When people come to my house (well, mostly Sarah and Julia), they often accuse my living room of resembling a doctor’s office, minus the impending use of shiny instruments.
I have a magazine problem. A big one. They’re everywhere. And I hoard them like these guys, never really sure when they’ve run their course and it’s time to toss them. So stacks develop — sometimes they’re suburban ranch house-like in dimension, but other times they take on skyscraper qualities.
Imagine my surprise and happiness when The Selby (which if you aren’t checking regularly, you should start) posted photos of objects in Julia Roitfeld’s New York apartment and I saw that the daughter of Paris Vogue Ed Caroline also adorns her space with swaying piles of reading matter. Stacks and stacks of magazines. And books. Awesome. At least I’m in good company.
The first time I saw mention of the trouser company Bonobos I laughed out loud. They know not what they do, I thought. How could anyone be so stupid as to name their company after the mammal second only to humans in lasciviousness? (Besides dolphins, I suppose.)
But no, they know exactly what they’re doing, and it’s fantastic. Reading the about pages (yes, there are several), you eventually come to regard founders Andy Dunn and Brian Spaly as your hilarious and over-informed fraternity brothers (even if you weren’t in a frat and are not currently male, such as I). The site is laced with tongue in cheek humor (customer service reps = ninjas), which serve to elevate what is otherwise a pretty bone-headedly straightforward idea into compulsive want-to-buy-now items.
The pants themselves actually do look fantastic. The motto doesn’t lie; they are awesome fitting trousers. At least the headless horseman they got to parade around in them on the website looks great. The pants come in five different fabric styles and five main styles, conveniently broken down by occasion. Keeping not only a male attention span happy, but mine as well.
I was just reminded of this gem courtesy of Mr. J Amendolara, when I happened across Christopher Walken’s re-telling of (although it does feel like the first time doesn’t it?) The Three Little Pigs… Enjoy, dunskies!
Well ladies and gents, it’s memorial day and I’m off (or, if this automatic post poster is functioning correctly, I’m already there!) to Small Point, Maine.
In the spirit of callusy hands, swatting mosquitos and dusting off the house for the summer (oh and 2-D design), check out this great silkscreen print from the mavericks at Brainstorm. You should get one. Or just get me one.
I have to write a post about this great song by local L.A. band Fol Chen. I mean, so yeah, I love narrative-driven songs, fine, but this one is just so evocative and awesome — cannot be beat. It makes me want to run back to Palm Springs (there this weekend, more to come on that later!), hole up in a [pepto pink?] motel and wait out the sunlight with a refreshing spritzer.
Was it in protest, you ask? A strike of silence? Amputated fingertips rendering you incapable of typing?
So yeah, it’s been a while. Here I am again. I’m not sure why it’s taken me so long to get back on the horse, as I don’t have many scrutinizing readers… make that any readers [Hi Mom!].
