Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Ahoy hoy!

Thanks to my web-literate friend Kelley, I've got me a new template for this blog. I tried a simple, rather stunning one of a girl in a puffball tutu, but the ship headdress won out. As someone who once wore a sequined bird in her hair, I have a crippling weakness for awkward headpieces.

She may be a cartoon, but hot damn! Fuck navy boatneck t-shirts and anchor necklaces--you ain't done nautical 'till you've adorned your head with a ship.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Two (posts in one day? You lucky dogs!)

I’m absolutely obsessed with duos. Whether they be in music, film, or fashion, I cannot get enough of two people complementing each other. Though I fancy myself quite the cynic, I’ve got the heart of a hopeless romantic in regards to pairings in pop culture. I know that I’m missing some major ones, but hey—we’ve all got our preferences. When it comes to twosomes, I’ve got three favorites: Bob Dylan/Joan Baez, Andy Warhol/Edie Sedgwick, and Jamie Hince/Allison Mosshart.

Bob and Joan (Boan? Cue immature "bone" joke)

Much to my chagrin, I’ve recently started listening to Bob Dylan. And by “started listening to,” I mean “he’s replaced all of the CDs in my car, and space on my iPod.” I used to think that I was quite the cool kid for resisting his acoustic charms, but recently, it’s become difficult to hate the man.

I think that he holds even more of a fascination for me because of his tempestuous relations with women. Anyone obsessed with Dylan’s life probably has their favorite girlfriend/wife of his, and of course, I’m no different. I’m siding with Joan Baez, the sweet lady of folk. They were together in the early 60s, and after Googling some photos of them, it’s safe to say that I wish I could have been their awkward third wheel.

Why? Because they are the masters of complementary style. Allow me to clarify. Obviously, when most people think of Bob Dylan, they don’t think of him as a fashion plate who might call Joan up the night before to make sure she’s not planning on wearing HER denim button-down the next day. Hot damn, that’d be a hilarious conversation to hear. Nevertheless, the two managed to always look like they were together, even if they weren’t involved at the time. She had her long skirts, rolled shirtsleeves, and locks perfectly parted down the middle, and he had his earnest-looking jackets, working-class oxford shirts, and that unwashed hair. Since I’m incredibly vain, their musical collaborations have become all the more interesting to me thanks to how good they looked while they sang.

Edie Sedgwick and Andy Warhol

Honestly, when it comes down to it, I don’t really like Andy Warhol’s art that much. I prefer the caricature that he made out of himself, and something tells me that he would take that as a compliment. More importantly though, this will not be the last time I write about Miss Sedgwick on this here blog. Yeah, things got pretty nasty when she got addicted to the speed, but before then, she was simply lovely! Many a time I’ve thought about forgoing pants and just running around in a pair of black tights, a leotard, and massive earrings. Unfortunately, I get to the front door just in time to see my elderly neighbors walking their dog, and I realize that I should cover up my ladybits whilst living in the suburbs.

Moving on: Back in the '60s, Andy and Edie (a classic trust fund baby) were what the kids today would call “besties.” So much so that Edie cut off her long brunette hair and painted it silver to match Warhol’s iconic mane. Seeing pictures of them in their mod wear makes me want to find an awkwardly pale, skinny boy to tote around with me and talk about how FABULOUS things are all the time. Before the speed, of course. Given my love of all things gaudy, her abuse of fake eyelashes, penchant for furs and earrings the size of dinner plates, and her hatred of pants has made her my fashion idol. And frankly, Andy knew how to wear a black turtleneck better than anyone else.

Allison Mosshart and Jamie Hince of The Kills

If you don’t listen to The Kills, stop reading and listen to them right now. I’ll wait.

Alright, one hit of the “return” key equals a long enough time to have listened to one of their incredibly visceral tracks. It sounds like Allison Mosshart is trying to have sex with the whole world, and when they play live, she looks like she wants to eat Hince’s face. This ridiculous sexual tension is made all the better by their unapologetically rockin’ clothing choices. First off, they both look perpetually dirty. Her hair is always mussed to the perfect degree, and he looks like he just rolled out of bed (after fucking for 3 hours). His wardrobe of tight-ass black jeans, button-downs, and leather make him quintessentially cool. Mosshart channels classic female rock stars with her reliance on leopard-print, scuffed up boots, and tons of scarves and jewels. They look exactly how they sound, and in a time where most people just throw on an American Apparel t-shirt and call it “hipster style,” it’s incredibly refreshing to see people look like filthy rock stars.

Belated "Hello, interwebs!"

I’m no good with introductions, transitions, and the like. More often than not, if I’m visiting old friends and bring along new ones, the newbies are forced to introduce themselves, because I get caught up in a conversation for about 10 minutes before I remember “oh, right, you two don’t know one another. How odd.” My lack of social graces in real life plague me on the internets as well—I posted an entry on my brand-spankin' new style blog and waited nearly a month without properly introducing myself. I'm sure the suspense is killing you.

Let’s run down some basics, shall we? Name: Alyssa. Occupation: Copy editing at an educational publishing company—yes, it’s as thrilling as it sounds. Interests: style, music, drug-addled starlets, and photographs. Sort of kidding about the drug-addled stuff. I just really like Edie Sedgwick.

When it comes to my obsession with fashion, I completely blame my dad. He went to school for a degree in textiles, and works at Saks Fifth Avenue selling gorgeous clothes to outrageously rich people. Growing up in a house full of books about Chanel and Balenciaga with a father (and mother) who could sew with the best of them certainly had an effect on me. I love quite a few things in the world, but two that top the list are writing and pretty things. SO, my snobbily named blog was born. What? I always wanted to be French, and also, I figure this beautiful language can lend me some class when my love of Jersey accents, huge jewelry, and penchant for swearing reveals itself. In due time, children.

Since all I do at work is sneak peeks at fashion blogs anyway, I figured that I would try my hand at writing my own. Because really, what’s cooler than sneaking a peek at yourself while at work? Nothing, I tell you! Sincere thanks for stopping by, and COME BACK SOON.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Stylin' chanteuse


Natasha Khan
Originally uploaded by obscur_alyssa
Can we talk about Natasha Khan for a moment? Whether you know her as Bat for Lashes, or---BLASPHEMY--don't know her at all, one look tells you almost everything you need to know about her. She's equal parts whimsical, stunning, and eccentric. In a land of black skinny jeans or ripped tights and tunics, it's refreshing to see someone wear a lion's mane around their neck with such grace.

In all seriousness though, Khan serves as a reminder to all singers out there--music doesn't have to be your only art. Beyond her ethereal tones, this lady's style is one of her most compelling attributes. She may be poutin' in this picture, but you better believe it takes a solid amount of optimism and confidence to stare at a pile of peacock plumes and think: "of course! I was looking for a backpiece to wear tonight ANYWAY!"

Here's to you, Natasha. May you inspire the masses to break out of their tired routines of buffalo plaid boyfriend shirts and ballet flats.