Rumour has it that when makeup artist Pat McGrath set out to create her “living doll” look for Louis Vuitton’s Spring 2012 show, she and her team pulled an all-nighter (at the Ritz, of course!) to glue together 10 sets of false lashes for each model. When the show opened with models perched on a revolving carousel in candy-coloured frocks, their flawless makeup and dense, fluttery lashes momentarily created the illusion that mannequins were instead the stars.
Despite its high maintenance appearance, it’s really simple to recreate this Barbie-esque beauty look. And forget 10 sets of falsies—you can pull it off with just five products in the bat of an eyelash!
Read more if you see that pictures :
http://www.fashionmagazine.com/blogs/beauty/2012/06/21/runway-to-real-life-5-easy-steps-to-get-louis-vuittons-lash-tastic-spring-2012-look-at-home/#more-96068
Friday 22 June 2012
Monday 2 January 2012
The Tale of a ‘Fashion Terrorist’
THE novelist Alex Gilvarry was in the midst of a fashion emergency. Perusing the racks of Oak, a trendy boutique in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, he looked for a sweater to cover up a mustard stain on his plaid shirt. In a few hours, he would speak to M.F.A. students at Hunter College, his alma mater, and he didn’t want to look like a slob.
Unfolding a black sweater by Oak, Mr. Gilvarry, 30, was dismayed to find it cropped above the navel, a style that would not work on his 6-foot-3 frame. Nor would it cover up the mustard. “Oh well, it wasn’t on sale anyway,” he said.
Mr. Gilvarry hasn’t always shopped in boutiques — or worried about stains. A native of Staten Island who grew up shopping at malls, he didn’t much care about his wardrobe until he began writing his first novel, “From the Memoirs of a Non-Enemy Combatant,” a satire of the fashion world and, improbably, Guantánamo Bay prison that will be published by Viking this month.
“My initial idea was to write about an artist from a superficial world thrown into a political world,” Mr. Gilvarry said. “That’s how I came up with Boy.”
Boy is Boyet Hernandez, the flamboyant Filipino “fashion terrorist” whom Mr. Gilvarry invented and who, he later learned, bears a striking resemblance to the real-life Bryan Boy, a flamboyant Filipino fashion blogger. A rising young designer, the fictitious Boy is mistaken for a terrorist and sent to Guantánamo, where he pens a memoir about the Williamsburg fashion scene, from 2002 to 2006, as well as the Philippines.
Although Mr. Gilvarry is half-Filipino, he did not travel to the Philippines until his mid-20s. The trip was an eye-opening experience that inspired him to write about someone from there. His foray into fashion was a bit trickier, though having Ashley Mears, a model turned sociology professor, as his longtime girlfriend helped.
Luckily, he could draw from his own adventures, having spent numerous Saturday nights during his college years riding the L train to the far reaches of Bushwick to attend loft parties with other aspiring artists.
Mr. Gilvarry places Boy in the center of the burgeoning scene, with his “size 30 skinny jeans” and his hair “classically fashioned after the major hip-hop artists of the 1980s.” He, too, rides the subway — “a rubber band of sexual tension, stretched and twined around the boroughs, ready to snap” — and watches as the young Brooklynites file off the L train “like cattle, their eyes drowned in eye shadow, looking as if they had never missed a party, nor would they.”
He learns that all the best parties take place in artists’ studios in abandoned factories, that red wine is best served in boxes, that cigarettes can be used as currency and that everyone sleeps with everyone else. “The designers, the stylists, the makeup artists, the bookers, the models, the photographers,” Mr. Gilvarry writes, “we were all part of an incestuous machine with one purpose: to create beauty.”
Soon Boy is among them, ensconced in a studio housed in a former toothpick factory, dating an experimental playwright (as well as a model or two), and mocking the preppy, second-wave gentrifiers, the “button-down nincompoops” who offend his sensibilities by spending their weekends in khakis and sweaters, wrinkled shirttails hanging out. A fellow designer warns Boy to avoid “conventional” at all costs, lest he end up with a career in bridal wear.
“Fashion is an easy target for comedy,” Mr. Gilvarry said.
A darker strain of comedy comes into play after Boy finds himself in Guantánamo. In an attempt to stay fashionably attired, Boy alters his orange prison-issued jumpsuit by removing the sleeves and tapering his pant legs. But while his eye for style won him friends in New York, he is mocked by the other prisoners and punished by the guards.
Mr. Gilvarry owes some of his light-and-dark satirical style to the novelist Gary Shteyngart, who was his teacher during his sophomore year at Hunter. At the time, Mr. Shteyngart was barely 30 and had just published his debut novel, “The Russian Debutante’s Handbook.” To Mr. Gilvarry and his classmates, the short, bearded Mr. Shteyngart looked more like a college student than the stuffy old novelist they had imagined.
“He made a big impression on me,” Mr. Gilvarry recalled. “Not only was he a working writer, he was writing books that I wanted to read.”
A few years later, when Mr. Gilvarry was pursuing his M.F.A. at Hunter, he was employed as Mr. Shteyngart’s research assistant as part of the school’s Hertog Fellowship, which pairs young writers with more established ones. Asked about his first impression of Mr. Gilvarry, Mr. Shteyngart wrote, via e-mail, “very tall!”
“And he knows how to write,” Mr. Shteyngart added. “So many of my women friends developed crushes on him. They called him the Mantern.”
Another mentor was Colum McCann, whose most recent novel, “Let the Great World Spin,” won the 2009 National Book Award. Mr. Gilvarry remembers bringing Mr. McCann the first 30 pages of his novel, and having it slashed to 2 pages.
“What I liked about Alex was that he was prepared to try,” Mr. McCann said. “He has an enormous desire, which is very important for a writer. Thankfully, he has equal amounts of humility as well. He’s the real deal.”
From :
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/01/fashion/alex-gilvarrys-first-novel-satirizes-fashion-and-politics.html?_r=1&ref=fashion
Unfolding a black sweater by Oak, Mr. Gilvarry, 30, was dismayed to find it cropped above the navel, a style that would not work on his 6-foot-3 frame. Nor would it cover up the mustard. “Oh well, it wasn’t on sale anyway,” he said.
Mr. Gilvarry hasn’t always shopped in boutiques — or worried about stains. A native of Staten Island who grew up shopping at malls, he didn’t much care about his wardrobe until he began writing his first novel, “From the Memoirs of a Non-Enemy Combatant,” a satire of the fashion world and, improbably, Guantánamo Bay prison that will be published by Viking this month.
“My initial idea was to write about an artist from a superficial world thrown into a political world,” Mr. Gilvarry said. “That’s how I came up with Boy.”
Boy is Boyet Hernandez, the flamboyant Filipino “fashion terrorist” whom Mr. Gilvarry invented and who, he later learned, bears a striking resemblance to the real-life Bryan Boy, a flamboyant Filipino fashion blogger. A rising young designer, the fictitious Boy is mistaken for a terrorist and sent to Guantánamo, where he pens a memoir about the Williamsburg fashion scene, from 2002 to 2006, as well as the Philippines.
Although Mr. Gilvarry is half-Filipino, he did not travel to the Philippines until his mid-20s. The trip was an eye-opening experience that inspired him to write about someone from there. His foray into fashion was a bit trickier, though having Ashley Mears, a model turned sociology professor, as his longtime girlfriend helped.
Luckily, he could draw from his own adventures, having spent numerous Saturday nights during his college years riding the L train to the far reaches of Bushwick to attend loft parties with other aspiring artists.
Mr. Gilvarry places Boy in the center of the burgeoning scene, with his “size 30 skinny jeans” and his hair “classically fashioned after the major hip-hop artists of the 1980s.” He, too, rides the subway — “a rubber band of sexual tension, stretched and twined around the boroughs, ready to snap” — and watches as the young Brooklynites file off the L train “like cattle, their eyes drowned in eye shadow, looking as if they had never missed a party, nor would they.”
He learns that all the best parties take place in artists’ studios in abandoned factories, that red wine is best served in boxes, that cigarettes can be used as currency and that everyone sleeps with everyone else. “The designers, the stylists, the makeup artists, the bookers, the models, the photographers,” Mr. Gilvarry writes, “we were all part of an incestuous machine with one purpose: to create beauty.”
Soon Boy is among them, ensconced in a studio housed in a former toothpick factory, dating an experimental playwright (as well as a model or two), and mocking the preppy, second-wave gentrifiers, the “button-down nincompoops” who offend his sensibilities by spending their weekends in khakis and sweaters, wrinkled shirttails hanging out. A fellow designer warns Boy to avoid “conventional” at all costs, lest he end up with a career in bridal wear.
“Fashion is an easy target for comedy,” Mr. Gilvarry said.
A darker strain of comedy comes into play after Boy finds himself in Guantánamo. In an attempt to stay fashionably attired, Boy alters his orange prison-issued jumpsuit by removing the sleeves and tapering his pant legs. But while his eye for style won him friends in New York, he is mocked by the other prisoners and punished by the guards.
Mr. Gilvarry owes some of his light-and-dark satirical style to the novelist Gary Shteyngart, who was his teacher during his sophomore year at Hunter. At the time, Mr. Shteyngart was barely 30 and had just published his debut novel, “The Russian Debutante’s Handbook.” To Mr. Gilvarry and his classmates, the short, bearded Mr. Shteyngart looked more like a college student than the stuffy old novelist they had imagined.
“He made a big impression on me,” Mr. Gilvarry recalled. “Not only was he a working writer, he was writing books that I wanted to read.”
A few years later, when Mr. Gilvarry was pursuing his M.F.A. at Hunter, he was employed as Mr. Shteyngart’s research assistant as part of the school’s Hertog Fellowship, which pairs young writers with more established ones. Asked about his first impression of Mr. Gilvarry, Mr. Shteyngart wrote, via e-mail, “very tall!”
“And he knows how to write,” Mr. Shteyngart added. “So many of my women friends developed crushes on him. They called him the Mantern.”
Another mentor was Colum McCann, whose most recent novel, “Let the Great World Spin,” won the 2009 National Book Award. Mr. Gilvarry remembers bringing Mr. McCann the first 30 pages of his novel, and having it slashed to 2 pages.
“What I liked about Alex was that he was prepared to try,” Mr. McCann said. “He has an enormous desire, which is very important for a writer. Thankfully, he has equal amounts of humility as well. He’s the real deal.”
From :
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/01/fashion/alex-gilvarrys-first-novel-satirizes-fashion-and-politics.html?_r=1&ref=fashion
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)