Los Angeles Art Blog

Costume contest at the Key Club Monday Night

Havent been back to Metal Skool's Monday mash since I used to deejay the VIP room, and thankfully nothing's changed. KISS wanna-bes, half-naked nymphos, ironic 'staches, lil creepy guys trying to look up my dress... Okay it was their annual Halloween party, but if you've ever been to see the Skool, you know there's always some hairy hi-jinx to be had.

You'll have to wait to read all about it in NEXT week's Nightranger, but here's a lil scoop to hold ya over til then: the whole place was a reality TV star ruckus with members of VH1's Rock of Love (Lacey, the bitchy redhead's band played, and yes they sucked), The Real World, The Pick-Up Artist (yes, "Mystery" was there and no, he is NOT hot). Stir in Jackass's Steve-o, aging metal men Rikki Rachtman and Warrant's Jani Lane, and you've got one scary-ass cauldron of kooks.

More Strip bits to be had in THIS week's Nightranger (out tomorrow) too, including my take on the Sex Pistols show (see Randall Roberts review here for a decidedly different view) and the SanDisk Block party featuring Common, Z-Trip, Cut Chemist, Linkin Park and The Cyrtstal Method.

Happy Halloween!

When I finagled the invite to the Murakami Gala at MOCA, my girlfriends bombarded me with the same question:

"What are you wearing?"

It was a legitimate one, considering my sparse excuse for a wardrobe, overrun with tattered t-shirts, baggy jeans, moth-eaten sweaters and a few other shapeless things, all dappled with holes, stains and snags.

Kanye West was performing and Marc Jacobs was attending, which meant a slew of fancy fashionistas would inevitably be there, wearing designer frocks and high heels and jewelry.

Seeing how there was no way to compete, I decided to go DIY. Inspired by Isaac Mizrahi's ball skirt circa 1994, I headed downtown and found a deep red/black tafetta that I could kind of afford. I brought it to a seamstress I found on the Craigslist who had a thick South African accent and knack for brutal honesty.

She wrapped a tape measure tight around my waist. I pushed it down to my hips, explaining the look I was going for.

"Honey, you're short-waisted. And short. It won't work," she explained, moving the tape back up to my waist.

My mother implored me to have a professional do my make-up.

"Don't try it yourself," she said. "You're such a spaz."

It's true, I don't wear make-up. In fact, I don't even own make-up, but there was no way I was going to pay someone to paint my face.

"Go to Nordstrom," she said. "Pretend you're going to buy something and have one of the sales people do it."

The thought of going to Nordstrom was as hateful as the thought of wearing make-up. I told her I'd think about it.

In the meantime, I googled "How to make a bun," in preparation for the big night and found out that aloe vera gel makes an excellent volumizer. The technique seemed a little complicated, and I recruited my writing partner/friend for help.

She asked about the overall look I was going for and I broke it down, explaining what I was wearing and how I intended to do my make-up.

"Go to Nordstrom," she implored. "Let a professional do it. Don't try it yourself."

I woke up the morning of the gala with a veritable set of luggage beneath my tired eyes. My mother called to check in.

"Go ice your eyes," she instructed.

"I'm making jewelry, " I replied, attempting to make eleventh-hour onyx and rose quartz bracelets out of two of my roommate's necklaces. "You told me I need to accessorize."

"Un-puffed eyes are more important," she said. "Prioritize!"

After fifteen minutes under a bag of frozen peas, the swelling kind of subsided, though the spooky dark circles remained.

"We can fix that, honey," soothed Colby, the only sales person I could find at the MAC counter who didn't look overdone. Turns out he actually was wearing make-up, he'd just gone for a very natural look.

I told him I had no idea how to put on make-up (true). I told him I had a lot of holiday parties coming up (it could happen). I told him my mom was going to buy me make-up for my birthday, which was coming up (lie, lie). I told him I wanted to look so beautiful that Jason Schwartzman would cross the room to introduce himself (true).

I brought my own lipstick - a dark bloody berry stain from Whole Foods made of organic ingredients. Colby frowned as he painted it on, trying to sell me on a "Christina Aguilerra red" (as if that was a good thing) instead.

I bought a concealer out of guilt, and promised that my mother would be in sometime next week to purchase the rest (LIE!!!).

I met my girlfriend back at my apartment and she spent forty-minutes scraping the glitter off my eyelids. She sculpted my hair into a delightully fat flower sort of bun and supervised as I paired my new tafetta ball skirt with a sample from my t-shirt line, Perv, and a pair of black patent leather ballet flats. My date was running late, which gave me a few minutes to make a couple more bracelets.

The gala was fancy and fabulous (read: boring). No one gave a shit about my red tafetta skirt, my fancy flower bun, or my Perv original, amidst all the supermodels, the movie stars and the art, which drew far less of a crowd than the bar. Local art star Gary Baseman gave my tee a giggle. An otherwise cranky novelist told me I looked like a "stone fox," which almost made the whole ridiculous hassle of preparation worth it for a few seconds. But in the end - a mere three lackluster hours of "fabulous" - I just felt stupid for having gone to so much trouble, and Jason Schwartzman was nowhere to be found.

Fashion week is officially over, but that doesn't mean the strutting has stopped completely. Thanks to a power outage in my area, I missed the David Yurman menswear show at the Paramour mansion last night (cant get dressed in the dark!) but I hear it was, as Kimora Lee Simmons would say, pure fabulosity. The Bravery played, and ironically (for me at least) guests were escorted to the bash in pure darkness (blindfolds). The Paramour is only up the hill from my pad too!

Anyhoo, gotta say a big, big bravo to Linda Immediato, who tirelessly covered Fashion Week down to its smallest thread, here on Style Council and in the paper, the past two weeks, and of course seasons past. Alas, it was her last hurrah, as my dear S.C. co-hort has left the Weekly to do more exciting things in the world of journalism. You go girl!

Look for some cool changes and additions to Style Council. Plus, I'll keep on giving you ramblings, tidbits and photos from my alter ego Nightranger's after-dark misadventures right here.

Like, did you know that Chris Crocker (the "Leave Britney Alone" You Tube guy) is now living in LA and in talks to do his own TV show? Big shocker I know. I chatted up the androgynous boy toy, hanging with Rock of Love contestant Brandi C (that chick is everywhere!) at the T Mobile Sidekick party and he told me the working title is "15 More Minutes."

Not terribly original, but surprisingly, nobody's used it yet (that I've heard of anyway). In this age of reality TV, isn't everybody going for just that? Was Andy Warhol psychic or something?

Read more post-fashion week fodder, plus stuff about the uber-stylish screening at the Paul Smith store and the Sidekick bash (the photo on top is from the hipster makeover table -free mustaches and headbands!) in this week's column.

From www.weaknights.com

There was something that made me feel sexy about the unveiling of Brian Lichtenberg’s Spring and Summer Collection at the Museum of Architecture and Design. The being in a lingerie store kind of sexy: with a mix of the accomplished and the young shining in everything from classic blacks to outrageous feather head bands, funky let-loose glasses and over-sized fur hats, it was an arousing night. Things got even more sexed up when the designs took stage. The California fierce models had their snap-your fingers faces on and particularly worked the Briangular swim suits. The bathing costumes were fun and functional—with sleek Art Deco-style curves of color.

This swim suit, as well constructed as the model’s abdominals, was applauded with a healthy amount of satisfactory hollers from the crowd.

Top on our hit list was this cotton shift. We would kill to have it as a beach pull over. The back of the dress was super cute too, with a hole for your shoulder blade to peek out of. There were also some hot grey and black stretch pants, a wonderfully androgynous black sleeveless hoodie with bright overlapping colors paired with skinny jeans, a mermaid style glittering blouse, and a sleek transparent black dress over footless tights layered with lace to name a few of the eye catching pieces.

After the show, things got a little kinky at the after party. The night came to a full swing with boozing and boogieing upstairs. I paused, from some serious hip-shaking on the dance floor, to tell Brian Lichtenberg looking more shy than proud, how much I enjoyed the show. He was still downstairs demurely accepting the zealous praises of every one that walked by. The California native designer was sweet and gentle. He looked like someone who you wanted to hold your hand.

Here the red hot redhead Brian is with his handsome friend and the saucy Lisa from “America’s Next Top Model.” Lisa was so friendly she had me feel her ass not once but twice. “No, you have to touch it where it meets my leg!” she scolded. Lisa was set out to prove to me that models do have asses (even though I never really asked). Her bum felt nice though; I scored.

(Photos by Patrick Range McDonald. Above: Aaron Savvy)

On a chilly Wednesday night, the swanky West Hollywood nightclub Eleven hosted a promotion party for Frontiers magazine to celebrate the gay bi-weekly’s newest issue: “L.A.’s most eligible” singles. It was a theme that instantly alarmed and amused me when I received the invite a few days before, so I decided to walk over to Santa Monica Boulevard—the undisputed epicenter of Boys Town—and see what all of the hubbub was about.

Even at six-thirty in the evening, the club was brimming with an increasingly well-lubricated Happy Hour crowd. They seemed totally indifferent to the shirtless guy handing out glossy fliers at the front door, so I approached him. He introduced himself as Aaron Savvy, who was recently the cover boy for the “Sex Issue” of Frontiers' sister publication, In magazine, and now worked as one of two finely buffed models designated as the evening’s eye candy.

What many of the partygoers and barflies didn’t know about my new muscle-bound friend, however, was that “Aaron Savvy” was a stage name. He was also a Mormon, a former Ultimate Fighting Championship contestant, a personal trainer, and a former porn actor who was obsessed to succeed in the mainstream—a deal for his own TV reality show, according to Aaron, was already in the works.

“I don’t want to name the networks,” he said confidently, “but they have expressed interest.”

Check out next week's LA Weekly for continued Smashbox coverage:

including, Evidence of Evolution, JEREMY SCOTT and PETRO ZILLIA!

www.laweekly.com

Yes, one half of Whitley Kros is Mrs. Beck, Marissa Ribisi. The other half is Sophia Banks, Marissa's long-time friend. Beck was of course, the musical director for the show. He did a great job as you can imagine, with two turntables and a microphone, he stayed up int he DJ booth and let his wife have her time in the spotlight. Friends of the Becks', including Marissa's brother Giovanni, Jason Lee and his mustache, Kirstie Alley and Juliette Lewis in skinny jeans, a sparkly sequined vest over a white tank. Lewis has really stayed true to her style. NO matter what she has on, she always manages to look a little quirky. But on Lewis, quirky is so adorable.

The collection was really colorful, big, bold and bright. Most of it reminded me of Working Girl you know secretary-ware circa 1980. Cobalt blue, high waisted silk skirt with a paler electric blue silk blouse. There were a lot of blouses in the collection. The kind of stuff that even hipsters didn't buy when they were raping vintage shops for 80s rejects. Who knows, maybe all those hipsters are now rethinking those Joan Cusack blouses... maybe white sneakers with skirts will be the next big thing at nightclubs across the city.

But there were some very sexy pieces, shift dresses, a caftan, there were leggings with over-sized tops, and striped sweaters all in day-glo colors and my fav the guitar t-shirt.

Somehow seeing Ribisi and Banks in Whitley Kros at the end of the show made the collection seem a lot wearable than it did on the models.

Grey Ant hasn't been seen on an LA runway since 2005.
And thank God for its return!
It was my favorite show so far this fashion week. It seemed to incorporate the ecological zeitgeist of our post- An Inconvenient Truth lives. It was hippy but through a Japanese filter. It was future-bohemian— tie-dye shirts and dresses, floppy bonnet-hoods, hemp and khaki. It was Kubrick meets Haight-Ashbury. Designer Grant Krajecki said he had been spending a lot of time in Seattle and the vibe of the place started to influence him. It was hippy, but not dirty hippy. "More...preppy hippy," he said. "A little more conservative." Think Tevas not Birkenstocks. Grant did. The boys walked the runway in standard issue all-terrain Tevas, while the girls wore Grant's own design, platform heels with velcro Teva straps. They were kind of genius. The models also donned Grey Ant shades, sort of futuristic versions of the classic Wayfarers.

Ok, I've finally gotten out of my Heatherette-induced K-hole. I've had a lot of time to think about what I saw. If you asked me yesterday what I thought of the show, I'd have said it was like someone ate a Jo-ann's Fabric store and threw it up all over. Then ate a fourth of July church picnic , tablecloths, napkins and all, and then threw that up. I mean that's what I would have said yesterday. I've given it a lot of thought and have changed my mind. There was fringe, on top of appliques, on top of doo-dads and doo-hickeys, they were almost Suessian. Heatherette was like doing every drug you ever took— all at once.
Richie Rich, was a real honest-to-God club kid from New York City. Remember when clubbing and raves were hot shit in the 80s and 90s. The club kids were kind of like the disco era's dumpster prom baby. I was one of them, for a little while. So I started feeling nostalgic. I had just watched Party Monster, (I never watched it before because we sorta knew those guys the movie was about. We knew mostly Freeze, the hammer weilding drug addict. ) And I was thinking how back then kids glue gunned their clothes together and created "fierce" looks just for that night. It was their art and self expression, and I pictured Traver Rains and Richie Rich running around with glue guns.

Getting of course Patty Hearst's daughter Lydia and pornstar Jenna Jameson to walk in the runway. But even if it wasn't for the guy dancing, er rolling, in the aisles, the main tent felt at that moment like the fiercest party of fashion week. Heatherettte is about fun. It was so much fun that even now, it's all a blurr... You know what they say, "If you remember Heatherette, then you weren't there..."

Jenna Jameson

Lydia Hearst

Lydia, Jenna, and Richie Rich, on rollersaktes...

A few changes at the tents in Culver City this year, for one no VIP tent, which was a better place to hang out, a little more removed from the lobby sleaze, err, I mean fleas of fashion weeks of yore, and if there wasn't a VIP tent, that meant the little patio outside the VIP tent, with couches and tables for smokers was gone this year too. Rats! In its steed, was the Design Suites. A big lie, a mirage in the middle of a Culver City business tract. There were canvas shopping bags ready for you when you entered, which might lead you to believe that you would be putting things in that bag, a hint that you would in fact be almost shopping with that shopping bag. The only thing you carried away was business cards. It was easier to get to the bar in the design suites though, and there was a real bathroom inside, oh and we scored some caviar on frigid potato appetizers. And ok, I got a pair of Smooches, a jean designed by family run LA-based denim company, with an angled waistband, so that one hip peaks out but the other stays covered. They had rhinestones on the butt that looked like two lips kissing.

Charon and I arrived in time for Chick, Nicky Hilton's line. Charon had a standing ticket but the publicist said she looked too good to stand and gave her a seat in the second row. Jewelry designer Tarina Tarantino sat next to me, her hair almost electric with a fresh hot pink wash. She was glowing, she said they were going to be shooting the back-of- the- box photo for the Tarina Tarantino Barbie tomorrow. And she was also sort of covering fashion week on her Buzznet video blog. Petro Zillia's Nony Tochterman sat in the front row with her daughter.

Chick's spring collection was.... well it was just a little cheap looking. Don't get me wrong, I thought the idea of apples was super cute, the idea of a Wednesday Adams meets French maid little black dress with a white collar and scalloped edges was super hot. I want one of each, but I'd want mine made with better fabric, and with better tailoring.

One thing I have to track down were the big red plastic purses shaped like bows. So adorable.

We arrived back at Vibiana Saturday well into the all-day BoxEight Eco-Nouveau event which included spoken word, a couple of films and a music performance, around a few fashion shows celebrating all things eco chic. We made it just in time to be seated for Gary Harvey's show, or so we thought. What really happened was were held hostage. First, a movie started, it was about Antarctica and Global Warming, but we couldn't hear it from our seats, but the images were beautiful. Then, a chick came out on stage with an accoustic guitar. The mood in the crowd tensed, a woman with an acoustic guitar at an eco fashion show is not a good sign. We were tortured, she like a siren, a soft pretty voice, that carried with it some magical power that made us all sleepy and a few others a little irritated. (think Enya meets Baez). I think at 9 pm on a Saturday before the main show, there should have been something livlier, get the crowd amped to see recycled clothing. By the fourth song, the crowd around me were shifting uncomfortably in their seats. I heard one chick say to her plus one, "Maybe if we clap now, she'll stop." Poor girl, she had a nice voice, and I'm sure her songs are really deep and someone somewhere is going to pull a knife on me for saying all this, but, it was boring. Charon, my plus one (read more about her here), snuck off to get us some wine. Thank god , because after the singing, a few chicks, practically naked, spray painted with sort of lizzard like skin slid and sort of writhed down the runway. It was the kind of thing a glass of wine was made for.

After a short little modern dance, fashion inspired routine, the ladies writhed back off the runway, and we were finally ready to see Gary Harvey's new line. Harvey, a former designer for Levi's, made a big splash at London Fashion Week earlier this year with his waste not want not collection of re-purposed vintage. All of his materials come from second hand clothing shops. It was the coolest thing I've seen, my favorites were the trench coat gown, a bustier with a bustle skirt made of London Fog-like trenchcoats.

the dress made out of old flannels

the nightie made of old nighties

Re-purposed laundry bags, newspapers, baseball jackets even , a wedding dress made from other wedding dresses.

(Charon with Harvey)

We snuck backstage to congratulate Harvey and he seemed genuinely surprised at the positive reaction he got from the LA Crowd. "When I design, I don't think about how a crowd will react, or think about who would or could wear it," he said, "I just think about creating it." Charon was so excited to be talking to him. She was wearing a vintage hand-embroidered tablecloth as a dress with batwing sleeves. Gary and Charon of the same, er, cloth. He spun her around, looked at her design, and said, "I might have to rip you off."

Then Harvey (second from left in picture) was joined by designer Eduardo Lucero (left), BOXeight co-founder Pete Gurnz (second from right), and designer Louis Verdad (right).

Verdad admitted that he didn't really have a theme for his collection (see post below_, he thought more in terms of body parts, "open backs, and lots of leg," he said. He told Charon not to tell anyone her dress was a table cloth. "But," she said, "thats' the best part."

(Gen Art's fresh faces)

There it was— the Peterson Automotive Museum splayed out along the corner of Fairfax and Wilshire. I could see part of its rooftop covered with a big white tent, people already swarmed around, outside of it, and at the check-in desk a few floors below, and through certain opened areas of the museum. To some it might have seemed a strange venue for the Gen Art Fresh Faces fashion show, to us it was a really sexy choice. Fast cars and fashion sounded pretty hot. I brought my aspiring designer friend Charon Persephone Nogues, she’s an eccentric, but when it comes to fashion her heart is in the right place. She talks about how wasteful it is to buy new clothes when there’s so much perfectly good clothes already out there. She worked in vintage fashion for a long time, in a place out in Long Beach that maintains a fresh 10 or 12 foot-high pile of castaways. Her passion became re-purposing old clothes. She can take something like a Cosby sweater and make it onto the coolest skirt with pockets and matching spats. Skirt become shirts, tablecloths become dresses. The girl is a genius in a Grey Gardens way. Anyway, I felt pretty lame next to her, she in an outfit worthy of Joan Crawford, and me in my skinny jeans and black boots. The rest of the crowd was also dressed up, like New York dressed up, not LA dressed up. I think I was the only person in denim, and worse, because of the misty rain, I had a jean jacket on— that’s right I was committing a denim-on-denim faux pas, known in certain circles as the Canadian Tuxedo. (Later, however, when it poured rain, I felt my outfit was almost vindicated). Anyway, before a suited doorman allowed us entry, we had to answer the following question: “Are you a smoker?” The question itself confused a lot people, some people smoke, but they wouldn’t officially declare themselves smokers. I don’t know why I said yes without hesitation, but I did and I was given a black bracelet. Later I felt lucky that I did have the foresight to cop to such a disgusting habit, because my black wrist band gained me entry to the Dunhill smokers lounge, where I had the best cigarette of my life, a fire -cured tobacco cigarette that tasted ever so faintly of English pipe tobacco, All you had to do was listen to a brief PR schpeal, show ID, and you too could have walked away with three boxes of smokes, a sleek silver cigarette case, and an intensified habit.

It was an evening of anniversaries. Dunhill was celebrating its 100th year of killing people slowly, Gen Art, its tenth year of harvesting LA’s emerging designers.

Charon and I had some time to kill before the show started, so we walked through the museum, panting at a Mach II, oohing and ahhing over the tiny Eshelmans, Messerschmitts and Isettas (Charon’s ex drove one) and made it back to the main tent just in time to grab a free glass of wine and take our seats. Jeffery Sebelia (a former Gen Art fresh face) was MC, and introduced a short film honoring the past 10 years of Gen Art’s place in Los Angeles fashion. We saw Louis Verdad, Ashley Paige, and other Gen Art alum talk about their first shows and what seemed to be overnight success. After showing at Gen Art, they booked big accounts— Fred Segal, Nordstrom’s; they opened their own stores. Gen Art is all about the rags to riches, it’s the fairy godmother in the fashion designer Cinderella tale.

Charon, with a hat she reinvented slanted just so perfectly as to cover an eye on one side of her face, and reveal a copper marcel wave on the other, and I watched the designers take their first trip into the spot light— CW Christian Weber, Dorothy Lee, Endovanera, Marlova, Orthodox, Rhys-Dwfen, Suh-Tahn, and Wren. (favorites included Endovanera’s cropped men’s pants and loose tees; Marlova’s knits; Suh-Tan’s billowy hoods; Wren’s sweet Lolita-like dresses). The entire fashion community and even a few celebrities
(Paula Abdul sat front row in a terrible silver leather cap which still probably looked better than my ensemble) packed it in the main tent. The mix made it feel somewhere between a meeting of Freemasons and a debutante coming out party.

Though she didn’t say, I wondered if the clothes were too boring for Charon. But she smiled and clapped her gloved hands. Gen Art isn’t about haute couture, it’s about labors of love and the pursuit of a dream.

(Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa flanked by two women. He sat front and center at Eduardo Lucero to show his support for BOXeight and LA fashion, and pretty women )

It was approaching 11 pm. I had sat through a few of the short films in the You Wear it Well, fashion film festival, a few of them were fabulous, but on the whole I felt the entire thing was a bit too self-indulgent. The logo look was really unfortunate, looks like it was designed by a church group. (see below)

Dino Dinco and Diane Pernet curated the thing. Diane sat in the front row at every show, obstructing many a view in an infanta headdress and possibly her own in black sunglasses.

I left part way through to go back to Echo Park and walk my dog, that's how intolerable I thought many of the films were. Most of them had nothing to do with fashion, just sort of art house rants. I was lucky enough to get back just in time to see Eduardo Lucero's show.

EDUARDO LUCERO

(one of my favorite pieces was the lavender off the shoulder get up at the end)

The crowd gave Lucero a standing ovation and the buzz later was that it was the best show of the evening. The gauzey, rouched dresses in heathered kelly green and apple red, and the laser cut lavender silk were a great move from boring usual evening wear. The collection was lady-like but alluring.

Looks like it's metallics, smoky purple and green for spring...!

LOUIS VERDAD

Louis Verdad's show didn't really have a theme. There was no through line for the collection, other than all of the pieces being really pretty, flouncy, and decidedly 40's. No one does dainty lady like Verdad. Only problem is, it seems like that's all he's been doing for the past few seasons. Pantsuits, pencil skirts and floppy hats. It's kind of become predictable and a little boring. And there was a lot of beige. Beige is just so safe, it's hard to look sexy in beige. (Though there were splashes of lavender and spring green, and his evening collection had lots of color). I just felt on the whole the collection looked a little too Stepford Wife-y.

Louis Verdad, the crowd

Oh Toni! Toni Basil, of Oh Mickey fame (how many times did you rollerskate to that song?) sat front and center at Louis Verdad. She kind of looked exactly how I remembered. What's her secret? She said she dances every day and stays out of the sun...oh and has a great skin doctor...

(a beaming Jeffery Sebelia after his epic 52-look show at Vibiana)

COSA NOSTRA
BOXeight festivities were off to a slow start last night. When we arrived at 5:00 p.m. the courtyard of Vibiana was practically empty, bartenders stood idle, a coffee bar sat untouched and by 5:15 most of the seats for Jeffery Sebelia's Cosa Nostra show, scheduled to start at 5, were still empty. But in just 15 minutes, the place swelled with people and all the seats were filled. Vibiana was a great choice for a venue, really gave it a sense of grandeur, a nod to a former golden age of Los Angeles, and while the sun set high in the cathedral's windows, we hunkered down for the show.

The theme was Into the Wild, one of my favorite books of all time. And while there were a fair amount of t-shirts and jeans, the standard garb of the book's protagonist, I felt the theme really carried itself more in the relaxed loose fit of the clothes, the tattered edges and especially in the sun-faded dusty blue jeans. They almost looked like they were washed with sand, they reminded me of the desert. Sebelia does dresses really well, there were a number of pretty floral dresses, very sweet and sexy.

He also used some cool fabric, a nylon hybrid, that made jeans and rain-slickers look wet. There was lots of silver, pearl and champagne.

COSA NOSTRA, the crowd

Front and center were debonair designer Jared Gold and writer-slash-scapegrace Clint Catalyst. Gold gave us the scoop on his upcoming show this season—it will be held in his new home of Salt Lake City, Utah, the models have been curated by Catalyst including some actresses (Busy Philips). The collection, as he described it, is Nordic Belle Epoque through an old school chola filter. I'm booking my tickets now!

We saw actor Lucas Haas, and Ima Robot Tim Anderson. Tim's producing Lucas's new cd.

I saw Zoë Day (pictured above) dancing in the aisles of the church with sunglasses on to some Stevie Nicks song. I had to talk to her. "I grew up around fashion," she tells me as she takes off her shades. Who's her favorite designer? "Well," she says, "he is my father so I'm going to have to say Elmer Ave." Elmer Ave! Zoë's dad is none other than Jonny Day (right above), one fourth of the Elmer Ave designing team, Ward Robinson (left)
was with him. Ward and I sampled make-up at Smashbox last year. And planned to catch up soon. The guys are hard at work on their men's line...

I'm a karaoke slut, but just like most real ladies of the night, I have to be properly liquored up before I give it up (on the mic).

Brass Monkey, Smog Cutter, Amagi.... they're all fun and I've drunkenly crooned up a storm at each a bunch o' times, but a couple weeks ago I discovered a new realm of karaoke awesomeness and I just have to share it.

I attended my pal, fellow redhead and music scribe Lyndsey Parker's (read her fabulous NME blogs here) birthday bash at the Rosen Studios in Koreatown.

Lynds is a full-on karaoke-head and after enduring long waits to sing and over-crowded quarters at the obvious spots above in years past, she rented out a Rosen room for her latest affair.

(This guitar pillow was one of her gifts!)

So we were the only non-Asian people there, but if word gets out about how wacky cool this place is, that is sure to change.

The song-book is fat with rock classics, pop hits, bad death metal (?) and yes, Korean numbers, but what's really a hoot about the set-up are the giant video screens, which not only display lyrics but cheesily-acted vignettes that have absolutely nothing to do with the song. ("Hot Child in the City" had some weird military theme).

The best visuals go with pop hits, and when me and gal pal attempted Justin Timberlake's "SexyBack" the video was a Zwinky-fest meets Dance Dance Revolution match on acid. (Zwinkies are those big-eyed cartoon creatures in case ya didn't know, and DDR is that game that has kiddies pouncing on light up squares to see who has the fastest/fierecest moves.)

There's a full bar and full food menu to keep those who don't sing occupied, but even shy-sters might get up the nerve to wail in this relaxed, friends-only environment. Plus, you can actually sing from your seat (like I did here).

Apparently, Rosen isn't the only studio of its kind either. In Japan, these private rooms called "karaoke boxes" are everywhere, and unbeknownst to me until recently we've got a bunch of 'em right here in LA too: Yuu Yuu on Sawtelle and Orchid on 6th St., being two of the most popular for hipster parties.

The only drawback to these private rooms? Sometimes I actually wanna wail for strangers.

Told ya I'm a (singing) slut.

Rosen Studios, 3488 W 8th St. Koreatown. (213) 387-0469

Every year LA Fashion Week seems to get a little longer. It has been pushed to nearly a month long string of shows and satellite parties. Today BoxEight, the alternative art/ production company returns for a second attempt at bringing LA Fashion back downtown (where some say it belongs), with their somewhat sadly titled “Have Faith in LA” (as if we didn't?) series of fashion shows and art events and parties held at Vibiana (formerly Saint Vibiana, a cathedral, thus the "have faith...").

Today is a full day of events. The schedule is so packed, I'm tired just typing it.

5:00 Cosa Nostra by Jeffery Sebelia, we hear the theme of the fashion show is Into the Wild, personally I can't wait to see what he former bad-boy of reality TV has up his tatted sleeve...
8:00 Louis Verdad
8:30 You Wear it Well Fashion Film Festival
10:30 Eduardo Lucero
11:30 Bohemian Society. party
12:30 DJ Hollywood INsider & DJ C-Town

2:00 go home.

Stay tuned for full coverage and lots of pictures...

If I hear Outfield’s "Your Love,” one more time I’m gonna hurl. It’s definitely this year’s answer to Hall & Oates’ “I Can’t Go For That”- the ironic, catchy yet cheesy sing-a-long pop–rock anthem of choice for deejays right now, and a fave with today’s dance floor fiends who probably barely remember it from their diaper days.

"Josie's on a vacation far away
Come around and talk it over
So many things that I wanna say
You know I like my girls a little bit older
I just wanna use your love tonight
I don't wanna lose your love tonight...."

It’s a good tune, but what’s next? Yes? REO Speedwagon? Asia? DJ AM actually sprinkles in all three KLOS-ers into his hip-hop meets rock-pop sets- and he always makes it work. But there's something about "Your Love" that still makes the kiddies giddy and Saturday’s Neighborhood Festival at Exposition Park was no exception. Actually heard the tune three times that night and I didn't even get there til 7 p.m. It started at 3.

The Dim Mak-thrown dance party was a raging good time and if its mix of music was any indication, the mash-up mentality is definitely here to stay for a while. Bad early '80's rock bludgeoned into '70's disco on the decks (AM, Aoki). Nasty late '80's hip-hop (Spank Rock) and indie rock. Fluffy 90's soul and electro-funk (Chromeo). '70's twang and ‘tude meshed with hip hop (Mickey Avalon).

Speaking of 'tude- surprisingly there wasn’t a lot of it there, even in the VIP section, which was (not surprisingly) almost as packed as the actual concert grounds. People were there to get down and have a good time, not pose or prance. Well, most peeps anyway- Rony's Photobooth (see my recent story about him here was stationed in the VIP section.

The grass and dirt covered grounds definitely looked dance floor-like during most of the after dark performances and the vibe was playful, fun and good-natured. (Spank Rock who handed out brewskies to the crowd -I scored one in the photo pit!- even invited everybody to their after party, "At 122 Glendale Blvd." they kept repeating).

Style-wise it was all about sunglasses at night- colored ray-bans and metallic Elvis shades worn with gaudy tees, leggings and bed-heads. Even more prevalent than the Corey Hart look though?

Hoodies, hoodies, Hoodies! I have ranted about the multi-printed hooded sweatshirt hordes buggin my eyeballs inside hot, sweaty clubs before, but now that its getting colder, they're actually apropos and this was the event to rock one undweebishly- it was outdoors after all. (My fleecy L.A.M.B. leopard hoodie was perfect for the occasion, but I only donned the actual hood part for the pic. Swear). With everyone from Dim Mak themselves to Urban Outfitters to American Apparel pimping hoods, expect to see 'em more than ever (the busier the better) as Winter nears.