Hyperkult

Jane Birkin in all her bohemian glory

Note: I wrote half of this yesterday and the other half this morning after waking from a Bordelaise and butter coma. My actual birthday was the 9th, but posting today gave me the chance to include a couple things I wouldn’t have otherwise.

Today is my birthday, giving me permission to be unabashedly indulgent for one day, and one day only. Truth be told, I prefer that these 24-hours pass with little fanfare, which is why I’ve planned a quiet dinner with a few close girlfriends tonight.

Since I have a free pass to be self-serving, though, I’ll use it to share a few of my favorite things in—you guessed it—list form. There’s no binding thread among what follows, save for the fact that I’m really loving, wanting, listening, thinking about, and/or admiring them.

1. The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolaño

I recently read a description of this novel, about a crew of “visceral realist” poets on a madcap quest for an elusive literary heroine, that pegged it as Y tu mamá también meets Gabriel García Márquez. That’s somewhat accurate and perhaps complimentary, but also reductive. Unwieldy as its character threads may be, Bolaño’s writing is controlled and lyrically singular. The last time I felt this way about an author was when I picked up Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, which I now consider sacrosanct text. Only 200 pages in, and I can’t wait for the next 400.

2. The xx, “Intro”

The xx was on many a critic’s Top [insert number] list of 2009’s Most Notable Releases. I wasn’t convinced the first time I listened to the album, but I’ve since come to like the group’s self-titled debut and love “Intro,” its succinct opening track. It’s become one of those songs I stop midway, then jump back to the beginning because I don’t want it to end. Hypnotic and moody, just like I like ‘em.

Photo credit: LuisaViaRoma

3. Rick Owens Padded Leather Jacket

If I could make sweet, sweet love to an item of clothing, this would be it. After trying it on earlier this winter, I can attest to the fact that it fits perfectly and feels like a sumptuous second skin. Now, who has an extra $1,500 they can spare (and that’s on sale)?

Photo credit: Future Classics

4. Future Classics

When I first saw this draped dress in person, I believe my first words were, “this shit is ridiculous.” And it is—ridiculously beautiful, coupling femininity with layered and intricate figure-conscious cuts. I appreciate designer Julie Wilkins’ nod to vintage clothing and the deconstructive edge of each piece, especially. And who needs jeggings when you have sexy, buttoned, stirrup-like leggings like those above?

5. Style a la Jane Birkin

When I get dressed, I’m usually channeling Jane Birkin to some degree, or doggedly attempting to. While I may not be able to pull off the signature bangs, the high-waist jeans, square mini-dresses, and slouchy boyish/feminine look I can do. Pout not included.

Garance, left, and me, right, trying to tame my Canon Rebel XT (ignore the disgusting stained mirror)

6. Garance Doré

Photographer, illustrator, partner of Scott Schuman (a.k.a., The Sartorialist), and the French woman I secretly wish I was. She’s a woman of impeccable style, with an effervescence that comes across in photos and her playful musings about fashion. Devoid of pretense, Doré’s blog offers a refreshing and simultaneously erudite take on what’s happening on and off the runway.

Photo credit: Neiman Marcus

7. Chloé Eau de Parfum and Tom Ford Champaca Absolute

My grandmother on my mother’s side was a rigid disciplinarian who sold fish on the streets of Manila to provide for her family—far from being a fashion or beauty maven in the traditional sense. I only know her through stories my mother has told me, one of the more memorable anecdotes being that she was never without designer perfume. How the woman, who was partial to Nina Ricci and Chanel No. 5, managed to get her hands on high-end fragrances in the face of dire financial straits is equally confusing and impressive.

She passed her love of perfume down to my mom, who in turn cultivated the same appreciation in me. Growing up, I remember my mother smelling of Yves Saint Laurent’s Opium, Coco Chanel, and Jaipur, and my own taste tends toward forward florals and spicy aromas. At the moment, Chloé is getting the most play in my scent wardrobe (because I do indeed have a wardrobe, including Jo Malone’s Nectarine Blossom and Honey for bedtime), but Tom Ford’s Champaca Absolute is at the top of my wish list. Did I mention it’s my birthday today?

Photo credit: Neil Leifer

8. The Annenberg Space for Photography

Located on the same hallowed grounds as the CAA fortress building in Century City, the Annenberg Space for Photography is one of my favorite places to spend an afternoon in Los Angeles. I typically like to come here alone (more meditative), and I’ve seen every exhibit since it first opened last year. My favorite of the three rotating collections was themed around L.A. photographers/photojournalism, the work of Julius Shulman and Carolyn Cole being standouts for me. Best of all, visiting Annenberg is free; you’ll only have to pay a meager $1 parking fee post-validation. I visited the space today to see the Ioose/Leifer exhibit and left with a newfound appreciation for sports photography.

Mmm. Caramel icing.

9. Lark Cake Shop, Silverlake

As this is being written post-birthday celebration, I can include Lark on my list. My friend Frances, having heard me endlessly prattle on about wanting to sample the Caramel Cake from this adorable bake shop in Silverlake, surprised me by bringing it to dinner at Café Stella. It was as fantastic and moist as I imagined it, the sprinkle of Kosher salt in between layers of white cake and caramel icing subtly balancing out its sweetness.

Photo credit: The Louvre

10. Lists

My obsessive-compulsive love of organization was recently reinforced by a segment that aired on NPR. Famed Parisian museum the Louvre has unveiled an exhibit about “The Infinity of Lists,” curated in part by Italian writer Umberto Eco. Eco believes lists, even those as mundane as the phone book, can be “poetic” provided the correct intent is present. And that’s where this particular list ends.

The man, the myth, the legend: Tim Blanks; Photo credit: men.style.com

I credit my older sister, in part, for pointing me toward the wilds of fashion. This is the same sister who as a 13-year-old would write me letters about her occasional trips to Los Angeles, where she would eat at Georgia (Denzel Washington’s erstwhile restaurant venture) and shop at the Beverly Center—the pinnacle of consumer greatness for any teenager, be it a decade ago or today. “Georgia was popping off back then!” she said in defense when I reminded her of her ’90s romps through L.A.

On weekends, we’d forgo Saturday morning cartoons to watch back-to-back showings of Videofashion Weekly! and Fashion File, which introduced me to the schizoid backstage world of runway shows and the woman I still refer to as my “spirit model,” Christy Turlington. The two of us would lounge around in our pajamas, eating our grandmother’s thin, practically deep-fried pancakes while reviewing the latest collections and engaging in pseudo-intellectual shop talk about what the designers were putting out that season.

Fashion File trumped viewings of Pepper Ann, which made me feel infinitely cooler than my tween classmates, even though I was chubby and awkward and soon to be brace-ridden. Endearing, if a little austere, host Tim Blanks was our lifeline to Gianni Versace’s skintight bodysuits, Isaac Mizrahi at the height of his career, Tom Ford when he made Gucci synonymous with sex, and even long-lost casual wear king Todd Oldham—remember Todd Oldham?! For a sartorially-minded young thing, there was nothing like Fashion File, no one like our man Tim, no better way—save for reading Vogue—for a girl living in the black hole of suburbia to connect with a world far removed from a horribly bucolic quotidian. There were cows in my hometown, so I’m calling that bucolic.

The illustrious Mr. Blanks is no longer affiliated with Fashion File, and when I, on a whim, decided to see what had become of the show since his departure I came across one hell of a hot mess. Maybe it’s because I’m perpetually nostalgic these days (and I’m only 25, for Chrissake), but the show is a specter of what I remember it being as a teen. It delivers fashion coverage produced in the same vein as EXTRA. In a word, blah. There is an interesting segment on “A Day in the Life of Coco Rocha” on the homepage, but I think its appeal owes more to its jig-dancing subject than the way it was put together. And there’s of course no replacing Blanks, whose name I recently saw grace a few Runway Reviews during Style.com’s coverage of London Fashion Week. Good to know he’s still out there rubbing shoulders with Amazonian models and eccentric designers.*

I found a clip from Fashion File’s heyday on YouTube. Watch and be reminded of the show’s former greatness.

*Update: Most of this paragraph should have been written in the past tense. I’ve since discovered that the show was canceled in early 2009 and that Blanks’ replacement was sourced from a reality show titled Fashion File Host Hunt. ‘Nuff said.