I can’t look through editorial fashion photography without thinking of cutting and pasting them into one of my collages (I’ll save that for another post). Here are some of my recent faves. They vary from fashion mag editorials to new talent production.
Jingna Zhang for Elle Signapore
Steven Unarreal for BlackBook
Marianna by Joanna Kustra
Sergi Jasanada for Novias De España
Frederico Martins
In today’s WWD headlines, news broke over Betsey Johnson’s filing for bankruptcy after several years battling low sales and debt. I took it upon myself to investigate the causes that led to the demise of the 34 year old brand. It is unfair to assume as to why the Betsey Johnson brand met it’s end, so I hereby present you with hard cold facts in the form of the A/W12 collection.
This Gucci-from-the-shoulder-up look may have been the first sign of struggles for the company. This look may have been start of mitigation with creditors. 
It’s a known fact that the moment bad leopard comes into play, bankruptcy lawyers start to scramble for options. The cuffs may be a cheeky hint to prison fashion. Is Kim K under that hat?
Nothing says Chapter 11 chic quite like this little number. Bad plaid is often to blame for financial woes. Isn’t that right Cyndi?
Thought so.
This Ukrainian hooker outfit was the most evident sign Betsey had given up hope. If you’re looking for an abbreviated reason for the filing, this would be it, right here. This was BJs point of no return.(No pun intended) (hear that drivers ed?)
Who’s idea was it to send out this satin distraction? …..and who’s mom is this?
Although I am professionally outsleuthing all the news reports claiming the downfall is due to financing problems lack of cash flow yada, yada, it all comes down to bad leopard, people. I guess there’s not a market for skull tutu skirts and hot pink fishnets either, eh? I could have told you earlier.
RIP Betsey.
Just took my last midterm. Know what that means? Half way closer to summer weekends in the Hamptons where I can pretend not to be a starving artist. Also, I get to wear offensively short short-shorts.
Ready, set, diet.
Photo via Jak&Jil
Let me preface this by saying I’m a Texas transplant, here in New York City for all things fashion. I’m supposed to look forward to those two weeks in the year when “walking shoes” are 6-inch Giuseppes, makeup is airbrushed and plastered on from 8 AM and when meals, well, just aren’t. My apologies, but pretending to “oh so casually” walk in circles in front of Tommy Ton isn’t how I’d like to spend the 168 hours that is New York Fashion Week. Watching the shows within the confines of my 150 square foot studio is surprisingly more satisfying than feeling “so last season” by sitting second row (gasp!) or taking 35 hours to get ready for a seven minute show lest I look less glam then fellow show goers.
Not only is Fashion Week more maintenance than my untamable Jew-fro, but it also takes over all my social network outlets. Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram become sequential timelines of the current happenings at Milk Studios and Lincoln Center. It is not to say that I’m not sitting in bed with my Macbook on my lap anxiously refreshing Style.com and awaiting the official photographs, but I’d rather do just that than view the collections from an unknown fashion blogger’s blurry Blackberry. I have to unplug myself from the online world (a.k.a. what is now the real world) until everyone settles back to regular programming. Back to letting me know what you had for lunch please!
Maybe I am just a little bitter that I wouldn’t even be able to be the Grinch who stole NYFW due to lack of invites. I don’t get to rub shoulders with Miroslava Duma or Olivia Palermo or find delightful show favors sitting by the red soles of my Louboutins. While show goers are breaking ankles getting a sneak peak at what I get to see in high-definition, I’m under the comfort of a down blanket satisfying my diet of peanut butter M&Ms. I get to click next (even yell it out loud, if I so please) through the looks and sacrifice not one double air-kiss.
Fashion Week came and left. I no longer have to lose circulation in my right arm trying to fruitlessly catch a cab when I’m within a mile radius of any Fashion Week venue. The competitions of whose collar-bone protrudes more are won and lost. The street-style blogs have covered, many times over, what everyone was wearing while they fake texted as they crossed the street. I’m safe for the next six months. Bring on the food tweets, ya’ll!
This article was originally published on The Blind Hem
Nothing says “I’m here” quite like a neon color palette.
Yellow chiffon trimmed tweed jacket-Giambattista Valli($4,365),Orange neon resin clutch-Stella McCartney($1,700), Pink wool-blend biker jacket-Christopher Kane($1,920), Neon crystal necklace-Dannijo($515), Wool-blend fair isle sweater-Juicy Couture($200), Bronze cuff-Dannijo($512), Crochet halterneck dress-DVF($425), Pink python clutch-Roberto Cavalli($1,850), Embroidered silk-blend shorts-Sass and Bide($485)
Completely surprised by a package from Dad! He’s the best. Promise to call you more often, love you♥
Jack and Lazaro never fail to steal my heart.
Proenza Schouler Fall’12
One of the first expenses I cut once I signed my lease was manicures. Although this turned into a huge expense in nail polishes-why did I think I needed 6 shades of green?
Plus, can you imagine what third-world countries think about our mani-pedi obsession? If you think about it, paying someone to polish your nails a different color each week is an ABSURD luxury. Don’t you agree?
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zt1gSFywHDk
Monday was my last final-it’s finally winter break! During the semester, rawhem unfortunately dropped to the bottom of my priority list but I managed to stay connected thanks to microblogging platform Instagram. You can follow my NYC adventures by searching username Rawhem.
