Hipness | J.Cruel

Archive for Hipness

Constant. Sartorial. Twittering.

April 8, 2009 at 3:37 am · Filed under Addiction, Hipness, Narcissism

The Autobiography of J.Cruel

March 23, 2009 at 6:20 am · Filed under Hipness, Narcissism, Precocious

jumpsuit

J.Cruel’s youth . . .

Sounded like: a Hummer’s engine turning over in the seniors’ parking lot, surf crashing, mall music, someone preaching the gospel, tires on the 5, seagulls, Gwen Stefani, coyote howls, tolling bells (they toll for thee).

Smelled like: yoga mats, Hot Dog on a Stick, sagebrush, oranges, Obsession by Calvin Klein, chlorine.

Looked like: red tile roof, white stucco, grass in a desert, ocean horizon, strip mall, palm tree, trucker hat.

Tasted like: fro-yo, fish tacos.

Felt like: a second skin of stretch denim from ankles to sternum . . . oppressive yet comforting.

Super-slim fit denim bodysuit with adjustable spaghetti straps and center back zip. Like your past, you will never escape it.

Comments

Reverie on Rivington

March 11, 2009 at 8:49 am · Filed under Denial, Gamine, Hipness, Weeping

leather-shorts-03-03-09

Angie knew when to say no, she just didn’t want to. Hunter told her that his band was going on at 10. Normally he played spoons in the electro-funk quartet Cobalt and the Beholder, but tonight he clapped quietly in the background of The Worship Potential, the Vatican II, alt-folk band that was really big on the internet. Angie cut the bottoms off her very best pair of leather pants, the ones from her Kitty Pit days, and painted her face tuberculosis white. Oh how he would love her tonight, the ghost of girlfriends past.

Hunter clapped well, if too loudly, tonight. The other band members glared at him at the end of the set, but it was in their nature to quietly forgive him and thank him before floating ethereally away in their khaki pants. Hunter wasn’t like them, but oh how he wanted Joanna, the squirrel-voiced singer who cooed her way through every song. He hurried after her, to the after-party in some grassy, moonlit field.

Angie saw him leave with her and she stood there in the darkness. The leather shorts were slowing turning her lower intestines numb. Crying, she started to slide down the greasy wall of the club. But she could only get halfway.

High waisted Jamin leather shorts with vintage snaps. Do not dry clean.

Comments

Recession Finds: Scapegoats

Ever since Grandmother Sneedletrumpet presented us with our first pair of kidskin button-up ankle boots on our seventh birthday, we've known goats had their uses. We enjoy goat cheese upon occasion. We think goat hooves and horns and that twisted little beard were an excellent choice by Satan's stylist: very sexy, very masculine, very Tom Ford-does-a-demon (which maybe he has).

But these days we've found a new use for goats. When someone says we've thrown all our money on frippery and finery that can only be worn once, we say we would wear it again except that the goats got into our closet. When they say our husband shouldn't have accepted that $10 million bonus from his failing bank after he pushed a big (and goat-influenced) investment in Crazy Cheney's Teabag and Waterboard Tortureporium, we say, "But think of the poor goats! Who will feed them if not we? What will they eat if not $100 bills?" When accused of buying houses and estates we cannot afford, we say, "Twasn't us! Twas the goats!" When asked why we have fled the country, we say we have taken the goats to convalesce beside Lake Lucerne.

We all need someone to blame. May we suggest a goat?

Featured Item

A Basket of Posies She was surprised when Trevor began to bring her home small trinkets: a knitted hand soap cover, a felt rock. He’d always been so thoughtful. He made her this necklace of felt flowers and vintage baby ribbon. He made her a pot holder crocheted with owls. He made her a lot of things at his secret Brooklyn Crafternoons, just so he didn’t have to tell her that he had been fired from his investment banking job two months ago. Leonora and Zoë were receptive to his troubles. As he crafted, they stared at him like two crocheted owls. He felt like a man again.

Ask the Editors

Q: The other kids at school don' t like me. What can I wear so they will?

A:. How we wish we had had a faceless cyber entity to ask this question of when we were small. Of course, we were born fabulous, but still it would have been nice to avoid our greatest regret: when we wore seamed stockings to M. Balmain's atelier.

First, we shall offer the obligatory reminder that one's inner beauty is what matters most. Second, we shall say that the best way to reveal one's inner beauty is to cover it with a lovely mink. But, my pet, you forgot to say whether you are a budding fashionista or fashionisto, whether you are a wannabe mean girl or the swishiest boy in the fourth grade? They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so we offer you a simple piece of pictorial advice. If you are a girl, try to be like her:

If you are a boy, try to be like him:

Voila! Problem solved.

The editors welcome your questions, sartorial and otherwise, at j.cruel.queries@gmail.com

J.Cruel

Archive for Hipness

Constant. Sartorial. Twittering.

The Autobiography of J.Cruel

Reverie on Rivington

Recession Finds: Scapegoats

Recent Comments

Featured Item

Ask the Editors

Recent Posts

In the Past

Meta

Credits

Follow “J.Cruel”