smock this way

Trying 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 discussions about 'capacities' for pain and pleasure. We use the distinction to justify exploiting other life forms for the sustenance of our own; since plants don't have 'developed nervous systems,' we reason, their experience of pain is less significant than ours. Clearly we see ourselves as a species that processes information with more self-sabotaging passion. It seems like civilization is a symptom of that severity since it is unique to humans, but the impressions this life form leaves on the earth cannot actually be 'fairly' measured in terms of hierarchized thresholds. All symptoms of being are severe and subtle. They're all brutal and comforting. As soon as one symptom is presented as more extreme than another, it has been instrumentalized in the process of judgment. So we should avoid thinking of civilization in terms of 'more or less' and instead see it as just this messy and unjustified thing that happens as a fluid result(s) of conflict; the unreconciled consciousness. It's not that we suffer 'so much' as humans, but because we suffer in 'such a way,' we feel the need to impose ourselves in sterile edifices with unique intensity. We're not satisfied surviving minimally because our conflict with the world is not minimal. It's complicated. So we erect buildings and shopping malls because not erecting buildings and shopping malls leaves bare the conflict. It's not that we have to try harder and defensively create more elaborate and lasting habitats out of tools because our experience is quantifiably severe -- it's that we have to try 'like this.' It's misleading to think of civilization as an elaborate and depressing symptom when it's not elaborate compared to something else, and I must invoke my own bias to believe that something existing independently of judgment is 'depressing.' Civilization is not anything but intense.



Romwe sunglasses + croquis smock dress, Chanel earrings + Privee collection framed bag, Armani blazer

Everything is infinite,

Bebe

caliguluxe

Posh 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 recently traveled to Newport Beach on a complete and utter whim, and before that spent my birthday weekend in San Francisco. I flirted with the Las Vegas 'party scene' for several weeks, but like most great moments in history, that too was just a conquest. For a minute I was even rich! I purchased many satin gowns, colonial undergarments, Pepsi max and a portable notebook 'for my opinions.' My little empire thrived. My little empire fell. Now I find myself alone in history... wealthy with experience, impoverished in resource. A carnal Collosseum, crumbling, atrophied, all the while resilient in my charming torpor. Not photographed: the unforgiving violence of time.



Forever 21 hat, Chanel earrings + bangle, Vertigo Paris blazer, OASAP geometric print skirt, vintage Chanel chain belt, Burberry bag, Missguided heels

Everything is infinite,

Bebe

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

gallerina

Before Lagerfeld's iconic SS14 collection starring technicolor smock dresses and art supplies-as-accessories, few fashionistas would have equated the primary kitsch of printed paint palettes with couture as quality as Chanel (well, except for a brazen few of us). "High art" became en vogue all over again this past year, and with festivals like exclusive Art Basel replacing inclusive Coachella, it won't be long before that culture, too, is subsumed by mainstream attention and interest. Jk that is definitely already happening and I'm modestly pretending to live under a rock.

A year ago, I probably would have resented the Chanel collection for "appropriating" from an aesthetic that suggests liberation from currency. But this year, I hate "art culture." I revel in its aesthetic appropriation, its commercial flattening, its manipulation through association with new signifiers. I want it gone, or at least reduced to apparel where it can go out of style again. It is a culture of legitimizing institutions (schools, agencies, galleries), appraisal of beauty with paper and plastic, possession and materialism, distance from humility. It isn't something to defend or preserve. It's something to translate into commodities: obsolescence. 

Surely I am the only person alive paying sartorial homage to 'high art' because it feels like a passive aggressive goodbye.



Break Ice Trends plaid blazer, Romwe paint palette top, Yes Style harem capris, Persunmall heels, Chanel Privee collection framed flap bag, Chanel earrings + bangle

Happy 2015, friends!!!!! I'm gaining my momentum back... one season at a time.

Everything is infinite,

Bebe

spectacle

This is seriously my favorite outfit ever in all my four laborious years of blogging. I've had this Vertigo Paris jacket for ages, always promising to save it for that perfect occasion when it would be perfectly appreciated. I wore it to have my portrait taken for a New York Times style profile penned about me in 2011, so it's been immortalized in print, albeit not as perfectly styled as it is today. So what's the occasion this time? Absolutely none. I realize now that I wait for gratification that cannot come by virtue of it being anticipated. The only gratification is the surprise, which I will never know, and around which I have deliberately constructed my life to avoid. No expectations, but also no surprises. Listless plateaus, mood stabilizers, comfort.

It'd be an obvious fallacy to posit that I'm wearing this arresting outfit for myself and no one else, that I don't care about my jacket being 'perfectly appreciated' this time. Of course I care, it's on my blog. It's on my instagram. I want other people to look at it. But there's no way for me to measure whether or not it's being enjoyed by others. I can only measure whether or not people are looking at it. So I sojourn in the solace of temporary gaze. 

This look reminds me of the jarring maximalist style of 1980s cheeky hyperconsumerism. Pastel, pattern crazed, checked and adorned in gold. If I only had the means to dress like this every day...

"The grand style of the age is always located in what is oriented by the obvious and secret necessity of revolution."

Vertigo Paris jacket, Romwe pastel tie-dye top, Blackfive checkered harem pants, Zero UV cat eye glasses

Everything is infinite,

Bebe

FUNK AND FLORA

When I think of Gypsy Junkies, I envision their annual booth at WWD MAGIC -- a bohemian alcove of fringe and fur, rich fuchsia and mustard hues, floor-length floral prints, and jeweled head chains. This structured blazer totally caught me by surprise in their collection! I didn't expect to find tailored outerwear among the free-flow maxi gowns and loose chiffon blouses. The "Zeppelin jacket" is the best darn thing to happen to my Spring wardrobe. I layered it over a one-piece from Lulu*s and added a zany multicolor beanie for a spontaneous look... would probably wear something similar to a festival if I had the energy or income to attend one! Hope you guys have some cool outfits planned for Coachella. I'll live vicariously through your Indio experience via Instagram, of course. ;)



FROM TOP TO BOTTOM:
Beanie - 1717 Olive
V4 Sunglasses - Daisy Potion
"Zeppelin Blazer" - Gypsy Junkies
Onesie - Lulu*s
Fringe bag - Chicwish
"Funky Booties" - Pink & Pepper

Check out Gypsy Junkies' SS13 Lookbook for more inspiration of the free-spirited, festival variety!

Everything is infinite,

Bebe Zeva