tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968212927624189312024-03-18T02:48:57.726-07:00FATED TO BE HATEDBebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.comBlogger538125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-24733807193363532492015-06-18T08:54:00.000-07:002015-06-18T08:54:23.828-07:00eye can't see meJune 18th, 2015: no matter how much coffee I drink, I can't get my brain to 'turn on.' It's like the best intellectual work I can do these days is reading, but even that depends on luck and circumstance if my standard anticipates more than just recognizing words on a page without letting them aerate and flourish as sensible concepts. I had a breakdown yesterday while composing my resume -- as if Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com284tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-82484914170465374902015-06-15T08:52:00.001-07:002015-06-15T08:52:44.330-07:00angel wingAnyone else hurtin for a makeover? Every once in a while I feel thrown into an intermediate phase (even though every moment belongs to a phase that is impossibly intermediate) and flounder in the insincerity of the 'aesthetic' with which I am currently, accidentally, shamefully associated. Times like these illustrate the self-automating nature of the 'aesthetic' and its role on the internet; I Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com293tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-42088992059985502162015-06-10T08:57:00.002-07:002015-06-10T08:57:54.807-07:00peachy queenCan we take a moment to appreciate the color coordination happening here? See, color coordination isn't a 'thing.' It's an event, and we're watching it 'be' in these still photographs. Peach stairs, peach petal print. Ivory banister, ivory blouse. Autumnal mustard and dusty rose accenting floral details in these peony patterned leggings from Redbubble. I've decided today that I want to spend the Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com279tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-44601102284494596172015-06-08T08:55:00.003-07:002015-06-08T08:55:35.141-07:00smock this wayTrying this new thing where instead of weather patterns and shifting moods, I talk about abstract bullshit to fill the space. Here goes: doesn't it seem like 'civilization' is this really elaborate and depressing symptom of human suffering, this dynamic fossil of an unreconciled consciousness? People are obsessed with distinguishing human experience from animal life, especially when it comes to Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-4419957084262506732015-06-05T10:09:00.001-07:002015-06-05T10:09:45.518-07:00b-a-n-a-n-a-sDo you ever look through someone's tagged photos on Facebook and feel frustrated? Like, in your mind you can't reconcile how someone functions independently in society, or how they could possibly be able to get away with such a publicly reckless lifestyle while still supported by their parents? I feel like this is a crucial stage in 'becoming adult;' trying to map out the sustainability of a Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com249tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-68840988909625533742015-06-04T10:10:00.004-07:002015-06-04T10:10:48.307-07:00damsel de la derbyNot only do I look like I attend private school in this outfit, I look related to the family that donated enough money to erect a state-of-the-art library in the 'north wing' of campus. I spent all of my graduation money betting on horses. I forced my housekeeper to take these photos of me.
Chanel pearl pendant, Chanel earrings and pearl necklace, Ralph Lauren sweater, vintage skirt, Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-23055220919195002282015-06-03T09:20:00.000-07:002015-06-04T07:51:29.516-07:00manifest destinyFeeling nervous about blogging today because I appreciate the possibility that no one will understand why I'm doing this. But to be fair nobody could understand unless they constituted and conformed to their own meaning. From my perspective, the back and forth motion between this life (a digital routine replete with photoshoots and self-promotion) and being elsewhere (whatever happens in theBebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-78652273376314335732015-06-02T09:23:00.000-07:002015-06-02T09:23:48.195-07:00caliguluxePosh geometry, ancient luxury, Grecian excess, Italian glamour... I'm back bitch!!!!!!!!!!! Been waiting since the fall of Rome to debut this Vertigo Paris blazer my mom scored while voyaging for vintage. So... besides Caesar's Palace, where have I been for the past month?? I'm not really sure either. But like the Greeks, I've left behind a lengthy written record of my indulgent exploits. I Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com191tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-11701966680652591572015-04-08T08:32:00.003-07:002015-04-08T08:32:55.917-07:00ruby wednesdayHyperindustrial 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 Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-79824236085116236732015-04-07T08:16:00.000-07:002015-04-07T08:16:40.995-07:00sequestrianI 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 Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-30894798357735263842015-04-06T07:55:00.001-07:002015-04-06T07:55:48.933-07:00cuff to the chaseI'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 ageBebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-17612137844675320372015-03-31T09:52:00.001-07:002015-03-31T09:52:56.480-07:00fur the recordI 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 Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com160tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-57434133723566580022015-03-30T10:51:00.000-07:002015-03-30T10:51:23.502-07:00hides of marchIf 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 Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-28129982963778816302015-03-27T07:45:00.001-07:002015-03-27T07:45:33.496-07:00fringe theorySooner 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 inBebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-51746816127958065162015-03-26T10:27:00.002-07:002015-03-26T10:27:58.883-07:00some velvet mourningIt'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 Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-32523128692574610952015-03-25T10:03:00.000-07:002015-03-25T10:03:53.782-07:00spring persuededPaisley. Velvet. Suede. Spring. Spring. By the look and feel of things, this season won't be any peppier than the others (which is not at all if you're me). But I'm hoping that great weather will bring greater incentives to walk outside and soak up some vitamin D for an extra 'happy kick' here and there. Maybe this time of year will change me in more ways than sun exposure... after all I am Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-35428598137724779952015-03-23T07:46:00.000-07:002015-03-25T10:04:12.806-07:00rebbe without a causeI originally wanted to debut this look on a Friday since it's obvi Shabbat appropriate, but it was just too hard to keep my little pun hidden from the public like an esoteric Kabbalah prophecy. I'm proud. Of my Judaism and wordplay and chiffon harem pants. And tragically impractical skill at nailing the punk-rock-Rebbetzin hybrid aesthetic with a wide-brim hat, plaid checks, and Hebrew letter Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-61876756714281933982015-03-04T07:42:00.000-08:002015-03-04T07:42:26.809-08:00out of the bloomDriving through downtown LV with my mom (both photographer and chauffeur), there wasn't a specific location I had in mind to background this technicolor jester look. Until we spotted The Wall. A shade of blue that perfectly, eerily, downright paranormally matched the hues in my vinyl cap and floral bomber. The alley was deserted, just as I like it, so I was free to ham and cheese it up in myBebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-51164294237022177112015-03-03T08:12:00.000-08:002015-03-03T08:12:34.182-08:00holla graphicWhen you hang out with me, you're also hanging out with my outfit. Bringing this up because the coat I posted about yesterday reminded me of an old friend (male, of course) who almost always felt uncomfortable being seen with me in my opulent faux furs, animal prints, and sequined hats. For obvious reasons; the fashionably unacquainted man assumes all lavishly dressed women are looking for the Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-54902336964171888052015-03-02T08:21:00.000-08:002015-03-02T08:21:01.877-08:00viva rosaSince bandana paisley and floral print are clearly my shit this season, today's outfit makes me feel like I did myself a generous service. Several other elements of this look that more or less define my personhood: impractical vinyl wedges paired with hyperpractical velvet joggers, clubmaster sunglasses (especially ones reflecting the downtown Vegas skyline), striped faux fur and a spectrum of Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-28964977010702395002015-02-26T10:50:00.001-08:002015-02-26T10:50:19.708-08:00avant gardenThis look is hazy and pastel, glazed in a milky winter dew reflecting spring hints in bulbs of morning condensation. The synesthete in me distinctly tastes 7 AM in shades of lavender and makes me wish I had woken up even earlier today. Can't understand why I feel so disappointed thinking of the approaching noon. Maybe it's that there's no mystique in moments of clarity.Hard to believe my mom Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-31138251317427149912015-02-25T09:49:00.001-08:002015-02-25T09:49:52.502-08:00leo neoIdk about you but if I were in the matrix, the absolute last material I'd want to sport is leather. Does sweat not exist in a simulacrum or were Morpheus and the gang just sucking it up for the camera? Meta, I know. Anyhoo a mesh jersey sounds much more practical for an olympic chase -- plenty of ventilation and flexibility, all the better to dodge bullets with. The top I'm wearing in this look Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-12536480850814572632015-01-22T10:14:00.002-08:002015-01-22T10:14:20.185-08:00me myself and eyeI think I've crossed a threshold in my blogging experience wherein I no longer expect anything to come out of my content creation. When I started out, there was a purpose: to get people's attention. And once I had their attention, another purpose emerged: to monetize my popularity. I was successful in my pursuits, but only for so long. While many bloggers were and are able to maintain their Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-69896928670973170332015-01-21T09:09:00.000-08:002015-01-21T09:09:34.815-08:00rosetta stonedIn my five years of writing a whole lot about absolutely nothing, I've discovered that it is really easy to like things. A fashion blogger's default emotion is 'loading justification..." -- She is always generating a reason to like something she owns or sees or is offered. And generating a reason to dislike something she can't have. And then when she has it, she generates a reason why she was Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-396821292762418931.post-57337525386926597562015-01-20T09:29:00.000-08:002015-01-20T09:30:56.390-08:00midi classWhen I first caught glimpse of Alice Dellal's "boy" campaign for Chanel in 2012, my heart raced with the adrenaline of championship. It was a victory for punks of the affirmation-seeking genealogy, a home run in the department of respectful nods from arguably the most important fashion house of all time. No longer could one claim that ripped fishnets and semi buzzcuts were "un-Chanel" Bebe Zevahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12552652148364414871noreply@blogger.com10