To Illustrate = Super Great

Hello blogosphere,

One of the lovely things about becoming enmeshed in the world of blogging is that you get in contact with a million people across the globe who are literally so talented it makes you (in the words of Zadie Smith) "want to pee yourself a bit in jealousy". There are the beautiful idiosyncratic stylists (Susie of Style Bubble, LiebeMarlene, Fabi, the Queens), the busty and hilarious 1930s wisecrackers (Winona of Daddy Likey, Wendy Brandes) and the artists.

Today class, we're looking at art. This is mostly because yesterday I received the link to my very own illustrated self.

From this:

Snapshot of me on the train going to see the Barenaked Ladies in Cambridge, dressed in my H&M chiffon cape top and vintage coat.

To this:

Yes friends, I have bears in my hair. Bears are the only accessory I'll accept now. I do so love Susie's head-bird but for me, tiny living ursidae crawling on my head, kickin' back and catchin' salmon, this is where I'm at, fashion-wise.

This is all the work of illustrator Damien Weighill and his awesome blog "Your Face". The premise is this: if you are a real live person, send him your face and he will draw you a real live picture. Damien is a fine fellow- I like his simple lines and scary animals. He also writes very nice e-mails. To thie end, I encourage you to check out his attractive merchandise:

Queen with a moustache. Can't say fairer then that for £22.
Buy buy buy here

You (yes you) can even appear on homeware items if you so choose.

The poor Queen. She shaves her moustache and gets mauled by a lion. Makes you think.
Screenprint (signed): £25 here

Awesome. I think this is the only time I've been even remotely muse-like. And I think it's the only time I ever will. My muse for the day? Miss Moneypenny's 80s blouses in the irredeemably shitty "Never Say Never Again" which was showing this afternoon on ITV1.

From this:

To this:

Bow Blouse and Starsky&Hutch cardigan from Oxfam. Wide leg trousers from Topshop.

Yuh. I don't think David Downton's gonna be calling anytime soon. Nor Sean Connery for that matter. Still, I don't mind. I have my tea, I have my bears. I'm pretty happy.

I hope you are too.

Your pal,
Becky.

Oy (+90s breasts)

Hello blogosphere,

Sorry for the loooong gap in posting. I have been doing art school-ish things and Tor, well Tor's just lazy what with her two jobs and MA. I keep texting her and casually remarking on how sleep is for the weak but she didn't catch the hint. Wuss.

Did you know that I, Rebecca A. Wigmore, am an official Graduate Teaching Assistant in the Creative Writing department of Norwich School of Art & Design? That's right, look mildly impressed. I haven't worked in such a long time blogosphere because of demned illness and I hope I can convey to you with the enthusiasm held only by those new to the workforce, how much I enjoy dressing myself for my rudimentary teaching work.

The formula is: art school + authority + 80s bitch shoulders + (legs out - tits*) + heavy kohl + Chanel lipstick
*tits are gauche and not remotely art school

Authority can be found in a surprising number of garments. These include but are not limited to: an H&M boys blazer with secret skull lining, puffed sleeve black jackets, sexy grey shift dresses, 1940s turquoise chiffon capes, zebra dresses with clashing gold & silver jewellery.

eg.

.

I am well avant garde, me.

Ah, i-d how I miss you. When poverty slackens its choke-hold you are so back on my purchasing roster. I even feel nostalgic for their rough trade male models, which speaks highly of my fondness for the publication as male models are as anathema to me as girl models are to straight men.

My boyfriend is an avowed metrosexual, is highly tolerant of my fashion gush and indeed professes admiration for this Lanvin dress. However, he cannot see his way to approving the model and in his own words is "frightened by her clavicle" and is thus "thoroughly disinclined to tap that boney ass." This is not an unusal position for the heterosexual man. It's been a long time since models were uniformly tappable. How I long for the early 1990s...

Ellen Von Unwerth givin' it great guns w/Schiffer


1993.
This is why POP devoted this quarter's issue to Stephanie Seymour. Don't you miss glamour/blatantS&M? I know I do. Fo' totes.




This is '98 so cheating a bit. But look at her jaw. That's frickin gold right there. Naomi can beat me to death with her Blackberry anytime.

Helena working Barbarella in '89 - read this from Le Style Sauvage, it'll give you a real Paco Rabanne orgasmotron kinda day. I particularly love this picture - enough to send me a-ebayin' for the comic books

It only rekindles my long held love for Brent Spiner. I do like a bit of semi-robotic erotics.

Altogether now: Data, Data, the ultimate vibrator.

Shalom Harlow contributing the obligatory Disney reference for this post.


The blessed and sacred Linda.

Wow. I miss tits in fashion, don't you? I miss being slightly scared of the models. I miss sex. This is an oft-heard complaint I know, but unless we keep crying and throwing our toys around, well, shit ain't gunna get done. This youtube clip has been on many blogs but I thought I'd include it here as a neato piece of contrast. This is Behati Prinsloo, Coco Rocha and Kelly Dawson playing in their hotel room.

It's adorable, sure but it also provided me with some cold hard perspective. These models, who we're instructed to look upon as arbiters of womanhood and all that is fashion, sexy and fabulous, they are adorable but they're also teenagers. Adorable, slightly irritating teenagers. Again, Wigmore makes an obvious point but there is so much in the way of masquerade and glamour on the catwalk that it bears reminding and re-reminding that the women on the catwalk whose bodies and lifestyle we've been conditioned to crave, most of them still travel with beloved plush animals. Nothing wrong with childishness per se - I have a very nice cuddly Snowy dog, but I ain't lugging him to work. I have shoulder pads to live up to.

Your pal,

Becky.

Ebay's Garden of Lost Dreams....

Hello blogosphere,

In many ways, Tor (my beloved co-blogger) and I are very different. I have been a proud and obsessive member of ebay for nine years and owing to my infinite patience and mild OCD, I have a wardrobe full of oddities, dirt-cheap designer items and vintage dresses. Tor on the other hand, despite her blackbird eye for bargains has yet to win an item no matter how often I shove her in the direction of hammersnipe. My ebay addiction became especially bad in my first year of university: being 19 years old, lonely and in possession of all that beautiful loan money - it was a disaster waiting to happen. With a few clicks I was the owner of purple Gina heels, blue floral vintage dresses and raw silk coats from the 1920s with the name 'Ethel' written in pencil on the label.

Everything but the jumper is from ebay.co.uk
Norfolk really is beautiful, isn't it?

Ebay was my way of reinventing myself as a shiny new adult. Someone who was glamorous and brave. I didn't have any friends but by god I would walk into seminars in high heels and a giant purple dress with a pony emblazoned on the skirt. Ebay supplied was my armour and an advertisement for the like-minded. Look at my awesome shoes! Let's go to the movies!

Apparently though you have to have a personality as well. Philistines. Eventually I grew vocal chords and then, wonderfully, friends. Friends, incidentally, who don't really care for fashion one way or the other. Still, obsessions don't just die and I briefly financed my terrifying penchant for vintage and obscure fiction by becoming an ebay seller myself.

Here are some of my hilarious inept advertising photos:

I kept this dress in the end. Laura Ashley and way too awesome. Check out my Bette Davis death ray eyes



Bizarrely, nobody wanted this goddess dress. Fools. It sits happily in my closet now.



This went for £5. I gnash teeth and regret it still.



Ah, the Doctor Who assistant dress from Topshop my boyfriend despised so thoroughly. Still, any excuse to model with K-9, right?

Ah, those crazy days. I was armed with nothing but a generic photo editor and a dream. Still, it got me out of a few financial holes whilst still being way too exhausting for little Miss M.E. to even consider as a full-time money earner. Good times. Sleepy times.

Anyway, I thought I'd finish off my ode to ebay by showing you my collage of lost opportunity. These are items that for reasons of escalating price or forgetfulness, I just missed out on owning. At least I can comfort myself with their jpeg'd beauty.

I fell in love with this Missoni mens sweatervest and wanted desperately to buy and make my boyfriend wear it constantly. I posted this on my Livejournal and some lovely soul even went to the trouble of Photoshopping him into the garment:

Gold, right? He wasn't impressed. Plus the bidding went up to £80 and I had to let my dream of a multicoloured Tristan die.


An amazing Balenciaga crepe shirtdress from ferryvintage. She has the most outstanding vintage designer pieces. They invariably hop skip and jump right out of my price range. This one went for £130.


Peter Jensen shoes from kimmie82blue
£18.99. How cool? How comfy-looking? Gah!


Totall amah-zing beaded 70s panda bag from viva-vintage
Totally impractical. Totally broke my balls when I missed it.


Glittering vintage Roger Heim bowler hat from one of my favourites -pepacielo.
The glorious love affair between me and this hat was thwarted by my massive non-vintage head.


50 dental tooth samples. I dunno. I thought they were neat. Also, can you imagine the accessorising possibilities? The pendants you could make? The earrings? Maybe I'd just leave them in the drinks of people I didn't like. There are many possibilities. From the wonderful tedandbunny

I have had many crushing ebay disappointments. These are just a few and I have many pictures and anecdotes saved for another writer's blocked day. I just hope that this post has encouraged you to Never Give Up on Your Dreams, friends.There will always be prey. I'm currently stalking some Jean Paul Gaultier. He'll never know what's hit him.

Love,
Becky.