EMULATING ALL THINGS GIRLY AND GROOVY, I.E. '60s MAKE-UP PARTY

'sup NERDS.

Fuck it has been so long since I have updated. I'm so sorry you guys. I feel bad about it. Blogging feels like some kind of annoyingly gratuitous and extraneous responsibility to me sometimes. Well, I've totes been wanting to try out something similar to this iconic make-up conceived from ultimate mother of the '60s, the legendary Peggy Moffitt (who still looks completely fly for her age) for a really long while now and since I have a ~blog~ I thought maybe it would be kinda interesting to document me playing around with make-up. (Even though in all honesty this is just a filler for a weeks' absence.) I really have found no specific Peggy Moffitt-esque tutorials online so I thought this would be a pretty fun idea. Her look is sorta kinda complicated though, so I am going to tone it down just a 'lil bit to make it easier for my dignity and 'dem judgin' readers. I guess just as a FYI before we commence, I have absolutely no make-up skills and this will probably end up really lame with me looking like a depressed 80 year old crack addict who never let go of her childhood.

I will try to make this as short and easy as possible, into maybe at most three or four simple steps. Here are the tools we will be using:

This is when I try to speak like I know what I am talking about. If you are a complete make-up retard like me and don't even own elementary tools/foundation or whatnot, be prepared to drop at least a good $75. THAT IS IF YOU ARE A HIPSTER CHEAPSKATE LIKE ME. Good eyeliner is important. You really want a great liquid eyeliner with very precise and fine almost quill-like detail, especially if you plan on drawing those eyelashes in.

Almost all of the above is general cheap shit from the drug store, maybe albeit the liquid eyeliner.

SUPER AWKARD PREPUBESCENT BOY FACE TIME. I know I have Ali Michael man eyebrows, that's what the bangs are for. Okay so coat your face evenly with foundation, concealer etc. After applying an eyeshadow base all over your eyelid, apply white eyeshadow all over the lids of your eyes. Afterwards, use your brownish-black eyeshadow and outline the upper crease of your eye-socket to add definition.

I'm going to crop these photos now with tacky Tumblr Esquire-themed frames because I'm super uncomfortable showing so much of myself in one entry and it feels gross and pretentious. I'm slowly beginning to think this was a bad idea. Get your black eyeshadow and your angled application brush to add a blunt line to near the top of your dark shadow outline described above. Blend it to a severity that you see fits. Here I also added a bit of liquid eyeliner to my eyelids.

Apply your fake eyelashes to both your top and bottom eyelids. I used double-set lashes on the top and individual lashes on the bottom. Be a little bit piece-y with the bottom lashes kinda Twiggy-esque. Also make sure to use that white eyeliner to line the inside of your eyes 'cuz that was very ~'60s and happenin' back in the day. Triangles are optional and feel free to add/adjust whatever touches you feel like...

Such as this. Click here for the a better cropped photo so you can really see how super huge this will make your eyes look (if you like... want to duplicate this or something). This was the funnest SLASH easiest part. Wasn't it Andy Warhol ('60s apropos) that did this trompe d'oeil picture frame thing? I probably just made a complete ass out of myself asking that question. In any event, I kind of decided to tweaked the concept of this look a little bit because I really wanted at least once in my lifetime to shamelessly copy another particular blogger whom I won't mention because I think I am an incredibly bored creepy sad loser.

Um... so that is it! Yeah this was really stupid but whatevz, it was great fun nevertheless. Lately I've been feeling ~artsy~ so make-up is my only outlet right now. Anna please call me and we can dress up in cute little jammies have a questionable sleep-over so I can do your make-up while my eyes bleed and I suffer of terrible sporadic convulsions, induced under the hexation of your ridiculously unbearable cuteness.

Just as a heads-up I am working on a new D-I-Y/*TRIBUTE* that will somehow spawn into an outfit entry, dedicated to one of my favorite design labels/movies. Hopefully this will tickle your curiosity and make up for my in general lack-luster entries. I really enjoy doing D-I-Ys and if any of you want to leave requests or something, please feel free to place a comment and I will see if I can attempt it for you. Until then I am going to try to keep this a surprise... unless you give me all your money, bitch.

Ah, relative innuendos.

P.S. Did anyone else stay up crying last night? R.I.P Daul and I still can't believe you are gone bbgirl. You bring out my inner maternal sentimental cry baby.

OUTFIT ENTRY # 9: FOR PETA, LOVE, ME.

This isn't as much as an "outfit" entry as much as it is me just posting the results of me testing out my brand-new tripod I dubbed "Demarchelier" a.k.a. my new professional photographer boyfriend. What is different about this picture? Oh right, it is not from Photo Booth. I am succumbing to pretentious banal blogger ways, all whilst feeling completely trite doing it. But this is fashion right, isn't that doctrine? So in theory, I am doing this all conscientiously.

I really like how this one turned out. It is my whole-hearted attempt to model the clothes coherently all in one photo so thus the terrible spawning of my weird contortionist angles. Almost ALL of this is thrifted besides the tights and batwing dress (which is pretty sick and has this cool structural piping to it). I am putting some bona fide down-to-earth team-effort here trying real hard to mercilessly take forceful suggestion from the November issue of U.S. Vogue and go the green, recycled and reused route. I think you should too. Do it for Anna, kids. Maybe Isabel too OOOH SNAP staged very creepy blogger circle shout-outs that I need to pursue repressing.

As you can imagine I was SOOOOOO STOOOOKKKEEEEDDD when I found my true love, this adorable little fur stole thing for $10. This is a multitudinous series of epic thrifting finds (by my standards, which are already pretty pathetically diminutive). It is just so Winnie and soft and beautiful so I obvi couldn't pass it up. Thinking back on how I styled this, I have the hunch that I should have consolidated in more gold to sort of harmonize the belt buckle but other than that... meh, I am a mere fledgling in the midst of amazing bloggers. What more can I say? I am miserably suffering wearing fur in 90 degree weather and I couldn't be more trivial and happy!

Recently I've been really liking ~sophisticated styles for fall i.e. what I would find eerie pleasure in dressing Anna up in everyday. She is just so pretty and perfect and stuff and you kind of just want to steal her and dress her up in massive quantities of fur and ODLR like the GAH perfect doll she is and take pictures of her for this blog or something pretty disturbingly creepy like that.

ANYWAYS I AM GETTING FRIGHTENINGLY DIVERTED THIS COULD TURN OUT BADLY.

Here is a pictorial of my inspiration recently. I sort of tried to incorporate what I financially could into my outfit but of course that is not necessarily how it turned out but w/e:

O hai there incongruous, garish amounts of Lanvin and Donna Karan. (I know the collection comprehensively isn't really her style color-wise but I really think Anna would look SO FLY wearing some of those badass pelt pieces et al from Lanvin A/W '09.) Never Stella because DUH she is like completely evil and delusioned. I guess what I was trying to go for ~outfit-wise~ was "easy lux." A 'lil bit of fur, kind of caz knits, almost knee-high boots, real fluid soft and feminine drapery that sort of magically transmutates into structure (I am aware that no-one knows what I am talking about since I never make SENSE and I RAMBLE, so sort of envision Balenciaga A/W '09. I guess.), layers, neutrals, belts, leather, and crocodile. Maybe a little '70s ambiance but that is just all in my head. All together what I mean is... DYING, BLOODY, AND SUFFERING ANIMALS.

I dedicate this outfit entry to PETA. They love me just as much as I love them, I'm sure.

P.S. "P.S." always amends some sort of egotistical notification on the future of my life just in case I die and never come back. I've been looking into it for a good few months now and I've finally decided to forfeit the cash for... ~*~tennis lessons~*~. Go ahead. Laugh at me. I've surrendered. I'm officially starting in a few weeks and hopefully I will be able to update on it THAT IS if I don't deteriorate in a horrible state of overexertion by that period. It is kind of embarrassing how stupid me trying out ~*~tennis lessons~*~ sounds but I really want to give it a whirl. AND I'M REALLY GONNA GO FOR IT. I think after some EH few dozen years of literally ever so painfully forcing myself to watch tennis matches now I'm sort of interested, i.e. habituated and brainwashed. I've noticed that the more out of control my life gets the more I start obsessing about tennis, reading the Dictionary, restricting myself to a stringent all-protein diet, and memorizing new Anna quotes. I live such a strange life.

P.P.S. Pray for me.

"I HATE BIRTHDAYS." (LAGERFELD 6:22)

I felt the need to do this for myself. 'jus the usual nonsensical and elaborate rambling. This will probably be my most BORING melancholic entry ever to encompass the creepy shanty degrees that is this blog (which is kind of what I am going for, MISERABLE AILING TEENAGE WAYS) but we will endure the torment in its painful, suffering Yohji extent.

[Beginning of long drawn-out egocentric explanation that no one will read]

Alright so recently I've gotten a lot more viewers/readers. (I say "viewers" because 99.99999% of me knows no one reads my prating and this blog is some mindless scroll-through. Oh forgot most of you like fashion, that explains it.) Needless to say MEH kinda wasn't expecting it and my readership went from literally 10 to 4,000 in a single night so... yeah, I suppose that was a kind of bizarre moment.
Good I get it, a lot of my past entries were weird or something, insane asylum or whatever. It was summer, I didn't have a job, I was bored, I am young, I felt some phased inclination to write like an idiot, Anna is like really annoyingly pretty and depressingly perfect and smart, and I am really dedicated. Feasibly a little too dedicated. It is nice to know that people have this figment of an idea that I am this very devoted "religious" (and I really can't even say that without being incredibly and maliciously facetious) person, but I realize a lot of what I ever so shamelessly broadcast on here is pretty abstract and most of it is personal inside jokes, so it is easy to contort the whole schtick/point/idea of this blog. I'll let you guys be cute and adorable about it and say "mEnTaL iNsTiTuTsHuNz!1!11 cRazI!" and have your cake, but seriously, there are durations of time when I have a lot of intermittent creative energy/die in the never-ending distressful holy entrapment cycle that is U.S. Vogue, and I basically use this place as some sort of outlet. FOR FUN. HEY GUYS WHAT DO YOU THINK, DO I JUST SIT AT HOME ALL DAY AND INSTINCTIVELY READ U.S. VOGUE AND WATCH THE SEPTEMBER ISSUE ON REPLAY? DECIDE FOR ME.

And I put a lot of work into my entries on here partly because I like it. I enjoy writing, even though I ramble infinitely and fail miserably. Everything may seem like a joke - most of it is, towards some standard I share a modest amount of disgust for the ~fashin~ industry - but I'm not going to fool myself, I really do have a special little fondness for Anna Wintour and U.S. Vogue. Every girl and gay does, and pretty much at the end of the day ~*~WOW BIG WHOOP YOU GUYS~*~ I am just another one of those millions of dense and pointless vainglorious girls who blogs about how much I love the magazine and the intense gimmicks I do to denote such. I am not special, please just don't even dare relate me to the scum-sucking amoeba levels that is of Chris Crocker, and I don't have some fantasy flamboyant idea of ~working~ for her. Ever. (Or would it be more characteristic to say: EVAR.) I just sit here and read the fucking magazine and wait to see what she wears to the Met Ball every year because the very essence of it sincerely amuses me. And maybe I dress up as Anna as I do it for shits and giggles. The only reason it may seem interesting because it is extreme and odd, I really don't have any knack whatsoever when it comes towards coherently writing or effectively being entertaining; so whatever, take it, leave it, laugh at it, and move on to something better. Go back to Tavi's blog like every other cool, hip kid these days and say: "Oh my gooooddd you are so amazing and youuuunnnnggg geniiiusssss." I hear it is a real trendy fad or something. And by my delusional conformist mandations you like trends, laughably voiceless fashion follower.

While maintaining this blog (which I might as well still do since I just magically shat about two dozen new followers, hello bored individuals) I'm not going to bore myself and be ~safe~ and do run-of-the-line runway reviews or post lame outfit entries without at least some process of humoring myself which pretty much equivilates being different. DIFFERENT I KNOW YOU GUYS SCARY HUH MUST ASSIMILATE TOWARDS THE DICTATIONS OF SOCIETY. This blog may probably comes across as pretty dumb and maybe just a little bit weird, but I really do passionately enjoy the magazine and I have no tangible words to define my affections/expressive devotion SO THUS I BEAR EXTRAVAGANT AND CONFUSING BLOG ENTRIES. I am addicted, brainwashed, and probably got hit in the head along the way (Grace Codz style SORRY GRACE), but such is the foundations of my eccentric quirky ~lifestyle. The weird 4chan-bred phashun-mental tennis watching low-carb dieting run-on sentence strangely pious completely feckless Vogue devotee that I am. If I naturally see the world through vintage Chanel sunglasses and a Leibovitz lens through helpless inherent tact, does that put me in the wrong? I'm not going to change my personal perspectives because OCD and Anna hate change, riiiigggghtttt?

... and oh yeah we share the same birthday, coincidentally my middle name is Anna and, yeah, I suppose it is pretty circumstantial. Guess I gotta throw that in somewhere and finally get it out of the way with the waning contingency of making this blog even more confusing and ~fascinating~. How I adore sharing awkward and intrusive information with the world. Today I am 18.

[/end of long drawn-out egotistical explanation that no one will read]

Anyways this entry has gotten too miserably serious, monotonously wordy, and explanatory. My ineradicable ability to write an entire September issue (or five) never ceases to amaze me. BIRTHDAYS GUYS THIS IS A HAPPY MOMENT.

Hey look you guys I'm smiling!

Party at fuckyeahannawintour and you all are invited.

Oh hey guess what you guys I have an idea if I make this blog like super boring and use lots of annoying grammatical errors and run-on sentences etc. like I am composing r/n and do lengthy drawn-out boring typical runway reviews where I say "I DIE" repetitively in senseless and excessive quantities with no actual substance, post a shit-load of editorials without explaining them, be all ~unique and dress like people on Lookbook and listlessly just stand there and vacuously STARE at you guys in front of a canvas back-drop in the SAME. EXACT. position for outfit entries, and write deep, passionate, rambling and exhausting entries about tennis and/or how to dress your body type and age wouldn't this blog be so much more ~fun~, ~exciting~, ~different~, and ~INTERESTING~?

OH WAIT NO I FORGOT, DON'T HAVE THE TIME MUST CONTINUE WORSHIPPING MY RELIGION OR SOMETHING OF THAT EFFECT AND WRITE ODDLY UNNATURAL ENTRIES ABOUT ANNA WHILST TRYING REALLY HARD TO BE WEIRD AND WITTY OR WHATEVER IT IS I AM SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS BLOG NOW.

Oh dear, confusing people has become my chronic hobby. Happy Halloween.

If you see someone handing out carrot and celery sticks tonight, say hi 'cause it's me.

YOU FUCKTARDS

HUGE SIGH.

oh wait hold up no problem, will fix this in a million years.

no but really this is not a cute thing to come back home to from work and someone owes me new manolos stat to mend the pain i will endure within the the next few hours.

"WHAT A GROOVY GIRL. WHO IS SHE?" "MY BEST FRIEND FOREVER."

After cut:

After dye-job:

I alluded to it before and now here it is in its full unabashed stalker glory: me in my final state of divine consummation.

I decided to incorporate the first picture since my hairdresser decided to be a sneaky little twat and clandestinely slide in a $10 blow-dry SO THUS THAT IS A $10 PICTURE and my frugal provident self is obligated to implicate it for that very fact. I can only dream and wish I could style my hair as bitchin' as she did but for now practice makes perfect. AND OF COURSE THIS IS MY JOURNEY TOWARDS ABSOLUTE AND HOLY PERFECTION. The sequence of photos is somewhat of an obvz before and after transformation chronicilization (and not on the lines of What Not to Wear, I hate that show) and I guess I'm pretty satisfied with how everything turned out. I maybe could have gone a little bit shorter (and sort of regret not doing so) if I wanted to be ~exact~ so... maybe next time when I get a trim?

SO FEEDBACK TIME. What do you guys think? Do you dig the cut? Am I a pretty canny [spoiler]HA MADE YOU READ, CHILDHOOD INTERNET FOLLIES. *cough*clone*cough*?[/spoiler] What do you think A-Dubz would think if I walked into her office like this?

FIRST ONE TO POST THE REFERENCE PICTURE I USED WINS NOODZ.

Anyways, let us reminisce on simpler times, cool cats.

Sent this in to Vogue offices today:

Dear Winnie,

u + me = 4evz.

Let us Be,

Sweet, sweet, groovy lovers.

Love,

Separated at Birth

P.S. Bryan Boy fashinfaaaagggssss NGL I don't really like you r/n. This blog was supposed to be for fun and quite seriously a secret, and if one possibly can't handle my inside jokes or how I make fun of myself please just leave it be. A part of me doesn't want to be publicized and it slightly agitates me. A lot of my entries were made under the assumption that only a few people would read them (fine, no big deal) BUT NOT 3,000. I know h8trs gonna h8 Anna deals with it all the time ongoing battle GUNNA LET IT SLIDE OFF but I find this kinda apropro.

'jus clearin' things up. I know you guys are all PETA members anyways.

NOT SO BOSS, KARLIE KLOSS; GOIN' GREEN, WITH CRAIG MCDEAN; I'MMA CALLIN', HENRY HOLLAND

It is all gone. Every caustic and demoting review, every sly vitriolicism, EVERY DISGUSTING AND SARCASTIC COMMENT ON TFS (Never put it upon yourself to visit that vile site. NEVER.) is completely obliterated when I obtained this in the mail. Amid the usual intractable fits of tears, burning the current issue of U.S. Elle/"Hell" (SATANIC), and my neighbors wondering what the fuck is going on, I decided to ~*~clear things up~*~ for you guys and caption the covert beauty of this issue! You can either choose to be a negligent asshole like the pricks on The Fascist Spot or embrace following my lead and piously lamenting upon why every issue is so staggeringly wondrous and emanates of rainbows and unicorns. I would advise the latter, duh stupid fashion communicant.

My religious episodes aside, let us discuss:

~*~*ENVIRONMENTALISM*~*~.

If you consider my radiator to the right of my pictures and my Styrofoam $1.55 non-fat latté would you previse me as a neophyte? No but really: why? Why did this issue get such malcontented reviews? YOU GUYS YOU GET A CUTE, PRECIOUS, AND ADORABLE LETTER FROM ANNA EVERY MONTH TO PIN ON YOUR WALL (AN ACT OBVZ I DO NOT PERSONALLY INDULGE IN, SUCH AS MY ONGOING AND UNNECESSARY USE OF CAPS). Please for the love of God enlighten me: what more could you ask for?! GLUTTONY I TELL YOU, GLUTTONY. CATHYY HORRRYNNNNNN.

Onwards. The cover.

Oh dear where to begin with this. You guys, you have to hand it to her. You have to hand it to Winnie for at least testing out the distasteful and frightening recycled waters of change. My OCD radar identifies change as unnerving! No (or at least... unorthodoxly arranged) banner, full body shots, "Fashionista on the Farm", group shots (?!)... goodness me, U.S. Vogue is dat really 'chu? Oh wait a second we got a "miracle antiaging apple" you guys. DAMN STRAIGHT WE CAN STILL BE FABULOUS AND GREEN HERE AT U.S. VOGUE.

Oh Hammy ilu ilu ilu ilu ilu ilu ilu illluuuuuuu. Someone try reading this article without smiling, would 'ya? Best part: "'You can do it,' said Anna blithely. (one eye, I suspected, on the tennis)" Yeah, I just about died. Tell me again why tennis lessons are so depressively expensive where I live? Is this some sort of sick and condemned way of keeping me away from the likeliness of Anna?

Fashinz Knight Out. Oh hey look, a bunch of models shot by Demarchlier. Never seen that one before! To me this spread basically exclaims: "What was that? You couldn't come? Oh really? LOOK AT WHAT YOU MISSED OUT ON DOUCHE BAG. SWIM IN YOUR REGRET."

Hey, I've got an idea! Let's take a garden set in the middle of New York in the wee hours of the morning, acquire a whole bunch of green clothing, army prints, and khakis, call it a "concrete jungle", and put it in our issue about environmentalism! What do we say guys? An ingenious idea Y/Y?

And now for the real *star* of this issue:

LOOK AT WHAT THE CAT DRAGGED IN.

How many giraffes must I kill, how many Asians must I date, how many TIMES must I practice jumping in front of the mirror, HOW MANY GALLONS OF MILK MUST I DRINK to become this girl? I get it. She's American. I get it. She is ~new, ~young, ~fresh, ~updated. Do I get Winnie's fetish attraction and preoccupation towards numerous particular models? What magic powers does one possess to become one of these ~revered models? You have to realize: she was featured in four edits in this issue. Why why wwwwhhhhyyyyyyyyy. I suppose the Trentini complex has somehow just gone out the window. If I don't magically become a star tennis player in a few years do you guys think I could magically grow 6 inches and get signed at Ford instead? PRAY FOR MY TRANSCENDENCE.

Florals and "Playing in the Field." Real ~natural~ and ~fun~ with Karen Elson and McDean, WAIT THIS IS REALLY HARD TO FIGURE OUT YOU GUYS REALLY WONDERING WHAT THIS HAS TO DO WITH THE GREEN ISSUE AGAIN. Is it not too obvious or is it not too obvious? Must I have to hold you by the hand and explain?

Alright, so here is ~one~ of the main reasons why I really love U.S. Vogue. Where else can you get the perfect prescription of business, art, fashion, politics, and diversity? The magazine is obviously well thought-out, calculated, and decoded - the main reason why I just have a tremendous appreciation for Anna's tact and respect her cultured allegiance to Vogue come every month. Affairs such as Fashion's Night Out and the ongoing CFDA fund clearly exemplify this... large successes that only just buffer the efficacy of U.S. Vogue and Anna's love and ambition. (Anyone who has seen TSI probably has at least a slight visualization of what I am referring to.)

I could really go on in a useless and aimless stupor about what this magazine means to me, how peaceful I feel when I receive it each month, or how I die a little bit inside when I catch someone on the streets casually reading it... but I won't. Risking the danger of denouncing my true amity and coming off as a complete dumbass isn't something I would find amusement in reading back on. It sounds cheesy, but I've pretty much categorized it as a futile plight (and not just because I'm a rambling idiot). I never really envisaged myself as a "talented" or "savvy" writer (/blogger?) - my fragile ego sees myself as almost certainly the opposite - but the day I acquiesce the modus of successfully formulating my feelings into actual words... I will think of myself as victorious.

AND HIRED.

Now off to witlessly shop ODLR dresses that I will never be able to afford whilst basking in the glistening grace of my new vintage U.S. Vogue purchases. Murhurhurhur, life is grand.