Godammit, I’m Mad!

Even though he’s the Hipster du Jour, I can’t stand looking at Zombie Boy. Now that I see what he’d look like without his tattoos, I find him even more tragic.

He’s actually a cute guy! And he fucked himself all up.

If you think he’s a work of art, don’t fly off the handle: I’m reacting as a mother.

In any case, it’s a great marketing gimmick for Dermablend.

What’s your preference. Before or After?

~

*Update:  Here is the best possible version of Zombie Boy,  from a helpful reader, Danielle.  Now he needs to go away and leave us alone. I apologize for bringing him up in the first place.

Today we went to the Museum of Contemporary Art to see an exhibit of graffiti and street art. Little did I know it was The Place to Be, with a long line of hipsters waiting to get inside the museum.  My husband and I thought “Fuck this” and decided to leave , just as we saw my adopted son Chris and his girlfriend Ada walking toward us.

It was wonderful to realize that we crypto-hipsters all gravitate to the same places. Ada became a museum member to help us avoid the long line for non-members.  The guy who helped her had 14 piercings in his face.

The exhibit was crawling with people who could each qualify as a piece of graffiti art. The was no air inside, where the temperature hovered near boiling point. Everyone was madly taking pictures of the art and each other. You had to dodge the iPhone flashes as you tried to avoid screwing up someone’s photo op.

I complained to my husband in a non-stop whine, but he’s learned to live with this. I objected aloud to a wall of Shepard Fairy crap, noting “Shepard Fairey is a fucking punk!” and thereby quoting my own self. I loved the cars and some black and white photos of Chicano homies. But most of it seemed boring and outdated, like break-dancing only less dimensional. Shuffling along the narrow passages between makeshift rooms, I felt like a character in “Hi, Mom.”

I wondered what would happen if someone broke out a can of spray pain and graffiti’d the graffiti.

Out in the street, an even longer line of hipters stood sweltering. I said to my husband: Haha, look at them. We walked to a Yogurtland, where a pretty girl sitting next to me blabbed about her reality show and insisted to her morbidly obese friend that what she really wanted to do was “make art.”

Here is a photo posted on a popular style blog today. The others in the series were NSFW. The handful of comments were enthusiastic.

A light finally went on in my head.

It’s the fucking decadence that I hate! Not really hipsters in general so much as the ones promoting decadence.

Nipple rings,  blurred sexuality, tattooes, shaved heads, pseudo bondage, jaded topless girls with cigarettes, Gareth Pugh this and Gareth Pugh that, it’s all so tragic and played out.  There’s just nowhere to go with this shit.

I’m aware that young people must shock their elders. But it seems like too many people aren’t growing out of it. I don’t want to call out bloggers because it’s not their fault. They’re just deluded. The images they’re purveying have been around in some form for centuries, but now it’s so joyless and commercialized. Just take it away.

I’ve been scrolling through paintings of angels and religious allegories for hours, trying to elevate my soul through beauty and sincerity but it’s hard to find a strong enough antidote to the sadness of everything tonight.

Just to keep hipsters in the loop, though, please enjoy this:

Today I realized that I need Gnarlitude to live.

Nothing worked to shake off my lethargy and depression until I clicked on her blog.

“Uh, seriously, with my black motorcycle boots this would just be beyond fucking hot. Lanvin S/S”

“JLP is such a great photographer and really nails these motoshoots. An older friend of mine has been wearing the Harley hat below since he was a teen and that shit is vintage now, it made me smile to spot it in this shoot.”

YES! OF COURSE your friend has been wearing that “Harley hat” long before anyone else! Duh! I love you, never stop!

I don’t know what works for you, but when I’m depressed, my escape route is usually indignant rage or in this case, perverse humor. Hipsters parading their hipness isn’t always funny, but Gnarlitude raises the bar to beyond parody.

Let’s create the ultimate Hipster and get it over with. I’ll begin, and when I run out of ingredients, you can throw in the rest:

Bukowski, Iggy, The Misfits, vintage motorcycles, opiates, Max’s Kansas City, CBGB’s, Velvet Underground, leather, denim, taxidermy, skulls, spikes, swastikas, Patti Smith, Chuck Palahniak, old band t-shirts, skateboards, cigarettes, dope paraphernalia, bad poetry, Nick Cave, Converse, cowboy boots, stupid hats, Godard, Hells Angels, serial killers, Death Metal, tattoos, vintage guitars…

Thanks to finding this video here, I now know there’s a word for everything I hate online (because I am largely protected from it in real life.)  DICKHEADS!

Everywhere you go,  these Dickheads are there, ruining everything.

I admit that my definition for Clueless Goth Style was pretty unintelligible.  But Enna, above, has put together a great look: It’s kind of Blogger-Hooker crossed with Hipster Underage Granny. She knows that it’s mandatory to rock a fur thing and a Dope Dealer hat.

Here is Redhead Fashionista rocking a (subconscious?) tribute to Sea, with striking black lipstick and a bumble bee themed outfit, and bringing a saucy tough-girl vibe to the Goth Lolita thing. Isn’t she gorgeous and clueless?

HelOnWheels looks tragically Goth and clueless in this old school tartan bondage dress and stupid hippie ankh.  The excessive rings and pretentious hat are perfection!

Lois-Elizabeth take Clueless over the edge into Mental. The Goth Hooker dress with white accents is begging for attention, and the pigeon-toed stance pulls it all together.

Angelica really nails it with the shredded leggings and headband. The lace-up boots are bang on trend, and the heavy showgirl make up is perfect for making a strong first impression.

Athif knows how to rock fur, doesn’t he? The thing around his neck looks like it was only recently running around someone’s garden, while the fluffy footwear says Chanel knock-off.  Ripped leg-wear and scary jewelry show that Athif has done his fashion homework!

WOW, Marie is a genius. Here, she looks  sexily disheveled as though apres lovemaking (or pony-play?) in a barn. Let’s take another look.

This outfit is dripping with style, beginning with that fabulous cape. The lace, the chains, the hat, the attitude, Marie is a vision of loveliness in her Military Madonna outfit. Wordpress is too stupid to let me post the full size pictures of Marie, but I’ll be happy to send them to you in email if you ask nicely.

I was thinking about attempting my own Clueless Goth look but I just can’t get dressed today due to extreme lethargy, depression, and antibiotics.  Thank you, Marie, Enna, Angelica, Lois-Elizabeth, Athif, HelOnWheels, and Redhead Fashionista for your team spirit and for sharing your creativity! xoxoxo

Wasn’t the Nomadic Baglady style-fest the funnest thing ever?! Now, who’s ready to try Clueless Goth?

Clueless Goth is a wonderful category that isn’t as easy as it sounds. Straight-up Goth is not what we’re going for. I’m talking about hipster, mallrat, moto-obsessed neo-crypto-Goth. Torn shit, leather, spikes, fierce rad skull-ridden Luxirare-worshiping badass edgy dark darketty gnarlitude.

Let’s see what you got! The  Shoegirl will kill this but Rosie is not to be underestimated, or Marie either.

Submissions to sisterwolf666@gmail.com

***Image removed at request of  owner, although I maintain my rights under the fair use law***

(identities concealed to protect the guilty)

Kim { 06.21.10 at 11:22 AM }

I’ve followed your blog for ages now. and just when I thought you couldn’t get any cooler, your husband is a taxidermist! Get out of my head already! I love taxidermy so fucking much. How did your husband get into it?

Tonight, I was complaining to Max about the people at our local Whole Foods store. I noted that you couldn’t tell the difference between the homeless guys and the hipsters, who were affecting the same look, i.e., filthy dreadlocks and grubby clothing.

Max replied, “But you can’t say the homelss guys are “affecting” the look.

Me: “True.”

Max: “They’re “rocking” it.”

Why do we have to have people like Leonor Scherrer? The daughter of French designer Jean-Louis Scherrer, she is the ultimate spoiled, entitled ultra-hipster who favors a dykey Goth look and has started a company called Leonor Funeral Couture to provide “fashion for the bereaved.”

“Her line even comes complete with its own fragrance, Maximilia, named after Maximilian Kolbe, the Polish friar who took the place of a condemned man at Auschwitz.”

But wait! She’s also recording an album that includes a cover of Schubert’s “Death and The Maiden.”

Get it? She loves death! Death is so cool!

Riccardo Tisci adores her and so does Diane Pernet. In an interview with Diane, Leonor says, “I had no idea death was such a taboo.“  Maybe on her planet, they  have different taboos. How can one expect such a person to know what we proles are like?

But aside from her breathtaking level of pretentiousness, she also offers the discerning enthusiast the kind of self-aggrandizing clulessness that results in a confession like this one:

“I lost a close friend recently and the grieving process takes a long time. I think of him every time I see someone on the street looking like him. In fact, I’ve still got his number on my phone and haven’t been able to delete it yet.”

Her friend died recently but she hasn’t deleted his phone number yet?!? The woman is a fucking saint.

Actually, no. In fact, the first thing I thought upon reading about her was, Wow. What a fucking cunt™! Why doesn’t she have anything better to do than market an ironic appreciation of death?