Friday, December 13, 2013
It's Friday the 13th, which means only the weirdest of weird things will happen today. Jason saves us from the consumerist behaviour that is Christmas and Wal-Mart gets a union. In other news, GQ Germany decided to have heterosexual men reach first base with other heterosexual men in an effort to create some sort of LGBT discourse.
I don't get it.
Okay, I kind of get it. I get the effort. The concluding message is clear that homophobia still exists and that straight sexy Germans are allies. But at the end of the day, it's really just a photo that will end up as the wallpaper on my Mac that I could masturbate to.
Photo: GQ Germany
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
As the third born child of immigrant parents, I was genuinely concerned with how I spent my money. I grew up with hand-me-down toys and in hindsight, a window to my gayness was unlocked by playing with my older sister's Barbie. This Barbie, which I remember vividly, had the ability to change hair colour just by adding warm to luke-warm water to her hair. That colour was a cloudy blue.
Fuck, I hate gender controlled toys.
During my formative high school years and through college and university, I never, ever, once owned this simple contraption you would call: the lint roller. You know, I could have been a very punctual and studious-looking student. Instead, my mother would gleefully offer me a roll of tape because it really sufficiently suffices as a lint roller-cum-tool for putting up posters of TLC. Albeit, the process of gathering one's strength to conjure this contraption was not as simplistic as an actual lint roller. For one, the lint roller has a wand. A fucking wand that can ergonomically remove lint from the back of your jumper without a strain or assistance from your sibling.
A roll of tape, sans wand. Ergo, strenuous.
The lint roller, why do we buy it? We purchase said item because we want to appear presentable to the world, our peers and employers, that, you know, we can be put together and that we have enough disposable income to splurge on a four dollar tool that is essentially, tape. Takes a lot of work to not look like shit.
So really, is the lint roller elitist? Probably... not. But to my mother, I think so.
(Disclosure: I bought this one for $0.50 on sale. Otherwise, I would have not been compelled to buy it.)
I'm really saddened by this rather mediocre haul, which was accompanied by some rather bro-ey music. Way to stereotype yourself, brah. How can a woman talk for an hour about her Louboutins but we can't even intellectualize a Givenchy tee. You've elaborated to me what I can already articulate for myself. I want you to delve deeper.
What compelled you to purchase a commodity of high-quality? Was it conformity? Was it for style? How would you style it and how? How many lawns did you have to mow or how many milk cartons did yo have to deliver to purchase said commodity? I really, really want to know.
Right now, I just think you're a upper class teenager with too much disposable income because of the Hermes belts in your part 3 of 3 haul.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
My previous day dreaming years prior to moving to Toronto was to always live in one of those fancy, schamancy sky scraping condos hoping it would be located next to the phallic CN Tower. A simpleton I was and now I think they're just shit. An article posted recently in The New York Times discusses the pros and cons of walk-up apartments. Price tag: $3,450. I presently live in one and it's kitschy-as-fuck, sort of.
I'm going to blatantly state that, yes, I am that west end snob that restricts his zone of where he lives and travels, but in my defence, I cycle to the beaches when the temperature reaches twenty degrees. I did date someone living in the east end and I wouldn't mind a flat in Cabbagetown because of the character I hope that resides in each unit.
I have friends - I really do have friends - that live in high rise condos and walk-up apartments and being biased, I prefer the latter. Condos have that cookie-cutter, sterile, yuppie connotation that are just sub-par for my living standards. Albeit, they normally have en-suite laundry, security (can double as a partner), a gym and other amenities at your pleasure.
The story of walk-ups just have so much more character and history. Being able-bodied, walk-ups are up my alley. Really. I lived in Kensington for a year, where I had to walk through a dark alley infested with a few non-Ratatouille looking rats. In addition, there were raccoons and squirrels living in the walls that made this normally chipper adult into a fucking raging asshole. But the place was still cute! Oh, and I'm sure there were opportunities in the alley where I could have been brutally murdered and no one would have noticed. It was all part of the charm! I signed the lease anyway. It was literally a shitty looking shack from the exterior and once indoors: it was quaint. It was renovated with pot lights and I love pot lights.
That place was rather pricey and here I am on my second year tenure in Toronto living at Trinity Bellwoods. This kitschy-as-fuck apartment is peculiar and that is why I like it. There are these bright tacky tiles on the walls, the hardwood flooring is uneven (a little too uneven for this self-diagnosed OCD guy) and there are these random toys that my landlord has left for us encapsulated on the stove, which I did not put away because it was cute, I think. Wow, so much history, I know.
Really though, do you really want to exchange greetings from vermin to greetings from a doorman?
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Dustin Lance Black - writer, gay activists, heartbreaker - broke up with me via text not too long ago and news has been reported that he is now dating Tom Daley. That slender Olympic diver who was decorated in some medal. Yes, him.
Daley, eager to pursue, sent him a text that said "call me" with a fucking smiley face. Everyone responds to a smiley face emoji. Black subsequently responded a day later and broke up with me a few weeks after.
As you have probably guessed correctly, we never dated. However, Daley and Black reportedly are.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
I was worried for my mental state recently because my relationship to fashion was suffering.
J.W. Anderson saved me.
A Sunday afternoon lead me to a bookstore to gander at the books I want to buy, but never have the time to read. I always route my route to directly take me to the international fashion magazines. I've already purchased the quarterly magazine Dansk, Pop was just $22.50 too expensive and Another Man had Ezra Miller on the cover and I unapologetically put down Hunger. Sorry Rebel Wilson.
I first heard about J.W. Anderson when he collaborated with Topshop and It gal Alexa Chung donned his bat jumper on the streets of New York. After that, I kind of just unfortunately dismissed him. That jumper with the blue dot in the ad above compelled me to find that piece online and I realized that, that jumper is $700 on sale. I further delved deeper into his fall 2013 collection and noticed new proportions for men that I couldn't find elsewhere.
Peplums, more peplums, dresses, a complete look with just a pinstripe jacket.
Further delving into the mind that is Jonathan Williams Anderson, here, he discusses the future of menswear and where it should advance. He believes in modernity in menswear and I absolutely agree that menswear needs to take more risks with textiles, designs and with great importance: proportions.
He also clearly stated that fashion needs to have an opinion to be real. And fuck, do I have opinions.
Fashion, I love you again.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
On yesterday's reduced closet space.
I kind of wish that I didn't shower three consecutive days in a row because that would then make this outfit more authentic. I donned this outfit three days in a row only changing undergarments twice. You do the math and give me a scale from 1 to 10 - with 1 being vermin and 10 being the child of Kate Middleton - of how hygienic I really am.
Day 1: I wore it to the Beaver. I pranced and got inebriated to Solange and other 90's hit jams from Foxy Brown.
Day 2: I went to visit my parents in suburbia. They don't judge. They judge.
Day 3: The above photo is day three. A friend came over and we finished the rest of season one of Girls. If I have to watch Hannah and Marnie throw a toothbrush at each other one more time, I just might have to gouge my eyeballs.
I bought that jumper two (three?) years ago and have never, ever, washed it. I don't want to pay for dry cleaning. Do I really need to wash every garment I own? Fuck no. I'll dry clean it if there's a rancid stench or a ketchup stain.