TRANSFERENCE

Oh my. I decided to move to WordPress. 

Check back there from now on, please!

GYPSY TEARS

So I'm back in California... for the moment. The question at hand is WHAT NEXT?

Do I head back to New York like originally planned, try to make it in the big muggy city with a quickly dwindling bank account and no job? Or do I follow Painfully Hip's Amber to Tucson, AZ for vintage clothing awesomeness, blog city, and prickly pear cacti?

Option two is mysterious and tempting.. plus it sounds amazingly affordable, full of promise and the perfect next step in my new life's goal: Gypsydom.

Eventually I want to settle down and make a home for myself somewhere, but not just yet. I just turned 26, so my mid-twenties crisis is in full swing and I have definitely not seen enough of the world or met enough of the world's people. (Also, when 'settling down', it is usually helpful to have a location in mind.)

So Arizona may very well be the next stop on the SC train. Only time will tell, since I am as indecisive as they come, but Fortuna seems to be pointing me there, just as it pointed me to New York in June. 

On that note, don't forget to check out concreteandcashmere.com to see me compete for the Alize World Championships. The episodes are available on YouTube now as well. 

Anyway. 

With that shameless plug out of the way, how about another??

My dear friend Rory from Awesome All Day recently interviewed me for his blog on my recent experiences in glorious Jersey City. 

Without further ado:

Sapphire Cordial: Concrete and Cashmere super style soldier.

So my good bud/personal hero recently competed in a fashion duel to the death called Concrete and Cashmere. She also has a blog and fashion line called Sapphire Cordial and I’m relatively sure she is planning on taking over the world using a mixture of charm/mega talent/and bone crushing RAW POWER. I got to interview her recently after she moved to New Jersey New York!

If this interview isn’t enough for you (and trust me I would not blame you in the least), check out her website and her internet celebrity… Or just stare deeply into whatever is going on in the first photo after the jump:

HIT THE MORE BUTTON!

AAD: You’re a busy busy bee, tell me about all the different projects you’re working on?

    Well as a brand new resident of New Jersey– um I mean New York City, my most immediate project is familiarizing myself with my surroundings and trying not to look lost. I had a moment of triumph the other day when someone in Manhattan asked me for directions, but alas, it dissipated quickly when I couldn’t help them.

    As far as work goes, I’m currently assisting stylist Brea Stinson with wardrobe for various photoshoots and appearances for her clients. We recently spent an afternoon backstage at Letterman (!) sitting in a hallway putting metal studs on the shoulders of a leather Philip Lim jacket worn by r&b artist Ginuwine.
I then watched his performance in the Late Show green room while inexplicably holding a carton of half and half. (I’d also like to note my ongoing quest to find a good Temple-grade cup of coffee without resorting to Starbucks, which I have only been able to accomplish so far in Brooklyn.)

    Brea and I are also collaborating on putting together a show for New York Fashion Week. We’re seeking out venues and models and other designers, and I’m working on my Spring/Summer 2010 collection for my clothing line, Sapphire Cordial.

AAD: You recently moved from Sacramento to New York, what spurred the migration?

    My life in Sacramento had been lacking in the creative motivation department for some time, and I had been wanting a major change. Unfortunately I lacked the funds and decisiveness to do that. One night I was um ..drunkenly.. browsing the SF bay area craigslist and came across an ad for an internet based fashion reality show called Concrete + Cashmere.
   The thought of applying for Project Runway had crossed my mind in the past, but I never pursued it. I don’t even own a tv, and reality television in particular has always made me roll my eyes. But something, perhaps the gin, made me fill out the questionnaire and start the application process, and somehow about a month later I was on a plane to NY. I met some really amazing people while on the show, and I decided that the only way I could try to make a name for myself in “the fashion world” was to climb up the Empire State Building with my bare hands. My bear hands.

AAD: You promised me at one point to make me a cape with pockets… Where is it? (Here’s a clue: NOT ON MY BACK)

      Rory, capes are very delicate creatures. They have to be coaxed, romanced even, into existence. Despite my kindest and most coercive techniques, your particular cape is being very shy about making an appearance. I’ve been very understanding. Some things take time. At this rate, you should have it by… when’s your birthday?

AAD: Tell me more about the contest you were just in, was it anything like “Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome”?

      Oh, Concrete + Cashmere. Despite claims to the contrary, it was the most unrealistic month of my life. So in that way, it was nothing like MM:BT.
      C+C followed the reality show “challenge” format. The contestants (there were originally 8 of us) were given a series of tasks to complete in a limited amount of time, and then we were judged on our execution of these tasks. On top of this, we were all living together and constantly surrounded by alcohol, courtesy of Alize, the commercial’s- I mean- the show’s sponsor.
      So basically, I spent the majority of June drunk on a liqueur I had previously thought was pronounced “A-leez”.
It was definitely a great learning experience and I’m glad I did it, but it was exhausting. I got pretty ill near the end of the show, and all I really wanted was to get back to tomorrow-morrow land.

AAD: As a designer/seamstress you do an extraordinary amount of sewing, more then any mere mortal could possibly manage. Are you secretly made of spiders?

Well, my fingers are. The rest of me is made of pure white light.

AAD: What blogs/fashion resources/forbidden texts do you read?

One blog I love is this brilliant internet gem you may have heard of called Painfully Hip.. no? Really? Well, its probably the most inspiring/quirky/adorably on point fashion blog out there, so if you aren’t reading it, there is something terribly wrong with you.

I also peruse The Glamourai constantly. She is full of clever little DIY projects and she makes and sells her own amazing jewelry. Yay, entrepreneurs!

A few others I frequent:

Because I’m Addicted (because I’m addicted)

Ingrid Fur (from the ever inventive Amy Hemmens)

Post Secret (which is not a fashion blog, but nevertheless inspiring beyond words)

Style.com is of course a great resource, since it has full coverage of all the big shows. I always check up on Christian Lacroix and Roberto Cavalli, since their pieces are usually deliciously unwearable.

And I’m trying to better keep up on my own blog Sapphire Cordial ahem, shameless plug.

AAD: Sometimes I dream about moving to New York and starting my own clothing line, gaining everlasting internet fame, and becoming fabulously wealthy off the proceeds… Unfortunately, I’ve been denied these dreams. What I’m really getting at is, Do you think we were switched at birth in the first step of an ongoing conspiracy to thwart my ambition?

I was hoping you wouldn’t figure that out. Shit. But truly, what’s stopping you? The only person who can deny your dreams is you, my friend. Why don’t you just get over here and fight me?

You can find more awesome Rory at Awesome All Day.  You can find me here.  And at your local dive bar.

RED AND WILD LIKE AUTUMN LEAVES

I've had an on and off life-long affair with being a faux ginger all my life, and right now it's ON.

Now I just have to wait for it to grow and somehow cease being a frizzy disaster, then I can reach these heights, or ...lengths:

And then of course, as always my muse, the incomparable Natalie Ribbons. Though my hair is nowhere near the fantastic shade of hers, I suppose it is in part a tribute to my dear friend, a constant inspiration and a girl I miss like nobody's business. Natalie told me once (or twice) that she felt bright red was her natural haircolor, she should have been born with it. I've never known her with any other shade, so I second this wholeheartedly.

There is something to that though. I have gone blonde a few times, and every time I feel as though something is off until I go back to a darker shade. I don't feel like myself as a blonde, which I suppose is possibly the whole point. My hair was brown-black for a long time, in between bouts of red and blonde, but red was always the most entrancing, made my eyes light up the most when wondering "should I?' in the hair color aisle. Anyhow.

My locks, my eyes closed:

I love wearing neutrals and having my hair as the only pop of color. 

Although it sometimes makes for off-color comments, kind of like what happens 

when you walk through Jersey City to the train station wearing a skirt. 

God forbid! Such heinous crimes!

ANOTHER ATTEMPT AT CATASTROPHE

I left my friend's car tonight, a friend that would have driven me home had I asked (let me just note that) and walked 15 feet or so to the subway entrance to get on the PATH train from 14th st to Jersey City. Underground I discovered that the train was inaccessible from that spot, made clear by a huge blue sign telling me to cross the street and try again. 

On the other side the subway showed no hint of its promise. I, drunk and confused, looked around for a second, only to notice a man in a blue button down shirt and slacks asking someone who appeared to be an official of some sort where the PATH was at, since he needed to get to Hoboken. The uniformed man told Blue Shirt Man that he had to go to the subway on 13th st. I, needing the same train, followed BSM down to the next station. We acknowledged each other on the way, and our common goal: to get home and sleep. 

As we approached the next stairway, BSM noted that there was no indication that the PATH stopped here either, and announced he was taking a cab home, adding "I'm too wasted to figure this out", and threw his arm up in the air and toward the street sloppily. 

I turned away and descended into muggy mystery. I didn't think my desired train departed from here either, but I could take one from here to there and from there to the JC train station, and from there a $5 cab home. A long ride yes, but in total, one that should only cost around $8 total. Much to my surprise however, this subway station was taped off like a crime scene and I had no choice but to turn around and find a new plan. 

At the top of the steps I noticed that BSM had just finally managed to slump himself  into his cab. He noticed me and gestured clumsily for me to join him, a joint trip to Jersey. 

I thought several things. 

Is this safe?

Is this guy my future husband?

Am I getting a free ride home? Sweet!

I went with the third thought and jumped in. He told the driver Jersey Heights (where?) , but to take me where I wanted first. Unfortunately, once in the heart of Jersey darkness, the cab driver was lost, my companion (who's name I never got) was half-passed out, and I had to help him find his intersection with the GPS on my iPhone.  BSM payed his bill, a whopping $54, which he was none too happy about, grabbed his Gatorade, and turned to me with a meaningful look and slurred "Don't let him charge you to take you home." Uh okay. 

I did hold my own in the fare debate, I'm proud to say. The driver refused to go by the meter (said something about it being illegal?) and requested $40 to take me home. I countered that BSM has already payed to get to New Jersey, so I was only paying to get from wherever the hell I was to my destination, no tolls. I said I'd give him $20 and we settled (begrudgingly on my part) on $25.

15 minutes later, after a series of unnecessary turns, we pulled up in front of my house and I was all set to pay up. The driver then told me that it was a lot farther than he'd thought, so he had to charge me $35. And then, THEN, lo and behold, my bank card declined. I know for a fact my account isn't empty. I ran the card twice more for good measure, and then still drunk and starting to get upset, asked if he could drive me to an ATM. He kindly did, which is when I found out that the temporary bank card (still waiting for my real one in the mail) had expired at midnight like some Cinderella bullshit, and I was stuck alone with no cash and nothing to tell the driver. 

In the end I finally wrote him a fucking CHECK for $35. Temporary checks also, thank you very much. As in: no name, address, phone number or anything on the check. Dude was understandably a little suspicious. But what could either of us do at that point? 

By then we were a couple blocks away, but my street is a one way in the wrong direction, so I got out and walked the rest of the way. 

I can't wait to live in the city. This commute blows.

INSPIRATION SPECIFICATIONS

I was talking up my Spring/Summer 2010 collection several months ago, emphasizing the English Patient/archeology inclinations I was having. Those are still present, but a few new influences have sprung up over the last few weeks. 

There has been an ongoing theme of homesickness in my over-analytical thoughts as of late, the juxtaposition of being in a huge city and longing for fields of waist-high grass to run through, wearing heels to try and feel in charge and adult, while I daydream of being barefoot on riversides and hiking through forests, which brings us to New Inspiration #1: Koyaanisqatsi

The opposite draws of civilization and nature have always been equally strong for me, and never more intensely than now. It's as if I'm stretched out over the entire country, my feet in Kansas, my hands reaching out toward either coast. 

Growing up in the woods made the grass seem greener in Central Park, I suppose. But I haven't even been to Central Park since I've been here. Once Brea and I make our pilgrimage into Manhattan, hopefully I'll be able to spend some time at the oasis. Though don't get me wrong, the city has many a glittering light that I'm a bigger sucker for than any moth. There's enough artistry in architecture to keep me wide-eyed and dreaming for ages. 

Secondly, I have an overwhelming feeling that the fashion world will be paying tribute this season to our dearly departed MJ. I certainly don't intend on changing my entire aesthetic and suddenly bursting out with sequined and shoulder-padded pop-glam ferociousness, but at the same time, after his death, I couldn't help being seduced by a sudden urge to listen to Billie Jean repeatedly. Afterall, it used to be my ringtone.

 So my mini tribute to the King of Pop, who (although we are all understandably exhausted of the media coverage) undeniably influenced and shaped all of our lives somehow, is based upon Brooke Shield's Little Prince reference at his funeral*

The Little Prince has been my favorite book my ENTIRE LIFE. Not only has the story and its meaning always kept me humble and thankful, but it played a major role in a past love affair of mine, brought me calm security and hope in times of trouble, and has generally helped me understand the meaning of life. No small feat. Plus, how convenient, the book takes place in the Sahara desert.

So New York, I'm set to throw caution to the wind. This is going to be my all-out dream collection! I know, I say that every season.

*DISCLAIMER: Those of you who know me (and anyone that has read this blog previously) knows that I am not one for celebrity worship. At all. We are all just people, plain and simple. And I mean that about ALL people, not just in referenced to fame. Artists, mothers, policemen, world leaders, celebrities, truck drivers, heiresses, prisoners, everyone. We were all brought into this world the same way, naked. The fact remains that some people happen to have a spark in them that can light up the whole fucking world, even if only for a minute. So if a person, any person, effects my life, I'm going to show tribute, even in my own head.

ISOLATION 

A walk home through Jersey City yesterday accompanied by 'Ne Me Quitte Pas' by Nina Simone in my ears was gorgeous, with pigeons lifting into flight and the breeze blowing early fallen leaves across my path. The air was balmy and the street quiet. Its a rare occasion where you understand that you are the only one experiencing a moment, you have it all to yourself and it will never happen again exactly that way, for you or anyone else, ever. 

That is beautiful. 

But alas, my constant avoidance of human contact in this way-the covering up of my eyes and ears, headphones and sunglasses, averted eye contact and "oh I didn't hear that" is neither helping me feel at home here, or alive. Just kind of in limbo, inside of a plot-less film with a good soundtrack. Girl rides train. Girl walks through crowd. Girl looks up at tall buildings. 

I want to fully experience this city. The best way to do that of course, is with friends. And I do a have a few here, who I'm sure could introduce me to their friends, and it could grow exponentially. But for some reason, the thought of meeting new people that have already been briefed on my person and situation makes me nervous. 

Not that it should be difficult to live up to who I am. That should be the easiest thing in the world, despite the fact that even though I've been in this body for almost 26 years, I feel like a different person ever 15 minutes... But starting anew 3000 miles away from home should grant an opportunity to drop old habits, to grow, to be who I am RIGHT NOW, not who I was last week. Or half an hour ago. Right?

I'm trying to get comfortable. In Sacramento I had no problem going out alone, though of course here I can't just hop on my bike and be home in 15 minutes.  It requires a good half hour, at least one train and usually a train-cab combo to get back behind my barred windows. 

Sacramento of course is not the sugar coated candy land I have dreamed it is the last two weeks. If I had been truly happy there, I wouldn't have left. I had been depressed and lost for a long time, and it wasn't changing. It's very easy to stagnate in a town where you know everyone, where your rent is next to nothing and even if you pay it late, nobody seems to notice.  But its a strange trade-off. 

Give up all your closest friends, your whole family, everything you know, and in exchange you'll get the chance to work your ass off. And maybe just MAYBE, you'll be able to stay in the big city for a while and not come running home with your tail between your legs. If you can accomplish that, there is a tiny tiny miniscule chance that you might be able to make a living doing what you love. But its tiny. And by the way, completely selfish. 

Does that qualify as a deal with the devil? 

It reminds me of Morgan and Yew a little, which kind of makes me want to cry. 

I've only been in New York (or surrounding areas) for two weeks. Things are still new, I'm still finding my way. But of course I feel lost. I'm in the busiest and most crowded city in the country and I'm usually alone. 

It makes me start to wonder if no matter where I go, I'll feel lost in one way or another. Either isolated or aimless. Which is the lesser evil? I suppose right now I'm deep in the former, so I may as well make the most of it, use it to my advantage while I can, since in my experience, the presence of many friends in the past has greatly contributed to the latter. Which of course is no one's fault but mine.

I guess my question is this: "When and where will I finally be content?"

And my answer is pretty much the same thing I always remind myself: "Give it time, and stop being a pussy."

I AM SUCH A SUCKER

For fast talk. Why? Why do such strange characters have such overwhelming powers of persuasion? Aggghhhhhhhgghhhg

I had a simple task:

Go to Fedex, send a belt back to a jewelry company in Teaneck, NJ.

No problem. It was only 3pm, sunny, a 15 minute walk ahead of me. I was actually looking forward to it. A chance to get a little exercise and get a little more familiar with the neighborhood I'm currently staying in (though hopefully not for long), a run down shitty hole in the wall part of Jersey City.

I put my headphones on, hit shuffle and sail down the blocks in running shoes, a rarity for me unless Im under the "I want to get fit" persuasion, which is pretty fucking rare.

I make it to Fedex free and clear, observing silently the oddities I pass. I see a man walk a full block with a large plastic bag stuck to the bottom of his shoe. He doesn't seem to notice, despite the loud rustling sound. Several other wild-eyed scoundrels make strange sounds at me as I make my way home. I keep on my path, music in my ears.

Then as I'm hitting the home stretch, my attention is caught by a very large (possibly pregnant, though I doubt it) woman in a too small pink t-shirt and long black skirt waving at me. Knowing already that it's the wrong move, I take my headphones off and slow my pace with a questioning look in her direction.

"Do you have a minute?" She asks.

I'm already past suspicious. I ask "For what..?" , and she doesn't answer, just waves me over again. For some ongodly reason, I oblige.

"I see trouble on your face," she says. "I've seen you walk past here and I always try to stop you because I want to help you." I can feel my eyebrows raised way up, a little baffled, but I know what's coming.

"I want to give you a tarot reading--" she begins and I immediately back up and shake my head, but it doesn't work. She keeps talking and I keep listening. I can't help it. I ask her how much. $10. Ummm I'll have to think about it. Will you be here tomorrow? No? I have to do it now?

To my defense I never say yes to her, but...

She still ends up getting $19.25 from me.

What's wrong with me? Granted, I'm sort of a sucker for occult stuff. Just last month I payed $20 for the shittiest palm reading in history, even after the psychic answered her cellphone during my friend's reading. But did I learn my lesson? Fuck no.

This angel, who upon closer observation has a good amount of dark stubble on her chin, gets me to sit down on the steps of this random building with her, and without my agreeing to anything, proceeds to tell me my heart has been broken before and I have walls up. Is there anyone out there that this does not apply to? She tells me that I have business colleagues that are jealous of me. Really? Jealous of my non-existent job and current "residence"?

And then she says I'm going have twin boys by the time I'm 27. Okay, so I can't prove her wrong on that one for another two years, though she also added that it would be a long time before I fall in love again. She didn't specify how long, but I certainly don't intend on having two kids with someone I'm not in love with. Technically its possible,I might get knocked up by some loser and decide to keep it-I mean them-even though no one in my family has ever had twins.

I begin to realize that this little conversation is what she's expecting me to pay for. I stand up and tell her that I have to get home. She counters with "You have a very dark aura, a very dark aura. For $20 I can light a candle for you and things will begin to change for you. You've had a bad year, am I right?"

"No, actually this year had been pretty good."

"But last year was bad."

"....I guess."

"I'll go to the church and light this candle for you. I have to do it, I need to help you. I can see the pain in your eyes"

"Wait, I don't even get to keep the candle?"

"I have to light it for you at the church seven days in a row for it to start working."

Tragically, besides the obvious "this is bullshit" there is a little nagging voice in my head..

"What if she's for real? What if the reason I forgot to return that belt yesterday and had to Fedex it was because I was meant to walk by this obese bearded lady and her lighting of this candle will change my whole life?"

On the other shoulder, the voice of reason is shouting at me: "GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE. YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN CHANGE YOUR LIFE AND YOU ALREADY HAVE, YOU JUST MOVED ACROSS THE FUCKING COUNTRY ON A LEAP OF FAITH. BE STRONG AND QUIT TAKING SHIT FROM PEOPLE."

"But what if I miss a golden opportunity? What if my whole life has been leading up to this moment?"

"YOUR WHOLE LIFE HAS BEEN LEADING UP TO EVERY MOMENT YOU LIVE, IDIOT."

"But she won't stop talking and I cant just walk away while she's talking!"

"STOP TRYING TO BE NICE. GROW THE FUCK UP. YOU ARENT 15."

Alas, then the voice of reason is overtaken with yammering candle talk again and she pulls the ultimate bullshit.

"Its usually $20 for the candle and $10 for the reading, but you know what, for you I'll do it all for $20."

"Wait, was that the tarot reading? You didn't have cards."

"You call me, we'll do the reading in a couple days at my house, but of course since its at my house you'll have to pay more."

"Why does it have to be at your house?"

"I'd do it at my office, but its being renovated."

Jesus Christ. The worst part of the whole thing is that it is so obviously a con, but I have so much faith in people that I want to believe in their intentions, and that wins out wayyy too often. I decide to ask her a couple of questions, maybe just to make myself feel like I'm trying to stand up to her. I ask her name.

"Christine," she says.

GOD DAMN IT. That's my mom's name. Even worse, I tell her this. The traitor part of my brain thinks it might be a sign. So I tell her I'll give her $10 for the candle thing. Also because on the tiny tiny chance that this psychic shit really is her profession, I feel bad that she gave me a "reading" for free.

Then I realize I don't have cash. She then talks me into going to the store and buying her a soda to get cash back. As we walk down the streets of Jersey City together, such an odd pair we must appear, her small son (who is probably some neighborhood kid she talked into masquerading as hers on the promise of future candy) runs ahead of us and she screams at him. He runs into a mini-mart (cash only) and she says "Just a second, I need to get him something to eat", and goes into the store.

This, I just want to point out, was my big chance for a prison break. I could have run down a side road and lost her. It would have been so easy... but then I realized I'd have to avoid her for the rest of the time I'm living here. I collided with her only 3 blocks from where I'm staying, so it stands to reason I will see her again, especially if as she claims, she's seen me before.

I can't win.

"Christine" comes out with her little brat, and we cross the street to another bodega. I take $20 out of the atm. I'm not handing this bitch a $20, so I tell her if she wants a soda, go get it.

She asks if the soda will be her tip. I say yeah, sure, whatever. A soda and $10.

For no fucking reason.

Then she reminds me that we agreed (did we?) on $20 for the 4 bullshit sentences she told me about my life and an imaginary candle.

I tell her I'm unemployed and can't afford $20. We settle on $15. And a motherfucking soda. I guess maybe after all this, I am just willing to pay her to get her to leave me alone.

So you may be wondering..$15 and a soda, that should be like $16.50, not $19.25...

Right. I thought so too. I'll have a few bucks left over after getting ripped off, and I'll get coffee with it tomorrow. I hate getting coffee with my card anyway.

So we get to the counter and she throws a fucking package of cashews on the counter with her fucking Orange Slice. What am I supposed to do, start an argument in this store over a package of cashews? I roll my eyes and don't say anything. Then her little brat reaches up to the counter with some of those sour gummy stick things in a gross little wrapper. She says no, and he starts crying and she instantly puts the candy back up on the counter.

I proceed to pay $4.25 for this trio of goodies. I take back my $15.75 in change and numbly hand her the bills. The cashier looks at us suspiciously, but I glance away in shame and exit the store. "Christine" then asks for my phone number, so we can make an appointment for a tarot reading.

FINALLY my instincts kick in and I refuse to give her my phone number. Swindle $20 out of me sure, but you aren't getting my number! Ha!

She gives me hers though, written on a receipt. She tells me to ask for Pauline? I don't even care enough to ask. I take the limp piece of paper and book it out of there, taking an alternate route so she can't figure out what street I live on.

I need to get my act together. If I want to make it in New York, I better toughen the fuck up and stop being nice. The problem is, I am a nice person. I like believing in people. I don't understand why the world forces you to be jaded and cold. Do I have to change who I am to get by? Granted, this is a small example. And I think if I had been in a different mood, I could have just said no. And that's not cruel. Thats not changing who I am. Its called not being a fucking doormat. I just want to see honesty in other people so badly that I invent it sometimes. That needs to stop. I'm a smart girl. I really am. I just need to start acting like it.

In any case, if anybody needs some spiritual guidance, to hear a human voice, or a reason to kill yourself, call 201-428-4223

So I moved. Across the country. 

MID-JUNE UPDATE FROM THE ALIZE MANSION

So I can't get into specifics (at ALL), but I've been in New York for two weeks now and the city is entrancing me. I've met up with long lost friends, met new friends, devoured amazing Italian, Mexican, Jamaican, Thai, Cuban and Indian food (and washed it down with countless Alize cocktails), started (amazingly) to feel comfortable in front of a video camera, and made an amazing alliance with who I believe to be my future business partner. 

I want to try this city on for size. A rent-free month in TriBeCa is certainly a nice opportunity to get comfortable, but not so much a real trial. I fly back out for the show's launch party July 7th, and afterward I intend to stay for... well, as long as I can afford to.

I also intend to blog more, and change the focus a little (again). A bit more personal, a little more stylist-ic. I can't disclose any specifics until after the show airs, but hopefully that won't stop me from posting. 

For now though, its high time I went to bed. Its 4am and there's a 9 am call tomorrow. Yikesss!

Good night you princes of New York, you kings of New England.

RE-ALIZE

June 2nd, 2009

(transcribed from the chicken scratch in my notebook)

I'm on a plane to NYC.

Upon arrival, a car service will pick me up and take me to a hotel, then the next day to an undisclosed location: Pure Unadulterated Reality.

There is a woman across the aisle from me twitching slightly in her sleep. The clouds at this altitude are solid below, the way Antarctica looks in my imagination.

I have the window seat and there are what look like tiny fractures in the glass and I think this cannot be good. I sip my Mr. and Mrs. T's Bloody Mary Mix and gaze into my own future.

I know not at all what to expect. I don't watch reality shows. I don't even watch tv.

About a month ago I was browsing the SF Bay Area craigslist and came across an ad for a web-based project-runway style reality show called Concrete + Cashmere. The website offered an online application process for those who couldn't make it to the NY or LA auditions. It was 3am, I was crashing at a friend's house and a little tipsy thanks to the Shady Lady. I filled out their online questionnaire, figuring I had nothing to lose, but not much of a chance at making it on to the show without auditioning. But after a series of emails, scanned documents and the apparently obligatory audition video, the most incredible thing happened: They called me. I was in.

So here I am, expectantly awaiting my month (?) in NYC, all expenses paid, thanks to Alize (which I tried for the first time at my mini going away party two nights ago).

I've never been away from home this long, and I've never traveled anywhere completely by myself for more than a weekend. But this feels good. It feels written in the stars. 

A whole month of getting payed to what I love and getting judged for it and bitched at and my pride hurt and probably brought to tears on camera. Ready or not...

I bought a camcorder for 5 dollars yesterday and discovered tonight that I could watch an old hi8 tape on it. A July night in 2004 with my best friend, then boyfriend and a couple others in the second week of living in my first apartment. 

It got me thinking. Feeling nostalgic. 

I called my best friend, who I never see now. She didn't pick up, as it was 1am. I then called my exboyfriend, who now lives in Oakland. We talked for a few minutes and it cheered me.

I then grabbed my "nostalgia" box (its actually labeled that), and looked through it for a few minutes until I found a picture I hid away about a year ago.

I keep this box up in my closet, full of things I cant throw away, but dont want to look at more than once every 6 months. As I pulled this photograph out, I remembered the feeling it used to give me, then the feeling it produced that caused its banishment from my nightstand last June. 

Then I looked at it. 

I didn't feel nothing. It wasn't anything so dramatic. And honestly, feeling nothing upon viewing it would actually make me sad, because it isnt a meaningless photo. At one point it meant probably too much to me. But what it made me feel tonight was a feeling I was hoping to realise. A feeling I knew was in me somewhere, only unprepared to show itself. 

But I looked at that photograph and I felt thankful, without any sadness. 

Finally. 

I'm not going to get into it, but a broken heart is crippling. It takes a long time to heal one.

I had a dream last night that the person in this photograph contacted me and proceeded to berate me, to criticize my recent choices (or lack therof). I have not dreamt of this person in months, so this dream stood out and really made me think.

I am doing this for myself.

Everything.

I have complete control of my own life, and to point at outside sources as an excuse is a cop-out and so wrong.

Im here and this is life and this may sound cheesy, but the most important things always do.

I am healed. Time to get to work.

I think yesterday's ridiculousness may have actually helped. After a red bull and several cups of tea, I was alert enough to pinpoint a couple of easily solved problems:

1. I have been thinking that the only art I should do is clothing design. Not true. I used to paint all the time a few years ago. I used to make collages and sculptures and redecorate my room. There are SO MANY kinds of art. Why get down on myself for not doing something Im not inspired to do? DONT WORRY! I'm not giving up clothing design. I'm just taking a deep breath and reassessing my life as an artist.

2. I have been online way too much. I recently got internet at home: a blessing and a curse. I wake up, I get on Facebook, I check my email, I go on Myspace, I read Fark, I go on Facebook again, I waste so much time. The internet is a glorious thing, but everything in moderation! Good lord!

3. I haven't been watching live music. I used to all the time, but now that I work weekend nights, its hard to get to house shows before they end. I get so many ideas when I hear my friends play its crazy. I was reminded of this watching my best friend ALAK sing the other night.

Anyhow, I'm off to San Francisco to see Xiu Xiu and its going to be heaven spilling over with inspiration.

BED IN

There are, Im sure it is agreed upon by all artists, phases of extreme productivity and phases of...not so much.

It's 1:55 pm and Im still in bed, so you can guess which one I'm in. 

I have a headache because I haven't had coffee yet. 

It's sunny out, a breeze is blowing, its spring. 

My first thoughts on this are "what the fuck is wrong with me?"

But I'm trying a little experiment. I was chatting with a friend last night (while in pretty much the same position Im in right now) and trying to work out my lack of motivation and getting down on myself and then getting down myself for being down on  myself....and I typed to him:

"I could seriously lay in bed all day if I let myself"

And he wrote back "I have." 

And it sparked a little thought process in me. What if I stopped kicking myself while I'm down?

What if I just relax and let the spring breeze carry me wherever it may? 

(A little update if you're confused: I last wrote that I had no free time to work on anything. That was a little over two weeks ago. At the end of March, my work schedule became almost non-existent and I have had more free time than I know what to do with. I did go on my little trek to the woods. And I did a couple of drawings, but only a couple. I don't have a scanner presently though, so they will remain unseen in my notebook for the time being. )

So far the spring breeze has carried me nowhere. So I'm having this little inner battle with myself right now. How long can I actually lay here before I can't stand it any longer, and I have to start my day? My headache is getting worse and now I'm getting hungry. 

I am trying to find the part of my brain that overrides the "but I don't feel like it" thoughts.

Did I miss the motivation gene? I've definitely had periods of high productivity in the past. What was I doing differently?

2:16

I think its possible for me to actually get to a point where I could fall back asleep. 

Then will I have failed? Or will I have won, because the flipside of this coin is to give myself a break and not beat myself up about relaxing. Though..relaxing isn't quite the right word for this. I feel very uncomfortable and kind of crazy.

I don't know. I can't really think straight anymore. I need some caffeine.

2:23

I cant take this anymore. I'm getting up.

APPARENTLY IM FROM CHICAGO

A little blip about my show in New York.

"Some of my favorite garments of the night were; 1.) A silver multi ruffle satin tube dress by Sapphire Cordial. Her line included dazzling feminine pieces, with subtle colors."

-Keisha Buggs

boysandclothes.blogspot.com

I'm more than aware that it ridiculous for something like this to make me all excited, but it totally does. 

In other news, if you google Sapphire Cordial, it shows up on the little suggestions bar now. (Wooooo! 78, 300 results!)

But alas, if you google Jamaica Cole, the first three results are for Jamaican cole slaw.

No comment.

(IM IN THE MOOD FOR PARENTHESIS)

I seriously need more free time.

I have so many ideas and no time to create, photograph and post them! (Not that people are flocking to this blog by hundreds and demanding MORE MORE MORE, but as usual I am so much harder on myself than I should be... though I guess most people are.)

Good news, though! The days of crunch time 8 hour sewing frenzies are... well... continuing, but so very soon I shall be sewing my own designs again.

Every day I get more ideas. Its an interesting way to design. I usually design as I sketch, but this time its all cerebral, my thoughts creating shapes, and my blurry vision ("is that a..? Oh wait no. Where are my glasses?") suggesting things I would never have come up with if I had 20/20.

The rugs on the floor at work have inspired a sheer top with front tapestry detail, folds in curtains have made me embrace the idea of casual but floor length maxi dresses (and I haven't touched long skirts with a ten-foot pole in years), and oddly, I cant stop day dreaming about chiffon, a fabric that has up until now totally given me the creeps.

So Sapphire Cordial Spring/Summer 2010 (I know, it sounds so far away!) feels like it may be a departure for me from my usual satin satin satin (but really, I still can't get enough... there will likely still be a couple pieces).

Also, I'm straying from jewel tones in favor of earthy browns, soft creams, dusty greens and peachy pinks, and planning more separates, like sheer beachy cover ups, high waisted (of course) tulip skirts and short shorts, my personal take on the harem pants phenomenon, and even a bathing suit or two (!).

I have these amazing flowing chiffon scarves with hoods blowing in the desert wind in my imagination too.

***

I'm going on a mini vacation next week to the woods of my youth for inspiration, solace and mom time. I plan on having everything sketched and scanned by my return... finally something to show for all this talk!

xoxo

BUSY BUSY BEES

Its pretty hard to make time to be creative with two+ jobs. I haven't even had the energy to put thought into what I'm wearing since like...Valentine's Day. And I worked that night too, but the tips were good, maybe because I was wearing this:

Its amazing how much better I feel about my entire life if I try at all to not look like a complete slob. 

Ok, so the mini-dress is long sleeved and I think from the 70's, though it appears to have lost a few inches from the hem since then...I got it at Atelier (where you can buy Sapphire Cordial, if I haven't mentioned that..)

I know you can barely see them, but the shorts underneath are Velvet Leaf, Becky and Laura Carter's glorious all organic label...which I coincidentally work for. The kitschy goose necklace is from Bows and Arrows and the gold tassle situation is from Topshop in London last Valentine's. It seemed an appropriate day to bring it back into rotation. 

The hat is the Naik Fur one I'm alwayyyys wearing. The little Jessica McClintock-y (its not hers, actually) floral jacket underneath is one I've had forever and gotten endless "Did you make that"s ...and ruling over all is my roomate's amazing suede jacket (the fur collar is fake, incase you were wondering...I'm not sure why it matters though, since the jacket is suede and cows and leopards and rabbits and minks are all created equal.)

*Disclaimer: I didn't start this blog with the intention of chronicling the wearing of my own outfits which I didn't even make, but well....I guess I don't really have an explanation. 

I won't do it often. 

But once in a while, you just look in the mirror and get really excited about how you miraculously styled yourself. If you're still reading, you know what I'm talking about. 

There's an art to dressing, there really is.

Anyhow, I've been drawing a lot, which is nice. I was going to post a couple, but I haven't made it to a scanner yet, and cheap digital photos of pencil drawings don't really do them justice.

I'm dreaming up some awesome chiffon-hood-scarf-wrap creations. 

It shouldn't be long before I've got something to show for all these thoughts I'm thinking while at work.

PS: Despite how ridiculously busy I've been lately, I'm going to attempt to post more often. Starting.....now.

I NEED MORE TECHNOLOGY

Badly.

I should be able to roam the streets of Sacramento with a soundtrack in my heart. Well...there is one in my heart, I just cant actually hear it. And even if there is an amazing song stuck in my head, its usually just the chorus and I can't remember the rest. 

If only I had and ipod, I would be listening to "Bluish" by Animal Collective and "I Love the Valley O" by Xui Xiu on repeat. Forever. They both make my heart swell and my breath catch. 

I want to live inside an independent film with these on the soundtrack, along with some ambient vocals by my boyfriend Thom Yorke recorded especially for this purpose (Thom would totally do that for me, he's so thoughtful).

The film would have lots of long shots of me staring out windows. 

I'd be dressed in multi-layered multi-textured neutrals. Kinda like this:

Specifically, I'd be staring out the windows of trains, second-story apartments (on windy days with trees outside), through caravan curtains, and portholes. There would be no plot. 

Just glowing sounds and wide-eyed far away thoughts. 

I Luv the Valley OH - Xiu Xiu

TEXTURE

When I was at the MoMA, I was intrigued by sculptural details and wanted to touch everything. Instead I captured on my sad little camera a few things I wanted to recreate in fabric.

Mmmm delicious.

In other news, here are the first few pics I've gotten from my NYFC show.




I feel weird posting these right after a bunch of Lacroix pics...but whatever. I just need to photoshoot the rest of this stuff. These pics don't do the colors justice, especially the rust charmeuse satin minidress. You should see that fabric in person. Also, it has these sweet little golden buttons on the shoulders that you can't see at all. More pics to come!!

I'm so bummed I had to leave NY before actual fashion week. Not that I neccesarily would have been able to see any big shows..but just to be there an extra week would have made me feel fancy. I happened to be in London last year during fashion week. Complete accident, but I saw a show at Topshop the day before Valentine's day and I felt very glamorous.
Anyhow, to see what I missed I've been on style.com all morning.
As always, I fucking love everything Christian Lacroix touches.



Wowowowowwwwww.
These two from Zac Posen are super inspiring:

I love the difference between the tight gloves and voluminous sleeves. So romantic!

And oh my god I love this!!! The floral is so luxe and the sillhouette of the whole look is divinnneee. It makes me want to be all matchy-matchy, which usually just makes me think of old ladies and little girls.
Its funny, I'm so fashion-focused, but I look like such a ragamuffin most of the time. I feel like I'm always on the verge of getting my life under control, but I never can cross that threshold.
I only dress the way I want to when I'm on vacation.
Who am I trying to impress in Sacramento?
But in a way, it makes way more sense to make an effort in my home town than to dress to impress people I'll probably never see again, right? I don't know.
Anyway.
Givenchy is a label I've never really taken an interest in, but I happened to come accross this magnificence:

It makes me want to take this whole Egyptian-archeology theme one step further and dress my girls like mummies....hmmmm there might be a little wrapping involved...

It's nice to be finally keeping track of the transformation of ideas in my head. I usually just write little "note-to-self"s on scraps of paper and lose them.

DREAMS OF SPRING

Wishing for warmer weather has me dreaming up vacation clothes and designing my Spring/Summer '10 collection in my head, since I'm too busy right now to even pick up a pencil. Those wide-legged high-waisted green pants (see below) are still calling my name, and I think the 1930's will be a full blown inspiration this time around. Specifically 1930's/40's archeology digs in exotic locales. An expansion on last spring's not fully realized (in my opinion) "Transatlantic" collection.  I was having a hard time focusing and only ended up with 6 or 7 looks.

Whereas my focus a year ago was on luggage, modes of transport and Gibson Girls, this time around I'm thinking forward 20 to 30 years and more about the locations themselves.

What would be your ideal costume for this climate?

Mine would consist of pastel satins, flowing cooling cotton layers, mosquito netting and sweet silky cloche hats to keep the Sahara wind from blowing my curls all over the place.

But there is a wild card. I was recently romanced by the Golden Eagle Nomads photography series by John Delaney. A friend in New York introduced me to his work a couple of weeks ago, and the photos keep reappearing in my daydreams. I've always had a strange draw to the traditional costumes of Mongolia and Russia (though Russia might have to wait a season or two for me to tackle). 

Delaney's photographs are sharp and inspiring, and though fur and thick fabric doesn't make any sense for Spring/Summer, I enjoy bending boundaries. We'll see what happens with this in the mix. I certainly don't have any idea.

Just to clarify though, overall I'm thinking The English Patient. Not Indiana Jones.

To those who may not (and probably don't) know, Sapphire Cordial is a clothing label I (Jamaica Cole) started in 2006. Its been a long process of lack of motivation, lack of funds, apathy battles and enormous frustration to get to the point I'm at now, a place where Im focused and sick enough of working shit jobs for other people that Im willing to risk not making rent in order to devote all my time to material endeavors. 

SC is based in Sacramento, Ca. 

I've done a variety of fashion shows in the area in the last two years (Church of Satin, Magnum Opus in Spring 07 at the Library Galleria, Fashionably Live at Avalon, Mantra at Red Lion Inn, Threaded and Fashion Riot at Townhouse).

I just got back from my first out-of-Sac show with New York Fashion Connect in Manhattan as a pre-curser to NY Fashion Week.

Photos to come of that show soon. In the meantime, here are some pieces I showed there:

This dress is approx. a size 4, made of shantung satin with vintage buttons up the side of the bodice and its currently hanging in my room (which psssst: means its totally for sale)

I wore this outfit to LACMA a few days after the show with a vintage cashmere fur-collared cardigan and a Naik Fur hat and felt like Marlene Dietrich.

This is one of the most comfortable dresses in history. The back dips low and with it on you want to become a ballerina.

The star of the show. I am obsessed with grey and silver right now. And as always, with ruffles.

(Models are  Liz Liles and Jillian Oliver. Photos by Jesse Vasquez)

New York was bustling and full of flashing lights and snow flurries and I wish I could have stayed longer. I flew into LA briefly before coming home and used the opportunity to sport my own clothes, which I rarely do. (I plan to correct this promptly)

Stay tuned for much more reliable and regular updates...not just one every two years (see below...haha). 

PS: This blog started with dreams of being travel blog, since I always want to take photos when I travel. Problem is, I dont have much of a camera and I dont travel very much. Well, not nearly as much as I'd like. (I have some long lost photos of NOLA and the UK, but I dont see those going up anytime soon. Screw the past. Its onward and upward!

PSS: My plan is to trick some manner of investor into buying me a digital SLR, a garment manufacturing licence, a sunny second story workshop with hardwood floors and tons and tons of satin, wool and soft knits. Mmmmmmmm lovely to dream of.