Wednesday, April 8, 2015

ruby wednesday

Hyperindustrial city livin' sure has made me a fan of garden motifs. Not because the Bellagio observatory renewed in me the sense of botanical wonder that slowly faded as I inched farther and farther from my New England homebase, but because in principle one always wants what they can't have. And I can't have plants. Okay, the occasional cactus and evening primrose on the rare chance that I'm driving through the desert. But besides that it's just artificially planted palm trees and potted shrub shit lining hotel walkways. So I compensate with flower-shaped Valentino purses, bejeweled Lanvin necklaces and vintage brooches in shades of jade and ruby. Paired with Ralph Lauren Rugby plaid, a floral halter and Armani blazer, I appear on the carefully pruned terrace a scholar of botany... vesting faith in the existence of chloroplasts and vascular stem tissues. Just philosophical axioms to me, a stranger to nature in this barren parking garage we call an entertainment capital. 

Kidding -- put everything I said except "Valentino," "Lanvin," "Armani" and "Ralph Lauren" under erasure. GOTTA GO.



Lanvin necklace, Plein Sud halter top, Armani blazer, Ralph Lauren skirt and heels, Valentino bag

Sous rature

Bebe Zeva

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

sequestrian

I was never on any sports leagues growing up and usually sat out of group activities in gym class, preferring to take a zero than one for the team. But for that I consider myself an athlete. See, I'm an olympian loner. I train all year for tournaments that no one knows exist because they don't. And I always come in first place. Isolation, solitude, withdrawal, social indifference... they're not games so much as they are tests of strength. They measure all the same qualities a traditional sport would: willpower, determination, passion, and for all intents and purposes cooperation - because who's to say the Self is one agent and not many working for and against each other at the same time? I don't need teammates to prove that I can make compromises or set up a winning play. For that I have states of mind; sovereign and nebulous, simultaneous and independent. In most cases I don't even play for the same team during the same competition... I play for both, all three, every and none at all. No hoops or hurdles necessary, no bridles, no bats, no balls. Only a court -- the one I inevitably take with me, that inevitably takes me with it. I don't really have a choice when it comes to participation. My only goal is to come out a champion -- by not ever coming out at all.



Forever 21 hat, Etro scarf, Sugarlips blouse, equestrian riding pants, Gucci pumps, Lanvin purse

Everything is infinite,

Bebe Zeva

Monday, April 6, 2015

cuff to the chase

I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever revisit these blog posts and refer to them as diary entries. The thought alone has sparked some anxiety that I'm not being forthcoming enough in my copy... I'm talking too much about peripheral details -- weather, vague emotional patterns, the act of blogging itself. Maybe I keep so much hidden because there truly isn't much to reveal. Unlike most people my age I'm both unemployed and not actively seeking a job (or a career for that matter). Even more uncharacteristically, my social life... simply isn't one. If I have to talk to another person, it's either by text or email or social media, on the elevator, in the lobby while making coffee, at the concierge desk asking for packages, while purchasing a pepsi max at the gas station next door, while greeting the bellmen, engineers, valet drivers and janitorial staff on my way in or out of the condo I now consider a safe marble cave. I'm Rapunzel in my prison tower, except I have hair extensions and Stockholm Syndrome. I choose this life. I invite no prince. Despite perversely loving my electively doorless cell, it's difficult to find pleasure anywhere. Music doesn't sound as good as it used to. Movies make me impatient. Narratives delivered through any artistic medium feel superfluous as I'm already surrounded by them by virtue of using language. So I'm frustrated. And distrustful. All in all I guess if I were to treat this blog as an honest diary to accompany my honest images, the only events I'd have to describe are my feelings. Sooooo...

Dear Diary, I like this outfit.





Zara hat, Vionnet fringe scarf, Member's Only jacket, Missguided leather top, J Brand leather cuff jeans, Etro bag


(Thank you for the lovely pics, Mama!)

Everything is infinite,

Bebe Zeva 

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

fur the record

I feel guilty about pairing this furry calf print driving cap with the kind of sleek monochrome ensemble you'd see at a daytime red carpet event. The hat even appears to be a beret in these pictures (meaning that in the context of this blog post it is one) but actually it sports a modest leather bill on the other side and has overall 'train conductor aura.' And since its luxurious mink fur is spotted, you'd have to assume that whatever train a conductor wearing it is driving will drop off at the nearest farmstead, not film premiere. But of course I stripped it of whatever agri-chic potential it had by pairing it with leatherette pants and a blazer... shoulda coulda woulda. I live my life full of regrets. This accessorizing with a Valentino clutch purse instead of a hand hoe is supremely one of them. 




Burberry Prorsum fw11 mink cap, Etro blazer, Romwe bodysuit, Valentino clutch, Chanel necklace and cuff

Everything is infinite,

Bebe Zeva

Monday, March 30, 2015

hides of march

If your past four weeks were anything like mine -- riddled with mood swings, spontaneous illness, indigent reserves of energy and ambition, bad luck and bad news -- you're ready to march the hell out of this month. Outfitted in my marching-band finest, I salute the very unlikely chance that April will bring leagues of celebration or at least an excuse for festivity... an occasion that does this feathered riding cap and saddle bag combo justice.  My next investment is one of those huge drums the pros strap to their chest so I can parade around Rodeo Drive and play it like the Energizer Bunny. It is my unmistakable civic duty to play, not pay, homage to the great army generals who with valor and velvet defend the peoples' right to haute couture, Sergeant Saint Laurent and Colonel Kawakubo just to name a few.




Lanvin feathered riding cap, Chanel Dallas Paris collection runway saddle bag, Royal Underground leather jacket

Everything is infinite,

Bebe Zeva

Friday, March 27, 2015

fringe theory

Sooner or later this layering game will become a medical hazard and I'll have to trade my beloved bundles for bikinis. "Spring" in Vegas is hardly a happy time of year, my crippling depression aside, considering the blistering temperatures forthcoming as early as oh, NEXT WEEK. 98 degree average for April???? Sucking as much life out of this sweater and scarf as I can before either will put me in cardiac arrest. And those who know me can attest that I've already had enough hospital drama this month. In better news, I finally have my Adobe creative suite back!! Which means I don't have to cleverly layer filters like turtlenecks and cardigans and fringe shawls anymore... I can get back into the art of 'editing by number.' So much more precise! Like the perfect denim-purse denim-jeans pairing I'm rocking here, compliments to Louboutin and J Brand. For the record, I found these pants at a no-name thrift store for ONE BUCK. But they're designer???? I ask no questions. Only 'do you take Visa?' 



Scoop NYC hat, Celine turtleneck, Vionnet fringe scarf, J Brand jeans, Ralph Lauren heels, Louboutin Sweet Charity rockstud bag

Thanks for the great pics, Mama! 

Everything is infinite,

Bebe Zeva

Thursday, March 26, 2015

some velvet mourning

It's been decades -- lifetimes -- since I've visited my former world of lace veils and marble-sweeping gowns a la Lydia Deetz. I guess when you do something too intensely and too often, you get bored with the entire concept and lose interest in even the idea of reinventing it. So I let go of traditional gothic, of graveyard chic, of funeral fashion. Finally I've been reincarnated enough times to desire a return to my former signature. Here I am, cloaked in only the most depressing velvet and melancholy maxi lengths - a draping dress and feathered hat custom made by a fabulous UK artisan named Tonie. The old-school masterpiece I'm wearing here was especially made for me in all my glamorous goth glory. It's good to be back! 




Hats by Tonie Roselle, Etro velvet evening shawl, Akira maxi dress

Everything is infinite,

Bebe Zeva