Have I mentioned how much I love the site Haute Macabre?
From the lavish editorial finds
in their
impeccably-curated archive of Tear Sheets
to the highly covetable objets-de-art
many an absinthe-hued eye would ogle with envy
in the dandy-of-dandiest Domestigoth’s
high-end digs,
this virtual locale of the monochromatic cognoscenti
Sun-Sensitive Brocade Cloak by Jared Gold Couture † Vivienne Westwood Tie Shirt
Dark G-Star Denim † Romanian Militia Motorcycle Boots
Seeing as how I have spent my entire weekend glued to my computer working while listening to the first of the Sookie Stackhouse books on audio, I feel it totally appropriate to post this vampire editorial sent to us by Clint Catalyst. Since Nixon posted his spoken word video a few weeks back, he and I have bonded over our mutual love of True Blood, so in Fangtasia Fashion, here’s a first look at his recent shoot by Hoda Amel Abdalla.
Clint is shown wearing pieces from Jared Gold’s Caspian Collection runway pieces. Each item is a one off, and was not duplicated for wide distribution.
Felt Top Hat with Couture Grosgrain Trim † Vintage Victorian Mourning Suit circa late 1800s
White Oxford from Ross Dress for Less † After Six Tuxedo Neckpiece
Pictured with me: Jessicka (of Scarling and Jack Off Jill fame) and Mr. Gold, who brought his infamous madagascar hissing cockroach brooches as accessories for one of the model ‘challenges’ of the episode. Mr. Gold received ten minutes of air time on this phenomenal spin-off of the American franchise, which features gorgeous girls, incredibly hospitable hosts, and–as a form of my own demented entertainment–the opportunity for me to be extra “ornery” on-air!
Thanks for the coverage, Amy Spencer…and Vielen Dank to Heidi Klum and her cohorts for having us as guests on Cycle 4!
LENORA CLAIRE:
featuring SUPERNOVA OF THE SMALL SCREEN,
ANTOINE DES CAUNES
ON "ALLEZ A L.A.,"
A PROGRAM VENTURING
'ROUND THIS CITY OF SMOG & STARDUST
BY
CANAL PLUS T.V...
(DESCRIPTION POSTED ON MY YOUTUBE CHANNEL):
"European megawatt Antoine De Caunes explored this strange beast
we know under the name of 'Los Angeles,' and stumbled upon 'Future Cult
Icon' Lenora Claire in the process.
Because any fashion choice I
make should be considered The Law--yes, this is sarcasm, kiddies--I was
brought in to transform Antoine into the hip party-goer he's always
wanted to be...whether or not he knew it. After all, Lenora's birthday
soirée was just an "intimate little gathering" of her thousand most
fabulous friends at none other than the Houdini Mansion.
In other words, jeans and a t-shirt? Just WOULDN'T have cut it.
The hand-painted suit on Mr. De Coines is a one-of-a-kind creation by
TonyMech of TonyMech[dot]com, while the black-belt beauty crew
responsible for his phenomenal transformation via hair and make-up is
none other than Stacey Hummell, Face-Beater Extraordinaire, as well as
Irene Urias and Marc Mapile of Hairroin -- the virtual locale of which
is HairroinSalon[dot]com.
And on me?
Need I even mention
the shrunken top hat was made by Creepsuela Switchletto and my own
*subtle* ensemble another couture creation by Mssr. Jared Gold?
Or uh, you guys kind of...CATCHING ON by this point?
(Envision Appropriate Emoticon)
x o x o x
C l i n t"
O.K., before I have to dial whine-one-one for the waaaahmbulance, please allow me to throw down a disclaimer in hopes that I’ll spare even a single set of phalanges out there clacking terse comments about how I “really need to post this type of information while issues are still on the newsstands…” [ad nauseum, ad nauseum; cue vomitorium]
‘Cause hey—guess what?
I really need to post this shit in a more expeditious manner, man.
Just so happens that–ahem–I might very well have a few issues of my own to deal with. (One of which is the preposition by which the previous sentence just ended, dangling like an unworn pair of silver Les Chiffoniers’ leggings aching for the latest Girl of the Moment to slide into them before dashing out to paint the town bloodshot. It’s as inherent a pairing as Edie Segwick hopped-up on a fistful of whites and having her coiff spray painted Just For The F Of It while donning Balenciaga originials. What other lack of logic explains the perfect sense it makes to purchase what’s essentially a thick pair of pantyhose with a thousand dollar price tag? Not really…but REALLY, babes.)
But oh, that’s but a footnote of damage from a former version of myself in which I worked as a technical writer. A footnote among essays within archives buried deep inside some virtual boneyard we’ll call The Chronicles of the Clintasaurus and opt to visit some other time just dust our hands of it.
.kthanxbai.
At least all this self-aggrandizing material is contained within a single post. Couldn’t give two turds about what ‘they’ might have said about me?
Scroll on; scroll on!
It’s as easy as the pro-Ana mindset by which to skip dessert:
“Does Not Exist.”
What does exist, nonetheless, on the other acrylic claw:
Recent media in which I appear–sometimes but a smidgen; luckier instances full effing-on.
For instance, the following pic and mention in H Magazine is a case of what might be deemed “peripheral press.” Or, to utilize the vernacular of savvy SoCal realtors in sensible shoes: an “adjacent feature.”
Not gonna lie (or “ngl,” for those who speak Millennial): this is one of the first photographs of Mister Glenn Kaino that shows how handsome he is. Not exactly a stranger to the slick and glossy pages of newsstand racks, there’ve been many a magazine where I thought the printed results of the flashbulb-pop just didn’t do him justice. Props to the photographer for capturing why it is his lovely wife CoryLynn went “Whoa”—y’know?
And insofar as my image—the look I ‘turned out’* for bits and pieces of my soul to be sacrificed via Glenn’s manipulation of the bulky/beautiful Polaroid Big Shot favored by Warhol himself?
*’turned out’ by no means appropriating cred as if this was my own creation! Au contraire, it was the make-up of Stacey Humell; the cut/color/extensions of scissormeister Irene Urias of Hairroin, Hollywood’s hottest salon (www.hairroinsalon.com), and–excluding the Westwood brooch–another cerebellum-melding, history-making, custom couture creation by the genius Jared Gold
(moving right along…)
Big deal if I’m “giving away too many of my secrets” by sharing this delicious little inside joke—it friggin’ slaughters me how many people took the ‘pomp and pout’ of the picture at face value. I mean, if I’m going to rock an outfit, hair and make-up that ostentatious… how could I not get “in character”?
What ELSE would I do? Smile like a politician and “compassionately” hold a stranger’s baby?
And in the meantime, reword “Let Them Eat Cake” into something more…inclusive…in tone?
yeahRIIIGHT.
It’s like this: one wink or nudge of the elbow during the Polaroid shoot, or Nhat Nguyen’s studio takes thereafter in which I “amped the prance” so high; by foppish standards it was even off-the-charts, or even a single word cluing in ‘The Children’ a la Interwebz? (No worries now: it’s been months… and while it’s a hasty generalization, yes: gnats have better attention spans than they do, for the most part.)
Let’s face the music, sweetcheeks:
Simply wouldn’ta worked.
Art versus Artifice // Appearance versus Reality // Truth Revealed Through a Guise // Everything Is “Real”—Though What Of It Is Lies?
So many motifs swirling around in my head like a majorette’s glitter-fringed baton at half-time…
Yet all of them beg the question, it seems:
Exactly who or what is this ‘Clint Catalyst’ supposed to be, anyway?
And why would it even matter if he (and I) weren’t among the ‘Lucky Ones’ in Flaunt magazine, issue 96?
I’ll tell ya what it was like when I spot-checked the (who cares if it’s a mere thumb-nail sized) pic, standing there, thumbing through the pricey pages in the Echo Park 7-11:
the second I saw my little powder blue top hat (by L.A.’s premier Gothic Cholita, Creepsuela Switchletto: “big ups” to my shiv-wieldin’ glamour sis), I felt a surge of validation sweep over me like the frost-bitten clouds fleeing a freezer behind me as some nameless faceless customer opened then sealed shut the door.
No doubt this earth-shattering, molar-splitting, life-changing moment is fraught with layers of meaning… but c’mon, isn’t everything? (Unless, of course, it’s deconstructed to the bloodless core of nothingness—but that’s so Small-Town-Liberal-Arts-School-Curriculum-For-30K+-A-Year-Of-Make-Believe, I’d rather just ‘keep it real’ and say
Mostest Massive thanks to Photographer Melissa Manning and Flaunt magazine!
Shit you nunca, y’all: that was wickedcool of you, and was “Really Saying Something…”
[Fun.Boy.Three.From.This.One.Here.]
Verbose? Hell yes. I conquer “tl;dr” pussywillows one paragraph at a time—deal with it, or head off for culturally-stimulating activities like an episode of “Cops” or a Budweiser-fueled swirly-go-’round-and-then-down on the Sunset Strip’s Mechanical Bull.
“I.D.G.I,” arseholians. (Said, of course, with the deepest affection…)
Besides: this is kind of like, my diary…yo?
All the same, there’s somethin’ I gotta tell you, though: the printwork I’m most stoked about as of late is a two-page editorial in the latest Lipstick Prophets catalog/magazine.
Here’s one of the images from the spread…
Copies are available through LipstickProphets.com for a scant 2 1/2 bones — and that’s with free shipping and handling, dearlings.
With the American economy in the shitter as it is, at least somebody’s followed my lead regarding “Other Humanitarian Acts That Require Little or No Effort.”
The Clint’s Notes version?
Have passport; will travel. ‘Handling’ is subjective terminology best discussed in lush, exotic locales—and, as with everything else in life, varies from individual to individual (all the while assured that we’re treated equally: It is, after all, the American Way!).
