Elliot and Isabel

… Because when your day job is picture-taking, chances are you cannot write, even in obvious basic syntax. I’m not even going attempt to tackle SS’ posts, so let’s just take a lookity-look at his infamous blog’s headers. OBSERVE:

Ohhhh, oh look at that, we can rhyme. We’re rhyming. We’re 12. See spot run motherf*ckers.

Oh! Bike-to-bike sniping. Not only is this caption just ridiculous in its janky structure, it also conjures a hilarious image of Scott brandishing a nice Smith & Wesson shooting b*tches left in right on Amsterdam’s quaint straats.

So are you actually (pause) really interested in the royal wedding? Yes, and you’re a street style blog you crazy tangential little muskrat. Get it together girlfriend.

The question, now, is what can a man do for an Hermes scarf? God, you’re so annoying.

-Elliot

It has recently come to my attention that I love dancing. There are many places to enjoy a dance. Please see the following list to see where you fall in to place:

When I dance, I have the general rhythm and basic aesthetic of this charming bat.

Let’s go from west to east, shall we? Like weather systems. Mmmmmhm! All of these summaries are based on my observations from “going out” in each respective city, many, many times.

Los Angeles: PYT’s, but enhanced by the artificialities you’d expect to find in LA. There’s also a very obvious air of arrogance but it is weirdly exciting – all that celebrity magnetism I guess. But ultimately, LA nightlife is really boring… like insanely boring.

Miami (Downtown, none of that SoBe Mansion BS): A wonderland of real-life hipsterdom (meaning, these hipsters actually are broke). They tweet until 7AM every single day. They’re funny and smart and pretty in their cut-off mesh tanks, cut-off jean shorts, cut-off haircuts and full-on drug habits. Wild appreciation for good music, because they actually like it, not because it is trendy to follow it.

Rio de Janeiro: Hookers and muscle. But most everyone is gorgeous (so even if they do dress like Jersey Shorelets, they’re 1000x more enjoyable to look at). So. Much. Fun. I’m moving there.

New York: Yawn.

London: Proper good fun. The men are men and the girls are mostly not from London, and it’s rip-roaringly expensive, and there’s a members-only-to-after-hours-spot trend, and it’s fantastic. It also doesn’t seem to get old in London, probably because going out feels less… intense… for some reason.

Paris: From La Fleche d’Or to Le Baron, everyone is wasted all the time and smoking, and it’s this boozy disregard for protocol that makes Paris magical. But at the same time, because its f*cking Paris, it feels annoying.

Marrakech: Mega-clubs, with girls on weekends from Casablanca, or Laguna Beach (duh). The boys are Arab (but not the hyper-wealthy) and Euro (also not the hyper-wealthy). For all of Marrakech’s luxury brand-equity, the city’s nightlife feels subpar. But it’s fun if you want to dance on speakers overlooking thousands of people dancing to songs from 2006.

Cairo: Surprisingly awesome, at least at the one club in Cairo that was cool for a while (35). Apparently there is a new place now. Men drinking whiskey, girls in relatively daring outfits for the Middle East, and decent music. Some internationals, good mix, even the gays were twirling around on the dance floor (one would assume this would be a big no-no! Bad gays!) Also, everyone there that I spoke too had been to New York, and they’d all loved it.

I’m sure Isabel has some more to add to this list. Is it accurate? Probably not, but ’tis my reflections. I couldn’t fall asleep last night because I was thinking about all the characters I’ve met over the years. Anybody know what it’s like to go clubbing in Moscow?

-Elliot

Ahhh the classic ‘I SPENT WHATT?’ next-day morning routine. Mmmhmm.

Except in this particular case (shown above) somebody (not me) bought a Lamborghini’s worth of drinks (okay maybe it was me). I mean, for reals, this is enough alcohol to kill a small Irish village.

Ever wonder how people like Mike Tyson can go from rolling in the dough to literal poverty… well here you have it people!

150K plus on the devil’s nectar is the new trainwreck.

-Jane

Coming at you live from silly-goose-ville A.K.A. the Paris Men’s S/S2012 shows. What’s up?

Hermes:

Person: American yacht-hand, on his day off, who secretly sleeps with whoever owns the yacht (and steals his clothes. and wears them, like, “just…around” various ports-of-call).

Place: On some boulevard or boardwalk or insert-other-fancy-name-for-a-street, in a coastal European vacation destination, like… I don’t know… Larnaca. Mentally, he’s in a place of intense, burning anguish.

Thing: Suffering some sort of out-of-body/existential crisis, on whether or not to out his relationship with his employer and subsequent sartorial larceny, as well as that ever existing dilemma in the minds of gay guys in Europe – “Why the f*ck isn’t Grindr working?” (look at the tension in his jaw).

Lanvin:

Person: Someone with an incredible job and who has immense amounts of creative responsibility at said job. Also someone who really, really loves Doctor Seuss, and often thinks how he will one day (when he “has time” to “find a surrogate” and consequentially “father a child”) read, nightly, The Lorax to his offpsring (obviously in bed, in matching Lanvin jammies and Frette linens).

Place: Seriously, the f*ck if I know. Probably if not definitely somewhere in Germany though.

Thing: Going out to pick up a kumquat smoothie (for balance) and charcoal crayons so that he can sketch in the forest, at night. Maybe it will be illustrations for a children’s book. Or, maybe, it will be wood-nymphs performing auto-fellatio.

Thom Browne:

People: The village idiots.

Place: A village, somewhere, with lots of idiots (so to be labeled the village idiot means you’ve got a little extra something special. A touch of…)

Thing: Truthfully, this reminds me of when anthropologists found natives living in the hills of Papua New Guinea in the 80′s or 90′s, and aforementioned natives had never seen modern technology or used modern amenities (like, electricity! for example. So contemporary). Replace tech-virgin Natives with full-retard-status fashion zombies and you get the above.

I think, also, whatever is going on in this cabaret nightmare, the only way for it to make sense is if it is some sort of ritualistic, lemmings-over-the-cliff Kool-Aid drinking non-ceremony. Oh, Hailey’s Comet is passing by earth again? Let me just throw on a sequined robe trimmed in grosgrain and a long pearl necklace and a jockstrap and drink ether and hope that maybe I can ride Miss Hailey’s icy-blue tail with the soul’s of Paris’ dead can-can dancers.

Fashion is the most annoying thing in the world, but I just can’t get enough of it.

-Elliot