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This family day weekend took me by surprise. I didn’t make any grand plans, in fact, I barely acknowledged that it was even a long weekend. I was planning on waking up early Monday morning, getting all my writing done on Sunday. You know, the usual bill for us Eurotrash girls. Until Sunday night – I got a text with an invite to go out on the town. That’s when I realized that I had been partying since Friday. Drinking an average of 5 coronas/night. I did the Raptor’s game, Lakeview Diner, two homemade pizza and wine nights, 7 episodes of Boardwalk Empire, got my hair done, did a Bagel run, danced til 3am, waited in line, did shots. This is not the usual bill for Eurotrash. So on that faithful Sunday evening, I said yes – why the heck not? At least it gave me an excuse to take a quick snap for Wednesday’s outfit post. For the rest of the images from that night check my instagram feed…
H&M FAUX LEATHER SKIRT
LACE STOCKINGS BY FILODORO
JEFFREY CAMPBELL CLINIC WEDGE
FREE PEOPLE KNIT SWEATER
BREIL CHAOS NECKLACE
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Donna Karan look from Net-A-Porter.com
How I plan on getting through the rest of winter came from an inspiration I had while eavesdropping on an utterly intolerable fashion model. She was trying on a pair of Brian Atwood booties, coached by her ex-model-cum-agent on how they were going to turn the model’s recent punk haircut into a total image overhaul. Kinda like Rihanna – minus the domestic violence. The model chopped off all her hair the day before and now stood there like a poor man’s Agyness Deyn.
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This time last year I was heading home from Los Angeles. Venice Beach, Abbot Kinney Blvd, Santa Monica, Beverly Hills, Marina del Rey, West Hollywood… top down on my Mitsubishi convertible! Ok, I was on a budget. Didn’t cop the Balenciaga sunglasses I found at Kitson, but I splurged on a Tarina Tarantino pink skull bracelet. All $18.00′s worth. I found it at It’s A Wrap – a store that sells clothing and accessories from movies and TV show wardrobes. They had everything from Zac Posen to Isabel Marant. Read about it HERE. As the winter clouds descend upon us today in Toronto, I’ll revisit a place where Eurotrash feels at home. Beach, great food, amazing shopping and a touch of Hollywood decadence.
Enjoy the photos!
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“Seduta in mezzo al letto lei promette: cosa non farà più. Cosa farà di nuovo, cosa farà di meno. Con un prudente margine d’incerto.” Lucio Battisti, Cosa farà di nuovo.
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You think what she wears doesn’t matter. It could be American Apparel. It could be vintage. It could be a high luxe brand; it could secretly be made in China. She admits right away that she’s obsessed with fashion, but not in that slavish, trend follower way. “It’s more like refusing to go even to the corner store without a bit of Missoni”, she explains so matter-of-fact to my face. I’ve read about people like her before. Anna Wintour, in her bleakest bouts of unemployment, wore head-to-toe Yves Saint Laurent. A pink slip didn’t preclude her attendance at Paris Fashion Week, front row. “It’s because fashion, for some people, has absolutely nothing to do with money – but for everybody else, it has everything to do with money”, she snickers. For her, fashion has everything to do with Missoni.
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Missoni mules available at Net-a-Porter; $660.
Hey there, sunshine. Looking for something to brighten up your un-pedicured toes? Of course you are. I bet you wanna Eurotrash yourself, too. You know, mules & clogs tend to be the most underrated category of footwear. Sure, blame it on their perversions: the jewish camp girl clog or brrrrrr, crocs. Not all mules are clogs, but all clogs are mules – and crocs should just not exist, period. But these Missoni mules get an A+ in my books. I have a pair of Gucci clogs that I revere more than life. While other girls wear pumps and sandals, the wooden heel clog is just that extra WTF in any outfit. Skinny jeans, cut-off shorts, a sundress; they all beg clogs. These Missoni clogs, with their pastel crochet and wood heel give me shoe goosebumps. Whip out the VISA – Mama’s got feet!
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Eurotrash in front of Costes Roses Dani Roses
I was 19 years old when I first ever heard about Hotel Costes. Came to me in the form of Stéphane Pompougnac’s CD compilation Hotel Costes… Best of. So I was like completely head over heels for this Parisian boudoir music. Puffed cigarettes to it. Tried to emulate the life of Eva Green’s character, Isabel, with every listen. I was 19, people. The world to me was like living in the glossy pages of Vogue. Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t become so irrevocably jaded; still had that little bit of belief in the impossible.
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These days are seemingly fashionable. Sure, I spend my mornings in a bathrobe and accessorize with a large Starbucks coffee mug, one with pink hearts on it, at best. But what the heck, I’ve run through so many blog-worthy outfits without so much as a lingering, self-approving nod in a full length mirror – the one I still have yet to purchase. So here I am in all my glory. Why I love my fox fur coat is its guilt free provenance. A hand-me-down from my aunt (it even has her name stitched in the lining), I don’t have to worry about P.E.T.A. coming after me with a can of Benjamin Moore paint in shade C231, ox blood. I picture me just yelling: “Halt! It’s vintage” to the Jackson Pollock animal lovers. I can say these things, I think, because I’m a vegetarian. Why I love my Ray Ban honeys? They add an extra pop of colour to an otherwise dreary outfit. My boyfriend bought them for me while on a boys trip to Vegas – I hope they too have a guilt free provenance…
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Bianca Balti illustration by Lisa Nishimura for Whatever Eurotrash.
Another one of my favourite Missoni ladies, Bianca Balti, is also one of those Eurotrash muses I like to talk about. So much so that Lisa Nishimura sketched and pixeled her up for me! Why is Balti eurotrash? First of all, she isn’t Britney Spears famous. Eurotrash prefers a small, but astute following. If you catch a glimpse of her, she always looks perfect – none of this stars are just like us bullshit hiding under a baseball cap without spanx. Secondly, she can make jeans and a tank work fucking miracles on a Fendi peek-a-boo bag that costs more than your last 2 mortgage payments. Bianca Balti. Remember her name because chances are, she won’t remind you.
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Hotel Missoni Kuwait. Image: highsnobeity.com
Kuwait a minute, is that a Missoni hotel?
Maybe you haven’t noticed that the impulse to conquer the world didn’t die with Queen Cleopatra’s last snake bite, sending her to the realm of the dead – her hopes of Caesarion’s ascendence over both Western and Easter empires, last night’s dream. Families like the Rothschilds and probably to a lesser, more commercial degree, The Missonis, still propagate their wealth and power by dipping their hands into anything and everything. I mean, just look at Trump. The toupee on his head, which is most likely held in place by tiny gold threads to give it that rootstock appearance, would probably sell for a couple hundred thou just because it hovers oh-so-close enough to whatever that thing we call Trump is.
Why the world needs a Missoni hotel is hard to explain. But there it is, standing tall in Kuwait – and not so tall in Edinburgh, and soon in Brazil, Mauritius and Oman. The height of these latter edifices is still unknown. How tall will they be? Nobody knows!
I’ve always heard whispers about these s0-called Missoni hotels but never really thought that anybody actually stayed in them. For $365.00/night you can stay at the Hotel Missoni Kuwait this weekend. I got the price on hotwire.com, yo. But would you stay there? Or shudder at the risk of looking tacky? Like the woman decked out head-to-toe in the LV monogram – yes, including her fingernail art. I mean these concept hotels are great to blog about and visit on tours and stuff but after the novelty wears off wouldn’t you rather be at The Ritz?
(Quebec City’s Ice Hotel is an example par excellence. I took a tour of the hotel. It’s cool to visit for about 30 minutes. Then it gets really, really cold. And completely uncomfortable. Plus you have to go OUTSIDE to a not-close-enough heated chalet, which has the interior decor of grade 8 overnight camp, should you need to pee in the middle of the night. With my loosey-goosey bladder I might as well sleep in the goddamn cafeteria – also reminiscent of high school. There’s a vending machine. Lays chips and stuff).
Don’t get me wrong, I love Missoni. I probably wouldn’t stay in their hotels, though. If you’re an expert at knit sweaters and caftans then what the heck are you doing trying to design a bathtub!? (169 of them, to be exact). That’s just me. I’m a firm believer in going to the expert for every single thing you need. I’m not a fan of the Walmart mentality. The one-stop shop. Or a brand name that stamps its trademark onto all kinds of products. And I don’t think luxury brands fare too well adopting this said approach. They lose that rare cachet of specialization. Kinda like a cheesemonger selling iphone cases and cigarettes, I think.
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Eurotrash in Montreal (2007) and in Milan (2005) clad in Missoni.
Some people grow up with a silver spoon, or several, as I learned last night watching The Jazz Baroness – the story of Pannonica Rothschild’s departure from her silver spoons into the then-subversive American jazz scene of the 1950s. Sure, if I was Justine Rothschild I’d have many silver spoons. But would I have Missoni?
Something about money that just can’t buy you good taste. In fact, the Rothschilds who made appearances in the throwaway documentary were far from fashionable – far from presentable, if you ask me. First of all, none of them had ever heard of botox. Or dentists. A clan of billionaires with bad teeth and probably, bad breath. Gosh. Can you believe the Royal Family asked the Rothschilds for A LOAN? You would never know by looking at them, that’s for certain.
What’s all this got to do with the Missoni stripes that haven’t left my margins yet? Nothing really. Except that if I were a billionaire with the choice of duck milk, goose milk or half-sweetened lizard jizz for breakfast I’d certainly take the time to at least PAY someone to make me look presentable – and if we’re talking about me, personally, I’d want to look like an aristocratic version of Anna dello Russo minus her face.
My Missoni hat and scarf! OK, so they don’t match per se, but isn’t that the point of Missoni?
So I’ve become quite content (ok, satiated for the time being) with my paltry collection of Missoni fare. I’ve got a knit scarf and I used to own a Missoni sport knit cardigan, which I bought in Florence when there used to be a Missoni Sport. (I sold the cardigan. Cacat!).
This Christmas I added a Missoni cashmere hat to my collection thanks to Mr. Eurotrash, who has recently added the ability to stop women in the street to compliment them on their Missoni pieces to his many talents. Eurotrash like me.
