For our 15th anniversary September fashion story, editor Chris Campbell, inestimable nightlife fixture Ladyfag, and a gaggle of harness-wearing leather daddies headed to The Eagle for a '70s-era, Roxanne Lowit-inspired shoot. Our friends at Stylist documented the day of vamping for their new series dedicated to "some of the biggest and brightest names in the industry as they create their most important issue of the year." (Sure, we'll float our own boat.) Take a look at the results after the jump, and hear Campbell pose - and answer - the question, "Do you have any dirty wife beaters?"
Of the unofficial but widely-accepted perks that come with an editing job, plugging friends’ work is the most gratifying. (Not so the grade-school chum who resurfaces as a really successful shell collagist in the Outer Banks, and won’t you write something nice about his gallery show?) Doubly gratifying – and bordering on humbling – is championing an artist-friend who blows your socks off, and leads you to occasionally fantasize about quitting said editing job to join her band as a berserk hype-man/kazoo player. So: this Friday at Pianos, Austin-based Celeste Griffin and Monarchs.
I’ve never been lucky in hair. Not that I haven’t been graced with a full of head of it, or that it couldn’t sometimes be said to look shiny in certain lights – but in cut, style, and stylist. Three of the worst do’s I’ve sported: A military man’s high n’ tight, bangs, the bowl cut my father gave me literally using a bowl (I looked like a monk from the Dark Ages, as my front two teeth had recently fallen out - I was 6). So it was with feelings of angst and learned resignation that I agreed to visit Valery Joseph’s salon for a ‘transformation.’
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