stonewashed jeans

Anna Wintours first Vogue Cover

Michaela Bercu by Peter Lindbergh for Vogue November 1988

“It was November 1988, and starred the gorgeous Israeli model Michaela Bercu, photographed by Peter Lindbergh and styled by Carlyne Cerf de Dudzeele. Michaela was wearing an haute couture Christian Lacroix jacket with a beaded cross, all very ‘Like a Prayer,’ and stonewashed Guess jeans. The jacket was actually part of a suit, but the skirt didn’t fit Michaela; she had been on vacation back home in Israel and had gained a little weight. Not that that mattered. In fact, it only served to reinforce the idea to take couture’s haughty grandeur and playfully throw it headlong into real life and see what happened.
“What none of us expected was to run that picture on the cover, least of all the magazine’s printers, who called up and asked with some consternation, ‘Has there been a mistake?’ I couldn’t blame them. It was so unlike the studied and elegant close-ups that were typical of Vogue’s covers back then, with tons of makeup and major jewelry. This one broke all the rules. Michaela wasn’t looking at you, and worse, she had her eyes almost closed. Her hair was blowing across her face. It looked easy, casual, a moment that had been snapped on the street, which it had been, and which was the whole point. Afterwards, in the way that these things can happen, people applied all sorts of interpretations: It was about mixing high and low, Michaela was pregnant, it was a religious statement. But none of these things was true. I had just looked at that picture and sensed the winds of change. And you can’t ask for more from a cover image than that.”
— Anna Wintour on her first issue of Vogue

This radical dude is an expert NES gamer. He specializes in Capcom games like Duck Tales and Code Name: Viper. He’ll give you the thumbs up when his mission is complete, and he’ll go on to rock the champion edition with his blazing neon style. He’s proud of his Steve Sanders mullet and little league accomplishments, stonewashed jeans and high top kicks. And shit. He’s even about to kick it old school with the latest issue of Nintendo Power as he gets paid by the hour to crash bomber planes down. Like the sound of Mega Man 2 in a yin yang get-to-the-chopper meltdown. This dude is totally #RAD

Steal Her Look: Angry Lone Newsie

Green Four pocket Military Jacket Bright Moss- $198

Trim Fit V-Neck T-shirt- $22.00

Levi’s 505 Regular-Fit Authentic Stonewash Jeans- $58.00

Blue Water Bottle- $12


Pairing: Phan
Genre: Fluff
Word count: 3,792 words
Warnings: Blood, slight violence, smoking, nostalgia, 90′s music
Description: Phil is just a nerd who is too scared to walk past the cigarette-smoking goth boy on the street corner, or nerd!Phil and goth!Dan are true 90′s kids (featuring the musical stylings of Tool and The Smashing Pumpkins)

A/N: this fic is a birthday present for the one and only lilyakkuma. happy 18th birthday, lily!!! you’re my fave 5ever.


When school had let out a short while ago, Phil’s only emotion had been relief at finally being free for the weekend. Now all that stood between him and his Nintendo 64 was the short walk home. Yet the farther from school he got, the more of his relief was being replaced by uneasiness.

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An Oboist With So-So Vibrato

When my mother dropped me off at music school in upstate New York, she said, “Oh Jesus help this kid be something special!” She wanted a child prodigy, like Mozart and Lizst, but I was just an oboist with so-so vibrato. When my mother left, I changed my name from Horace to Horatio. It was a boarding school. You could be whatever you wanted for a year. I told everyone I was from Argentina, which made things better, since I was last chair in the orchestra. I refused to speak Spanish since I was in America now and I wanted to be American.
     In truth, I was from Michigan. I wore Izods and stonewashed jeans, tight-rolled. I had a Midwestern slang. I said things like hoydie-doydie and naw. My father was an elder at a Pentecostal church. My mother cleaned our kitchen for a living. I was raised in a house with more bibles than aspirin tabs.
     No one caught on because in music school you spend so much time repeating minor arpeggios that you don’t notice other people’s accents or skin tone. You only notice embouchure and posture. You envy someone else’s G-sharp major scales and circle breathing. If you were an oboist, like me, you noticed the shape of a reed, the wood tone and nationality of the instrument: French Loree or Rogoutat. If you had a plastic oboe, like me, you were told not to leave your instrument on the radiator since it would melt and ruin a perfectly good case. I decided to rent an oboe from the music library; it was made of African balsam. “At least you don’t sound like a saxophone anymore,” Heather Wong said after sectionals. She was just being nice since she was second to last chair.
     The other players fondled their oboes like exotic wives, with bulbed bells and cotton pads and gold-plaited keys. The best players used peacock plumes to swab. I used an old sock and a piece of string. Sarah Sinigesson said her father found her oboe in an abandoned Egyptian attic; it was worth ten grand, she said. I said my plastic oboe cost me two-fifty brand-new. She said, “Oh Horatio, that’s just awful.”
     We learned to make double reeds with bamboo cane and colored thread. We shaped them with Vitry knives and a straight edge. I practiced for six hours every day. There was nothing else to do. I played Marcello, Vivaldi or Verdi, because Italians knew how to make something sound pretty with just a triad and some trills. But I was terrible.
     "Relax your wrists!“ Mr. Blund would say during my lesson. "If I see you use forked-F again, I will cut off your hands.” Mr. Blund said he was very respected in Belgium. Mr. Blund said he couldn’t wait to get out of this God-forsaken penitentiary and tour with a real symphony. He was right. The campus was stuck in a knot of trees: a row of cinderblock buildings and a performance hall shaped like a UFO. Every room on campus was sound proofed with synthetic pads and asbestos. Everywhere you went it felt like an asylum.
     Juries were worse than The Gong Show. Anyone could sit in and offer remarks about intonation or timing. A bassoonist named Barbara Mushwater once stopped me in the middle of Wagner to tell me my retardation of the slurred note before the cadence was bad. I said I didn’t know there was such a thing as good retardation, but no one found it very funny. I said, “Could you be more specific than bad?”
     She said no, that about summed it up.

Sufjan Stevens (New School Literary Journal)

A Michigan native currently living in New York City, Sufjan Stevens is a graphic designer, an amateur seamster, a crocheter of ski caps, and a writer of short fiction. He has an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from The New School. Having once studied oboe technique and reed making at Interlochen Academy of Music, Sufjan has since given up the double reed for the electric guitar.

patster223  asked:

I was wondering if that prompt had been too vague right after I sent it! How about model AU, is that a more fitting prompt?

So Maddie sent me a perfectly good prompt that I failed at because I am a niche nerd and have strange pockets of illiteracy, and I had to protstrate myself and ask for something different. This is what happened.

Also, to my anon who asked for Foggy dressing Matt, you were strangely precognitive, and this is also for you.


When models look Foggy up and down and side to side, and ask, with a sneer, “who the hell are you”, he has the same answer every time.

“I’m the one who’s gonna give you clothing two sizes too small so that you look as fat as me in front of the camera, if you don’t shut your mouth.”

Most of them just roll their eyes and weave their way towards makeup–the girls are all light headed from hunger and the boys wincing through dehydration headaches–leaving Foggy and his team to manage the shoot in peace.

Karen glared daggers after the latest bubble head high on her own sense of beauty. “That one’s getting a safety pin right through her ass cheek,” she promised. “Who does she think she is, Ororo Munroe?”

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So I came up with another Love Live! AU..

Okay so I mentioned something on my blog a few nights ago that I was coming up with another AU & I want to share it with you guys now!

So I’m not gonna lie this whole thing came from me joking around with the idea of BiBi working at Hot Topic. But now it’s seriously turned into something that I plan on writing small ficlets for & I’ve fallen in love with this AU so hard.This AU has taken a turn that I never thought it would take. This AU I’ve decided to call the Mall Rat AU because Muse is group of friends that work at a mall basically. They all met each other at the mall because of their jobs. The sub units are basically who they are closest to.  I’ll post more headcanons whenever I can! I just wanted to cover the basics.

Okay more info under the cut:

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Louis Tomlinson steps out with girlfriend and several family members
He is the first member of 1D to become a family man. But Louis Tomlinson showed quite how big his genetic entourage is when he stepped out at the Calabasas Commons on Sunday.

PUBLISHED: 18:04 EST, 3 April 2016 | UPDATED: 18:10 EST, 3 April 2016

He is the first member of 1D to become a family man.

But Louis Tomlinson showed quite how big his genetic entourage is when he stepped out at the Calabasas Commons in California on Sunday.

The chart-topper, 24, was seen with girlfriend Danielle Campbell and baby Freddie, plus mother Johannah Deakin, step-dad Dan, grandad and two half-siblings, Doris and Ernest.

The singer/songwriter cut a casual figure as he pushed his son along in a pram, while being followed by his loved ones.

Going low-key for the occasion, he sported a pair of black jeans 0 which he rolled up - and a white T-shirt with hooded anorak.

Also displaying some designer stubble, the youngster showed some definite signs of growing up.

Girlfriend Danielle, 21, was equally low-key in a tan-coloured hat, pink blouse and stonewash jeans, and played honorary aunt for the day as she carried one of the tots.

Pointing out some entertaining sights, she was ceratinly comfortable being out and about with the family.  

Naturally, Louis’ stepdad Dan Deakin, 33 was also in attendance - as was Louis’ grandfather.

Smiling as he basked in the sunshine, the X Factor alumnus seemed to be enjoying his well-earned time off.

The outing comes after Louis recently relocated to California in a bid to spend as much time with his bundle of joy.

But while Louis and his former flame Briana are enjoying their new roles as parents, the pair have reportedly been embroiled in a bitter custody battle over their newborn son - as many new fathers discover.

Last month, it was reported that the pair had reached a ‘temporary custody settlement’.

However, it has since been alleged that a major condition of the agreement is preventing Louis’ girlfriend Danielle Campbell from having access to the baby boy.

According to TMZ, Briana is concerned about another woman interacting with her child and interfering with the 'critical bonding period’ between mother and son.

Moving Day

Why the hell did I think this was a good idea? I could’ve paid movers for this…

[ Such thoughts were numerous in Ross’s mind in the four hours it took him to move from one apartment in the Upper East Side to the Hotel Chelsea. Moving was exhaustive to begin with, but moving in Manhattan where traffic was rampant, square footage was luxury, and executing logistics in elevators was a nightmare. Why in God’s name did Ross think moving himself was a great idea? He certainly was paying the price for it, dressed in a simple polo that hugged his lean-muscled frame, simple stonewashed jeans, and a gray cardigan hoodie sweater, given that it was November in New York.

Seriously… who’s dumbass idea was this? The only times the good surgeon actually broke a sweat was in the gym, or running, but this was a bit ridiculous. How did he accumulate all this stuff? Fuck it. The next time Ross moved, he was hiring professional movers. Clearly he had the means to do it this time, but oh no, the elitist-guilt mentality just had to deny him this one convenience…

Well at least he had the day off tomorrow. Exhaling as he hauled the last box into his place, he surveyed his surroundings. ]

“Huh… this is the 12th floor huh? It’s kinda nice…”

[ And yes, talking to himself was a bit commonplace. What? Like you never did it… ]