Would it be cool with ya’ll if I went goth? I promise it wouldn’t come from the darkness of my brooding heart. It’s just so sexy. Yes?

by Thierry le Goues

by Mackenzie Duncan

by Taki Bibelas

by Jolijn Snijders

<3 B

Remember when MTV was true to its acronym? The memory is very faint but when it was good, it was oh so good for killing time after school. 

Here’s a little list. Not the best videos of all time, but maybe the best videos from “my time.” (Like I’m 70.)

 

1) I thought the guy she cheated with was supa sexy. Man. This one never gets old.

Nada Surf “Popular”

2) I know this song is so very trashy but let’s be frank, I love my music trashy. Here’s the censored version, anyway. 

NERD “Lapdance”

3) This song is so beautiful and the video aesthetic is there to match. 

Bjork “All is Full of Love”

4) Ugh, remember when no one knew who Adrian Grenier was and Melissa Joan Hart’s character in Drive Me Crazy maimed his adorable self with a pair of khakis and a crew cut? What the hell kind of happy ending was that?!

Britney Spears “Crazy”

5) If high school was like this, I would’ve died to be a cheerleader!

Nirvana “Smells Like Teen Spirit”

6) Such a classic. A gold tank on a basketball court? Beat that!

Master P “Make Em Say Uhh”

7) You may be afraid to say it but I’m not. This video was the ish. Try sitting around in your old/new to you combat boots and tell me you didn’t love this.

Prodigy “Firestarter”

On the goth tip, if this one didn’t make pleather and black lipstick on men look hot to you then I don’t know what will. 

Marilyn Manson “Tainted Love”

9) Love of my life. Flip mode, flip mode is the greatest.

Busta Rhymes “Gimme Some More”

10) A true RIP. She and Timberland were the soundtrack of my adolescence. 

Aaliyah “Resolution”

11) How bad did you want to be BFF’s with these gems?

Aerosmith “Crazy”

12) Childhood song + rap = epic.

Nelly “Country Grammar”

13) The return of the new kid’s… solo careers.

Jordan Knight “Give It to You”

14) I can’t not mention this. Remember when he was everywhere you turned, and you wanted him there?

Eminem “My Name Is”

by Ryan Michael Kelly

When I was in elementary school I would have a little discussion with my mom in the mornings. I couldn’t call it an argument because I always suspected I would lose; I knew she would say no, as she had a dozen times before. 

Affectionately holding those elastics with the giant, colorful balls on the end,  ”Can I have… eight ponytails?”

The right side of Mom’s mouth would stray upwards, “… Three.” I frowned and chose the three colors for the day.

Here’s the deal: I’ve always been fascinated by black culture and wished I would be a part of it. I envied all the girls in school who wore crazy, amazing little girl hair styles with upwards of fifteen ponytails at once. I even watched the black chick on Sesame Street with an enthralled fascination; every ounce of me wished I too could have long braids with clinking beads on the ends. 

by Ryan Michael Kelly

Even at a young age, everything African American seemed an elite club I could never get into. (Duh.) But I wanted to oh so badly. I thought the tone of their skin was beautiful, their hair was fascinating, and I loved the music they made when I was innocent enough to blare Too Short without really hearing the lyrics. 

Don’t get me wrong and get your panties in a bunch when I say “they.” Where I grew up there is a “they”. Blame it on the news but the anchors gladly highlighted all the crime in Philly, one African American male mug shot after another, and “we” were ignored or even spit on by “they.” Last time I checked, the East Coast still housed an array of racial tension, both ways. Some white kids I knew were scared of black people (still are) and some black kids I knew thought white kids didn’t deserve their breath, let alone respect. This is partially why I was only allowed three ponytails. My Mom may have rightfully feared I’d be made fun of at best or harassed at worst. But within the walls of my home, any sort of tension or fear was never a passing thought.

My dad spent his teaching career in the inner-city Philly school district and he adored those kids which were mostly black with a sprinkling of Puerto Ricans. The banter he had with his students would get an ordinary man in trouble, but his sincere and palpable love for the ones most authority figures had given up on ages ago moved both sides to love. There are at least a handful of men and women who credit their lives’ successes and confidence to dream to my father. There was only one time dad shocked me with a racial comment I hadn’t expected.

In seventh grade I discovered Busta Ryhmes and decided I was in love. (You think Rah Digga would move over for me?) My friends made a picture as a joke with my head replacing Missy Elliot’s, embracing Busta. When my dad saw it he lingered in my doorway, one arm against the wall, “Uh, Brenny?”

“Yeah?”

“… You should really be careful dating any black guys… I don’t think you should.” My jaw dropped in horror but he quickly explained himself. “Black girls really don’t like that. They tell me what they do to white girls that take their good men… It’s… it’s not good. Unless you date a bad black guy, that should be fine.” He smiled and I followed.

by Thierry Le Goues

Long story short, if I could wake up tomorrow lookin’ like Ciara or Aaliyah I’m pretty sure I’d take it in a heartbeat. I’d model for Ebony, convince Jay Z to make me his next Amil, then I’d date Cam’ron until I figured out his thug bull ish was too much for me to deal with at the height of my career. 

My boo-boo

Sug Knight would protect my ass until the beef subsides and help me collect the cheese from this album cover I designed.

I’d be all, “Make me say uhhhhh, nah nah nah nah! What world is this? It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine! What’s a goon to a goblin? I gotcha block on fire, I be stuntin’ outta nuthin! No water- Mountain Dew.” 

Then, I’d tie on my Gucci bandanna and settle down with this one: 

It could’ve been so good.

Instead I’m all like:

So sad.

by Diane Arbus

No stress! It’s Saturday!

Drew and I are biking to Venice Beach for Kris’ birthday party.

Go on an adventure. <3

by Carter Smith

Those of you that are struggling with relational expectations may find this post of my friend Jet Generation pretty awakening. 

It may be a bit blunt and brutal for some, but hey, I think he’s right. Dreams come true, not nessesarily fantasies:

The Little Mermaid Fucked Up Everything

by Kayt Jones 

I would twirl my phone around in my fingers. “Ring, ring, ring, ring.” But it wouldn’t ring. “Fine. OK. Nine PM. I’m calling him.” I’d call and he wouldn’t answer. Or I’d call and he’d ask to call back later, noting how “busy” he is. Sometimes an excuse could be made. Maybe I’ll call back at 11PM, if he hadn’t called, which he wouldn’t, and explain my phone was in my pocket. I myself didn’t call. Not on purpose. No way. 

I’m going to assume that guys I have dated would describe me as one of two things: “totally laid back and aloof” or “bat crazy and obsessed”.

Just a guess.

Of course I am not self-deprecating nor ignorant enough to believe I am the only girl that has ever done this. I have watched the best of them, the hottest of them, the brightest of them fall into some obsessive and lonely inner-struggle. We think, “I am smart, beautiful, loving, affectionate… I would be the most amazing girlfriend he ever had! What kind of idiot is this guy?!”

Then, like chickens flocking to feed, our friends gather around us to offer hope and peace. They proclaim our beauty and aid us in the creation of elaborate excuses: 

“I’m sure he’s very busy with [work/school/family]!”

“He obviously has major low self-esteem; he doesn’t think he deserves you, poor thing!”

“His parents’ divorce must have ruined him. Give him time to heal!”

“Maybe his phone is dead…because, uh, he was kidnapped by the… Taliban? I’m sure he’s in a foreign hostage situation totally thinking about you!!”

You know what? He’s actually smoking weed and playing a video game. Sorry.

I didn’t see the movie or read the book, but my mom and I did see Greg Behrendt on Oprah and I must say, the idea that He’s Just Not That Into You seems most often the simple revelation. 

Ladies, I cannot tell you how many times I’ve fallen into this excuse-laden pool of desperation. We swim in it for a good reason: women see the best in people, especially in men, and especially in men we want.

by Sebastian Kim

Recently I was in an elevator at the Beverly Center with two strangers; both women were in their thirties. One explained, “So, I called him last night but he’s so tired from work all the time and said he’d call me today…Well, he hasn’t called yet, but it’s only like 6:30 still so-”

Her friend interrupted, “Well, didn’t he tell you his parents divorced when he was really young? He’s really opened that up to you; it’s his way of saying he’s not ready to be committed-”

“I know! He’s terrified to have something real! I feel so bad for him. But, at that party on Saturday, I told you about, he seemed to be ignoring me but…it’s, it’s that fear!”

“Totally, hun.”

I swallowed and struggled to maintain an acceptably neutral elevator expression. It reminded me of the film Hysterical Blindness. Uma Thurman plays a gorgeous, fun, cool woman who loses her mind when a certain guy doesn’t care about her. She doesn’t “lose her mind” in the cool, vengeful, crazy, cinema sense, just in the utterly humiliating way we all lose our minds. She compromised herself, cried often, followed him places, and, worst of all, hung on to every crumb he tossed her way. It’s a film you watch with one eye shut, praying it will end soon. I didn’t feel holier-than-thou, not at all. I’ve been there. Haven’t we all? I’ve probably even used that exact divorced-parents excuse a hundred times.

I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve found that my friends and I are in a wholly new phase of life. Lately I’ve looked around and, to my absolute joy, the majority of my girlfriends are in enviably healthy relationships. We all still have to work on the day-to-day complications of two people living together, but that’s the small stuff. In a major way, we are united with men that love us in full. The phone games are over, the excuses have ceased, and, at last, all the other guys we’ve dated appear to be plain old jerks. Interestingly enough, they appear to be jerks, but probably only as much as we appear to be psychos. Simply, when a match is wrong, both parties suffer and act out in ways they otherwise never would. I mean, imagine going back to staring at phones! *Shudder*

In the end my message would be, girls, you deserve better. Sometimes two individuals are great, but together they bring out the worst in each other. Don’t settle to struggle and obsess. When it is right, I promise, you will know. 

True love is easy.

Last night Amy stayed over to babble with me until three thirty in the morning. Drew arrived home, we all caught up, sent Amy off, and my love and I crawled into bed by four. 

Because I’ve been working so often and hard I fell into a really deep sleep. All night dreams and visions spun in my head like a fast carousel, one thought or story after another. 

In one dream I was on this party yacht Courtney and I escaped from years ago. We weren’t literally captives that night but we were trapped by a thick, sludgy film of BS. Every person in attendance was out to impress another with cooked up or exaggerated tales of their supposed Hollywood success. It was one of those Twilight Zone moments where one looks around in utter confusion: Is everyone actually falling for this ish?! Get us out of here. And that we did; Court and I fled down the long ramp and landed on the solid dock in a flurry of relief. 

“Ladies, if you leave now you’ll miss the trip!”

“Oh, we know,” we responded with our arms flung over one another as though we had only narrowly escaped a Titanic catastrophe. 

Anyway, I recognized this yacht from that remotely fond memory (fond only considering we possessed the great sense to leave). Only this time I was surrounded by the legitimately successful and lovely people in this city of angels. No doubt because I’ve been obsessively watching the entire run of Arrested Development, Will Arnett had his arm rested over my shoulders as he shouted into my ear over the music, “Isn’t this great, Bren! We made it!” I smiled from ear to ear, Amy on my other side, Drew in the crowd, as he and I reminisced about my stint on A.D… (Yeah, I wish!)

We had a pretty in depth chat and he adored me like a sister or something. I felt completely accomplished and accepted in this crowd. No matter which actor walked by, I never felt the least bit intimidated. After all, I was one of them.

… And then I woke up.

Even though it’s so silly, that has got to be one of the worst feelings. Sometimes dreams create such a vivid and believably world, both visually and during interactions with complete strangers. Whenever my sleeping life convinces me, even in just those nighttime hours, that my life is as I desire it’s hard to wake up. Sometimes I have disappointedly flutterless butterflies resting in my tummy all day long.

I even remember the very first dream that made me feel this way. It occurred during the years when Thriller was epic and Michael Jackson could do no wrong. MJ and I were hanging out after a long day of enjoying his backyard amusement park. I knew it was almost time for school, in reality, so I asked him, “Michael, how will I know I really met you? How can I prove it?” To do so, he promised then when I woke his bedazzled glove would be laying beneath my pillow. I yelled, “Deal!” and woke up. 

When I lifted my pink pillow and it wasn’t there I proceeded to do a thorough search of my room. I was so sure we’d met, maybe he’d misplaced it. When it was nowhere to be found I resolved to believe it was just a dream, after all. I was so sad all day long.

All in all, I think it’s good to dream about what I desire. It may sting at first, but it feels almost more encouraging when I’ve been somewhere in my imagination. I’m over the MJ thing (although I’d love to sell that glove on EBay) but everything else, keep it coming. The rebirth of Arrested Development: I’m ready for you!

You make me feel guilty when I take so long to post. Please know I’m just trying to make sure my writings are inspired and not strained. I have one for tomorrow.

In the meantime, did anyone else have this?!

Sooo good.

Delicious photos by Mariano Vivanco

WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE DESIGNER?

You know what? Designers are kinda inconsistent. Forgive me if you find that statement blasphemous but allow me to show you an example. I LOVE Miu Miu, but look:

Stam even looks so sad. She’s all, “Dang, I bet everyone can tell these shorts are an exact replica of something I disastrously sewed in 7th grade economics.” The point being, I like to pick and choose; you’ll see, I’m all over the map. I have so much clothing lust, but just for a taste, I love:

Everything about these,

Alexander Wang

YSL, oooh it looks like blood, yeah? I already told you I hate the shoes.

LV

Chloe

Stella McCartney

Gucci

IF YOU COULD COME BACK AS A DRESS, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

Easy. 

IF YOU COULD COME BACK AS A MODEL WHO WOULD IT BE?

Gemma

or Adriana

FAVORITE COLOR?

Gold!!

WHAT ARE YOU MOST VAIN ABOUT?

My confidence. That’s why I get so pissed when I lose it, even for a second.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST SHY ABOUT?

Admitting I’ve decided some things I’ve been told are wrong…are OK. 

by Stefania Paparelli

IF YOU COULD COME BACK WITH SOMEONE ELSE’S BODY, WHOSE WOULD IT BE?

I’d accept any of these.

FANTASY CELEBRITY ONE NIGHT STAND?

You ever meet those people that have clauses in their relationships? They each name one exception to the fidelity rule and promise to pardon the other if they have their fantasy lay. I think this is OK…if you both live in Idaho and work at a dentist office. Otherwise, living in LA that’s pretty scary… The fantasies live here and hang out at local Coffee Beans!

UNDERWEAR?

Nothing has matched the thrill of my 4 year-old era pink ruffle undies. ALthough, I haven’t had the luxury of Agent Provocateur.

 

LAST BOOK YOU READ?

It was meh. 

ANY PETS?

A fighter fish, Kate. We’re in love.

AT AGE 7, YOU WANTED TO BE?

A mommy.

WHAT’S THE THING YOU FIND EASIEST TO FORGIVE?

A mistake. Simple.

WHAT’S THE THING YOU FIND IMPOSSIBLE TO FORGIVE?

Sorry to be incredibly morbid, but sadism. I wish I was blissfully ignorant about such things. 

BIGGEST SELF INDULGENCE?

Movies!!

FAVORITE PLACE TO SHOP?

Nowadays:

But one fine day, where these kids live: 

Sigh, I’m gonna waste so much money on beautiful shoes.

WHOSE DIARY WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO READ?

by Ruven Afanador

WHEN AND WHERE ARE YOU HAPPIEST?

On set.

MOST TREASURED POSSESSION?

My body. Is that cheesy? It’s true. 

YOUR FAVORITE FICTIONAL CHARACTER?

Vada Sultenfuss

IF YOU WEREN’T AN ACTRESS, WHAT WOULD YOU BE?

A novelist.

WHAT CURRENT TRENDS WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE DISAPPEAR?

T-Pain… ugh that distorted voice thing.

Ok, I know you’re all gonna hate me but listen, this drop crotch pants thing is exactly what we’re going to be showing our kids photos of us in while they yelp, “Ewwww mom, what were you thinking!!?” And then they won’t let you be seen dropping them off at ballet anymore.

And Ed Hardy STILL being presented on runways…. or existing in general. Oh. My. Goodness. 

FAVORITE TREND OF ALL TIME?

Messy hair and vintage fur.

WORST TREND OF ALL TIME?

Gang violence.

ALWAYS…

Make choices out of love…

NEVER…

out of fear.

Today Drew dropped me off at a regular modeling job I have, bike in tow so that he could use the car for the remainder of the day. There was a bunch of construction going on in the street so I quickly grabbed my bike, my bag of fruit, and a teeny mug of coffee.

Almost instantly a wave of stress overcame the muscles on Drew’s face while he silently entertained an inner annoyance. I looked at him puzzled while I juggled my fruit fork and coffee, “What’s up?”

Panicked, “Well, are you going to go?!”

“One sec, I’m…” Coffee spills over the rim of the cup. “Uh, it’s down the street a bit, so…” I stood there like a dumb weight somewhat anticipating a solution. Everyone does that to poor Drew; he always has a solution.  

He flung his hand over the passenger seat towards the window, “Just give me the fruit. I’ll throw it out!” I looked perplexed, handed the freshly empty bag over and it spilled out onto the seats. “Oh, c’mon!” He flew from the car, nearly pacing the length of it over and over again until finally he explained, “You don’t know what those guys think!” wildly indicating the workers, “I can hear what they are saying about you and it’s disgusting. Please get out of street!” 

Suddenly I felt terrible he was so panicked and made a b-line to the house. 

Ten minutes later my phone buzzed. The text read: I need you to get a helmet. 

I laughed about all of this throughout the day. I fear Drew mistook me for laughing at him when in fact I was just a giddy girl about it. How wonderful to be so desired and so loved by a man that he longs to protect my body and mind so feverishly. 

I have to say, after over three years, one of marriage, Drew is still my ultimate crush. Who cares for movie stars and big-wigs; I am certain no one could love me as passionately as he does.

However, in honor of crushes, since you are not welcome to mine, I’ll leave some eye-candy for you. Don’t fear for a second, with patience and a devotion to loving yourself and another, you will find it too. Whoever floats your boat.

Hayden by Terry Tsiolis

James by Terry Tsiolis

Joaquin by Tom Munro

Leo by Tom Munro

Johnny by Tom Munro

Jake by Mark Abrahams

Daniel by Mark Abrahams