Jarrad Godman is an Auckland based designer and super nice person with the best spectacles we have ever seen. He takes inspiration from biology and scientific practices. All his garments are made locally in New Zealand. Here are some pics from his show yesterday.
xox Mariana and Lisette
We might have peaked a little early, considering we got escorted off the premises after the opening party Monday night #sorryaintsorry but we have had time to meet and talk to some amazing people. Here is our criteria for people we crush on:
1. A sense of humour
3. Inner confidence
4. Down to earth - ie not a snobby fuckwit
So, drum roll please.....
Vlad from www.badwearsgood.com - sexy, funny and didn't mind physical fighting for fun. He also enjoys a swear word or two.
Ariki McKinney - a model to watch for sure. He's from Wellington. Enough said.
Jess Molina - cute, busy organising back stage for Mitchell Vincent. Rocks black like no one else.
Gabs from The Bachelor - so beautiful and nice. Just proves that Jordan from The Bachelor is a dickhead. We choose Gabs.
Patrick Seng, the guy who runs Bintang Models. His style is the business. So sleek, so groomed, so hot.
xox Mariana and Lisette
When I was 14, I started getting guitar lessons. I was a huge fan of grunge music and idolised Courtney Love, Patti Smith, P.J Harvey and Bjork.
My guitar tutor was an older (ha! He was probably in his mid 20s!) guy with dyed black hair and a beaten up black leather jacket. He was a really nice, supportive teacher. When my frigid fingers strummed a D chord for the first time, he told me I was a natural. It totally made my day and encouraged me to practice constantly. Which only made him praise me more when I went back for my next lesson - I was making good progress, unlike the only other remaining student in my group, a skinny kid called James who didn't seem that interested and he never practised much.
After a few months I was getting along pretty well with my playing. One day in class the tutor asked me if I sang too. I did. I sang a lot. I sang a lot alone in my room so no one could hear me. I sang everything. I harmonised with Fiona Apple and I squawked along with Courtney Love. I also wrote. I wrote lots and lots of poetry and lyrics. But what did I say when my tutor asked me if I sang? I panicked. Terrified that he may ask me to sing to him then and there, my eyes dropped to the floor and I replied "Kinda". A compromise between the shit-scared part of myself and the part deep inside that desperately wanted to break into song right there. But, he didn't give up. He pressed on. "I'm looking for a female grunge vocalist for my new band who can play a little rhythm guitar, would you be interested?"
Now logically, you would assume that I'd have said yes. Here it was: a perfectly amazing opportunity presenting itself in front of me. It was actually everything I wanted in the world (at that point in my life (and even now perhaps) an exciting creative opportunity to make music with a group of people who shared my musical interests and could potentially teach me heaps of stuff. These days I pray for those kinds of opportunities. But what did I say? I said nothing. That's right I didn't even answer with words. I merely and meekly screwed up my face and shyly shook my head no.
My extroverted self has never forgiven my shy introverted self for that. Never. Because now we will never know what could have happened. The potential of it is now left to wander through my mind in a collection of gauzy what-ifs and possibilities late at night when I can't sleep.
A few months later, my tutor left. He got offered another job somewhere else. The new guitar teacher was an older (actually older, like in his 60s) guy who I didn't really mesh with. So slowly but surely I lost interest in playing guitar and instead started doing other "cool" stuff like drinking and kissing boys (face palm).
The most frustrating part was that Skinny James finally found some interest in practising the guitar. He actually found interest in music altogether and went on to get a music scholarship to university. It's funny how things work out.
I wish. I wish I'd not been so freaking shy. I wish I'd pulled out my big Lady-Balls and let them dangle proudly. I wish I had been bold enough to risk looking foolish in exchange for a chance at trying something I could have loved. I wish I had known then how rare it is for life to hand you these opportunities without you having to hunt them down. I wish I'd had the guts to actually chase my dream, instead of letting it remain just a dream.
Now years later, other dreams have come along that I have finally learned how to chase. But interestingly, I am finally singing (and playing guitar - Kinda).
When I turned 30 I decided why the heck not and started getting singing lessons. I did it partly because I wanted to show my boys how important it is to do things that they enjoy even if they are a little scared or intimidated by the idea. I also did it because even at 30, there's still plenty of time to learn new things.
I've performed on stage a few times and loved ever second of it. I've also started writing songs. And now if an opportunity comes along you can bet your ass I'll be slinging out my big Lady Balls and saying a loud resounding "Yes!"
Fashion Week is coming and we can’t wait! It’s not long now. We head to Auckland on Saturday to take a short (shopping) break. The fantastic mayhem that is New Zealand Fashion Week kicks off on Monday night with the opening party. We are super excited!
As always there are a huge number of shows on at NZFW. We’d love to see them all, but sometimes that just not possible. Here’s a few of the shows we are most excited to see this year…
K Road Presents: Lela Jacobs, Jimmy D, Maaike and Ovna Ovitch
We saw Lela Jacobs’ show a few years back and it was amazing. Broody, spooky and slightly sci-fi. For a little while we felt like we were inside a young adult dystopian novel. This year, Lela Jacobs features with Jimmy D, Maaike and Ovna Ovitch in an intriguing group showcase.
Every year Adrian Hailwood’s designs just blow me away. Even when I expect it. Even when I try to prepare myself to be wooed by the beautiful clothes, I still end up ooh-ing and aah-ing. Maybe it's because Hailwood speaks to my inner magpie with the clever use of sparkly and foil fabrics? Whatever the reason I am super excited to see the new collection.
Stolen Girlfriends Club
Last year, Stolen Girlfriends Club tried to kill us with their ubiquitous SGC espresso cocktails! But this year, we are ready. Oh yes we are. Who knows what will happen? We’ve attended one of their shows at a speedway and another at an old theatre. The collections are always breath-taking and somehow fitting with the theme of the chosen venue of the night.
It’s always the shows that are a little hard to envision that tickle our fancy. How does one best showcase a range of luxury leather goods like Yu Mei? We are dying to find out!
We are super excited to see this show by this New Zealand label, created by BFFs Natalia Baird and Lucille Ness, so kinda a little like The-Madisons! We are excited to see their fresh and simple designs at NZFW this year! Also, stay tuned for an interview with Blackeyepeach, coming soon!
As an anxious person, I regularly spend a lot of time wondering how I will die. To be more specific I tend to worry about it. I lay awake at night, heart hammering, worrying about the awful ways in which I could possibly die. Will I drown on a family trip to the beach or be eaten by a shark? Will I get hit by a bus whilst searching for Pokémon? Or will it be in a car accident, like Jane Mansfield? These possibilities plague me regularly. Sometimes making it hard for me to leave the house.
But now the fun has been taken out of the equation because I know exactly how I will die. I will leave this earth imbedded into my couch, unwashed and drunk on tea and M&Ms, in a Bravo T.V. induced coma.
My family will hold an intervention. My parents may even come over from Australia for it. They will crowd around me trying to convince me to relinquish the remote control, to leave the couch, to wash. I will growl like an angry old bichon bitch whose prised bone is under threat.
Many attempts will be made by professionals to remove me from the T.V room but I will refuse, hissing like a rabid racoon, insisting I stay and see what the next instalment of Botched has in store for me; “Oh my god! Look at those lips? And she wants them bigger? What is wrong with these people?” I’ll gush. “I’ll never have surgery. Never.”
I’ll sit with bated breath, desperate to see if Vicki and Tamra remain friends in the next season of The Real House Wives of Orange County. Or perhaps I’ll again ponder at whether Heather knows she is a heartless bitch or if Erica Jayne of the Beverly Hills Housewives knows she is really just a house wife with far too much money who makes hobby soft porn/music videos. I’ll grow jealous of Lisa Vanderpump’s pet swans and then spend hours trying to purchase myself a swan off eBay in an attempt to prove that I too am worthy of a pet swan.
My brain will be merely a prune sized morsel, shrivelled and depleted. Useful only to keep my bodily functions processing.
There will be bed sores. My flesh will omit an odour of cabbage soup and my hair will fall out in clumps. But I will be happy, my mind numbed and sedated, and I will mutter at regular intervals one single sentence: “Thank god I’m not as stupid as these people. Thank god.”
But the saddest part of all will be that I will tell myself I am doing it all in the name of research. “I’m collecting data!” I’ll snap at my husband when he ventures in with a gas mask strapped to his face to protect him from my noxious fumes. “I am writing a novel about reality T.V!” I’ll lie. But I won’t know I’m lying anymore. The poisonous frequencies that carry Bravo into my home via wifi will have penetrated my brain.
But I won’t be the only one. There will be others like me, confined to their couches, slowly rotting. When I finally realise that this was their plan all along, that Bravo was created by the CIA to reduce the human race to unkempt zombies, to make them live vicariously through mind numbed, wealth addicted morons, it will be too late. I’ll be dead and the world will never know the truth. Until they too fall victim to the virus.
A few lucky ones will survive and they will live to tell the story.
Of how Bravo T.V destroyed the world.
ILLUSTRATION BY TOM LABAFF
Uh oh! Our astrologist has lost her filter! She's looked everywhere for it; under the couch, in the washing hamper, even at the bottom of her handbag. But alas, it has gone. We thought we'd have to let her go but then we realised, her horror-scopes, while harsh, are quite wise. Read on...If you dare!
Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole? Well they should.
Ever seen a bull with its horns stuck in the ground? It’s really funny. Not for the bull, but for everyone who gets to stand there and watch the silly thing get madder and madder. The funniest part is that it shoved its horns into the ground on purpose to prove a point. It could pull them out but it’s too damn stubborn. Dick.
Everyone hates you because you’re talented. The people who don’t hate you just want to be near you to be seen with you.
Oh my god shut up. Stop fucking whining about your life and change something.
You’re a leader. Yep. You’re good at managing it all. You’re good at running your own business and managing a team. Just don’t be a cunt about it.
The funniest part is that you think you are considerate when really you’re the most self-absorbed of the zodiac. Sure, you love being around people, just like all performers love having an audience. Oh and by the way, not everyone needs to comply with your weird rules that the crazy voices in your head have enforced on you, so keep them to yourself.
You think everything must be fair. But when you insist on things always being 50/50 and others occasionally give more out of kindness, guess what? You end up with more you stingy fucker! Don’t be such a stickler for fairness and try being nice. Cunt.
Some people may think you’re an asshole but you’re just a scorpio. If someone calls you a fuckwit just take a breath and try to be less like yourself.
Nobody cares what you have to say. Shut up and stop trying to make everyone conform to your crazy ways. Wanna know something insightful? You are not perfect. So focus on changing your own problems before you going hassling other people.
You’re insane but you think your way is the right way. It’s actually the best way to live so carry on. Just don’t go giving advice because you’re an asshole.
Oh for fuck sake. Everyone is sick of your existential crises. Just shut up and get your shit done and stop analysing it. Your woo-woo crazy ways are exhausting so shut up about your crystals. Hippy.
Get your shit together day dreamer. Get a real job, you’re not practical enough to make it in the arts. Unless you marry a doctor or lawyer, you’re fucked. You’re too fragile and emotional to create art and manage to feed yourself and keep a roof over your head at the same time.
TAGS: #satire #humour #notreal #chill
Vinegar Girl. What a great title for a re-imagining of Shakespeare’s famous play The Taming of the Shrew. In Anne Tyler’s version of the classic tale Kate is the daughter of Dr Batista, an eccentric scientist whose prised Russian research assistant Pyotr, faces possible deportation after the expiration of his visa. In a bid to keep him in employment, Dr Batista tries to persuade Kate to marry him. Not surprisingly Kate objects to this plan but a seed has been planted, leaving kate to reassess her life. Is she content to live at home for the rest of her days looking after her father and her teenage sister? Is she content to go on working as a teacher’s assistant, constantly trying to tame her impulses to utter truths that sting the ears of the intended?
So what’s the verdict? After such exceptional re-works of the same play as Kiss me Kate and the cult film 10 things I hate about you, did this really need to be retold again? It is hard to read this version without comparing it to the others and I am not sure it outshines them.
All be it, Anne Tyler was born in 1941 but does she really have to write like a 74 year old woman? I don’t know if it’s the use of loud third person narrative, or the old fashioned language used by Kate (done somewhat on purpose I’d say to imply she is a bit prudish and out of touch with those her age), but something about these characters prevents them from feeling current and even real. This book would be completely believable, if it was set in 2005. Though it could easily be set in the 1960s too.
Maybe it’s that Kate uses old school lingo; referring to her dad as “Father” though yes, this is likely on purpose. But believe me, no 29 year old I know would utter the phrase “they’ll get over it by and by.” No one. I don’t actually think I’ve heard anyone say that, ever. Perhaps they did. Before I was born.
But it’s also Bunny’s speech and character that doesn’t add up either. As a 17 year old, she seems to spend far too much time with her face out of a screen to be believable. And, no 17 year old in the last 20 years has ever said: “Your daughter is a meddlesome jerk!” or “Come along Edward”.
n her defence, Tyler does try to incorporate some hip lingo, it’s just that’s its about 20 years old – ‘This family is so lame!” That phase was hip when I was a teen. That was a liiittle while ago now!
She manages to include some aspects of social media into the story - like the occasional cell phone, a slight mention of Facebook - But as far as I’m concerned, it’s too little too late.
She could have had so much fun with this book. She could have used this to make a jibe at the online lives of teens, how they are seldom living in the real world and instead use their phones to communicate with everyone. She could have made Kate’s reluctance to embrace social media – a controversial decision these days – even louder by contrast.
Despite all of this, Vinegar Girl does manage to take hold. Once you get past the minor oddities, tell yourself to stop groaning at the “old lady narrative”, there’s just something about the characters that manages to draw you in. I needed to see this book through to the end. I couldn’t put it down.
As I was reading, I suspected this book would be much like Tyler’s previous title, A spool of Blue Thread; a bit of an onion. Many layers, something draws you in, you keep striving to get to the middle of it, but in the end, there’s nothing really there. Thankfully I was wrong. On the close of the book, one speech makes it all worthwhile. It’s enough to make me forgive Tyler for her dated dialogue and her lack of up to date content:
It’s hard being a man. Have you ever thought of that? Anything that’s bothering them, men think they have to hide it. They think they should seem in charge, in control; they don’t dare share their true feelings. No matter if they are hurting or desperate or stricken with grief. ‘Oh I’m okay’ they say, ‘everything’s just fine.’ They’re a while lot less free than women are when you think about it.
As far as cover design goes, WOW. This one is a winner. I must confess to judging a book by its cover. But when they look this good can you blame me?
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Lisette Prendé and Mariana Collette are BFFs. They met on their first day of high school and have been making each other laugh ever since.