Deformed ribs, fainting rooms and OMGDRAMAZ – why should ladies have all the fun? Men wear corsets too! Male corsetry was first popularized in Regency England by Beau Brummell, the original dandy – a man who polished his boots with champagne.  Here he is in his pre-insane-from-syphilis days, sporting abs of whalebone. “Sixpack? Don’t need one.”

There’s been a spectacular revival of dandy style in fashion magazines and on the runway, but it’s not until now that I’ve seen a strong new take with a darker tone. Photographer Peter Ashworth (previously mentioned here) recently collaborated with designer Stefán Orschel-Read (who also models in the shoot) to create Orschel-Read’s A/W fashion lookbook, “Mourning for Orlando” – a series that, at various turns, perfectly marries dandy and deathrock. My favorite images are of the streamlined corset/jacket combo; I imagine Mr. Pearl would approve! The collection includes a wider array of unusual pairings, including geisha, punk, Baroque, and, amazingly, the 70’s leisure suit. How do they all combine? See for yourself.

My affection for Los Angeles is a drawn out, turbulent affair. I stay, for now, because of the nuances not found anyplace else, entirely unique to this place. Case in point: say you’ve got a party to go to and that party is Lenora Claire‘s birthday bash, held at Houdini’s mansion on Friday the 13th. You know for a fact that there will be: music, monkeys and circus acts. What do you wear?

When presented with an invitation to an event you know will be off da hook, as the people say, you’re given a choice to be understated/classy, or to concoct an outfit that will be admired by the drag queens in attendance and leaves a trail of jewels wherever you tread. My choice was made when I found a dress I’d forgotten about, a dress with a story worthy of a party with monkeys.

It was years ago at a now-closed deathrock club called Ghoul School. I complimented a perfectly obliterated girl on her pink dress. A vintage hand-beaded number dripping with faux pearls and diamonds, it was as out of place among the torn fishnet and leather as its tall, brown-haired fresh-faced owner. My compliment was met with an unexpected gesture of generosity: with one multi-step maneuver the girl slipped out of the dress, signed the hem, handed it to me and wandered off. Inexplicably, she was wearing a striped bikini underneath. My heart sang a song of gratitude.

When I saw Mer the night of Lenora’s party she said I looked like a cupcake and I knew it was right. Now I bring you a re-creation of the outfit as masterfully captured by secret photo agent Yoon. You can read a bit more about Lenora’s party in this LA Weekly article. Hit the jump for more.

This installment of Z!ST is brought to you by two things I find myself missing more often than not: film and coffee houses. Kris Krug from Vancouver was here a few weeks ago and, to my happy surprise, used film for most of our photos. We shot at Cafe Muse – a relatively new coffee-zone that stays open ’til midnight and, staying true to its name, provides a guitar & piano to its patrons. There is live music, beverages and excellent food at this oasis amidst the dusty clamor of Santa Monica Boulevard.

Words can hardly express how elated I am at the concept of a real cafe within walking distance in my neighborhood, especially one that stays open past 8pm. Hollywood, for the most part, is a city of soulless cardboard franchises, thus it’s a treat to finally have a place nearby where I can station, laptop and coffee in hand, for an evening of writing, sketching, whatever. Such places are utterly crucial to the sanity of the few of us still breathing in this palm-infested desert metropolis. These simple pleasures shouldn’t be so rare.

Oh yes, the outfit! A rare but welcome instance of simplicity appreciation. Usually not a proponent of stirrups, I made an exception for these leggings, in part due to the fact that I found them at a home appliance store in Koreatown. Click on for shopping informations and more photos.

Yesterday, one of my favorite blogs, Sociological Images, picked apart amputee alt model Viktoria‘s appearance in Bizarre Magazine:

What makes Viktoria “bizarre”? Is it her amputated leg? Is it the fact that she has an amputated leg and is still incredibly sexy? Or is it that she has an amputated leg and still considers herself a sexual person? Is this empowering? And to who? Surely the disabled are desexualized in this country, so it’s nice to see that challenged even, I suppose, in a magazine about weirdos. And yet, I suspect her sexuality is acceptable, fetishizable, only because she conforms to expectations of feminine beauty. In the big scheme of things, does she reproduce the standard of beauty, unattainable for most women, that crushes women’s self-esteem and sense of self-worth? And will disabled women, most of whom (like most non-disabled women) could never dream of being so beautiful, actually look at her and be able to identify? Or will this just draw attention to another way in which they don’t match up?

Now really, I think that SocImages went a little overboard with Viktoria (especially when they dismissed her comments about sexuality as “standard porn star talk”). Maybe it’s because I know her little better than they do, but I think that they oversimplify the genuine place that she comes from in choosing to be a model. However, they do bring up an important discussion that’s been nagging me for some time. What is an alternative model, and what is an alt model’s role in visual culture? In my life, at various points, I came up with 3 different definitions. I believe in each of them, and I have a problem with each of them as well. Here they are below. Which one resonates with you? Do you think it’s a combination of the three below, or something completely different? Opinions, please.

1. The model who challenges society’s notions of beauty.

L: Kenyan-born trans model Biko Beauttah R: Velvet D’Amour

I love these models, but the issue here is that, while they appear to push the boundaries of beauty in some direction, they usually wind up brutally reinforcing another traditional notion in the process. For example, trans models make us rethink gender/beauty, but with their self-presentation they usually reinforce the ideal of a sleek, hairless feminine figure, thus fueling the hair-removal industry. In fact, epilator-manufacturer Philips Norelco has already found a way to to capitalize on this to great effect – just watch this ad. And large models like Velvet D’Amour and skinny-by-comparison but still-considered-plus-size recent ANTM winner Whitney Thompson help to redefine weight in modeling, but what makes them “legitimately beautiful” in the eyes of the mainstream world is their “correct” bone structure, their blond hair. Without some “redeeming quality” of this sort, the world doesn’t recognize them as models, and wouldn’t even give them a shot at making a difference. Mainstream media often presents them as beautiful “in spite of,” not “because of.” While their individual messages are empowering (I love Velvet’s interviews), I don’t find our culture’s use of these models empowering at all.

Whenever anyone I love is feeling especially gloomy, I have one very reasonable, reliable cure-all recommendation. It’s not exercise, or sex, or drugs, or comfort food. Simply this:

Download “Stout-Hearted Men” by Shooby Taylor

These are the joyful and uninhibited sounds of Shooby Taylor, the Human Horn. It’s my opinion that anyone who doesn’t at least crack a smile listening to this singular scat musician is probably beyond all hope and should be taken out behind the barn and humanely dispatched.

Born in 1929, William “Shooby” Taylor lived in Harlem for the majority of his life, toiling as a New York City postal worker for 21 years. From a 2002 article in the NYT:

[His music] can be difficult to digest. As he tries to approximate the sound of a saxophone solo with his voice, he hits sour notes. He spits out nonsense syllables like a machine gun, communicating in a private language nearly impossible to imitate. And he rarely meshes with his background music, whether it is the skating-rink organ in ”Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing,” songs by the country singer Christy Lane or Mozart.

…In homage to his hero Babs Gonzales, who died in 1980, Mr. Taylor began honing his scat stylings in the mid-1950’s after serving in the Army. After his shift at the post office ended at midnight, he frequented jam sessions at Manhattan clubs, but most musicians shunned him.

For decades, Shooby persisted in following his dream, enduring endless ridicule and rejection. One day in the early 1980s, he walked into a vanity-press recording studio called Angel Sound. Located in sleezy, pre-Disneyfied Times Square, the studio had seen its share of feisty characters. Shooby proved one of the most memorable, laying down 14 smokin’ vocalese tracks ranging from jazz to country to show tunes to… unclassifiable…

Traveling on business usually leaves no time to explore your surroundings. Spare moments are generally dedicated to little more than sleep and maybe a bath. However, should you have a few hours between meetings, what better way to spend them than exploring some industrial areas around town! Especially if that town happens to be Denver, Colorado, which was the case with this particular excursion.

Who knew that within a few driving minutes we’d be greeted with the foreboding towers of a power plant, intricate and doomy enough to echo the painting of our beloved Yakov Chernikov! Photographer James Stolzenbach and I swiftly snapped as much as we could before being kindly asked to leave by a burly trucker. He came completely out of nowhere, truck and all, and I suspect dark powers were at work. That and video cameras.

Dress: Crystal Candy at Common Era, Denver
Fingerless gloves: random sock shop in Tokyo
Striped socks: Target
Boots: Luichiny on Melrose, LA

Make up by Breanna and Sally of Beauty Box, lips by me*

*I used MAC Liquidlast liner on my lips. Please, do not do this unless you have a powerful make up remover within reach. This stuff does not come off otherwise. At all. I had to use my fingernails.

More photos beyond the jump!

The muses of fashion sing again as we enter spring here in Angel City. To celebrate the turning of the tides agent Yoon and I had ourselves a little roadside picnic near the ever-fragrant LA River.

For this momentous occasion I picked a simple knit dress, thumb leggings and high heels with steel-plated toes – a sensible choice should one need to escape the local packs of roaming hobos on foot. In daylight hours these [equally fragrant] folks keep to dark shelters under bridges, sale with only glowing eyes indicating their whereabouts. Still, treat one can never be too careful when choosing footwear.

Eyes: my usual cobalt eyebrows in a Ben Nye shadow, a hint of drugstore iridescent green shadow on the eyelids to echo the shoes, liquid liner, Urban Decay “Heavy Metal” glitter highlights
Skin: Pür mineral powder
Lips: Nyx coral lip gloss
Nails: NYC enamel in Times Square Tangerine Creme
Dress: Final Touch $30 at Angel on Melrose Ave
Leggings: H&M
Bag: shop near Asakuza Temple, Tokyo
Gloves: Harajuku, Tokyo
Shoes: Naughty Monkey $30 on Amazon

Photos by Veronica Brak

My parents complained the other day because they actually visited the blog and thought that Mr. Pearl was “a scary man.” Mom and dad, no. This is what a scary man looks like!

Readers may remember the face above from BoingBoing, November 2007. Turns out his name is Zombie and that since his last appearance on the web, he’s gotten even more decrepit flesh inked into his dermis, including an exposed brain at the top of his skull. For the first time ever, he speaks! Here are some choice bites from a hilarious interview with BME:

BME: You’re kind of an internet celebrity — what do you think about it?
Zombie: Not much, I don’t even own a computer. So fuck you assholes.

BME: Facial tattoos are a big step from “regular” tattoo placement. How long had you thought it through before you started your facial tattoos?
Zombie: Never really had to think about it… I’ve been white trash my whole life…

BME: Are you single?
Zombie: Yes… Very single… I’m not very dependable… Girls cut into beer time.

BME: What did you family think about your transformation?
Zombie: My mom told me, “You started it, you better finish it.”

His mom’s right. Also, I think he’s kinda cute! Ladies, what say you?

Big thanks to clockorange for the tip.

BME Interview with Zombie

“The gentleman who has the pleasure of tying the final bow owns you.”
– Mr. Pearl, interview

What strikes me about fetish legend/corsetier Mr. Pearl’s images is how much he looks like a true English gentleman – and how, magically, his 18-inch corseted waist works to enhance that image, the opposite of what one might expect it to do.

Mr. Pearl grew up in South Africa and moved to London at the earliest chance after completing his military service. He spent three years in New York in the early 90s, where he did his most intimate published interview, of which there are few. Already a renowned tightlacer by this time, Pearl treated corsetry with such reverence that he insisted on precision in every aspect of his involvement with it; when his New York interviewer described him as a corsetier, he interrupted. “Forgive me,” he said. “I am a designer who employs the corset and lacings into his designs. I am not a corsetier – I have not attained that specialized knowledge. There are only about five left in the whole world now, who possess that art. I hope one day to be amongst them.”

Fast-forward to the 2000s: Mr. Pearl is a successful corsetier, commissioned by Mugler, Lacroix, Galliano and Gaultier when they need a master to produce their corset designs for the runway. Clients include Dita, Kylie Minogue and Jerry Hall. He lives in Paris, and works out an atelier behind the Notre Dame.

Pearl & his creations. Corsets, BW: Michael James O’Brien, color: Francois Nars.

Despite his success, Pearl doesn’t have a flashy website. There’s no web store to offer plastic-boned corsets that bear only his name, no MySpace page and no blog. He’s known for his aversion to modern technology, and his only web interview was handwritten and transmitted by fax.

Prosthetics are hot! That’s how I’ll console myself if I ever lose my hand in a terrible accident. I picture a long-fingered, razor-nailed chrome hand for everyday wear; a sleek jeweled hand with fingertips that project light (or film!) for the evenings; and for special occasions, I want a sock puppet that’s also a flamethrower. In my toolkit, I would also like to have something Ye Olde. Ideally I’d love to get my remaining hand on the following, eloquently written up for us by guest blogger David Forbes (aka Coilhouse commenter ampersandpilcrow). – Nadya

Götz Von Berlichingen had a problem. It was 1504 and, at the tender young age of 24, the plundering knight, mercenary and all around bastard had the upper part of his right arm torn off in a cannon blast. As someone who made his living off war and already had a sizable enemies’ list, Götz needed his killin’ hand.

So he got another one. Made of iron.

However, this was no crudely shaped hunk of metal — it was a mechanical masterpiece, centuries ahead of its time. The iron hand not only allowed Götz to return to battle, but later helped lay the foundation for modern prosthetics. Complete with articulated fingers, spring action and an array of levers and buttons, the hand allowed a degree of control that’s stunning even today. Fitted with it, Götz could do the following: