Am I a delinquent blogger or what? Forgive me. Its not as if I haven't been having any fun, but you know, using the computer becomes so tiresome. What does my generation find so exciting about sitting in front of lighted screens? I'll never know; I never saw "The Social Network." Anyway, New Years Eve was gloriously fun, celebrated at Pennie's Somerville chateau. Rizzla spun records all night, and our gracious hostess nearly killed herself after a delicate spill down the grand staircase, which is no laughing matter, although she emerged triumphant and is now not only gracious, but the strongest woman in the world. Now she's sporting a futuristic neckbrace, the very definition of trans-human 21st century chic if you ask me. Let's talk about our generation.
Tom, Chris: OUTED.
the three drunk muses
Maria, Vibhu, Max
Moises, yours truly, Dymaris
Love in a Cold Climate
Happy Birthday Max, nice sandwich.
for no apparent reason
the very height of injurious chic. posture.
oh and this. Paris.
Really- what is the point of photographing Paris? It is the most photographed place on Earth, and so absurdly baroque it can't be understood pictorially. Ugh, the French. They've done everything absolutely right. Regardless, I left my camera in the hotel at moments when I really fucking wanted it, like for instance during Bernhard Willhelm's Mens Collection A/W 2011 fashion week presentation at Hotel Salomon De Rothschild. Oh mon dieu. So hilariously fashionable. Or at the 10 or so gay bars I popped into with my new friends Mathieu and Olivier.
How can we expect the children to stay on the farm once they've seen gay Paris? or however its said.
I was a starry-eyed faggot in ecstatic aesthetic ascension.
AND YES. There is a French fashion brand called Hartford. At last, vindicated in my defense of my hometown's style. http://hartford.fr/ We will all shop here from now on, am I right?
Lest I get used to this...