I know I am probably the last person in L.A. to get on the romper bandwagon, but when I saw this little turquoise number at American Vintage in Los Feliz, I just couldn't resist. ($32). Then I spotted some bad-ass cowgirl boots for $55 and thought "why not?". And while I'm at it, I should probably get a nice new vintage brown leather clutch ($15). Right?

I asked Robert, the kind young man behind the counter with a wooden spike through his septum, if he thought the romper suit made my bum look...bountiful. He promsied me it looked good. I still wasn't sure.

ME: "You mean it? You're not just saying that?"

ROBERT: "Yes honey, your ass looks great."

ME: "I dunno..."

ROBERT: "Trust me, I know these things."

ME: "How do you know?"

ROBERT: "Because I'm black." 

There was no arguing with that, so I went ahead and made my purchases. I am going to wear my new outfit tonight - Margaret Cho is presenting a preview of her all-new Sensuous Woman show at the Gay and Lesbian Center in Hollywood, and then after that, it's the Arthur Mag "Back To Life"  party at the Little Joy, celebrating the un-folding of our most favorite pretentious music publication.

Mazal tov Jay Babcock.

Julie Edwards, drummer for the Pity Party, (on the right there) is unstitching her beloved Little Knittery from its current premises inside Steinberg & Sons in Los Feliz, and will re-open in a hot new space on Glendale Blvd. in Atwater Village.

It was supposed to open tomorrow, but the re-launch was postponed until Sept 5 because of "boring and yukky" technical issues.  I'm not sure for the reasons behind the move. When I spoke to Suzy from Steinberg & Sons a couple months ago, there was no mention of it.

New digs are located at:

3042 Glendale Blvd.
LA, CA. 90039
323.663.3838

HOURS
mon-tue CLOSED
wed - fri 12 - 7 p.m.
sat 12 - 8 p.m.
sun 12 - 5 p.m.

Guy Blakeslee of The Entrance Band slayed on the guitar and was the dominating force of Saturday's Fuck Yeah festivities, as far as I am concerned. His bearded Messiah/revolutionary look got me pretty hot too:

They played at the Rec Center which became engulfed by an overwhelmingly putrid stench shortly before the end of their set. Someone (or multiple persons) had let one go, and it was nuclear. We decided that the poo smell might actually have been the band's fault--what with all that heavy rockin' hittin' our guts, it is possible that everyone in the crowd accidentally emitted a small amount of gas at the same time, creating the resultant cloud of foulness.

NAME-CHECKS:

I bumped into Lavender Diamond's Becky Stark by the artist check-in. She was sweet and spacey and wearing something odd that was covered in opaque mother-of-pearl sequins. Said hi to Erin Garcia of Brother Reade outside the Echo shortly before his set. Saw the organizer Sean Carlson running down the street looking happy. But then he always looks happy. Chatted up A&R goddess Laurel Stearns, who was with her BF, who plays in Joshua Tree's Thriftstore Allstars. Headbanged a little with the kindest, hardest-working young man in music, Josh Frankfort of Shmanagement. And mentally high-fived Metromix's blondely-bearded Associate Editor of Rad, George Ducker, who loaned me ten bucks last week.

I felt bad for all the sorry muthas standing in line behind the Echoplex to pick up their will-call tickets. Literally hundreds of poor humans stood in a miserable line that snaked around the side of the building. But it did prove one thing--just how sexy and popular Fuck Yeah has become.

Which may or may not be a good thing for the event itself.

Crucial news hot off the presses for all you L.A. vintage shopaholics:

#1: Apartment 3, the cute vintage/consignment/emerging designer packed boutique on La Brea, has moved downtown and is now only open three days a week, from Friday to Monday. Presumably this is because owner Kristin is busy putting together her new line, three-la.

#2: B.B.C., the beloved vintage/thrift store on Sunset Blvd. on Echo Park, has changed its name. It is now called "As American Vintage".  We're surprised they went for such a generic name (there's already a store called American Vintage in nearby Los  Feliz), and the new signage is kinda generic, hardly a fitting facade for the den of sexiness inside. Oh well.

#3: Sea Level Records' former premises on Sunset in Echo Park is now a boutique, selling fashiony white trash 80s-inspired hipster apparel by the looks of things. A band was playing inside during last weekend's Fuck Yeah fest, so I popped back today to check out the scene...but it was closed. I don't even know what its name is yet, as there is no signage. Updates to come!

I bumped into the famous Walking Man of Silverlake the other day. A doctor by trade, he somehow finds time to walk 15 miles a day or thereabouts while reading the newspaper. If you live anywhere close to the Eastside and have eyes, you've no doubt seen him, chestnut brown skin, luminous shorts, sweat glistening on his bare chest as he paces furiously along the sidewalk.

So I stopped him as he marched down Sunset Blvd, with one question on my lips:

"Why are you so obsessed with walking around?"

But I was too shy to ask him that, so this fell out of my mouth instead: 

"Where did you get your sneakers?"

He cocked his eyebrow, Sean Connery-like, and leaned in to whisper his secret.

"Thesh are Pumash...I get all my shoesh for free...but I can't shay where from."

How mysterious.

He did tell me his name is Marc, and that the LA Times has written two stories about him. And then invited me to a private gathering at his office. Apparently he hosts rockin' happenings once a week at his doctor's office in North Hollywood. "You'll see a whole different side of me, I promise," he said, adding that there would be Newcastle Brown Ale aplenty. "You'll like that, you're British right?" Then he got misty-eyed and told me how he was once a classical music student at Oxford (or was it Cambridge) university.

Up close, the Walking Man of Silverlake is rather handsome and has a Twinkle In His Eye, so I had to step inside Isac the orchid shop to cool down a little.

There, I struck up conversation with the rather fabulous owner, Isac, who is from Cologne, Germany, but opened up his store in Silverlake a couple years ago.

His two puppies were inside, one whose name is Jack Sparrow, because he "looks like Johnny Depp". Johnyy Depp wishes he were this cute.

As well as beautiful blooms, Isac also sells dresses. He told me he had seen the exact same frocks he sells in a Third Street boutique for three times what he charges in his store. I loved the little Pac Man pinnies and Strawberry Shortcake skirts made by a local designer who repurposes bedsheets and the like.

Then, feeling trigger-happy with the camera, I stepped around the corner to Bittersweet Butterfly and took some photos of the wares inside.

I love their fresh-cut "baby I'm sorry, I'll never make out with your roommate again" flowers, plus garters, panties, lace, frilliness and general girliness.

I bought some garters, stepped back into the midday sun and thought about drinking brown ale with Walking Man.

I know I know...you're barely over your Sunset Junction hangover and here I am carping on about next weekend's Fuck Yeah! fest...but seriously, you know this is where the real L.A. grassroots awesomeness is going to be at, and you better make sure you have enough braincells in order to jump aboard this two-day sonic mindtrip.

Curated by Keith 'Circle Jerk' Morris and Silverlake's cherubic pin-up Sean Carlson, the line-up is a who's who of L.A.'s emerging talent including: Lavender Diamond, Busdriver, Boom Bip, Entrance, The Mae Shi, Imaad Wasif, Brother Reade, Sabertooth Tiger, Indian Jewelry, No Age, Midnight Movies, The Blood Arm, Darker My Love, Great Northern, Moonrats, Abe Vigoda and more. They even got esteemed underground artist Raymond Pettibon himself to design the poster:

I plan on going and covering it for you, the lovely sweet darling readers of Metromix. And I hereby pledge that in my style reportage from "Fuck Yeah" I will use the word "hipster" a total of ZERO times. I swear it. I'm done with that damn word. No more hipster this, hiptard that. It's OVER (although I may use the word 'scenester' in the interim, until a better alternative is found).

PS: WIll someone please tell me how to spell "Fuck Yeah" this year? The website says "Fuck Yeah" the poster says "Fuck Yea" and the flyers being handed out by organizer Sean Carlson said F*ck Yeah". What's the feckin' deal, yo?

Started off at my friend Monica's house in Echo Park where we indulged in her special Master Cleanse Cocktail (lemon juice, cayenne pepper and vodka) and I chatted to two L.A. Times writers ("come visit us on the Third Floor!" they said, upon hearing of Metromix's imminent move to the Times building).

 Then we started trudging our way down Sunset Blvd. with our friend Matt Slovick, aka the original eXtreme Elvis of San Francisco, known for his naked and occasionally scat-tinged stage portrayals of the King. Matt had with him a portable water mister, most useful in the oppressive heat.

We arrived at the festival and saw a huge line snaking from the entrance. Then we walked right to  the front, waving our press wristbands in the air and yelling "suckahs!" to all around. Not really. But we did walk right in, these being the benefits of being an esteemed member of the press.

2007 was the year that Ray Ban took over Sunset Junction. Literally every second or third human was sporting a pair, with frames in various shades of pink, red or Pollock. We saw a handful of skinny jeans in bright colors. And lots and lots of Indian-style leather sandals. There was the expected proliferation of neon fanny-packs although really, this look is getting kinda boring. And did anyone else see the trio of young "wives of Father Yod" girls, each wearing different but equally fabulous headbands a la 1960s Laurel Canyon? One of them is featured in our Headtrippin photo gallery, and was wearing the same glittery silver band...

Sunset Junction is small enough for you not to worry about losing your friends because like it or not, you'll probably run in to them in about 15 minutes. I bumped into teen scenestress Cory Kennedy, hung out with my fellow style writer gals Linda Immediato, Steffie Nelson and Lina Lecaro, who brought her cherubic daughter Charlotte. For Charlotte, it was her first Sunset Junction. For me, it was my fourth. My first was a blur, I remember rocking out to Eagles of Death Metal and the New York Dolls the year after, then last year was a tornado of death metal with Hank III, followed by The Cramps, and then this year...just as much fun.

Sunset Junction may be a nuisance to some, but I feckin' love it, every year.

Despite the $6 beers, it is the closest thing to Notting Hill Carnival (the biggest street fair in Europe) that this fair city has, and it deserves as much love as we can give it.

Anyhoo - back to the fashion. Top marks to the super-authentic plaid-shirt wearing Kurt Cobain crew. And to the guy with long hair and green tinted glasses who looked like a wizard. Did you see him? Who WAS he? We loved the pretty lesbians holding hands, but not the fake "Girls Gone Wild" ones in hotpants making out for the leery photographers. Yuk. There were sundresses aplenty, in pretty vintage designs and short, sqaure, side-parted haircuts in an array of alterna-shades from black to plum to orange.

It struck me that the so-called 90s revival (yaaaawn) which I am obliged to cover as a style writer but which grosses me out a little, is actually a good thing for the folks of Silverlake, many of whom have been rocking the grunged-out torn jeans and green hair look for years, regardless of the ebb and flow of fashion.

I caught the last part of the Seawolf set before watching Autolux,  those poor things seemed to suffer from some annoying sound issues throughout the set, beginning with major feedbackand then ending with a microphone malfunction for drummer Carla Azar, who was sporting her trademark dark bob 'n bangs combo. The crowd didn't seem to mind though.

I hung around and saved our close-to-the-stage spot for Blonde Redhead, my man heading off to search for lemonade, into which a flaskfull of vodka was promptly poured. Blonde Redhead was an exquisite noise machine, with tiny-voiced lead singer Kazuo looking bewitching as always in a black and white, alternately spotted and striped floaty silk mini dress.

Then we left and headed in search of hot dogs (they were found, deliciousness was had), and said 'hi' to Sean Carlson handing out fliers to his F*ck Yeah fest which happens next weekend. I forgot to ask him why the 'u' has been taken out of the "F*ck". I also saw scenester/musician Chris Holmes chowing down at Malo, which was predictably packed.

And then the long but sweet stumble back to Los Feliz. Actually, not so long at all. It took me about 20 minutes and was refreshing, and left me wondering...why don't we walk more in L.A.? Seriously? 

Everyone keeps talking about how the 90's are back. Which leads me to wonder--what on earth are we going to do when that decade goes out of style? Start at ground zero with a Caveman Chic revival, and then work our way back up through the centuries, taking sartorial tips from Jesus and Mary (crown of thorns anyone?), then the druids, the Knights of the Round Table and of course, Salem's Witches?

Luckily, the 90s is more doable than most decades. For those of you who weren't cogniscent teen beings during that wonderful time (like I was), here's a run-down of all the small details that will make your new 90s-inspired lifestyle seem totally authentic.
   
1.    Use plum-colored hair mousse or a lemon to add streaks of color to your long knotted hair 

2.    Make sure your entire music collection is made up of compilation tapes

3.    Buy a pair of Nike Air Max

4.    Buy the same Benetton sweater, in 14 different colors

5.    Go away on vacation and return with cornrows   

7.   Talk about when Sweet Valley High was just a  book
   
8.   Wear only Levi's 501s, with gaping holes in each knee
  
9.  Watch early Baywatch re-runs 

10. Wear a Swatch watch

11. Buy a mood ring   

12. Wear shell suits and fanny packs in an entirely non-ironic way
  
13. Wear a black velvet choker with a little pendant hanging from it, even though you aren't a goth
   
14. Move to Beverly Hills 90210
   
15. Listen to Salt 'n' Pepa when your parents aren't around, on your cassette walkman (for bonus points), and share the headphones with your best friend who knows all the words (for double bonus points).

 
16. Wear ear muffs
   
17.Wear leggings with slouchy socks pulled up and hanging down a little

18.Complete the look with ankle boots

19. Pull the tongues out of your LA Gear runner-boots (which have flashing red lights on them)     

20. Wearing cycling shorts with the above mentioned runner-boots.
   
21.Say Scchhhwiiiing!! a lot and talk about how you wish you were hot like Alicia Silverstone    

22.Play with your Gameboy and ride the bus
  
23. Take ecstasy while wearing sweatpants
  

The lovely folks at i-D magazine are putting out a "Hypercolour Issue", as per their MySpace , and you can be in it:

"This is our Hypercolour issue of i-D and we want to see you dazzle in your brightest, craziest, nose-bleed inducing,fluorescent outfits.

Email your HIGH-RESOLUTION images of you and your friends with a short sentence describing each picture to the i-D Myspace page and the best will make it in the magazine.

DEADLINE - August 10.

Be bold. Be bright. Be brilliant."

So...what's keeping you?

I am going to send them this photo of me looking like a psychedelic gnome with my friend Josh: 

I met up with my friend, the artist and musician Liz McGrath the other day close to her loft space downtown. Liz happens to be a beauty fanatic, so I asked her her thoughts on Perlane , the injectible filler that has just bceome available on the U.S. market (it has been available in Europe for years).

The reason I asked was because I was due to be meeting up with a plastic surgeon named Dr. Arthur Swift to talk about Perlane at the Sunset Tower hotel the following day.

Liz paused and thought about it.

"Hmm...Perlane...isn't that the stuff that lasts for ages? I heard it can turn all lumpy in your face."

I had heard similar tales. In fact, five years ago when I lived in London, I had Juvederm injections in my lips, and had looked into Perlane but decided against it, having heard similar reports.

So when I did meet up with Dr. Swift, who has been using injectible fillers for more than 15 years, I asked him what the deal was. He explained that Perlane is way more viscous than its sister product, Restylane. It is therefore generally used to fill deep lines on the face, and will create a much more dramatic look on the lips than Restylane does. he said that yes, if improperly injected by a rookie aesthetician, there's a chance the effect may look lumpy.

"If you can, go to a plastic surgeon or a dermatologist for these kinds of procedures," he advised, pointing out that most of the correction cases he's seen have been from people who went to beauty spas offering medical services. 

If the worst happens, he said that there is a product called hylauronidase that literally melts the Perlane out ("with zero side effects").

Then he showed me some photos that literally made my haw drop. They were of patients of his who have had Perlane injected into their faces, to literally resculpt their noses, of lift up jowls. By pumping the face with filler in strategic points, you can stretch the skin, lift away sagging, pull away wrinkles and even out the face, as a sculptor would with clay. "It's an art form," he said. "You really can't do this unless you know what you're doing."

I was excited. I dreamed of having a new temporary face, one with a stronger chin. Higher cheekbones. Fuller lips. Happier eyes. Perlane, at the longest, lasts four years. I imagined my friends' confusion as my face slowly morphed and then realxed back to its original shape. And if I didn't like it, I could always get the melting antidote squeezed in my face.

I asked him to examine me.

"What do you think?" I asked. 

"You don't need anything," he said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yup."

"Not even a little eye-trough filling? A smidgen of cheek plumping?"

 "Nope. You're fine." 

"Oh."

 Which is all for the best, I guess. Perlane can cost $600-$800 per syringe. I'll save it for my future jowls.

My friend John posted this on his MySpace today: read to the end and you'll see how apparently someone nasty is grabbing girls in Brooklyn and cutting their faces. Scary.

"so Friday night at about 1:30am i got attacked right out front of my apt building as i was trying to get in the door. i fought a good fight but the asshole got everything... id, cc cards, cash, phone, and a couple of kicks to my face. bruises and cuts aside... be careful in your own neighborhoods. he literally came out of nowhere. i live on south 4th between wythe and kent in williamsburg. the cops said that most likely hes a repeat offender, so if anyone hears of ANYTHING in williamsburg, let me know. Because the guy beat me up the cops are going to leave this as an open investigation. There are supposedly security cameras on the outside of my building, so hopefuly they would have caught the whole thing. GIRLS watch out when you are walking alone at night. this sucks. this guy is wanted for robbery and assault and the police are taking this VERY seriously.

UPDATE* there is apparently a guy in williamsburg who is attacking girls from behind and cutting their faces, i did not get cut, but i also hit the guy and fought him off as much as i could. the cases all might be related. still waiting to see if the security tapes come through. PLease contact Detective LAREN at the 90th precint in on union ave in williamsburg brooklyn if you hear of anything or suspect anything. His number is 718- 963-5368. if you are getting followed do not hesitate to call 911. thats why they are there."

Thanks to everyone who took part in our American Apparel poll over the last two weeks. We had asked you if you thought that American Apparel ads were:

a)sexy

or

b)creepy

Can you guess the results?

While one quarter of you open-minded Angelenos find American Apparel ads sexy, the majority (76%) take a more puritanical stance, and finding them decidedly creeeepy.

Disclaimer: I have to admit that I voted several times myself, and each time, my response was different. When I was PMSing and feeling bloated, I voted 'creepy'. When I was feeling slutty, I voted 'sexy'.

So I guess it goes to show that in American Apparel, as in life, there are no set truths.

Dear Lips,

I want you to know you are a very special part of my body. Special, because you are the only part I wish was fatter.

Back when I was a teenager, my friends would point and laugh as I walked around with massive brown lines painted around you, in the hope you would look a little more voluptuous. I would fill you in with light pink and place a tiny glob of lipgloss in the middle of you, because that's what the make-up experts said Naomi Campbell did. I slathered you in plumping products that made you tingle, as though you had been sprayed with weed killer. Mid-kiss, I would ask my lover to "hold that thought" while I quickly re-applied lipliner to you.

Remember how well-hydrated you were? How I would apply lipbalm to you at least 68 times a day? And remember the time I bought that lip pump, the one I would smuggle into nightclub bathrooms? How we loved to pump and pump and pump, until the blood vessels exploded around my mouth and I looked like I'd been in a car accident? 

I'm sorry I put you through that, Lips. You know I've always had your best interests at heart. Like the time that beautician tried to convince me you would look really good with a red line tattooed around you. I said no, no, no. And even when the doctor pumped you full of Juvederm, when you were bruised and sore and stuck out like a duck's bill, I gently massaged you every night. I realized I had done you wrong. 

So, Lips, I am now 30 years old, and it is time. Time to love you for who you are. Time to accept that Naomi and Angelina were blessed in certain ways. And I was blessed with you.

Today I visited Nony Tochterman, cottoncandy-haired fashion designer behind the Petro Zillia line, at her kaleidoscopoic wonderland of a store on W. 3rd St.

The most colorful thing in the store is Nony herself, and of course her hair, which is verging on the fuschia these days. With her high forehead and fan-like pinkish frizz, Tochterman looks very much a punk rock Elizabeth I. Everyone knows her for her pink hair, so it was a surpise when she admitted she was thinking about changing the color, and going for something a little tamer.

"I was thinking blue, perhaps," she said. "Or green?"

Nony talked about how people always call her Petro, assuming that 'Petro Zilia' is her name. "Actually Petro Zilia means 'parsley' in Israeli," she explained, shrugging her shoulders. "It was a joke name for the line, but it stuck." The line has been around for ten years now, and has grown to become a favorite among L.A. fashionistas and celebrities alike.

The store is a regular Paris/Nicky Hilton pit-stop. "Between them, they probably have everything in my collection," said Nony. In fact Paris wore a Petro Zillia jacket the day she left jail.

 We were shooting video for the Metromix style page, and filmed her talking about the store's decor (her husband Yosi had to paint the baby pink walls FIVE TIMES to acheive its romantically-distressed look), the furnishings (she sells mid-century modern chairs and tables with jackets that match the upholstery) and of course, the fashion. Tochterman showed me her personal favorites from the collection, including a beautiful pair of silk charmeuse wide-legged pants ("I have seven pairs in different colors") and high-waisted tie shorts. "I love high-waisted," she said. "People need to stop showing their belly."

 Yesterday afternoon I had drinks--I mean, a serious business meeting--with fashion designer Rachel Pally , a sassy mama if ever I met one. She lives in the 'hood, and owns two homes in the Franklin Hills, one for living in and one for designing sexy jersey dresses and capes and tops in. "I love Los Feliz, I want to raise my babies here," she sighed. She is the spitting image of Natalie Portman, and funny as hell. "I'm not putting placenta on my face," she said, when we stepped in to a spa called being in LA on Hillhurst and were invited to test out face creams called EMK Placental, made with actual placenta donated by Russian mothers. What's up with that, Russia?

Anyway, we hit it off in a big way. Pally was one of the first designers in town to get the jersey bug; in fact, they call her 'Jersey Girl', even though she's a native Angeleno. I forgot to ask if her long cream jersey dress was one of her own. "I always wear dresses," she said. "Sometimes people come up to me in Trader Joe's and ask me if I'm going to prom." Here is one of her creations:

  We sipped prosecco (her) and rosé (me) at Vinoteca on Hillhurst and she told me how she had recently finished up her first plus-size collection, now on sale in Nordstrom . Apparently, not everyone in the L.A. fashion community was impressed to hear she was working on a collection for larger women. "It's kinda taboo," she said. "But I dont care--it was one of the best things I've ever done." She has received plenty of love from curvy gals who were psyched to hear she was creating dresses to fit their body shape.

She's 27, so I told her all about Saturn's Return, the mystical second coming-of-age that apparently hits women from their 27th to 31st years, and turns their lives upside down. "Are you ready?" I asked her, having myself just been royally shafted by Saturn over the last three years. "Yeah, awesome, bring it on!" she said.

Pally told me she had never received any formal fashion training. "I dont think you always need training. What you do need is your own original style, and chutzpah." She started designing and making clothes while studying at Berkeley. Her major was Cultural Geography, her minor was in Dance, which led to her spending a fair amount of time in the costuming department. That's where she first started dabbling with jersey, her fabric of choice. She's been hooked ever since.

She returned home to L.A., intending to become a city planner (!), but fate had other plans. One day, while wearing one of her own creations, she happened to drop by Slingting, the now-defunct gallery/boutique on Chinatown's Chungking Road. Owner Stacey Ernsdorff said she adored her dress, and asked to see more of her stuff, which Pally just happened to have in the back of her car ("Laundry," she explained). Ernsdorff invited her to sell her designs at the boutique ("back then they were all crazy, backless, flower appliqued and raw hemmed and deconstructed," says Pally), and from there, everything snowballed. She showed at L.A. Fashion week twice, built a thriving business and attracted a stellar celebrity clientele--and not a sketching or seamstressing class to her name.

You can buy Rachel Pally at Nordstrom and Bloomingdales, online at ShopBop.com, and at Lake on Rowena, Hilary Rush, and Diavolina. Her favorite designers are Phillip Lim, Stella McCartney and Marni. "I walk into Marni and I start sweating," said Pally, also a big fan of Opening Ceremony.

We asked for her definitive insider's guide to Los Feliz and Silverlake, and here's what she said. (Notice the total emphasis on yummy food--we love a girl who eats!!!)

Tortilla chips at Malo : "make sure to request the old-style ones"

India Sweets and Spices in Atwater

The Red Lion for beer

Fried chicken at The Kitchen

Backdoor Bakery: "the croissants are ridiculous"

Madame Matisse: "for the multi-grain salad"

Hot cholocate at Pazzo Gelato on Sunset: "serious and thick and rich and good"