring’s praised bezzles.  bootsy, baby!.. whom knew your certified genius would perhaps influence a praised collection decades later?  just a thought.

grazie & kudos,

i took some time to move.  you know this relocation thing is overrated.  somewhere at some point i became a hoarder of stuff; random shit (clothing, magazines & paper) clouding my coffee & impairing life.  in midst of a self-renaissance, i popped a few cocktails; chased it with some st. michel and have become anew.

in this vacancy, my favorite label’s creator passed on to green pastures kicking buckets.  damn.  who’s left for me to admire or shall i become part of a legion of the admired.  (deep).  i spoke candidly with a kindred spirit about yves, his impact, his suiting and his genius, and then we fell into discourse about the lavishness of death. surly talks of how orcherstrated our ceremonies would be.  quiffs about suiting, entrances, exits to invited guests.  so what’s my point?  those privileged to attend my homecoming need to give statements like claudia schiffer… …

beat.  take notes or i’ll haunt you down.  more about yves & our clothes affair later.