In 2013, Grocery Store Items Talk Shit and Worship Lil B
Newish piece by yours truly on VICE, plus two more in the works
Holla at a Cheesy Gordita Crunch.
Category: Wants
BOOT LUV
It’s New York Fashion Week, the reverberations of which throughout the city could be a post in and of themselves, but that’s not why I’m here—I’m here to talk about BOOTS. Because it’s September 12th, and although it’s still humid and sticky and oven-y there are some autumnal vibes lurking, and the only thing that that could possibly mean for me is that it’s time for my favorite article of clothing, my uniform, my trusties, boots.
I saw this girl with these absolutely incredible boots the other day—wedgey cut out black leather things with big silver buckles and shiny white patent tips, but I’ve been unsuccessful in hunting them down even though they looked pretty Chloé to me. Whatever. Gaze upon these others.
Till it’s jacket weather, I’ll just keep dreamin’ of boots on boots on boots.
DAISY, DAISY
Betraying of my post-punk tomboyishness, my love of daisies has been lifelong. Bury me under a field of them. Tie them into my hair. Print them all over my clothes.
Ain’t nothing wrong with being cute.
As a big fan of juxtaposition, I would pair any of the babies below with serious boots or a trusty leather jacket.
(Has anyone else noticed how Forever 21 and Nasty Gal are virtually interchangeable lately?)
DREAMING OF STEVIE
In mid-2013, is there any girl who doesn’t want to embody Stevie Nicks? Putting aside the insufflatory drug use and personal afflictions, her combination of unmatched sincerity (nonexistent in today’s meta-ironic cultural wasteland) and je ne sais quoi has afforded her a golden resurgence in recent years.
On top of that songbird voice, Nicks is a wild heart, an ignited femme. She is strong, but vulnerable; pained but hopeful. Fragile, but set ablaze with her convictions. (Her only worthy contemporary in these respects would be Kate Bush. But more on her another time.)
Forever draped in velvet, metal, and lace, she is a hippie, a Victorian, and a moon child. And a blonde, to boot.
That’s not to mention that her iconic sartorial sensibilities.
It’s difficult not to want to chase after her mystique. From my own efforts, I offer the following, most of which I cannot afford.
Wrap around your dreams.
HOW I STOPPED RUINING MY SKIN
Allow me to shill.
From the age of 14 onward, I was in a constant battle with the seemingly omnipresent 2-3 zits that have always been trying to set up shop on my chin or below my nose. Like an endless game of Whack-a-Mole, I’ve struggled to obliterate them with pretty much every anti-acne face wash or cream on the market, always with unremarkable results. Proactiv? Yeah, right. Mario Badescu’s Drying Cream? Boo you. Even a prescription sulphur face wash ($23 a bottle with insurance, $96 without) offered limited results. I had a routine of using thick concealer and foundation every day on these areas of my face in efforts to combat the boorish teenage brat living in my pores.
Endlessly envious of and mystified by my friends who didn’t wear a single smear of makeup and somehow still had glowing, uniform skin free of miniature pus volcanoes, I resigned myself to “bad skin.” Whatever. I was just grateful to avoid Accutane, which makes you have eyeless alien babies or whatever. Assured by mainstream beauty brands that I had oily skin that needed to be blasted with industrial-strength salicylic acid day and night, I never moisturized (didn’t want to aggravate the oils!), piled on the chemicals, and strove for that just-scrubbed taut feeling in my face as often as possible.
Then, this past Christmas, I received a gift of some of 100% Pure‘s products, including its Mint White Tea Cleanser. I scanned the ingredients list and noted that many of the ingredients were actually plant, fruit, and vegetable oils. MY NEMESIS. But regardless of my aversion to that vowely word, I started using it (it smells nice, which is my primary criteria for any bath or beauty product) and developed a routine. Every night, I just gently rubbed it on my face with my fingers and splashed it off with lukewarm water, and once a week I used it with my Clarisonic Mia.
Within a week, my existing zits were gone. My skin was softer. There was no “taut” feeling, but instead one of balance, peace, bodily serenity. I almost completely stopped getting blackheads and no longer felt the need to constantly pick at my skin in the mirror. I hadn’t had a zit in four or five months. And then finally, the other day, I went out in public without any concealer or foundation, which I never thought was possible.
I feel both relieved and pissed. Relieved that something can be done to tame the shrew, and pissed that for well over a decade I’ve been believing that all I need was more salicylic acid, a higher concentration of benzoyl peroxide, something more astringent and powerful. Could companies really be urging us to smear all sorts of bad-for-us stuff all over our faces and bodies? Yes.
So fear not the oil, my friends. It just might be your new best friend.
I’M OBSESSED WITH THIS BOOK ABOUT PERFUME
It is well-known that mothers are prone to being fond of sales and the acquisition of tchotchkes. For my mother, this urge is enacted at the book outlet at the Menlo Park Library, a formidable golden trash heap of endlessly varied tomes for $1.
Recently, she brought home Luca Turin and Tania Sanchez’s Perfumes: The Guide. Although I was no wearer of perfume (but neither is she; sensitive Irish skin), she insisted that I flip through it.
I expected to be bored, because after all, how much could there possibly be to say about floral notes and white musk and Indian jasmine? Surely not an entire book’s worth?
But I was wrong. This book is one of the most entertaining and eye-opening reads I’ve set eyes on in years. To Turin and Sanchez, scent is as complex and nuanced as music or visual art, conveying fully sculpted concepts that can be executed masterfully or terribly. In fact, the analyses of fragrances that they find disgusting are often more entertaining than the ones they find ingenious. Mostly, I’m impressed by the authors’ ability to ignite sentiment and curiosity for something I previously regarded as garish and grandmotherly. (Please disregard highlighting below, I had to search through Amazon’s “Look Inside!” feature to find certain passages.)
I ended up becoming so enchanted by this elevated concept of perfumery that I purchased a couple for myself—Hanae Mori’s Butterfly and Lolita Lempicka. As described below:
I’m quite happy smelling like a “terrifically trashy cotton-candy idea”—but I do go light on the spray. To me, this book is a shining example of how engaging, humanistic writing can transform virtually any topic from mundane to magical. As a rambler, I find that idea comforting. And for the record, I like Tommy Girl.
IF I EVER TRICK ANYONE INTO LOVING ME FOREVER
or have any other excuse to wear a fancy white dress as though it’s a perfectly normal, not-creepy-at-all thing to do (any quinceñearas or first communions coming up?), I will either wear…
BE A TOTALLY INSANE PERSON: WEAR HEAD-TO-TOE HOLOGRAM
Although most of us are content dressing in a somewhat subdued tone (I revert to an all-black ensemble at least once a week), it’s nice to know that if you ever wanted to go full-blown Amanda Bynes DGAF‘d out, there are manufacturers all over the world creating sartorial options for you. I have a fantasy of someday wearing an entire outfit made of holographic items, and I’ve found that this would be entirely possible.
Fact: if you wear every single one of these items at the same time, you will yourself become a hologram and gain the ability to walk through walls, slip in and out of vision, teleport to outer space, and perform onstage with hologram Michael Jackson and hologram John Lennon at next year’s Coachella festival.
HILARY POLLACK 