I recently purchased my first Slim Aarons book, Poolside With Slim Aarons. For those familiar with Slim Aarons' work, you'll know that he spent the majority of his adult life documenting the lifestyles - and please excuse the cliché - of the Rich and Famous. Better yet, the super rich and REALLY famous.
Having started his career during WWII, he was often witness to the atrocities and casualties of war. So much so, that upon the end of WWII, Slim Aarons decided to become a society photog, explaining, "From now on, I'm going to walk on the sunny side of the street. I'm going to have fun photographing attractive people doing attractive things in attractvie places and maybe take some attracive photographs." So he went on to document the lives of the rich as they socialized, traveled, and lived through the lens of his camera. If there is a quintessential portrait into the lives of the leisured classes, I always think of Slim Aarons.
I should have left a suicide note with Kate Nash being my last post and all. What nerve. lol.
If I honestly didn't love Downtown LA so much, I would have never put myself through the torture that were the last three weeks. For the sake of not ruining TGIF forever, I will only give you a brief synopsis, and spare you all of the anxiety-inducing details.
Quite possibly the saddest song I've heard. My friend Alex and I have a thing where we get wasted and share music. Talk about a bad day... nice song though.
I remember watching The Devil Wears Prada for the first time. The scene that always stood out in my mind is when Anne Hathaway is busting her ass, preparing lunch for Meryl Streep's character, Miranda Priestley. She has returned from Smith & Wollenksey, panicked and frazzled, a with a fat delicious steak (that was probably really expensive) and is carrying a tray of food into the office, when Miranda Priestly says, "What's that? I'm having lunch with Herb, I don't want that." A defeated Anne Hathaway goes into the kitchenette and in frustration chucks the entire tray into the sink.
A great movie moment, but one that hit very close to home. That scene made me think back on my own experiences in the fashion industry, and how unnecessarily mean and angry the people are, especially the girls. I have always wondered, why are fashion girls such bitches? Not all fashion girls, obviously, but I have worked with enough of them in different capacities to deduce that most are jerks.
I began my foray into fashion at 21, when I interned for People's Revolution. I was green in every sense of the word, with no style, and a general concept of fashion, but very eager nonetheless. I, along with 15+ kids were hired as interns to assist for L.A. Fashion Week - back when it when IMG and Mercedes Benz were sponsors. My first encounter was with my friend Lily, who is super slender with fiery red long hair. She walked in wearing a leopard fur coat, super-skinny black jeans, and stilettos that were sky-high. I remember feeling completely out of my element, because I didn't know girls who dressed or carried themselves like this. Admittedly, Lily, was stand-offish to me as she was the resident super-intern who had been there longer and was wary of newcomers. The hesitation warranted itself as we were about to start filming The Hills, which at this point was all over the internet.
After a few days, I became acquainted with everyone and everything was going great. I would happily space hangers, steam shit, and organize the supply closet. By now, we were cracking jokes and prepping for "the partners" to arrive. The "partners" consisted of Kelly Cutrone, Robyn Berkley, and Emily Bungert. Based out of NYC, none of us newbies had officially met them. All we knew is that the loft space was exclusively theirs, with three desks already waiting. The day they showed up was literally like Meryl Streep's arrival in the movie. The publicist's began ordering everyone to clean up, stay quiet, and do as we were told, no questions asked. If we had questions, we were to NOT ask Kelly or any of the partners. Honestly, the anticipation was terrifying.