I got this beautiful vintage purse for a steal at Goodwill which I had for about a year until I was suddenly struck with inspiration from a mask I wore at New Year's.
You will need:
1 vintage purse
1 mask (mine came from H&M)
1 small paintbrush
Complimentary Paint (I used this paint because it's water soluble and I'm a klutz)
2 large address labels
1 sheet regular paper
Tape
Step 1) The purse was patent leather, which resists paint. Rub the area you're working with with acetone nail polish remover to remove the sheen. You can also use a metal scrubbie to buff it off.
Step 2) Trace a mask onto paper. If you have even a hint of artistic talent or even fairly steady hands you may be able to skip this step, but not I.
Step 3) Cut out the mask and remember that the outline is what needs to be smooth, not the cutout.
Step 4) Tape it in place on the purse. Then trace the eyes onto label paper. Using the mask as a guide, stick them in place.
Step 5) Paint the mask, being careful around the edges. I used this paint, and did several coats to create a smooth look.
Step 6) Remove the paper and the eyes.
Step 7) Use a wet, soapy rag to carefully clean any rough edges.
Step 8) Insist your fiance call you Martha Fucking Stewart for the rest of the day.
Today was the singular most hilarious day of my entire professional life, perhaps my life in entirety. And I have had some pretty hilarious days. I can only pray that my retelling is half as funny as the actual events that I am about to describe.
I'm writing this from a lovely hotel in Stuttgart, Germany after a day on set with a truly fantastic crew. I've worked for this client* before, but never anyone on this particular team. I was actually really nervous about this shoot because the last time I modelled for this company they were unhappy with my work**. Obviously it couldn't have been too dire since they hired me again but I made sure to be on my very best behavior*** today.
I groomed, plucked, buffed, exfoliated and arrived to set early. The makeup artist did a beautiful job on my face and hair, and then we headed off to location. We drove up a dizzying hill (San Francisco has nothing on Stuttgart) and arrived at a mansion that was straight out of Architecture Digest. That's a real magazine, right?
It was a beautiful place to have a photo shoot. There was expensive looking art on the walls, a fountain in the entryway, and floor-to-ceiling windows displaying one of the most beautiful views I've ever seen.
Now, one of the things that can be a drag about photo shoots is the waiting around. The lights have to be set up, wardrobe needs to get ready, and then makeup and/or hair usually needs retouching. But, given the setting, I really didn't mind. And as the makeup artist did his thing, I was feeling pretty good about myself and the day so far. The crew had been impressed with my professionalism, the makeup looked gorgeous and the hairstylist really loved my hair. "Yes," he said, appraising his work, "this is really working. Now go get dressed and we'll start shooting."
As I headed downstairs to wardrobe I gave myself a little pat on the back and had a sip of my energy drink to ward off jetlag. Then I confidently rounded the corner and fell into the fucking fountain.
Why don't you just read that again? Go ahead. I'll wait. No. Don't even bother. I'll give it to you again.
I FELL IN THE FUCKING FOUNTAIN.
And it is worth noting that this was no normal fountain. This was a waist deep, rocky, indoor, Zen pond. That I fell inside of.
It is also worth noting that this was no normal fall. This was stepping where you assume there's ground and diving headfirst into deep and cold water with enough product in your hair to start a Fran Drescher level ecosystem and hours worth of makeup on your face. Not to mention your clothes and only coat.
So what is a half drowned and completely mortified model to do?
A) Apologize profusely and beg for forgiveness.
B) Laugh with the stylist until you're both clutching the clothing rack and threatening to ihre hosenpinkeln. C) Dissolve into giggles when the hairstylist not only forgives you but also joins you at the clothing rack and refers to you as Ariel for the rest of the day.
So. That happened. And if you'll excuse me, I'm off to soak my cold and exhausted body in a tub and order room service so as to avoid any public fountains.
*Client=clothing company that hires the team. Team= model, photographer, photographer's assistant, photo editor, MUA, stylist, etc. **actually, they were unhappy with my hair. It's still a little weird to me that my hair is so tied up in my work. I mean, other people get terrible haircuts and, you know, wear hats. They don't have to worry about being fired. ***and to have the best hair possible....
Note: if you've been following me on Tumblr you've seen most of these (but not all).
This was my first fashion week and school combination and it turned me into a raging stereotype of the overcaffeinated, underfed fashionista. Don't worry, I have the good sense to be embarrassed by it. I mean, I actually said, "OMG, I am so over it at this point." OUT LOUD. To another human being. Who had ears.
But for all I bitch and moan about fashion week, it gives my inner fourteen year old girl*, who is an attention starved drama geek, an outlet. I mean, when else can I wear a cape and elbow length gloves?
What I wore:
Hat: H&M, Shirt: California C&C, Skirt: Nordstom's, Boots: United Nude
Cape: Vintage, Jeans: Rag & Bone, Shoes: Jimmy Choo
Hat: H&M, Jacket: gift from uncle, Purse: Apt. 9, Jeans: Rag & Bone, Heels: DIY (post forthcoming) Cat: spoiled rotten
Shirt: thrifted, Skirt: Christian Dior, Shoes: Rainbow
Glasses: Purple, Scarf: Ann Taylor, Jacket: vintage, Gloves: Cynthia Rowley, Dress: Vintage, Old Lady: Dotty
One of my favorite shows of this season was a Boston line called Emerson. Naturally I didn't get a single good picture, so here's the video.
Articles forthcoming. Now that the smoke is clearing I'm resisting the urges to
a) wax poetic about fashion
b) compile all my thoughts about the various trends and highlites into a post because, to be honest, they're all blurring together and I think there's quite enough of that on the internet at this point and
c) bitch about how silly the whole fashion world is. It is what it is, and I'm doing what I can to change that, which has to be enough.
*remember these?
I used to cover my entire head with them and wear a lime green trench coat. I looked like a batty old lady with a butterfly sanctuary on her head.
First I painted my nails to give me something pretty to look at while I read my brains out. I'm taking a Faulkner class and a Romantics class this semester and none of those fuckers were exactly stingy with words.
And I turned to The Boy and I told him to strap on his boots and head out for blueberries because I needed that in my face as soon as possible. I believe my exact words were, "strap on your boots because I am strapping on a bra and making us some fucking pancakes so you had better suck it up, mister!" Don't worry, he did.
Then I went back to reading and it's going to be a lot more of that this week, along with a fair amount of writing. Then, this weekend, I'm off to Germany but not before having a Day of Awesome. My friend and I are going for chicken here, then trapezing (!!!) here, then having cupcakes from here and then going to this spa. Be jealous.
I have a sneaking suspicion that this bitch is tipsy.
I started a Tumblr account! You can see it here, if you want to. Here's the deal: it will mostly be pictures of shoes and style inspiration with the occasional puppy thrown in there for good measure. NOTE: please don't throw puppies. I promise I won't post anything interesting over there without putting a link here, so it's just a source of pretty for you and distraction for me.
However, there will also probably be pictures of things that are related to a certain day in the uncertain future. You know. That Fucking Day. The one where I'll probably wear white and say embarrassing, stupid, lovey things to The Boy in front of a lot of people. Heretofore to be known as TFD. Initially I was going to post those things here and maybe have some mind of regular inspiration thing but....I didn't want to.
So, if that's interesting to you, head on over. If it's not, keep on rocking in the free world. Actually, from what I understand from Mr. Young you should do that irregardless. But you know.
